Forbidden (Dramione)

The problem

Draco

  It was a relief to get on the train to Hogwarts. Mother had been constantly worrying about Draco and he'd had enough. He was 16! "Let's find a compartment," Goyle muttered in his deep, stupid voice. Honestly, the only reason he hung out with them was because they did his dirty work. "This one Crabbe pointed out. "Aw no. It's got Pansy Parkinson. She cant accept that I don't like her." Draco spat in disgust. "But the only other place is with Longbottom and Potter," Goyle said. "Fine, but I don't sit near Pansy." Draco growled.

  It wasn't until an hour later that his arm started hurting. He grimaced noticably so that he could tempt them with hints of what happened. Pansy took the bait at once. "Draco, are you okay?" She asked leaning close. He leaned away slightly but spoke loudly. Someone was coming down the corridor, "Well you see, it's that I don't see why I need to go back to Hogwarts this year, I mean I might have bigger things to do." He saw Ron and Hermione watching through the door,  hate etched on their faces. "Of course," he continued, "Weaselking here can't hope for that much of a future. He obviously won't be in a proffetional Quidditch league." Ron grimaced and said "I have a better chance of working than you. Isn't you father a death-eater? Not many people want anyone in league with you know who for a job." Draco made a rude hand gesture and glanced out the window. "Let's go,  Hermione," Ron said confidently. Just before they left, Draco looked back. His eyes caught Hermione's and he quickly looked away again. He couldn't deny that compared to the overly-made up Pansy Parkinson in front of him, Hermione looked very attractive. Wait. 'No Draco...a mudblood? No.' He told himself over and over again. She was disgusting. The filthy know-it-all who always had to raise her hand and had bushy hair. Bushy hair that she'd obviously managed to tame into soft curls since Diagon Ally, lining that angelic face with the light chocolate brown eyes. He shook his head, bringing jimself back to life.

   Blaise Zabini, his fellow Slytherin, was still looking at the door. "What, Zabini," Draco sneered, trying to sound accusing,"In love with Granger?" Zabini shrugged, but Pansy Parkinson cackled and shrieked,"He even thinks the Weasley girl is attractive." Zabini glared at her. "What's it to you Pansy? Chasing after Malfoy at every chance you get. When are you going to learn he's not interested?" Pansy turned a very deep shade of pink, and didn't look at Malfoy. " He's got to like someone, don't you Draco?" She glared at him, waiting. He turned his face into a sneer. All his thoughts about Granger would leave once he met a prettier girl, with purer blood. "I'm to busy. Maybe in a few years I'll find someone attractive. " Draco smirked as Pansy turned even redder and turned away.

The Slytherin common room seemed to welcome them into its green depths. The fire did little to warm the common room but it was better that way. Kicking a scrawnt first year out of a squashy arm chair, Draco ran a hand through his blonde hair and relaxed. He sat that way until 12 o'clock. When the last seventh years ran laughing into their dormitories,  Draco pulled up his left sleeve, took out essence of murtlap, and stared gazing at the skull with a snake moving through its mouth. The skin was healing but still steamed around the edges. He cringed and poured the concoction over the mark. "Ahhh!" His silent scream of pain would only be heard by the giant squid, who had very keen hearing. Draco knew it wouldn't hurt while he slept, it would go away, but the current pain was going to last another 20 minutes. It was nothing compared to the original pain of getting the mark burned into his skin.

***Draco clenched the hand on his chair as his father pulled up his left sleeve and the dark lord was approaching him. Draco trembled as he pulled his wand and pointed it at the pale canvas if Draco's arm as if deciding what to paint. Suddenly, he yelled, "Ure Meumappono! Mordmordra." He repeated this twelve times, and with eat time Draco had felt like a knife was raking straight into his arm. He was screaming, screaming for it to stop, but his father just watched him...***The mark was now just a dull thud against his skin, so he decided to go to bed. He hoped the mark stayed painless, and that he'd be successful in the task he had been set.