Summary: Hermione's reflecting on the things she's learned by loving a pureblood. It's not always easy, but in the end, it's always worth her time.
Other: This is all from Hermione's perspective (I'm sure that's pretty obvious) except for point #5. You'll understand once you get there.
AN: Hello everyone, Colette here. It's been a long, l-o-n-g time since I've uploaded anything, so when this idea finally started to form, I got excited. It's a Dramione - my OTP! I can't wait to share it with you.
Ten Honest Thoughts on Being Loved by a Pureblood
Based on the Poem "Ten Honest Thoughts on Being Loved by a Skinny Boy" by Rachel Wiley
I say, "But I am mudblood"
He says "No, you are beautiful."
I wonder why I can't be both.
He kisses me
My middle school theater director once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We put on shows that involve flying children and singing animals,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to buy anyone loving a know-it-all.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his robe for motive,
for a punchline,
for a bet,
for other girls' love letters.
Dear Witch Weekly: Fuck you.
I will not take your sex tips
on how to please a man
that you do not think my blood will ever be worthy of.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if she notices the stares,
like she is handling a crazed, escaped murderer on a crowded sidewalk.
I wonder if she notices how my hands are chained together.
He tells me he loves me
with the lights on.
I can feel him flinch when I touch his left forearm,
hear his breathing get strained when he sees me staring,
see him avert his eyes when he catches a glimpse of mine.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is brave.
Sometimes I fear the day he does is the day he leaves.
The cute hipster girl at the Hog's Head
assumes we are just friends
and flirts across the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
replacing my face with hers
in all of our photographs;
writing her name instead of mine
paired with Draco's.
When I finally admit this
we spend the whole night taking new pictures,
and burning up those pieces of parchment.
He will not let me delete or rewrite a single one.
The phrase, "Mudbloods need love too," can go die in a fiendfyre.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not some fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a novelty.
I say, "But I am a mudblood."
He says, "No. You are so much more,"
and kisses me