The openness of the insult stung, and Hermione stopped short. She hadn’t been called that since her second year, when she had been twelve years old, ignorant and surprised at the vitriol of everyone’s reactions. The terribleness of the slur was still foreign to her, new enough that she didn’t mind hearing it from her own mouth. Calling  herself  a mudblood was one thing. Now, it was wielded against her like a cudgel from a student she didn’t even know. 