Obsidian Faith

Obsidian Faith

3. Holiday Fun

Christmas morning dawned cold and windy, much like what Christmas Eve had been. It was not the greatest of holiday mornings, as the sky was that ugly shade of grey again. The snow was packed a tight three-feet outside, and not even an all school snowball tournament would lure students into the open cold.

The Great Hall had been festooned with banners, streamers, candles, ever-lasting icicles, and evergreen trees days beforehand. It looked magnificent as it always did this time of the year. There were even bunches of mistletoe floating over random areas, though none of the professors could remember who had ordered them.

As in Harry's third year, there was only one long table for everyone instead of the teacher's table and the four others for each house. Not many had stayed this year. After Lord Voldemort's attack, many parents cancelled travel plans and arrived on Hogwarts' doorsteps clamoring to take their children home.

Hermione had stayed because her Muggle parents had not heard about the attack and were busy on a second honeymoon. Mrs. Weasley had wanted Ron and Ginny home and if possible bring Harry, but Mr. Weasley assured her that the three would be safest at Hogwarts.

Harry woke to something scratchy but squishy beating against his face. He cracked open his eyes. It was Ron, grinning broadly, hitting him with a wrapped present.

"Good morning and Happy Christmas, Harry! Oi, it's that time of the year again!" Even though Harry and Ron had outgrown many things, they still unwrapped presents together every year in the boys' dormitory.

"Merry Christmas to you too," Harry replied. He pushed back the covers and quickly swung his legs over the side. He had to hold on to the nightstand to steady himself as his field of vision swam with colorful dots of momentary dizziness.

"Here, this is the annual Weasley sweater," Ron said, dropping the package into Harry's lap.

"Thanks..." Harry quickly ripped off the wrapping. This year it was a black sweater with the letters of Gryffindor set in silver. "This isn't bad. What's yours like?"

Ron made a gurgling noise and held up his sweater. "I think Mum loves you more than the whole lot of us. Look."

Harry snorted. Ron's sweater was maroon as usual, except this time he also had the letters of Gryffindor going across...the only problem was, those letters were hot pink. "Well, at least it's warm," Harry said dryly, setting his sweater aside.

"What else have you got?"

Harry looked down at the small pile of presents. The pile got a little bigger each time. He had even exchanged presents with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas this year. He frowned as he picked up a nondescript lumpy package in brown postal packaging. He hoped it wasn't going to be another anonymous gift, as he seemed to receive one every few years.

"Who's that from?" Ron asked curiously.

"Dunno...doesn't say." Harry untied the string holding the wrapping together. It was extremely badly wrapped (it couldn't be from a mysterious benefactor, since one would've wrapped it much more professionally), and the brown crinkly paper immediately fell away at the sides to reveal -

"Socks! It's from Dobby! Look, he must've saved up more this year. Last year, he bought you four pairs, this year he bought you six!" Ron exclaimed, pointing to the multicolored socks.

Indeed, there were six pairs of socks. One was black with yellow zigzags all over it (presumably lightning bolts). There were two that were both striped with mini Christmas trees all over them. The other were all pied and had various pictures printed on the cloth. The most interesting pair was by far the bright canary yellow one with two big splashes of purple on the sides. The purple splashes turned out to be flowers.

The dormitory was alive for the next ten minutes with ripping noises and the random comments directed at each present. Harry ended up getting watch batteries (from the Dursleys, since they didn't know that Harry's watch had broken in fourth year), a large Quidditch almanac from Hermione (well, half of it was an almanac, the second half of the book was hollow and opened to reveal a box full of all different sorts of new candy courtesy of Honeydukes), a miniature broomstick that could fly halfway across the room bearing a light note or two (from Ron), a handmade wooden carving of a lion from Hagrid, a very nice new watch from Sirius (who was still in hiding somewhere), a pair of gloves that dutifully kept out the chill (Seamus Finnigan), and a month's supply of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Jelly Beans (Dean Thomas). Even Ginny had given him a present - a color changing picture frame. Harry supposed that the dead mouse was from Hedwig, although he had no idea how she had gotten into the dormitory.

