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Chapter 25: Mark Me
Draco was laughing so hard that his stomach hurt, to say nothing of his cheeks. The boy was clinging onto Potter, who was also laughing helplessly. They were on the floor, unable to stand, covered in pink goo.
Draco had never felt this good before, this free. The world was truly a brilliant place! Everything felt right. Draco had a silly grin plastered to his face that he didn't think would ever be removed.
Draco sat up and began tracing designs into the pink goo on the stone floor. It was such a pretty color. Draco traced the outline of the stones through the goo. He marveled at the way the stones all fit together perfectly. Draco then started outlining the Hogwarts castle in the goo. This was so much fun! Draco was enthralled.
Potter was sitting now as well. Potter had dug his hand into the cauldron and was playing with the remaining pink stuff in there. He would gather some in his hand, then let it poor back out. Draco loved watching the process: the way a hand would come up, filled with goo, and then the pretty stuff would fall back down in globs, making a pretty sound when they hit the bottom of the cauldron. Draco could just imagine how pretty the spattering of goo would be when the big drops hit the rest of the potion.
Draco walked over and stuck his head in the cauldron, so that he could see what it looked like, but the next glob fell on his head: funny. It felt nice. It tickled his head. Draco ran a hand through his hair, massaging the stuff into his scalp.
"It's like shampoo," said Draco. Potter looked up, grinning. "Only it's goo." Draco burst out in a fit of laughter. "It's goopoo!" said Draco.
"This sent the two of them into another fit of giggles.
"Maybe we should bottle some for Snape. Maybe then he'd wash his hair!" said Potter.
Draco heard a squeak. It was the Excitable Elf.
Uh oh. Snape had just walked into the room, and had heard Potter's comment. Oops.
Draco started laughing again.
Snape growled. Draco just laughed harder. Snape was funny when he scowled like that!
"Sorry, Professor," said Potter sheepishly.
Snape looked too sad. And angry. And annoyed. And exasperated.
Snape needs some potion! thought Draco.
Draco picked up a handful of the potion, and flung it at Snape, giggling all the while.
Snape deflected the glob with a curse that sent it smattering onto the far wall.
Draco frowned. That wasn't the point! Silly Snape.
Draco picked up another handful of the gloopy potion. This time, Draco caught Snape's eye before throwing it at him, his expression clearly saying 'catch, silly.'
Again, Snape got rid of the potion before it hit him. What was Snape doing? Draco glanced over at Potter, who also looked confused by Snape's behavior. They both shook their heads in befuddlement. Snape just didn't get it.
The next thing Draco knew, Snape had muttered something and waved his wand around.
"Tut tut, Professor," said Potter, shaking his finger at Snape, "you said yourself that there was to be no silly wand-waving in this classroom. Ten points from Slytherin." Potter burst into giggles. Draco followed suit.
"HEY!" said Draco, noticing what Snape had done. He had taken away the potion! "I was playing with that!"
Snape sneered. That wasn't very nice of Snape!
The two of you will go to your respective dwellings, NOW!" yelled Snape.
"Poopyhead," mumbled Draco. Draco couldn't believe it! One minute he was playing nicely with Potter, and now he was getting sent to his room! Potter seemed to be in agreement with Draco's assessment of Snape.
"AND WIPE THOSE RIDICULOUS GRINS OFF OF YOUR FACES!" bellowed Snape.
Potter harrumphed.
Well if that's the way Snape insisted on being! The two boys stalked out of the classroom, Potter going to his room on the right, Draco going to his room on the left.
Draco liked his room. It was done up in pretty silver and green colors! Draco started fingering the tapestry, it had such a nice texture. Draco then walked over to the bed, and felt the smooth, silk hangings. Ah, wonderful!
Draco cut up pieces of fabric from different materials, and began braiding them all together. Draco was very proud of himself. Now he could play with all of them at once!
Draco played for a while, but his heart wasn't in it anymore. For that matter, his heart was at the bottom of his stomach. Everything was wrong! Yeah, he had some fabrics. So what?! Everything else was wrong in his life. People only liked him, or rather pretended to, because he was a Malfoy. His name got him what he wanted, but what was that worth? None of it was because of him. His friends were idiots who followed him around for political reasons. He was on the quidditch team because he had money. Or, rather, because his father had money. Everything he had he owed to someone else.
Well, Draco would solve that. He would take the Dark Mark when he graduated, then he would have power in his own right, not reflected power. He could do away with the Mudbloods that infested the wizarding world. And he would cause them pain, like the pain he always felt.
Draco hardly noticed that he had taken a knife and was carving the form of the Mark into left forearm.
What had he been doing in there with Potter? That wasn't real. Nothing in his life was real. Nothing in his life mattered. Nothing in his life meant anything.
But once he'd joined Voldemort, then his life would mean something. He would be a part of something great, something better than Dumbledore and Potter and their perfect little world where he didn't have a place.
Dumbledore always treated the Slytherins as if they were worthless, bound to be Dark and Evil and do Bad Things. Well, if that's what the Old Fool expected, then that's what the Old Fool would get. Draco was only too happy to oblige.
The skull and Snake that Draco had carved into his arm were now obscured by all the blood that had covered the markings. Maybe he would bleed to death. That would be nice. Draco was tired of putting up with all this nonsense.
"Draco," came a soft voice from above the boy.
Draco could feel a hand holding his wrist.
He looked down at his arms, vaguely surprised to see blood on one arm and a knife in the other. Draco was even more surprised to see tears falling onto his arm and mixing into the blood that was smeared across it.
"Mmm," said Draco.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" asked Snape. It was Snape that was standing there, hovering over him.
"Dunno," said Draco, bemused, looking at his arm again.
"You don't know?" Snape's eyes widened a bit in surprise.
"Nuh uh," Draco truthfully maintained his position.
Snape walked into Draco's toilet and retrieved a washcloth, which he soaked in water.
"Give me your hand, Draco," said Snape softly.
Draco did as he was told.
Snape patted the cloth down on Draco's arm, gently removing the excess blood.
Snape hissed when the pattern beneath came into view.
Draco looked up at Snape curiously. Why had Snape reacted that way? Draco shrugged it off.
"What do you remember of the last hour or so, Draco?" asked Snape, concern apparent in his voice.
"Um, we were playing with the potion. It was fun. I was happy. Then I came here, and I was miserable." Draco glanced down at his arm. "I don't think I meant to do that," said the still-confused boy.
"I see," said Snape. "I cannot heal that for you, and Madame Pomfrey is not currently here. I will bandage it for you, though," said Snape, who then proceeded to do so.
"K, Professor," said Draco groggily. Draco yawned: he was becoming a bit sleepy.
Snape seemed to take notice of this, because the next thing he said was: "Up, Draco."
Draco complied.
"I want you to stay in bed for the rest of the night, am I understood?" said Snape.
" 'Course, Professor," yawned Draco.
Draco felt like he had been bludgeoned by a ten-ton Sleeping Spell. Draco was confused by his own mental analogy, but was not in any condition to analyze his logic. Draco shrugged it off and climbed under the covers. He was bloody exhausted.
"We will discuss this tomorrow, Draco. For now, goodnight," said Snape.
" 'night, Professor," said Draco.
Draco heard the door shut as Snape left the room before quickly and thankfully falling into a deep and much-needed sleep.