The Filth in Purity

The Filth in Purity

Chapter 1: The Message

Draco Malfoy felt as if his whole body would collapse before he ever got to his room. The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team no doubt felt the same way. The game against Ravenclaw was brutal; they had won of course, but the Ravenclaws made them pay for every inch, not to mention the wind and the rain took its own toll on everyone as well. Wet and tired, all the Slytherins wanted to do was to fall sleep, dream about their victory, and not wake up for a hundred years.

As they entered the common room, the voice of Orlando Baragon, the Slytherin who had taken the place of team captain when the former had graduated, called out, "Before we all go collapse in our beds, I want to talk over a few things. I made some changes to the game plan, and I want go over it so we can start practicing tomorrow and be ready for our game with Gryffindor in two months."

"You're starting to sound like Oliver Wood, Baragon," Melificent Killington, the Slytherin Chaser groaned.

Everyone reluctantly stopped in their pathways towards their rooms and sat down in the common room couches and chairs. At least it involved sitting.

"Baragon, I'll be right back, I need to get something from my room," Draco said. It was a lie of sorts, he was going to get his bed and sleep in it.

"All right," Orlando replied, knowing exactly what Draco had in mind. "Well, your job doesn't change much, but you do need to do some more Snitch-catching drills. Cho almost got the better of you back there." Baragon's tone of voice was pleasant, but his dark eyes were serious, almost threatening. Threatening Draco's very right to be the Slytherin Seeker.

Draco shot the Slytherin captain an angry 'are you doubting my skills?' look. Orlando didn't even flinch. Malfoy sighed and gave up, then proceeded to trudge down the stairway to the boys' wing of Slytherin House.

Draco...

Draco stopped when he reached the last stair. Had someone just called his name? He looked down the hallway; no one was there. He looked down the stairs behind him. No one. He huffed indignantly and took the last step off the stairway and continued down the hall towards his room.

Splosh!

Malfoy looked down and found he had stepped in a puddle of some form of opaque, dark liquid in front of his door. He felt his rage begin to build at the thought that this might be some kind of sick joke, and the rage grew all the more when he saw his wand sitting in the middle of the puddle. He had left his wand locked in his trunk when he went to the Quidditch game. One did not generally take their wand along to a game in which they participated, or even a practice for that matter. For not only was it against the rules, but most importantly it might get damaged from the beating one gained in the brutal game of Quidditch.

Draco kneeled down and picked up the wand, thinking mean, evil thoughts of ways to hurt and/or curse the person responsible for this. The fluid came off the wand and onto his finger tips, which was the only skin exposed below his head when he wore his Quidditch uniform. The fluid was thick, sticky and red. It was blood.

Draco nearly dropped his wand when the realization hit him. He stood up with a start and looked at the door to his room, from where the puddle seemed to originate. It was then he noticed that the doorknob too was coated in a thick layer of the fluid, now recognized as blood, continuously dripping and fuelling the puddle below.

Malfoy thought about running down and alerting the others in the common room, but decided he would rather take his chances with whatever was inside his room than give Orlando the satisfaction of seeing him frightened. Draco raised his wand, took a deep breath, turned the doorknob and opened the door.

The discussion of Slytherin game tactics was brought to an abrupt end when a blood-curdling scream erupted from the boys' tower...

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Harry Potter was standing in front of Ron Weasley in the stands; he had been waiting to exit ever since the game let out. It took quite a while to get everyone down those narrow steps to ground level. Suddenly, a sharp pain stung Harry's forehead so horribly that it sent shivers down his body. His scar had awakened again...

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The members of the Slytherin team dashed down the stairway after hearing the scream. They found Draco sitting against the wall across from his dormitory door, his head bent forward slightly, his eyes staring down at the floor.

"D-Draco?" Orlando slowly stepped closer.

Draco twitched slightly and slowly raised his head and turned to look at them. There was something so cold and blank behind his expression. It was then that he raised his left arm as though to reach out for help and everyone gasped in terror. The sleeve and glove of Draco's Quidditch uniform had been completely ripped off and revealed a long sentence cut into the bare flesh of Draco's arm.

It bled:

"Death to all who think themselves pure. For they are the wizard's filth!"