Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This applies to all following chapters.

A/N: Here comes part two of my Short Story Collection. Again, this will be stories I write for the Houses Competition. I hope you enjoy them.

This story in particular is about Draco in his seventh school year. It is most certainly AU - although I like to think that something like this really might've happened. But then, I tend to overlook the bad sides of Draco's character...

Please leave me a review if you've liked this drabble.

Green Dragon Blood

With the Death Eater's mask on his face, Draco Apparated to the northern end of Diagon Alley, right next to the apothecary. The street was deserted, completely desolate. The wind played with a poster of Potter's face, which seemed to stare down on Draco from everywhere – all the empty and closed shops had been plastered with it.

Draco needed Green Dragon Blood for a potion he was brewing, but that wasn't an ingredient Slughorn would hand out to a pupil. Even if it was for a good cause. Even if Draco would happen to tell him why he so desperately needed it.

One late night in the library, he'd stumbled upon an old potion, a variation of what witches used to drink when they were to be burned in the middle ages. It numbed the pain, or so it was said. A powerful potion – maybe even powerful enough to reduce the torture of the Crucio to a mild burning sensation. Draco needed that, his parents needed that. Merlin, half the population of Hogwarts needed such a potion.

But nobody could know what he was doing right now, or he'd be branded a traitor. And he was one, Draco supposed. The consequences of being found out were high, but it would be worth it.

Gathering all the cruel coldness he could master, Draco entered the small stone house with the blind windows. The shop owner looked up, surprised, and then he flinched. "H-how may I h-h-help you, Sir?"

"Green Dragon Blood," Draco said coolly after reaching the counter. "Quickly."

"Yes. Of course. Post-haste," the man stuttered and summoned something with shaking fingers. "Twelve Galleons, Sir."

Draco paled under the mask. He didn't have that much money left, since he could no longer handle his money as freely as he used to. "Here's the first half," he said and put six galleons on the counter. It was the last of his money. "I'll settle the bill next time I'm in Diagon Alley."

"B-but Sir…" the pharmacist began to contradict.

"Don't you trust my word?" Draco interrupted him, rolling up his sleeve threateningly. The ugly, black skull stood in crass contrast to his shockingly pale skin. "Don't worry. You'll get your money."

The man turned a deathly shade of white. "O-o-of course, Sir. I never – I never doubted…"

"Yes, of course, you didn't. The blood, now!" Draco demanded impatiently, grabbing the phial the pharmacist offered.

"On which account should I charge it?" the shop owner asked before Draco could turn around and leave.

"Why don't you write down Death Eater that'll kill you if you bother him again?" Draco snarled, all patience gone. "Is that specific enough?"

Before the man could utter another word, Draco dashed out of the shop. He quickly checked his surroundings, but the dimly lit street was still empty – not at all like the Diagon Alley that he remembered. Once he was hidden in a dark corner, he Disapparated.

*Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 2*

House: Ravenclaw

Category: Drabble

Prompt: Diagon Alley

W/C: 490

A/N: Thank you to 2DaughtersOfAthena, nottheonlyfangirl, and hollyhobbit101 for betaing.