The Filth in Purity

The Filth in Purity

Chapter 2: Hospitalised

Hermione rolled over in the hospital bed. Her arm pulsed continuously with pain as the bones slowly re-grew. It had been an accident really; Neville Longbottom was practising spells in the Gryffindor common room. He not only mispronounced the spell, but his wand went on the fritz. The spell bounced off a mirror, streaked passed Neville and hit Hermione in the arm as she was passing by.

Harry had been right about one thing: when former Professor Gilderoy Lockhart had attempted to mend Harry's arm that had been broken by a run-away Bludger but removed the bones instead, the worst part of the whole ordeal was drinking the 'Skele-Gro' potion. The potion had tasted like vomit and it left a terrible aftertaste in her mouth that was still lingering after an hour.

Hermione was interrupted from her thoughts when the door to the hospital wing burst open and the whole of the Slytherin Quidditch team came in carrying an unconscious Draco Malfoy, Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape following them. Hermione watched as they carefully laid Draco down on one of the hospital beds across the room from hers.

"Good gracious," Madame Pomfrey gasped, when she finally got a good look at Draco's arm. Now, Madame Pomfrey had seen a great deal of dreadful wounds over her years at Hogwarts, the sight of blood and horrible injuries no longer had any shock value over her. No, it was the message carved into Draco's skin that caught her off guard.

"Never, in all my years here, have I ever seen such crude and horrible words cut in to someone's flesh. Honestly, what is the world coming to?" Pomfrey huffed, as she walked off to get medical materials to patch up Draco.

"What happened?" Snape turned on the Slytherins.

"We don't really know, sir." Orlando Baragon, the team captain, stepped forward to speak. "The crew said they heard it from to boys' wing, so we ran down and found Draco."

"Didn't you hear it, Baragon?" Snape looked at Orlando darkly.

"No, I was in the common room lavatory when it happened. I was ill to my stomach," Orlando replied, almost embarrassed.

"Yeah, you looked like you were turning green." Melificent chuckled.

"Shut up, I did not!" Orlando snapped.

"There was no one else there?" Snape's harsh voice interrupted the two.

"No sir, everyone was just coming back from the game when we called you. That's the strangest thing," Anna Ominous spoke up. Her mind-reading powers and speed made her an excellent choice to be the Slytherin Keeper, though she tended not to use her powers outside of the game or classroom or when someone paid her to read someone else's mind. "Only another Slytherin could get in, but why would they attack us, their own House team? And who would have the guts to attack Draco?"

"All right, I have heard enough," Snape interrupted. "The wizard or witch who did this was quite powerful to get into Slytherin House without anyone knowing and obviously dislikes purebloods. Ominous, you ask why they attacked Draco, well who better to attack than the son of the house of Malfoy?"

The Slytherins fell into a stunned, but understanding silence. Without another word Snape exited the hospital wing briskly, passing Madame Pomfrey on his way out.

"All right, all right everyone out. You need to go and change out of those damp uniforms before you catch a cold." Madame Pomfrey ushered the Slytherin team towards the door. "Oh, just a minute Mr. Baragon, I have something for you."

Pomfrey handed Orlando a small bottle that was filled with some kind of thick liquid. "I heard you say you felt ill to the stomach, so take a tablespoon of this every 4-6 hours if needed, but no than eight doses. If you still feel sick after that, come see me."

"I will do so, thank you Madame Pomfrey." Orlando nodded and began to head towards the door.

"Um, excuse me," Hermione asked as Orlando passed by. "Why does Snape think the person who attacked Draco hates purebloods?"

"Heh. Because the message cut into Draco's arm says, 'Death to all who think themselves pure. For they are the wizard's filth.'"

"Oh," Hermione whispered.

"No one can say he didn't have it coming to him. Maybe it will teach him a lesson; in fact I hope it does, because if he wants to become anything in this world he's got to get over his prejudice against, if you'll pardon me, Mudbloods." Orlando sighed.

Hermione bristled slightly at the crude term, but was curious at what this Slytherin had to say. "Why do you care whether or not he makes it anywhere in this world?"

"Because I hate seeing potential wasted," Orlando answered, matter-of-factly.

"Hmm."

"Now, I know what you are thinking and I agree Draco is an overstuffed jerk and a bully, but only to those who are not on his side. Take you, for example. Harry Potter rejected him, and you are friends with Harry, and you're Muggleborn, which makes him dislike you all the more. And that's why he picks on you in particular. But if you are on his side or he's indifferent to you, he's really not so bad."

"How does he treat you?" Hermione asked with genuine curiosity.

"We get along pretty good; we're on the same Quidditch team, though since I am team captain he has to answer to me and I don't think he likes that very much. However, he doesn't do anything about it for two reasons. One, he wants to win, and he knows the team can't do if he constantly questioning me. Two, and most importantly, I am also from a rich and influential family that his father has business with. So he can't do anything. I think he hates that most of all." Orlando spoke plainly.

Hermione nodded. "What family are you from?"