"Ready to come down to breakfast now?" someone asked from the doorway.

Both boys looked up swiftly from their presents. It was Hermione, dressed in regular school robes, clutching a Muggle bracelet from her parents.

Seeing Hermione there, Harry suddenly remembered what he had wanted to tell Ron. His eyes widened, and he clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh!"

"Oh what?" Hermione and Ron asked.

"Nothing. I Just remembered something. Not important, though," Harry hastily said. "Let's go down. I'm starving."

No one really paid attention to Harry's odd behaviour, although Harry did gesture madly at Ron that they needed to talk.

Ginny was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. She was the only Gryffindor fifth-year who hadn't gone home, so Hermione had asked Ginny to join them during breakfast.

She was smiling and obviously wanted to put the previous night behind her. Her hair was twisted into a sophisticated chignon decorated with a comb in the shape of a shell.

"What happened to your hair?" was the first thing Ron asked.

"I thought the occasion merited some change! Plus, I really liked the accessories that Adele gave me. There is a matching necklace and bracelet, but I'm not wearing them," she replied steadily, looking amused.

"It's..." Ron began to say.

"Lovely! I think it's very pretty!" Hermione inserted before he could finish.

To avoid further embarrassment and to cover up his own surprise, Ron held out his arm. "To breakfast, shall we?" he asked Ginny.

Ginny took the proffered arm, and Harry fell in step with Hermione. He was conscious of her presence beside him all the way to the Great Hall. Harry barely remembered the idle side conversation. Hermione had thanked Harry for the ever-lasting scented candle that rested in a crystal holder.

"Ah, the stragglers have finally arrived!" Dumbledore said kindly, his eyes smiled as he swept his arms over the seats that had been reserved for Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny. "Why, that's a delightful hair trinket, Miss Weasley, and your sense of style is excellent!"

Ginny blushed even more as she settled into her chair. She smiled nervously at the Headmaster. Harry watched Snape's face. Even on Christmas Day, the Potions professor wore a dour expression on his sallow face. However, every other teacher seemed to have summoned up a smile for the holiday. Professor McGonagall smiled benignly at Ginny, which was a rare occasion indeed. Professor Flitwick was already exchanging jokes with Sprout.

"Scoff the lot! Fill your stomachs! I dare say that we have more than enough," Dumbledore said, saluting everyone with a goblet.

Every year the Christmas breakfast was mostly the same. There were samplings of every breakfast dish that had been so far served that year. It was nothing compared to the annual feast, but everyone usually left the table feeling as if they had wolfed down twelve helpings of every dish.

Some bacon? Yes, thank you. Try this sausage - it goes incredibly well if you wrap it with the toast. That's odd - but delicious! This doesn't taste like milk at all. Oh, that's soy milk. No wonder, I never liked soy milk much.

They greedily stuffed themselves with the very best, and the last fork in motion finally fell onto the oily goldness of the plates; it fell like a magnet. Enough, the fork seemed to say; you've behaved like pigs enough.

Yet, there was still more food to come. There was still the Christmas feast. It seemed like many calories would have to be burned that morning, to empty people's stomachs, just to fill them up again.

~

"Merry Christmas, sir!"

"Yes, yes, and all that. Where is my father?"

"Lacey knows not, sir!"

"Useless. Where is my mother, then?"

"In her room, sir!"

"I'll take breakfast in my room - "

"But it's Christmas, sir!"

"Now! Christmas doesn't exist on Malfoy property, understand? Out."

"Yes, sir!"

Lacey, the house-elf, looked like she was ready to have a fit. Master Draco taking breakfast on Christmas morning indeed! How strange these somber Malfoys were! (She was new.)

Right after Lacey had scuttled out the door, Narcissa came in. And lo and behold! For a change, Draco's mother was not wearing the filmy, airy alabaster dresses that she usually wore. Instead, she had on a rather stunning deep crimson silk robe.

"Merry Christmas, Draco. Your father asked me to give this to you...and here is a gift from me," she said, holding out two perfectly wrapped packages.

