Forbidden Love - Dramione (ON HOLD)

Chapter 18

(A/N) Hai!! Tysm for 2.6k reads!! Ilysm!! ❤️❤️ Idk why I'm using so many abbreviations. Enjoy the story. I know I haven't updated in for-frickin-ever, but with the hiatus and some personal problems, I haven't really got around to writing. I did (and completed) the NaNoWriMo 2019, which is this thing where you write 50k words in a month, (haha u thought lil ol me couldn't even write over 5k but naw bish) and I think it really improved my writing, so hopefully you'll see some better stuff here. (I'm not saying good, better) I squeezed past 50k with a 109 pager, but it hasn't been edited and I think it sucks, so I'm not posting it. (in case you were wondering) I'll try to write as much as I can on Wattpad now though, but I can't promise super frequent updates, or even a normal schedule, but hey, I'm writing. I'm trying to get chapters out to y'all as soon as possible, so plz don't leave meeee. Also, I'm loosely basing this chappie off a popular fan theory, and my creative license is in full swing, and I watched the movie because I didn't want to go to the library and hunt down the book, just to put that out there so y'all don't scream and bite my head off for not being canon.

Loves,
~ Iresine

Draco

     "Are you done yet?" My father hissed without moving his mouth or disturbing his holier-than-thou facade. I always wondered how he managed.

     "No, Father. I have, like, three books left." I mumbled, shutting the book that I was looking at. Can't I just have some time to fricking read? We're in a bookshop, for Merlin's sake, and Flourish and Blott's too, the best one in Diagon Alley. But nooOOOoo, Father wouldn't waste a second more than necessary for getting my 2nd-year books. I set the book down on a small nearby table behind a bookshelf to hide it from my father's piercing gaze. He shot me a look, but couldn't be bothered to move from his spot near the bottom of the stairs. That was about the only good thing about having a pureblood father, that he always worries about his reputation so he doesn't actually care about your life.

     I shoved my hand into the pocket of my new robe ("A new year, a new robe!" as Mother would always say) and took out the piece of parchment that had the list of books that we Second-years had to buy. I actually hadn't gotten any books at all, but luckily, my knack of book finding could get them in under four minutes. By Gilderoy Lockhart, by Gilderoy Lockhart, by Gilderoy Lockhart... isn't that the guy downstairs? The one with the golden hair (that looked suspiciously like a wig) and the super white teeth who was signing autographs and showing off? (the man, not the teeth) I wonder what type of toothpaste he used to maintain that blindingly bright white. The clicking of cameras and screeching of starstruck girls was almost deafening, but I had perfected the art of tuning it out from the many years of Father giving me lectures on how to behave at a party. With one last glance at the list, I started scanning the shelves for the necessary books.

     Check title, take book out, stack 'em up, rinse and repeat, and soon I had a fairly large pile of books in my arms, about 95% of which were written by the man with the blinding smile. I staggered to the table and put them down. Phew! All done. I stretched and shook out my arms to ease the soreness that always came with carrying heavy books. Then I picked up the book I had been reading earlier.

     On Mysterious - And Dangerous - Beasts

     What an ominous title, eh? You might be wondering why I'm reading such a shady sounding book. Well, it has something to do with the little journal that my father was carrying. 

     I became suspicious because he brought it along all of a sudden, and I know my father didn't like to read, not to say write in a journal. So I had the right to think something was off.

     The journal looked normal as can be, but Father was holding it with two gloved fingers as far away from him as possible without looking like he was holding it far away. His eyes darted to it every once in a while as well, as if he was scared of what it could do. And every time there was a sudden loud noise, he would startle and look at the journal. Obviously, this journal was not normal as can be.