"Don't you know? I thought everybody did, then again I'm not the 'Boy-Who-Lived.' However, I am the 'boy-who-is-destined-to-inherit-the-biggest-broommaking-company-in-the-entire-wizarding-world.'"

"What?"

"Did you ever stop to consider who makes the Nimbuses and Firebolts?" Orlando chuckled.

"Baragon Brooms, isn't it? At least, that's what it said on Harry's broom anyway."

"Well, my name is Orlando Baragon. I'll leave you to put two and two together." Orlando smiled, turned on his heel and exited the hospital wing.

"Fancy that," Hermione whispered to herself when the realisation hit her.

Hermione looked over across the room to where Madame Pomfrey had finished cleaning and bandaging up Draco's arm. On impulse, Hermione got out of bed and walked quietly over to them.

"Hermione! What are you doing out of bed? Your arm is nowhere near fully healed yet and your body needs all the rest it can get to heal itself," Madame Pomfrey scolded quietly, as to not wake Draco unnecessarily.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see how he was doing," Hermione whispered back, looking from Madame Pomfrey to Draco.

It was the first time this year she had gotten good look at him without the predisposed disgust she always felt whenever he was in sight. It was strange, looking at him lying there unconscious; one would never believe he was the arrogant, sadistic bully she knew him as.

She had to admit that in judging him on pure looks alone he was pretty handsome. Apparently over the summer he had lost some of his facial 'baby fat', which now gave his face a more chiselled look. The new face kept him from looking feminine with his shoulder-length hair that was now tied in a ponytail. Yes, he was very good looking; just by his looks you would have thought he was some kind of angel. Too bad he had the heart of a devil.

It was then the final touch that made his beauty complete revealed itself. Draco slowly opened his eyes: eyes that looked like the sea after a storm. However, the shine was dim, almost foggy, as Draco's eyelids stayed at half-mast.

Hermione took the opportunity to step out of his line of sight before his eyes focused.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey addressed her patient.

Suddenly, Draco shot up into a sitting position as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. "What? Where? Ah!"

Malfoy clenched his teeth as pain shot through his arm. After a while the pain subsided and Draco looked up at Madame Pomfrey. "What happened?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Don't you remember anything?"

Draco paused, and narrowed his eyes, though he seemed to not truly focus on anything at all. "There was someone in my room when I opened the door; it was like a silhouette. Then it rushed me, everything blurred, and I was up against the wall; I couldn't see anything except a haze. Then..."

Malfoy paused again and looked down at his arm. "And then... It whispered in my ear... 'Death to all those who think themselves pure for they are the wizard's filth'... and then there was the pain." He stared at his arm as if waiting for the words to bleed through the bandages. Fortunately, they did not.

A look of rage came across Draco's face. He jumped up from the hospital bed. "If I ever find out who did this I'll..." Draco staggered forward slightly. Fortunately Pomfrey was there to prevent him from falling completely and helped him sit back on the bed.

"You must not exert yourself like that, you've lost a lot of blood. There's barely enough to get through to your heart and brain much less to the rest of your body," Madame Pomfrey scolded him. "Now, you lie down and rest while I'll go and write a letter to your parents."

"What's the point? They won't come. My father is in Azkaban and my mum is too ill to travel anywhere. So write away, no one will come. No one," Draco said sternly, though the last part sounded strained, as though he had a lump in his throat that impeded the words from coming out.

"Well, in any case," Madame Pomfrey's voice softened a bit, "you should change out of your Quidditch uniform; it's still plenty damp from the game this afternoon. You don't want to catch a cold on top of all this."

Just then, Crabbe and Goyle ran in. Crabbe was carrying some more of Draco's robes.

"Draco, are you dead?!"

"Is it true?"

"Are you okay?"

"Can we see the wounds?"

"No, you may not." Madame Pomfrey answered the last question while snatching the clothes from Crabbe. "Mr. Malfoy needs his rest, so off with you!"

"Don't worry Malfoy, we'll find the buggers who did this!" Goyle shouted as he began to depart.

"Yeah, and when we do, we'll pound them into smithereens!" Crabbe finished.

"Well, when you do, leave a piece for me, okay?" Draco smirked, though it lacked its usual feral lustre.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded, and then exited the hospital wing.

With that, Madame Pomfrey handed Draco his change of clothes and pulled out the drapes that each bed had to shield it from view if need be.

Too bad, Hermione thought for an instant. She had been watching the whole scene from afar since Draco had regained consciousness. As much she thought Draco deserved what he got, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity when he spoke of his parents not coming. She knew that had something like that happened to her, her parents, Muggles or not, would come rushing to her side as soon as they heard.

Hermione walked back to her bed, carefully laid down and tried to fall asleep, which was kind of hard to do when your arm was currently trying to grow all of its bones back....

A few hours later, Hermione opened her eyes to find Draco above her. She felt a shudder of terror rush through her body, as all the horrible possibilities of what he might do rushed through her head. But that terror melted away when she saw the pain and sorrow in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Please help me," he whispered and then from his sorrow-filled eyes poured tears of blood....