"I have a gift for you as well, Mother," Draco said stiffly. He was not altogether pleased that Narcissa had so barged in on him.

They awkwardly exchanged gifts, and unwrapped them in each other's presence.

"Oh! Draco, this is lovely!" Narcissa exclaimed after the tissue paper fell away from a silver comb embedded with emeralds the shape of blooming tiger lilies. It had not been a cheap gift on Draco's part, but Malfoys were anything but cheap. No matter how low on budget they might be (never in Draco's memory), gifts given had always exceeded fifty Galleons.

"You like it, I hope?"

"Of course! It's the perfect size! You are wonderful at selecting gifts," Narcissa murmured warmly, running her spidery fingers along the comb's teeth.

"Thank you. I am sure I will adore your gift, Mother." Draco picked off the final piece of Spell-o-Tape to find a case holding what looked like a snowglobe. A snowglobe? Had Narcissa finally cracked? Snowglobes were for little children with nothing better to do. What did he need a snowglobe for?

"Do you like it, Draco? I bought this in Paris last month, when your father went to oversee some business. It was so delightful and charming...I couldn't resist buying it! Oh, you think it doesn't fit you, don't you? But when I saw it, I knew it was made for you!" his mother said in a rush. She sounded almost like a little girl, hoping for approval.

Draco, however, found it hard to agree with his mother. A snowglobe. And close-up, the tiny ceramic forms turned out to be of a little townhouse with lots of other townhouses. There were nondescript shapes planted here and there on the little street, which turned out to be laughing children and smiling parents. On the other side of the street, opposite the houses, there was a row of stores. Candy stores, cafes, bookstores, toy stores, and flower shops. The colorful scene looked oddly Muggle.

"You can take the case off." Narcissa removed the box from Draco's hands and set it down on his writing desk. She gently took off the clear cover and placed it aside. The snowglobe was actually quite small without its case. "And it's also a music box." She pressed a spring near the bottom, and a simple, presumably Parisian, melody sprang into being. It sounded like a waltz, or something one could hum to.

"It's beautiful, Mother. I...thank you for this exquisite gift," he said with some difficulty.

"You're welcome!" She drifted over and pecked him on the cheek. "I suppose you want to be alone when you open your father's present. I do hope you will join me for Christmas dinner." And then she sailed out, gone like a passing wind.

Draco was hardly ever surprised. But this was an occasion worthy of his surprise. Narcissa (she had always been Narcissa to him, rather than the term 'mother') seemed so alive that day. She even looked and sounded healthier. The usual circles of restless sleep had either faded away or been concealed that morning, and she bore an essence of content and calmness in his sunlit room. Her flaxen hair resembled a crown, so very bright. Draco had never seen his mother like this, as if she was almost happy.

He still didn't know what to do with the snowglobe, though.

It was so out of place on his expensive antique Malfoy desk with inkbottles and crisp parchments lying exactly in the middle, waiting for him to pen a letter (not that he had anyone to write to) or to draft an essay. The brightly chiseled features of the gift stood out in every way. The happy colors hurt his eyes, and he could not comprehend the happiness of the miniscule figures inside. It was so very odd, this simple object. So very foreign.

But he had nowhere else to place the thing. His bookshelf? The colors of the bound covers would clash with the snowglobe's colors. On the desk, it looked tacky as well. Now, here was a real dilemma (forget about Harry Potter). Draco Malfoy knew exactly where each of his possessions belonged, where they looked best in his room, and how exactly to move around objects to make the colors match. But this. Where does a supposed-to-make-you-feel-all-warm-and-fuzzy-inside multi-colored snowglobe belong, where dark brown, silver, jade, and black reigned? To this, he admitted to being completely and utterly dumbfounded.

As he searched for the perfect spot, Draco mused that if he ever wrote an autobiography, never would he even once mention receiving a snowglobe as a Christmas present and then spending half an hour looking for a place for it. The bed, closet, bookshelves, and desk were out of question. He really didn't have that much furniture in his room. It was just that whatever furniture he had was big, so it looked like he was generously furnished. The fireplace? No, it would ruin the whiteness of the snow scene in the painting above. Where then?

