Chapter Text
I.
I am the one and only Draco Malfoy. Yes, that’s right, the Slytherin Prince, current Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and holder of the most-sought-after-male title. And you are reading my guide, which will enlighten you on the top ten ways to impress a Mudblood.
Not just any Mudblood. The Mudblood we are talking about here is the one and only Hermione Granger. Yes, we are talking about the Gryffindor Princess, current Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and holder of the most-gorgeous-know-it-all title. And she is the one I have tested these foolproof top ten strategies on.
You may be asking yourself why I chose Granger of all the girls at Hogwarts. Well, Granger is the girl of my dreams. Yes, you heard me right. I am in love with the Mudblood, and I am determined to make her love me back. Now stop staring at me in shock.
To impress a Mudblood, especially a one of a fiery, defiant temperament, you must show off all your charm, your wit, your humor, and your devastatingly handsome looks. This should be easy if your name is Draco Malfoy, but since it’s not (you are currently listening with rapt attention to the one and only Draco Malfoy) I have created this helpful guide. Once you impress the Mudblood, you will be well on your way to winning her heart.
The Mudblood in question here is not one who is easily amused. She actually has an intelligent mind, unlike most of these dim-witted girls at Hogwarts, and she will not laugh and giggle and shriek at every little thing you do. Hey, that just makes it a challenge, right? I, Draco Malfoy, can win any girl’s heart.
Now, without further ado, I shall begin with the first way to impress a Mudblood, which is to help her in a typically difficult Potions lesson. By doing this you will show that you are not, after all, an arrogant, conceited prat who only cares for himself, but a kind, helpful friend.
The most important thing to keep in mind here is that you must insist on assisting her, regardless of if she happens to be the brightest witch of her age, or if she can brew the potion with her eyes closed and one hand behind her back, or if she’s much smarter than you. It doesn’t matter. Trust me.
…
Professor Snape swept into the Potions dungeon and torture chamber—er, classroom—in his usual irritable manner. His black robes billowed behind him like a bat's wings, his lank unwashed hair hung around his face, and his cold black eyes stared at us in his usual sneering fashion.
(Were you under the impression that I, Draco Malfoy, was fond of the head of the Slytherin house? Well, you were wrong. I detest that man…mostly because of his embarrassingly greasy hair.)
Conveniently enough for me, the Potions Master snapped, “Rearrange your seats at once! No, you fools! You must sit next to someone of a different house. Don’t groan at me like that, you morons, this is the Headmaster’s idea of house unity!” He was in such a temper that all of us jumped up like scared rabbits and scampered around in search of a new seat.
Taking advantage of this glorious opportunity the heavens have bestowed on me, I immediately gathered up my things and dumped them unceremoniously into the vacant seat next to Granger, who turned her head a fraction of an inch. She glared at me. I smirked at her. Inside I noted how gorgeous she is when she’s angry, especially when the anger is directed at me. Sigh.
“Can’t you dunderheads read?” Snape snapped at us once the class settled and looked up at him expectantly.
Pansy Parkinson, the most annoying girl I have ever met in my life (and one of those aforementioned dim-wits), raised her hand and piped up, “Professor, there’s nothing written on the board.” Idiot. That is all I have to say.
Fortunately for Pansy, Professor Snape does not yell at Slytherins because it is against his nature, so instead he furiously waved his wand at the blackboard. Writing appeared at once.
“Today you will be creating a simple (that is, simple if you’re not a dunderhead) draught of Befuddling Brew. Well, what are you waiting for? Get started!” Snape barked like a grouchy lieutenant. The class immediately started banging around with their cauldrons, hastily starting fires, and haphazardly chopping up ingredients. Snape instantly rounded on Harry Potter, abusing him in his usual manner. Normally I would lean back in my chair and enjoy the show, but today I was on a mission. Speaking of which…
Hermione lit a purple fire under her cauldron and then flipped through her potions book, muttering under her breath. I caught several words, including “arrogant prat,” “Slytherin git,” and “stupid ferret.”
You know she loves me.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye while pretending to get out my scales and designer dragon-hide gloves. She was still rifling through the textbook at an amazing speed. Her eyes darted back and forth, scanning the headings. Merlin, that girl can read fast. After a few more minutes of skimming through the book, however, she said in frustration, “I can’t find the instructions for the Befuddling Brew!” and threw up her hands dramatically.
I coughed quietly and discreetly, knowing she would notice me.
“What?” she snapped, turning towards me, as expected.
“Hermione dear, the instructions are clearly written on the board,” I said as sweetly as possible.
Her head whipped back to face the front of the room where, indeed, the instructions for the Befuddling Brew were written in the professor’s messy scrawl. She glared at me; I had no idea what for.
“What?” I said innocently.
“Never, ever call me Hermione dear again,” she said threateningly. Oh. So that was a problem. Not that adding fuel to the fire would do any good, but…
“Sure…sweetie pie.” I smirked at the incredulous look on her face.
“What’s gotten into you?” she said. I’m pretty sure she was bewildered and furious at the same time. Only an amazing girl like Hermione Granger can experience such a high range of emotions at once.
