In which Draco learns that blood status isn't all that important.

SECOND YEAR

"What house are you in?" He asks you, curiously peering at the Illvermorny uniform you wear, even if your house isn't on it.

"Pukwudgie," you answer, watching as Draco looks to you for an explanation. "Our house's element is the heart." You put your hand on your chest to further your point. "Supposedly, Pukwudgie favors healers, but I want to be an Auror."

"So, Pukwidgie is the Illvermorny's Hufflepuff?" You took a moment to register Draco's question before nodding your head.

You looked to Draco as he contemplated. You already knew what house he was in. Slytherin. The house everyone called evil, housed followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and lived in the dungeons of the castle.

But the boy didn't look all that evil, at least not at the moment. "What do you want to be when you're older?" You inquired, putting your hands behind your back and leaning towards him, waiting for a response.

Draco shrugged in response. He seemed to be thinking about your question, considering the two of you wandered a few minutes in silence.

"So," you began, looking to the ceiling of the halls, the arching architecture that made this grand castle look ever-changing, constantly expanding and closing in on itself, adding to the mystery and wondrously addictive allure of it. "What do you do for fun?"

You were surprised to find Draco unsure how to respond. Perhaps he was shuffling through different options in his mind, deciding which one to say and which one to not. "What do you mean?"

"Like, what do you do outside of school? When you're at home with nothing to do and have friends all summer?" You said, watching as Draco watched you as you spoke before turning his gaze forward, contemplating what you said.

"My father mainly has me doing schoolwork during the summer," he mused. "I learn more spells, more history, more OWL preparations, all of it."

You turned to the boy, who was shorter than you. "But why?" Your inquiry made Draco look up at you himself, his perplexed expression painfully oblivious to what you meant. "You know, going to water parks with your friends, having barbecues in the backyard, or going to the mall and buying stuff?"

Draco blinked at you as he turned his head to the side. You looked up as if trying to find the reasoning for your statement. "Sorry, that's a thing No-Maj thing–muggles, as you guys call them," you seemed a bit at a loss for words. "I think here the right term is I'm a Muggleborn.

Harry said you weren't a fan of my kind," you looked to Draco, trying to find something in his eyes that would tell you anything.

You didn't like what you saw at all.

Your kind expression faded in an instant as you saw the beginning of a sneer pull up at Draco's face. You stopped in your walking, seeing how he mirrored your actions.

You shook your head, slowly. It was then that the hurt set it, and the disgust began to fade from his face as you began to walk in the opposite direction.

"Y/N-"

"Harry was right," you blurted, turning back to look at him. "He said you were like this–weren't friends with people because of who our parents were, how much status they carry, or what their blood was.

If you ever want to be close to friends Draco, rethink your priorities."

You turned on your heel and stalked away, the rising humiliation in your chest beginning to spread to the other parts of your body as you felt tears begin to well in your eyes as your shoulders hiked up towards your ears, and your face hot.

You wouldn't be friends with a person like that. Not someone who would ridicule you with what your parents were, not where you came from, none of that. You wouldn't-

"Don't just walk away like that!"

You turned your head, seeing the white-haired boy still running up to you, his face going from disgust and contorting to that of frustration, his sneer on his face, utterly offended at the audacity you had. "Well, you made it clear we can't be friends,"

"I didn't even say anything!" Draco objected, balling his hands into fists. "I don't care! I don't care about blood or anything at all!"

"Then why did you call Hermione a Mudblood?" You countered, watching as the boy's sudden righteousness began to fade. He didn't expect you to know it, you guess. "If you say you don't care about blood, then why call her that at all? Why call her something you know is terrible?"

Perhaps you shouldn't be this forward with a boy you just spoke to. But you're only here for a couple more days. Someone needs to put him in his place.

"I.." Draco fisted his hands and uncurled them, letting his hands fall to his sides as an embarrassed flush gathered on his face. "My father says that Mudblo...Muggleborns are beneath us, us Purebloods," Draco licks his lips, contemplating his next words. "I saw Potter and she was defending him and me–I wanted a way to make them feel bad."

You could get it, you could see it happening. But that's not an excuse.

"I'll see you later, Draco." You say, but the promise of seeing him again hangs in the air, and it's dependent on him and him alone.

If he wants to get to know you, then he better figure it out.