Ah! The window. Not the gothic kind, which were extremely popular on the first story. It was a smaller, black Monticello window with an arched top. It was not floor length, and the ledge had ample space. The window faced the east, the rear of the great family home. It actually looked out to the vegetable garden that the house-elves kept (that's why Malfoys never went shopping for herbs or the more common of the greens), except only the house-elves and members of the immediate Malfoy family could see it. Lucius had decided that the garden was essential, but too ugly to grace the eyesights of visitors.

Yes, that would be the perfect place. The snowglobe added a certain touch of...homeliness to the frosty feel of icicles and snow-laden leaves and branches outside. Plus, one could not see the window at the doorway, so unless it was Narcissa or someone Draco personally invited into the room, no one ever had to know it was there (and of course, he wouldn't be taking it back to Hogwarts, so in reality, no one would know except his mother). Oh, the genius of his mind.

Draco smirked. He liked the idea of being an under-appreciated genius and a wealthy sex god. He liked the thought very much.

Now that sufficient time had been wasted, Draco commenced to open Lucius' gift. He felt more apprehensive and wondered what kind of mocking message his father was sending to him. Perhaps it would be a very large wine goblet with the message, "For the day you can drink this much liquor." Or maybe new conditioner for his hair.

It was neither in the end. It was a very, very expensive wizarding chess set. The 'very' being stressed ten times over. In fact, it was from Le Roi Noir, the most famous brand for wizarding chess sets. Every single set was made with delicacy by one of the founding brothers (now old men who forget they're brothers and have become freakishly obsessed over chess). No one set was made in exactly the same way, just like wands. Not only was each one unique, but the most expensive materials were used. Ivory, ebony, jade, gold, silver.

This one was made out of glass. A beautiful, breathtakingly pure glass. Tendrils of a green stuff curled and rested beneath the surface of the glass playing board, the effect much like when drops of blood spilled into a cup of water. The 'black' pieces were actually Slytherin green figures. They were made of glass as well, but within the glass were precious drops of a solid, green dye. The black king and queen were honored with miniature crowns of etched emerald. The 'white' pieces, on the other hand, were pure glass with not even a trace of the delicate malachite found on the board. Their crowns were made out of diamonds, diamonds so clear that they twinkled even in the gloomiest dark.

Each jewel, each wisp of the ethereal green enhanced the transparent, mirror quality of the glass. How much could this single item have cost? How many had Lucius bribed? Blackmailed?

Lucius could easily afford ten chess sets of the kind if he wanted to, of course, so he probably hadn't needed to blackmail anybody. After all, a few thousand Galleons was nothing compared to the Malfoys' cache of gold. But then, why would someone who despised his son buy him one of the most expensive chess sets in the world?

Sudden attack of clarity when Lucius realised that he really did love Draco? Oh, the laughter. Out of pity? No, Lucius Raphael Malfoy never pitied anyone. To make a point? Hmm.

Draco then noticed that the pieces - or more specifically, piece - had already been moved around. One of the black pawns had advanced one space, and it glared murderously at the white pawn across the glass surface. Its glass saber was tucked under an arm, poised for attack.

That must've been his father's handiwork. So, there was a point to it, although he could not decipher it. However, his father was comparing something to a chess game. Something as complicated as a chess game that required intelligence and great mindwork. His father was inviting Draco to mentally duel with him, the chess master.

It was also odd how Lucius had gone against the basic chess rule and deliberately made the first move of the game with a black piece. This meant, then, that whatever the rules were, Lucius was ready to break them one by one. Rules didn't pertain to him, and to get what he wanted, he would stop at nothing.

Suddenly remembering yesterday's events, Draco's slim hand ran his fingers against the perfect scar under his eye. It felt so deep, but so impossibly thin. He felt no pain, only a chilling shadow where the scar was. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet. But now he had to strategize and battle against his biological father along with going through with the plans for defeating Harry Potter. He wondered how complicated it would get.

~

"Knight to F1."

"Bishop to C5."

