Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, and I do not make any money by writing this story.
Chapter Two: In Which Harry Does Not Have Split Ends
The two boys entered the Slytherins' compartment. Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson were all seated around Draco, who appeared to be telling them heroic rhapsodies of his summer.
"Yeah, I got this scar when I was out hunting dragons in Hungary," he was casually saying. "That Hungarian Horntail was quite a beast – but not strong enough for me, of course." He flipped his soft, golden locks and grinned in a way that made Harry go hard in the pants. "I slaughtered that thing with my bare hands. Actually, I used only one hand, because I was fighting off a dementor and Molly Weasley with the other hand."
"Wait a minute," Pansy said. "Didn't you get that scar when your father hit you with his cane for touching his briefcase?"
Draco went red in the face. "Pfft, no!" he spluttered. "What are you talking about? That never happened –"
"Yeah, I think I remember!" Pansy exclaimed as Blaise snickered loudly. "I was there, remember? He told you not to touch it but you –"
Pansy was unable to finish her sentence, as Malfoy curled his hand into a fist and punched the shit out of that bitch. With blood pouring down her face, she hurried out of the compartment. It was then that Draco finally looked up, noticing Ron and Harry.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped.
"I'm being a dashing hero, as always," announced Harry triumphantly, trying to make his voice as manly as a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid possibly could. "I know you're up to something, Malfoy, and your boyish good looks won't fool me! So tell me what you're up to, because I really have nothing else to do."
Ron looked extremely bitter at these words and merely stood, muttering something under his breath.
Draco laughed in an evil sort of way. "How foolish do you think I am? I'll never tell you what the Dark Lord has sent me to do!"
His eyes fell to his arm, which was hidden under the sleeves of his robe. He quickly pulled up his sleeves to reveal a scary-looking image of a snake coiled around a skull. Harry gasped dramatically.
"Oops!" Draco said loudly. "How silly of me to leave my sleeves rolled up like that, with my Dark Mark just lying there for everybody to see! Ha ha, that's quite a blunder. You know, the Dark Mark, which the Dark Lord gives to only his brave, powerful supporters? You've heard of it, haven't you Potter?"
Ron glared in jealously at Harry's awed face. "I bet he'd like me if I had a Dark Mark," he thought sadly.
"Yes, it's quite something that the Dark Lord himself has chosen me, out of everyone else –"
"If you're not going to tell us what you're plotting, then we might as well leave," Ron angrily snapped.
Draco grinned. "You're right, Fire Crotch, I will never reveal the highly dangerous and important mission that the Dark Lord himself has sent me. Although, I should probably mention that I wouldn't bother buying Dumbledore a Christmas present this year." He winked. "And you probably shouldn't drink any liquor you find in Slughorn's cabinet either, heh."
Harry sighed. "Fine then, if you're not even going to give us a hint..."
"Malfoy, did you draw that on yourself?" Zabini suddenly interrupted, his eyes carefully examining Draco's tattoo.
"I was wondering what you borrowed my markers for," Pansy responded, who had just come back from the lavatory with a handful of tissues.
"Ha, that's – that's ridiculous," Draco scoffed. "Of course I didn't draw that on! The Dark Lord..."
But the others were already snickering. Ron and Harry burst into hysterics, which enraged Draco.
"Hey, fuck off Potter!" he snarled. "You're just a whiny emo pussy with faggy glasses and split ends, and your parents are dead! Ha!"
A grimace of utter loathing fell upon Harry's face, and he grinded his teeth with the outmost fury as he attempted to control himself from murdering Draco.
"And what are you laughing at, Radish-head?" Draco continued hastily. "Your family is poor and you live in a fucking trash bin! And those shoes are so last year!"
Ron was accustomed to hearing that he was poor, but the remark about his shoes was upsetting. "They're not that bad," he mumbled quietly, his mouth quivering. "It's all dad could afford..." He tried to ignore the burning prick in his eyes, until his tears finally escaped. "I hate you Draco Malfoy!" he wailed as he ran to the loo.
Harry, however, was glued to his spot, shaking with anger. "I may be a little bit emotional, and my parents might be dead," he snapped through gritted teeth, "but I most definitely do NOT HAVE SPLIT ENDS!"
With this, he pointed his wand at Draco and screamed out a spell with shaking fury. For a second nobody spoke, and Draco looked terrified. But a minute passed without anything happening and he decided that Harry's spell had backfired.
"Some spell, Potter," he smirked. "Nice try, but I'm just too powerful for the likes of you, since I'm a Death Eater and all..."
A strange, pungent odour slowly seeped in, and the others began to sniff it with hesitant curiosity.
"Something smells like rotten fish," Goyle remarked.
The others continued sniffing, attempting to find the source of this hideous odour. "Pansy!" Draco sharply said. "Did you forget to clean out your vagina again?"
Mortified, Pansy fled to the lavatory clutching a cake of soap. "That should take care of it," Draco said, relieved.
Harry began to snicker. "It's not Pansy, mate, the stench is still there," said Crabbe.
"Malfoy, I think it's you!" Zabini suddenly exclaimed in amusement. "Have you grown a fucking vagina?"
All colour drained from Malfoy's face. "You – you didn't," he spluttered at Harry.
"I don't have split ends," Harry answered coldly.