I'm not Allowed to Love You

The Run-in (Draco's Perspective)

Mother and I decided to go to Diagon Alley today, something I had been trying to hold off, in hopes of not seeing.... At first, I had believed we were in the wrong Alley, for it looked much more like Knockturn Alley than usual. Windows which had twinkled with color and light were dark, or in the more extremes, broken. Almost every shop was closed down, including my favorite Quidditch shop. I don't really like Quidditch, but I do like the people who play. But what can I say, Slytherin is the dramatic house, the house of actors and actresses. Being up in the air, acting like I hate the other team, with the crowd roaring below.... Well frankly, he hardly takes his eyes off me. But I mustn't let anybody know.
Mother would not let us split up, although it would be much faster if we separated. And maybe I needed a few minutes alone, to process. Without thinking, I reached for my arm and rubbed it through the long shirt I was wearing. It still felt raw, and the uncomfortable feeling of the snake moving inside had not fully gone away.
"Leave it alone!" Mother whispered anxiously. "You might call him!"
I suppressed a shudder at the thought.The Dark Lord, here, where young children were. I stopped touching my arm immediately. We went into Madam Malkin's robe shop swiftly, after getting glares from many who must have paid attention to the arrests. I pulled a handsome green robe out, the lightest shades of which brought the memories etched in my brain. We had met for the first time here. He had been so confused, and I had been quite unlike myself. Sadly, most people only know me as someone unlike myself.
Before I knew what had happened, I was being fitted for the robes. I again brought up the idea of splitting up, mostly to try to wash away the melancholy memory, and to ease Mother's nerves, as I knew she wanted to leave quickly.
"I am not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone," I pointed out reasonably as the door opened and closed.
Madam Malkin clucked her tongue and said, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own any more, it's nothing to do with being a child-"
She began to hem the left sleeve, and the nerves in my arm gave a jolt as the spike of pain registered with my brain. I pulled away, on instinct, and yelled, "Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!"
I instantly felt bad and whispered an apology. She waved it away kindly, and allowed me to go look at the robes in the mirror. I did so, and as I used my eyes to search the lightest parts of the robes for that one hue, I realized it was staring me in the face.
The eyes.
I was vaguely aware of my eyes narrowing, and I said something about the Mudblood. I know I shouldn't have. But it was how I was brought up. It was beaten into me.
The eyes.
Madam Malkin said something, most likely about my bad language.
The eyes.
Those green, green eyes were glaring. Two wands were pointed. People were talking, I think. Everything was blurred in my vision, with the exception of the two things that have been haunting me for years. The hate those eyes had. The fury. I knew I hated him too. Down to the bone, hate. That was the reason for my stomach doing somersaults, that was the reason for my heart quickening and my throat drying. Hate. I hate Harry Potter. Completely. Except for his eyes. And his smile. But other than that, and his bravery, and his comebacks, Quidditch skills, the hair that never seemed to like any style other than messy. But those aside, I hate him. Completely. I must have come back into the present when I heard Har- Potter say something about a double cell with a loser of a husband. I knew this hurt my mom, she is rather fragile this way. I do not love my father, but I feel my mother is someone I need to protect while he is away.
"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" I snarled, as I attempted to rush towards him, but ended up stumbling on my robes. Laughing echoed in the small room and my face went pink, my ears turning hot. I hope Potter didn't see it. But when I looked up, the eyes looked slightly confused, his head tilted as if trying to remember something. His wand had lowered, ever so slightly.
Mother put her hand on my shoulder to steady me. I wished she wouldn't. The eyes had reminded me of one thing that I had forgotten. Make him hurt. Make the Boy Who Lived hurt. I couldn't do that. Simply couldn't, with the millisecond of, (what was it?), pity? I've never seen that in his eyes when looking at me before. But being reminded of my father's order also reminded me about another order. One even worse than hurting the Boy Who Lived. Madam Malkin began to try and hem the left sleeve again, and I yelled at her. It wasn't on purpose. I pulled the robes off and threw them on the floor, needing to get out of this stuffy shop, with the eyes, with the mission. Mother and I walked out, and I accidentally ran into Weasley through the blinding and unknown path that seemed to stretch ahead of me, with no ending in sight.
I did, however, have a plan.
Slipping away from Mother in the bookshop was easy, what with the bookcases forming something similar to a maze. I hurried to Knockturn Alley, which, I might add, creeped me out. As I passed the only colorful shop in sight, I saw it was Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, with happy faces inside, the only happy faces on the block. An urge to go in there and have fun as well was suppressed. Narrowly.
I looked around quickly before heading into the darker side of London's  wizarding shopping center. It was empty, almost completely. This made sense of course, no one wanted to be seen buying dark objects at a time like this. I paused in front of the shop. You are intimidating him, you are getting his help, you are threatening him, if necessary. You are an actor. This is your stage. The curtain is rising.
The bell above Borgin and Burkes tinkled a tuneless song as I pushed open the door purposefully. I strut over to the stooped man with oily hair that I had always disliked. He seemed surprised to see me.
"Mister Malfoy, to what is it that I owe you this pleasure?" Borgin asked, as if scared that I had come to attack him.
"There is a Vanishing cabinet at Hogwarts, Borgin, that is broken. The one that matches it is in this very room. I need you to tell me how to fix the one at Hogwarts," After every sentence, I needed to remind myself to breathe. I did not like doing this.
"Well if it is broken, then how do you know of its pair?" Borgin asked, seeming to wonder where this may have been going.
"Nevermind that. Now, do you know how to fix it?" I say with an air of secrecy.
Borgin thought for a minute, and said, rather uncommitting, "Possibly. I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"
I pondered this, and answered with, "I can't. It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."
Borgin paused and licked his lips, which is what he always did when he was nervous.
"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything," He looked so scared at that moment, that I almost broke character. But I couldn't. I needed to double down.
"No?" I say with a sneer, "Perhaps this will make you more confident."
I roll up my sleeve, and the tattoo is exposed, popping out from my pale skin. Poor Borgin looked terrified. I forced myself to say what I needed to say.
"Tell anyone, and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend, he'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."
"There will be no need for-" Borgin started desperately.
"I'll decide that. Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it," I say with a nod toward the cabinet behind me.
"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"
I didn't, of course. I never wanted to see it again. But that wouldn't be a good excuse, "No, of course not you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it," There, saved it.
"Of course not... sir," Borgin said with a bow.
But this could lead to trouble, I needed to tie the knot here, "Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"
"Naturally, naturally," Borgin murmured with another bow.
I stalked to the door, offstage. The bell rang, and I was off. The crowd cheered. I smelled something that seemed to be treacle tart, and smiled.