"Castle to E4. Checkmate."

The castle glided maliciously across the surface and pushed the king down.

"Again?"

Harry leaned back and passed his hand over his tired eyes. "No, no more. You've beaten me five games straight. Spare me." He opened his eyes a crack as he watched his best friend put the pieces away. So careful, the way he placed each pawn, each bishop and castle, into the worn velvet padded box. Hermione had chosen to quietly finish her homework in the girls' dormitory rather than watch them play five rounds of chess. Ginny was supposedly in the library, looking for a new book to read. This left Harry and Ron alone.

"I need to tell you something."

Ron sat down the box and looked at Harry.

"Would you believe me if I said that I...have feelings for Hermione?"

Ron stared. "Our Hermione?"

"I know, I know! I sounds stupid, but I think I really like her."

Ron didn't say anything at all.

"I mean, while you were yelling at Ginny last night, I went for a walk, and I realised that I really like Hermione. D'you think it's love?"

At this, Ron snorted and said, "Love? That sounds more like infatuation than love to me. I've seen Charlie and Bill before, when they were 'infatuated'. All they could think about was whoever they were mooning after. Blimey, if you think that maybe you're in love with Hermione, then you're not. My brothers told me that love is something you can be sure about. You just think that you like her." And then he resumed cleaning up.

Harry straightened his posture and stared at Ron. "Then what do I do? What did Fred, George, Charlie, Bill, and even Percy do? What would you do?" he questioned.

"I know what Bill and Charlie would do. Girls practically faint whenever they go near those two. All they have to do is ask the magic question, and they've got a date for the night. Percy, well, he's a prune. I don't even know how he managed to get together with Penelope Clearwater. I think they're still together. Fred and George...everyone likes them. They never have trouble getting someone. Now, what I would do...

"I'd probably confess to her, you know? Hermione doesn't like secrets, and it's best if you tell her the truth. And then, of course, it's up to her whether she wants to 'get together' or not. But she'll be surprised - you being her friend and all."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Just walk up and confess?"

Ron looked sharply at Harry. "Any girl in this school would be ecstatic if you even spoke to them, Harry. Hermione's different. If you're not going to do it the way I advised you, then improvise."

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "It sounds like you've been preparing this speech. Like you've had awhile to think about this."

"Maybe I have."

Blink. "What do you mean? Did you know that I was going to tell you?"

"Not everything's about you, Harry," Ron replied in a deadly quiet voice. His hands were pale and they shook as he tucked the chessboard under his arm. He looked unsure of himself, but nevertheless determined to go on with whatever he had started.

Blink, blink. "Pardon?"

"I said," now those typically friendly brown eyes were massed over with anger, "...that not everything is about you, Harry."

"I know it's not. What are you suggesting?"

"I can't believe you're so blind to everything, except yourself! Are you so caught up in your 'love' that you can't see that others are alive and breathing and have feelings too? Are you really that thickheaded that you don't know what the hell's going on? Open your eyes, Harry! Just because you're famous, that doesn't mean the world revolves around you!"

Knuckles slowly turning white, gripping the chair with what little control he had. "Are we back to this again? This 'You get everything because you're famous' debate? I do not think the world revolves around me, and I don't expect it to, Ron! You tell me I'm blind, so tell me what I'm missing!"

"Figure it out for yourself! Prove me wrong, show me that you really aren't as insensitive and stupid as I think you are!"

"Are you saying I'm not perceptive? Are you suggesting that I turn a blind eye to everything that doesn't concern me? What's wrong with you? It's not like I owe you anything!"

"There you go again! Open your eyes! Can't you see...can't you just tell that YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO FANCIES HERMIONE?!"

The silence was dreadful. It allowed things to sink in, it opened up possibilities (that Harry didn't want to think about) in the mind. Worst of all, it forced him to keep his mouth shut, making him vulnerable because he had no words to defend himself with.

"What's going on here?"

