(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.

     It was a stylish journal, at least from the outside, with a black cover and some tiny gold lettering on the back that I couldn't read because I never got the chance to come close enough. Anyway, there was a tiny, intricate picture of a cool looking snake-like thing next to the lettering, which was big enough for me to see, so I decided to do some research on that. I flipped to the table of contents, skimmed the page until I spotted the page number for the reptile chapter, then flipped to the correct page. It was alphabetically organised, which I appreciated because I always liked neat things, but I didn't get to read past the first page (which was on Aldard's Hissing, Venom-Spitting, Shrinking, No-Legged Salamander, which seemed fascinating but not quite the thing I was looking for) when the front bell rang.

     Normally, this would have been an easy thing to miss in all the commotion downstairs, but there was something accompanying the bright ring of the bell that stuck in my brain.

     It was the laughter of Granger.

     I looked up from my book, eyes scanning the crowd until I spotted the unmistakable bushy head of the Brightest Witch of her Age. I bit my lip to stop myself from grinning and covered my face with the book to hide the blush. Not that she would notice, she's too busy with Pothead and the Weasel clan. I thought bitterly. I listened as the crowd suddenly exploded with shouts of "Harry Potter!" "Merlin, is that really him?" "It's the Chosen One!" How disgusting people can be. All he did was survive a curse, how is that so special? Then, my eyes found the title of the second page.

     Basilisks. 

   The picture in the corner looked exactly like the one on the cover of the journal, but more detailed and in a different position. Same design of scales, same head frill/fan/whatever-those-were-called, everything. I peeked over my book at the journal in my father's hand, then back at the picture in my book. Identical. I smiled. But at that moment, I heard Pothead and Company coming closer to the stairs. If they saw me reading a book without buying it, they'd never let it go.

     "Malfoy, what's the matter?" Potter smirked. "Reading a book without buying it, huh? I would have thought a person of your wealth would have the money, but I guess not. Daddy spend too much to not have any to buy a simple book?" The Weasels laughed, but worst of all, Hermione joined in with them. The images flew through my head, vivid and painful. I just knew it was going to happen. And Father would never let me hear the end of it. 

     So I did the only thing I could to stop the disaster waiting to happen. Moving as fast as I could, I ripped out the page on Basilisks, then, feeling extremely guilty, I produced a few Galleons from my pocket and slipped them into the book. Then I slid the book on top of the nearest pile that I could find, shoved the ripped page into the pocket of my robe, then practically flew down the stairs to come face to face with The Chosen One.

     "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" I snarled in his face, spitting his name as if it were something foul. Okay, I had to make something on the spot. And besides, I could feel Father staring holes in the back of my head. If I did so much as say one nice thing to Potter, Father would absolutely rip my head off. "Famous Harry Potter. Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

     "Leave him alone." The Female Weasel said, her voice dangerously controlled. I blinked. This girl was tough. But not as tough as Father.

     "Alright, Potter." I chuckled without much emotion. Potter looked so over it that I couldn't really spit the words out. "You got yourself a girlfriend!"

     Then, I felt a sharp sting on my shoulder and looked over to see Father digging the sharp silver fangs of his snakehead-topped cane into my shoulder. "Now, now, Draco. Play nicely." He said, his tone smooth and cold as ice. I bit my lip, trying not to wince at the pain in my shoulder, and stepped aside.

     I watched as my Father interrogated Potter, but I couldn't really pay attention when she began shouldering her way through the crowd.

     Hermione. So perfect and otherworldly an angel that she almost glowed in the bookshop. She came closer, and closer, until she was right next to me. My heart began beating twice the normal speed, threatening to jump out of my chest. I wondered if she could hear it, it was so loud. She was even prettier than I remembered. Her hair had calmed down a bit over the summer, and she was taller and a bit slimmer. Her eyes were exactly the same though, deep milky chocolate pools that I could get lost in, staring at my father with extreme hate. I couldn't really blame her though, he really was a hateable person. She was wearing last year's robes (poor thing) and a blue shirt underneath. She wears blue a lot, actually. It was probably her favourite colour. Hey, my favourite colour is green! That's next to blue in the rainbow. They're basically the same colour. I sighed inwardly. How pathetic of me, trying to find nonexistent similarities between us.

     "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself." She said suddenly. I jumped, hopefully not too noticeably. Aw, her voice was so sweet, I could listen to her talk forever. I blinked. Hopefully, nobody was noticing me watch her like a creep. I plastered a disgusted expression on my face, just in case anyone was watching, but it was half-hearted. I mean, who could be disgusted by this? My father turned slowly to her, a look of mild surprise on his face.

     "And you must be...Miss Granger." He said, his eyes flicking to me. Frick. Did I mention her at dinner or something without thinking? Did I mutter her name in my sleep? Merlin, this was so embarrassing. I saw Weasel's eyes dart over to me for a moment in my peripherals. He better not be thinking what I think he's thinking, or I'll-

     "Yes, Draco's told me all about you," said Father. Well, frick this, I'm outta here- "And your parents."

     Wait, what? I don't remember saying anything about her blood status. In fact, it only made me like her even more, the rebel that I am. Actually, I don't remember saying anything at all about Hermione, but that was beside the point. He must've done some research on her after her name slipped out of my mouth at dinner or something. What a stalker.

     Hermione looked at her parents, who were talking with Father Wease several meters away, then over to me, and the extreme hatred that had been previously directed at my father was now aimed at yours truly. I staggered back a bit, the stare was so intense, even if it was just for a millisecond, then cursed myself and hoped that Father didn't notice. I was busy working up what to say to Hermione to explain all of this while Father prattled on, with no success, when a clang startled me. It was Father dropping books into the bucket that the Female Weasel was carrying. I noticed the sleek black cover of the journal in there too. Wait, what? But before I had the chance to work things out in my head, Father said, "See you at work," to Father Weasel (when he got here, I didn't know) and began to walk away. I had to think fast. I knew Father hadn't slipped the journal in there by accident, and the Weasleys weren't agile enough to steal it from him. But why did he put it in there? To get rid of it, maybe? Or to pass on this dangerous object to the Weasleys, Potter, and... Hermione?

     I had to do something. I couldn't just leave them with something so dark that my Father would want to get rid of it, and he collects things that seem way darker than what seemed like a simple journal. Correction: I couldn't leave her with something so dark. She had to at least have something. Then, it hit me. But I had to do it quickly. I jammed my hand into my robe for what seemed like the millionth time today and brought out the folded piece of paper that contained information on Basilisks. I then slipped it into Hermione's pocket of her robe. My hope was that it would help her find out what was up with the journal. It might not even be useful, but it was the only thing I could do. She didn't seem to notice, and no one else did either, thank Merlin. Then, I started to make my way out of the shop, but it felt weird to just leave without saying anything. So I got all up in Potter's personal bubble and muttered, "See you at school," (I know, how unoriginal, but I had less than a second to think of something) and left the bookshop.

Holy cow, this is long. 2135 words not including the huge ass A/N

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