Purity and Poison

Chapter One

Hermione was tangled in a closet, and she wasn't happy. It wasn't the smell of pine cleaner, the soft glow from the Christmas lights tangled around her shoes, or the locked door behind her back. It was the insufferable blonde git kneeling on the floor, yanking odds and ends from boxes. She'd entered the closet to aid the pounding, disembodied cries for help, only to find her wand sucked from her hand by an old charm, and the door locked and magic-proofed behind her. A dusty broom-head clattered against Hermione's foot.

"Is this really necessary, Malfoy?" Her shoe caught on the light string, and she steadied herself with a hand against the door.

"I found the lights, didn't I?" His voice was drawling and bored as he continued to rifle through the items. "At least we can see, now."

Hermione shuddered. She didn't understand how he could bare to shove his hand into a dark and soggy box.

"Who knows what mold, magical or not, is sprouting on the inside of that thing?" Hermione said, grimacing. "Filch may keep a clean castle, but his private closets are a disaster." The trap was obviously meant to catch intruders. Hermione couldn't imagine where the Christmas lights came from, though.

"He kept a clean castle," Malfoy corrected, standing and dusting his hands off. A pang of awkward, uninvited guilt zipped through Hermione's chest. The caretaker had died in the final battle the year before. No one remembered which side he fought for.

"That's what I meant," Hermione said. Malfoy's silver eyes gleamed in the dim, red and green tinted light. Suddenly, he lurched, his shoulder thudding against the wall on his side. "Malfoy?" She furrowed her brows.

"Don't worry yourself, Granger," he gasped and pressed a fist to his forearm, wincing. "It doesn't become you." She would've snapped at him, but he sounded faint.

"What's wrong, Malfoy." She reached up and guided his chin over to face her. His skin was cold and damp. His pupils dilated, and his breath crawled over her hand in short, shallow puffs. This wasn't right. "Draco," she said, guarded.

His eyes looked right through her, "It hurts." Everything stilled. Then, he pitched forward, his head slammed against the shelf with a sharp crack. Hermione's hands were useless against his weight, and he thudded to the floor.

Hermione scrambled to the ground, her fingers searching Draco's neck for a pulse. Warm, slick liquid dripped over his skin. Blood.

"Draco," she skated her hand over his face, "Answer me." With a steadying breath, she murmured a spell of waking.

"Don't leave me," it was so soft that Hermione almost missed it.

"I won't. I promise." Hermione said. The door swung open, and bright light poured into the small space. McGonagall stood, arms crossed. Her stern expression faded as her gaze rested on Hermione's tear streaked face and Draco's bloodied forehead. The murky crimson had matted into the front of his hair and begun to dry on the side of his neck. A deep, black slime was soaking through the starched white sleeve covering his forearm.

"Emoveo!" The professor said, and the tar lifted from the fabric and vanished in midair. Draco's face untwisted, and his breathing deepened. McGonagall snapped her fingers and a house elf, dressed in a light blue overalls, popped into view. "Please fetch Madame Pomfrey. It is a matter of dire importance." The elf nodded and popped out of sight.

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"Does it hurt to turn your neck this way," Pomfrey held the pen to the right. Hermione started to acquiesce, before turning back to the older woman.

"Is he alright?"

Pomfrey sighed. "I already told you, Miss Granger, I will only answer your questions after you complete this exam." Her eyes softened at the desperate look on Hermione's face. "Your health is important too."