Harry and Ron jumped and turned to look at Hermione and Ginny guiltily, both standing on top of the stairs. Ginny was astonished. She never imagined that Harry and Ron could fight. Hermione just pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Nothing at all. We just had an argument. Don't worry, Hermione," Ron croaked and hurried to the boys' dormitory, avoiding all eye contact. It seemed like he had lost whatever courage he had before to stand up to his best friend.

"What's going on, Harry? I heard my name."

He stared blankly at her. The look said, do you really want to know?

"Does it have to do with me?"

Nod.

"Then I have a right to know. Tell me, Harry. Why are you and Ron fighting about me?"

Ginny coughed and blushed. She looked at Hermione as if the situation was obvious. Seeing that Hermione really was a bookworm at heart, she decided to tell her later and left to speak with her brother, pointedly leaving the other two alone.

Hermione didn't bat an eyelash as Ginny left. She continued to focus all her attention on the tired person in front of her. "What is it? You can tell me."

Harry smiled regretfully and slowly moved his head back and forth. No, he couldn't tell her until Ron wanted to. Besides, it was a boys-only thing, not that Hermione was aware of it. No, he had to keep this secret. It was too soon anyhow. He'll have to wait until Ron calmed down and would speak rationally with him.

~

"Hermione doesn't know, but I know. I don't think Harry will tell her, though."

Slim figure leaning calmly against the doorway, flames framing the delicately pretty face.

"Please don't tell her, Ginny, please."

"Will you?"

"I don't know - he's ruined everything. I would've told her, eventually, but he just had to realise last night on a midnight stroll that he liked her too. She'll go to him, though. Everyone does, because he's Harry Potter. He's got fame and money. I shouldn't have waited. The choice is obvious between the great Harry Potter and his unknown sidekick, Ron Weasley. Help me, Ginny."

"Don't be stupid, Ron. Hermione is Hermione. She's not everyone. She knows both of you well and all your faults. Who knows if she'll end up with anyone? She's the most independent person I know, and I don't think she'll start seeing Harry just because he's famous. Get a grip on yourself.

"I can't." Her big brother - her favorite big brother - looked up, out of his misery, with imploring eyes. Help me. I can't face my best friend alone. "I mean, how can he even speak to me like that? As if he expected me to completely agree and then to help him?"

"He didn't know. Plus, he's used to you going along with him."

"Don't. I don't want to think it's my fault that he's a bigot."

"It's not your fault. Neither is it his fault. He just couldn't imagine you, well, being in love with her."

"That's exactly the problem! I've been his faithful follower for so many years that he gets everything first, and then passes them down to me. I was so - so enamored! Stupid, stupid git!"

Ginny didn't ask whom he was referring to. She gently approached her distressed brother and took one of his hands. "Please don't let this ruin your friendship. Don't let this bother you too much. Hermione is sensible. You can trust her decisions."

"Has he told her?" he asked bitterly.

"No."

Ron withdrew his hand and picked at his robe. "Am I ugly, Ginny?"

"No! 'Course not!"

"Am I repulsive?"

"How could you be repulsive, Ron? You're not a malformed halfling, for heaven's sake!"

"Am I worthy?"

"If not, then why are you my favorite brother?"

"What about Harry?"

"He is no more attractive than you are, and you are both very courageous and worthy people. You don't need to worry, Ron. Mum and Dad love you. Fred and George love you, in their own way. Percy's fond of you too. And Harry depends on you to be at his side. You're his best friend. Besides, you've got me." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "See Ron, there's a lot of love for you out there."

But of course, there would always be more love for Harry despite his lackaday family. The Weasley family had all but officially adopted him, Moony and Padfoot watched over him like stand-in fathers, he was Dumbledore's favorite, and there were the thousands - millions - of adoring fans out there, naming him their Savior still to this day. And he had the love of his friends. There would always be more love for Harry.

~

"Mister Draco, there be's someone waiting for you downstairs!"

Draco flicked an uncaring gesture at the house-elf, dismissing the androgynous creature. He was penning a well crafted thank you note to his father, as was proper around the Malfoy place. He requested several bottles of ink and stacks of parchment for this task, for he knew it would take him hours to pen a perfectly polite letter to his father without revealing much else.

