Filthy Little Mudblood

Braiding my long brown hair, I overhear Pansy on the phone with one of her vapid friends.

"Draco is so hot." "Draco is so leng." "Looking into Draco's eyes is like gazing into a beautiful stormy sea."

Ugh, Draco this, Draco that. I'm so tired of it. He's ALL she talks about, and I have to share a dorm with her, listening miserably against my will. They've been seeing each other for, what, a month? I'd question why she's so obsessed with him, but she has been since year three. Ever since that platinum hair of his became softer, his voice deeper, and he shot up in height and he became taller. Much taller.

I'm surprised Draco has taken this long to notice her beyond seeing her as just another one of his pitiful followers. I suppose he must be bored. After all, he's just using her. He's not capable of feeling anything other than rage and condescension. I'd feel bad for Pansy if she wasn't such a... such a bitch. And a slag. Before this newfound 'romance' with Draco Malfoy, she was sleeping around more than 16th-century prostitutes. I hate Pansy. Ever since sharing a dorm with her, I've come to realize just how awful she really is. I always thought my friends Angelina Johnson and Hermione Granger were exaggerating when they said I might be the only semi-moral Slytherin, but when Pansy and her wicked friends bully me for being a Mudblood or for befriending Gryffindors, it really gets to me.

 I hate all the segregation at Hogwarts—the divisions between houses, between purebloods and Mudbloods. It is so outdated. I just wish I could live my final year at Hogwarts in peace, but I know Draco Malfoy won't let me have that either. He's been tormenting me ever since year one. Since the sorting hat put me in Slytherin, he's been mad ever since.

"How could it put a filthy little Mudblood like you into this house?"

His words still echo in my head, probably because he says them to me every chance he gets. That boy never leaves me alone. Whether I'm in the corridors, in the dining hall, or in Potions class, he can't go without calling me a "filthy little Mudblood." He's pathetic, really. He and Pansy make the perfect match.

I must have zoned out because Pansy is yelling, "Y/N! Y/N! Get the door, it's probably your loser Gryffindor friends!"

Wow, brilliant insult, that one. Lethargically, I get up and open the door. There she is, Angelina Johnson. Her coal-black hair neatly frames her petite oval face, complimenting her warm chocolate brown skin. She bats her long lashes as she starts to say,

"Y/N, let's gooo."

And with that, she drags me out the door.

"Okay, so what do you want with your hair this time?" she exclaims.

"Whatever, you know best, girl," I reply. 

Angelina really does know best. She's been cutting and styling my hair for years. That's how I know her and became friends with her. She's older than me and two years ahead, but got held back twice for not getting the grades needed to finish the year. She may not be the brightest at Potions, but who cares? I bet she will make BANK in the Muggle world as a hairdresser, that's for sure. I mean her silk press is flawless, and her technique for cutting hair is perfect. I'm sure there are spells to cut and style hair—after all, we are at Hogwarts—but there are no hairdressers or barbers nearby, so Angelina, being the business entrepreneur she is, made the most of this opportunity.

She sits me down in her Gryffindor dorm, the warm yellow light illuminating the room. We're facing a mirror, and her soft hands run through my hair.

"I know what to do with this."

And with that, she gets out hydrogen peroxide, persulfate salts, and rectangular squares of foil. She parts small sections of my hair, brushes them with the bleach, and wraps them in foil. She does this around twenty times, and after she rinses the chemicals out, she uses toner to get rid of the orange hue of the bleached strands. She then deep conditions my hair.

After that, she blow-dries it and straightens my hair. We both look into the square mirror and stare at her masterpiece. Sandy blonde highlights are blended into my dark brown hair, giving it a lighter, sun-kissed look, and she's added in layers. My hair now falls just below my shoulders, with the face-framing layers only reaching my chin. The color complements my medium olive skin perfectly.

"You look amazing!" Angelina exclaims.

I can't help but smile, and my cheeks turn a light pink. Angelina really is so talented.

Thanking her, I leave her dorm and begin to walk through the corridors. A smile is plastered across my face because I know I look so good, but it's a shame the corridors are so empty. Just as I finish that thought, a tall blonde figure strides through the door ahead of me, looking directly into my large onyx-colored eyes. He stops in front of me and examines my hair. Great, he's going to make fun of me like he usually does, although every time he does that, he's surrounded by his pathetic minions and pug-faced girlfriend. This time, he's alone. His pale hand touches one of the short strands of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. I have to look up at him to meet his gaze as he's around eight inches taller than me.  God what is he 6,1 maybe 6,2?

"I don't hate the new look, Mudblood," he says in an amused tone with a smirk on his face.

Stunned that Draco was doing anything other than directly insulting me, I keep quiet, and a millisecond later, he walks off, blending into the darkness with his black suit on that hugs his lean figure.

What. Just. Happened?