“Just kidding, Granger,” I said, still smirking away. It was time to swing into action. “So…about this Befuddling Brew. Would you like my assistance in creating this potion?”
She eyed me warily. “What are you playing at, Malfoy?”
“What d’you mean?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Why the hell are you being so nice?” she snapped irritably, getting straight to the point. That’s one of the things I love about her. She doesn’t waste time with useless banter and is very straightforward in what she says. Of course, that just sometimes makes her remarks more biting and caustic.
“Because I feel like it,” I said. She looked at me with very doubtful eyes.
She said, “My answer is no, I do not need your assistance in making this potion. Now can you please shut up and let me work in peace?” She turned back to her own cauldron and began tinkering with the ingredients.
Remember what I said before? You must insist on helping her, or else you won’t impress her at all. So here goes nothing.
“Psst,” I whisper annoyingly in Hermione’s direction. She whipped her head around to stare at me, her lovely curly brown hair flying and hitting me in the face. Mmm…it smelled like velvet tuberose. Ouch, a lock of it got me in the eye…my eye began to water.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Do you need help cutting your gnarlypod root? I found mine a bit difficult to cut, and I thought you may need some help,” I said, blinking and putting what was sure to be a winning smile onto my face.
“No, thanks,” said Hermione, thoroughly annoyed. “If I ever happen to require your assistance, I will inform you, okay? So stop interrupting me.” She turned back to her potion.
I snatched the gnarlypod root away from her and, using my silver knife, began to cut it into perfect little squares. “Granger, I insist. It is my pleasure to help a fellow student like you.”
“Give that back, Malfoy!” she said, reaching for the root even though I clearly had a sharp knife in the vicinity. She obviously didn’t care. “I can manage perfectly fine on my own!”
“Back off, woman! I’ve got a knife in my hand, I might—”
She gasped as my knife (accidentally!) sliced into her palm. Her hand began bleeding profusely. I dropped my knife in shock.
“Granger! I’m so sorry! Here—let me fix that,” I said in a rush, reaching for my wand. I tapped her hand and muttered, “Reparo!”
“You idiot!” she gasped, clearly in pain. “You can’t use Reparo on human skin!” Sure enough, the cut seemed to worsen and blood dripped onto my designer robes.
I didn’t mind, of course. I love her. Hang on…these robes are pure silk! They were bloody expensive! I quickly siphoned the blood off while Hermione clutched her hand, slowly turning white from loss of blood.
Right on cue, Professor Snape swooped down on us. “What is the matter?” he sneered, ignoring Hermione’s injury.
“I accidentally cut her hand with my knife, sir,” I said hurriedly, smoothing down my impeccable silk robes and turning my attention to Hermione’s dire state. “Could you please fix it?”
“Foolish girl,” said Snape, fixing her cut with a wave of his wand. “Ten points from—”
“Please, sir, it was completely my fault. Take points from Slytherin, if you must.” That, my friend, took a lot of nerve. I usually live to take points away from Gryffindor. This was practically social suicide.
My good friend, Blaise Zabini, heard me (so did half the class, since we had created quite a commotion by now) and said, “What the hell has gotten into you, Malfoy? Are you mad?”
Pansy, being the idiotic wench she is, screamed, “It’s the Mudblood! She’s poisoned Draco with a love potion!”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock, but before she could furiously retort I came to her defense like the gallant man I am.
“No she did not! She’s innocent! Look at her, she’s the victim here! She almost bled to death! Listen to me, Professor!” I pleaded. No, wait. Malfoys do not grovel. I was not begging, I was arguing and debating in a mature manner.
“Silence!” Snape bellowed. “Stop this nonsense at once and get back to work! Miss Granger, do refrain from eliciting help from Mr. Malfoy. You are distracting him, and he hasn’t even begun his own potion yet.” With a final glare he strode away to bully Potter once more.
Hermione was so indignant I thought she’d explode. After a few minutes or so, however, she calmed down and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Finish cutting up the root for me, Malfoy.”
“So you’re willing to accept my help now?” I said coyly. My plan was working!
“No,” she said snappishly. “It’s just that my hand really hurts now, thanks to you, and I can’t hold my knife properly.”
I shut up and proceeded to chop up the rest of her ingredients before she could protest. At the end of the lesson, Hermione’s potion was the precise shade of pink the book described.
As for me? Well, my cauldron was still empty. But it was worth it, because I was now in the good books of Hermione Granger.
Before the bell rang, Professor Snape barked, “A three-foot long essay on the effects of the Befuddling Brew will be due tomorrow.” The class would have groaned and protested, I knew, if Snape hadn’t given us all the evil eye.
I turned to Hermione. “Do you need help writing your essay, Granger?”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Honestly, Malfoy. Thanks for helping me today, albeit after stabbing me, but I promise I will never ask for help again. Please shut up and leave me alone.”
Ah, can’t you just hear the love in her voice…. I grinned at her and then left the room, only to wait for her by the door.
That brings us to the second way to impress a Mudblood.