He skillfully signed his full name and let the quill fall to rest precisely parallel to the edge of the parchment. This was his best. After all, it was different from last year's note, and he sounded as cordial as he could get.

"Dear Sir,

Thank you for the generous Christmas gift. I am very pleased to have received such a chess set that others only dream of. I find the making both exquisite and intriguing. I am sure I will be the envy of many at school. Thank you.

Your son,

Draco Lucius Malfoy"

He sealed the letter and decided to give it to any house-elf he would meet on his way down to the visitor's parlor. He briefly wondered who would be visiting him during the holidays, perhaps another one of his fans in disguise. It had happened before, even though outsiders were not allowed anymore on Malfoy premises without an invitation.

Draco passed the note to a passing house-elf going in the direction of Lucius' study. He gave her strict directions before continuing downstairs. He remembered once when a fan girl, claiming to be in dire distress (of course, dying from something called infatuation) and needing to consult the young Malfoy heir immediately, had spent all her pocket money purchasing some expensive (and rather outrageous) outfit and had walked to the estate. She, of course, threw off her disguise as soon as Draco warily stepped into the room, assaulting his ears with hysterical squeals of excitement and invading his personal privacy by hugging him with all her strength. She was cursed with the full body bind spell and a memory wipe and had been carried home with a note explaining that she had been found outside in an alley, about to ravage a terrified young sir (a prank Draco rather enjoyed, since it was half true - he just hadn't been in an alley nor had he been terrified).

However, it was no ecstatic fan girl who awaited him in the parlor. He saw the revolting green dress with lace and immediately recognized Pansy Parkinson, the pug-faced girl. Perhaps a fan girl wouldn't have been so bad.

"Draco! Oh, Happy Christmas, Draco!"

"Pansy."

"Aren't you happy to see me, Draco?" Her huge, luminescent eyes started to overflow, and her already large, pouty lips protruded further. She wound the edge of her dress around her finger.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly. Of course he wasn't glad to see her. Why would anyone?

"To give you this, Draco!" She held out a thin, oblong box wrapped in clichéd emerald.

He warily accepted the gift, eyeing its shape suspiciously, even though his face remained impassive as ever. When he slid the white leather box out of the perfect opening in the wrapping, he realised that she had gotten him jewelry, of all things.

"Open it! It was so pretty, but it wasn't for a lady. So I thought of you, Draco!"

He mused inwardly and laughed at Pansy. She, for one, couldn't be a lady if she tried. Secondly, she seemed to have a fixation not only with him but also with his name. She seemed to use it at every possible chance.

"It's...lovely." The silver chain dangled on his forefinger.

"Isn't it?" Her eyes remained wide for a moment. And then it seemed as if she had lost hope (for what?) and she lowered her eyelids.

"Thank you. I wasn't expecting you, Pansy. I'm sorry, but I cannot return your...kindness," he finished. His mind sought after a random object around the house that might act appropriately as a present of some sort. The snowglobe? It would be nice to get rid of its tackiness...too late, he had already told her he hadn't prepared anything. He felt guilty, too, to think of giving away something his mother obviously expected him to cherish.

"Oh, it's really all right. I wasn't expecting anything, really..." She looked very disappointed, thus explaining the crestfallen look earlier.

"I thought you were going to France for the holidays."

"Mother cancelled the plans. Her nails and hair appointments weren't made in time before the trip. She refused to leave without the makeover. She doesn't trust the French makeup artists much. Of course, I think some of the best products come from France. Father was, of course, furious, so he went by himself."

"Well, I am terribly sorry. You must've been disappointed."

"It's rather refreshing, actually. Father hasn't been away for some time, and the household was about to crack from the strain."

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Well...my escort is waiting. I'd better go. Good-bye, Draco."

"Good-bye, I hope you enjoy the rest of the holidays."

"Yes, thank you, Draco."

Not a word of mockery had been exchanged throughout their ordeal, but Pansy Parkinson made her exit painfully. She had come for nothing. Draco couldn't even spare her a thought on Christmas day. What hope did she have? Right before her face was lost to Draco, her calm façade and dignity crumbled, and she scrunched up her ugly face to cry.

