The Purist / DRAMIONE (COMPLETE)

Letters and Loathing

Hermione obediently moved to next to Pansy, and refrained from looking at the girl's pug-like face, where Pansy's eyes were watching her. Malfoy sat on Hermione's other side; as she watched, his arm moved from covering his work (probably from Pansy), to revealing it completely. From the way she felt Pansy tense beside her, Hermione knew Pansy was trying to lean over her to see his writing, and felt immense dislike. She jerked her elbow angrily, and to her surprise, hit Pansy's inkpot: it spread across both their work. Hermione picked up her wand, hastily muttered "Scourgify," and continued to write. Now she could sense two sets of eyes on her; Draco's with curiosity, and Pansy's with loathing (her spell hadn't cleaned her partner's blotted page, and she would bet that Pansy hadn't heard what the spell was.)

Halfway through the lesson, Hermione was diminutively nudged by Draco.

"What?" She hissed.

"Karkaroff," came the reply.

He was right: Karkaroff was speaking to Snape like an extremely poor ventriloquist, trying hard not to be heard. She was nudged again.

"He's a Death Eater," Draco whispered. "My father's had him round for dinner several times. But he betrayed them; was freed from Azkaban because he told them names." He was now speaking so quietly, Hermione almost couldn't hear him. Pansy had stopped chatting to Daphne. Draco waited until Pansy had turned back to Daphne, gossiping about Blaise Zabini, before speaking again. "He got Augustus Rookwood caught, and Rookwood was invaluable because of his contacts in the ministry; he was an Unspeakable, in the Department of Mysteries, you know." Hermione was amazed at how much he knew; she supposed he was allowed to sit up at these dinners.

Draco seemed to read her mind. "I wasn't, no. Father still won't let me now. Says I'm too young. It's usually just Cornelius Fudge, and occasionally Griselda Marchbanks; she's head of Wizarding Examinations Authority. But he doesn't put Imperturbable Charms on the door; I can listen in. 'Course, none of it is useful information. It's just treaties and laws, and various breaches in different parts of the country, and strategic talks with the Chinese Minister for Magic." He sounded downcast, and for once, Hermione suspected that life as the son of Lucius Malfoy may not be the cup of tea they all assumed. "But it's risky. If Mother catches me, she tells me to go to my room without supper, but Father, he's far worse. If he finds me, it's a clip round the ear, solitary confinement for a few days, and then he tells the guest there at the time how dim I am."

"That's horrible!" Hermione whispered back, shocked.

Draco shrugged. "I've known worse." And from the steely tone of his voice, she knew he had.

*

One morning, Draco was sitting with his fellow Slytherins in the Great Hall, when Hermione suddenly stood up, cradling her hands, and ran from the hall. She hadn't cut herself, had she? Would she really be that careless? Pansy sniggered and breathed in his ear,

"I bet Potter's split up with her, because she's so ugly!" She cackled. "Oh, I love seeing the Mudblood all depressed."

Malfoy bit back a retort. None of his classmates knew he spent time in the library, talking to her, occasionally helping her (not often; Draco only beat her in Potions, and several times in Defence Against the Dark Arts, though Moody detested him for his father), and that wouldn't change now.

"She's been quite dismal, lately," he informed her. "Probably worried for Potty, and his ickle Triwizard Tournament."

Pansy laughed girlishly and snuggled up to him. He'd given up stopping her flirting and leaning against him; she seemed to think he was a lovable bunny. Any more cuddling, and he'd become a bear.

*

Hermione ran to the Hospital Wing, ignoring the curious looks that came her way as the entire castle made for the Great Hall, eager for breakfast. Madam Pomfrey was tending to a tall, rather skinny boy with blonde hair who, it seemed, had a headache. He glared at Hermione as she came in, and she checked his tie, believing that he may be a Hufflepuff. She was right.

"Well, off you go Zacharias," Madam Pomfrey told the boy. "Drink lots, and get plenty of sleep. Come to me if it's still there after lessons. I have a remedy here."

"Why can't I have some now?" Wheedled the boy, Zacharias.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him disapprovingly. "My remedies are for reasons, Mr Smith. Many of my patients have more than insignificant headaches. Go to your next Quidditch match and crack your skull; you may receive certain medication. Until then, you look in perfect stature to me."

The boy slouched out ungratefully, not bothering to thank her.

"Boys," the woman tutted. "Come here, dear." Hermione approached gingerly and the witch inspected the sores. "Undiluted Bubotuber pus? I wouldn't have thought Pomona would allow you to soak your hands in it willingly, in Herbology. Unless it was a prank, was it? Nasty prank, if it was."

Hermione shook her head. "Not a prank, no, and not Herbology either." She told Madam Pomfrey about Rita Skeeter's article, and the hate mail, talking more freely than usual, although she wasn't that familiar with the nurse.

"Evil woman, that Rita Skeeter!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed savagely, going over to a cupboard full of various bottles and searching for something. "A rotten egg, if you ask me. I remember her here at Hogwarts – a gossip if I ever saw one; she could rival Bertha Jorkins, if they ever find her," she added. "The two were at Hogwarts together for a bit, and between them... poking their noses into other people's business!" She pulled out a roll of bandages.

"Shouldn't people be worried?" Hermione asked cautiously, as the woman cut off a section and began winding it round her right hand.

"Worried?" Madam Pomfrey was incredulous. "They should've started looking for her months ago! Whatever that fool Ludovic Bagman says. They all know how gormless she is, and no-one's arranged a search party? It's ridiculous. What that minister is doing, God only knows!"

So Cornelius Fudge wasn't a favourite anywhere. Surely the minister would have his supporters? His wife, perhaps. Madam Pomfrey cut off another strip and tied it around the other hand.

"There you go, dear," Madam Pomfrey said fondly. "You do seem to be in here quite a bit this year, don't you? Harry isn't much of a talkative person, but he's always here, it seems. Rest those hands, Miss Granger, and get Harry to carry all those heavy books for you."

Hermione thanked her, and hurried down to Care of Magical Creatures, though because of continually dropping her books (bandages did not stop sores), she arrived halfway through; she never missed lessons, and having missed Herbology already, and with their workload building up, Hermione knew she would be working hard over the Easter holidays approaching.