Intelligent Brown Eyes

"Malfoy, don't you and your gang of mindless minions have someone better to bother?" Hermione asked coldly. It wasn't like her to start a fight. Usually it was I who said the first bitter words. I was harsh, and she did not deserve them. But what else was I to do?

I was surprised that she was the first to speak. Obviously she was in a bad mood, but it could have also been the fact that I had spilled my breakfast all over her. I hadn't been thinking. I was lost in thoughts and was not watching where I was going; she could have at least made an attempt to avoid me.

"Watch your mouth, Granger. You do know who you are talking to," I responded.

"Just a bully from what I can see," Sshe replied.

"Why am I wasting my time talking with you? Just being in your presence is lowering my social status. Crabbe, Goyle, let's go before I lose any more of my breakfast." I quickly shoved past her, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. What she said had hurt. Didn't she know appearances could be deceiving?

My mind flashed back to when I had first laid eyes on her. Right away I knew she was different. She was smart; you could tell just by looking at her. It was not just because she had shoved her nose in one of the thickest books I had ever seen, there had been a clever twinkle in her brown eyes. It was that glimmer that first caught my attention. Her eyes shown with an intelligence that contained the world behind them, and her face lit up with a smile every time she turned a page. It was that moment I knew I wanted to befriend her. I wanted to lose myself in her smile and her eyes; I wanted to hear what she had to say and learn what she could teach me. I had been entranced.

"Mudblood," my father muttered with disgust. "I can't believe they let them into school!"

"Who is a mudblood?" I asked.

"That filthy child reading over there. Why does she even bother? She will never be as pure as us!" That stupid word. What did it even mean anyway? Why does it matter what blood someone has? Does it make them who they are? All it meant to me was that I could never truly know what the fascinating witch was like. It would have been my death to associate myself with one.

I had been raised on that word. Like it made any difference that I came from a family from "pure" blood. I had been taught to hate it ever since I could comprehend its meaning. My father lived his life by that word. It determined with whom he associated himself, how he behaved, what he believed, and who he followed.

When I was a child I had met the twin Weasley brothers. Fred and George showed me the time of my life. We went flying on toy broomsticks; they showed me their newest toys from a joke shop, and we used them on unsuspecting victims. I had never laughed so hard before.

When my father saw my new friends he pulled me away. He always looked stern, but his face gave me fear. I did not mean to make him angry. I desperately wanted his approval. What had I done to offend him so much?

"You do not associate yourself with those poor urchins, those mudblood lovers. If I ever see you near anyone like that again you will never see the light of day again!" he screamed.

"Father, what is a mudblood?" I questioned. With a few select curse words he explained to me the difference between me and the trash. He beat me that night so I would remember the lesson.

"You want me to get you some more food, seeing as how most of yours is over a Gryffindor?" Goyle asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"No, that's quite alright," I responded. I suddenly was not feeling very hungry. I wonder what she would say if she found out that what cause me to spill my food was daydreams of her.