He still held the box in his hands with the necklace nestled inside on its bed of burgundy velvet. He didn't know what to do with it. It was pretty enough in its simplicity, but he couldn't make himself put on something given to him by someone whom he loathed. It would be an act of truce, and it was somehow a repulsive act.

So he took it back upstairs with him and tossed the little box into the dark recesses of his armoire, never to see the light of day again.

After disposing of Pansy's gift, Draco had no idea what he could do. Home life was boring and bleak, especially when there was too much snow on the ground and Mother Nature's breath was so frosty that even hungry birds stayed put. On any other occasion, he could have just grabbed his Firebolt and leapt into the skies, leaving imposing Malfoy mansion behind.

Soon enough, however, his dilemma was solved and Lacey humbly knocked at his door. Her apron was clean for a change with no stains on it. Her large, saucer eyes remained respectfully on the floor. She clutched something in her hand.

"What do you have for me?"

"Message from master, sir! He says I's to give it to you!" she squeaked, her unnaturally high voice cracking up and down the octaves.

"Give it here."

The house-elf scurried over and deposited the note on his desk. She hurried back to the doorway, waiting to see if he needed to reply.

"Draco -

Your note sadly lacks the perfection required, which I find rather distressing, as I have hired tutors to instruct you properly in such art for years. You sound like a child still struggling to write properly. What happened to the years of training? I have half a mind to hire another governess to teach you a thing or two. My study, now.

Lucius Malfoy."

That would be a total of three intimate encounters within the span of two days. Now that was a record, not that Draco was necessarily happy about it. The most Lucius ever spoke to Draco when Draco was younger was perhaps twice a week, sometimes more if the child was being naughty. Draco preferred to keep things that way.

For a moment, Draco stopped to amuse himself. When he said now, did he mean precisely this minute, or an hour later when I've got a new attire with a better polished pair of shoes? He thought to keep Lucius waiting while he changed into something more fitting (he was currently wearing a one year old shirt, which was hardly acceptable). But then, he'd probably go to bed with whiplashes on his back for the first time in years. It wasn't worth it.

So Draco simply dashed a comb through his hair and changed into a different pair of dress shoes (Cain Elegance yet again). He strode in a steady pace towards his father's study. He didn't want to appear with disheveled hair (not unlike Potter, he mused) and a feverish complexion by running, although time was pressing.

When he arrived in front of the ornately inlaid double doors, he stopped a moment to brush off invisible specks of dust. He really wasn't up to an argument with Lucius Malfoy over how badly his word choice was and whether he needed a governess at the age of sixteen or not. But then - he knocked.

"Father?"

"Come in. Hurry up, don't be a slow - don't slam the doors!"

"My apologies."

"Just hurry up. Don't bother making yourself comfortable."

Draco draped himself in an armchair anyway.

"Now, this absolutely appalling letter..."

"Father, I cannot believe that you actually care about such things," the son drawled.

"How will you learn to fend for yourself, then? If you wish to be successful, then etiquette is quite the necessary ingredient."

"My etiquette and vocabulary is already above most."

"You mean above Goyle and Crabbe, your little...friends? Of course. Anyone's is."

The pearly white teeth ground together in frustration. Little friends? When had his two stupid bodyguards ever been friends? The thought was absurd. It was as stupid as Crabbe's dreams about pretty butterflies and pink flowers in lush meadows. So ridiculous it was beyond ridicule. "Excuse me, Father, but I prefer not to acknowledge them as friends."

Malfoy senior waved a casual dismissive gesture. "I care nothing for your preferences. Anyway, as I was saying, your words need to flow more. 'I am sure I will be the envy of many at school'? You sound like you forced yourself to write these words. And 'I find the making both exquisite and intriguing'? Idle chatter. Who gives a damn about how it's made?"

"I don't believe thank you notes to be informative essays. And sir, did you not say that you should always act as if you are interested?" It so aggravated Draco that Lucius was so meticulous as to analyse even this.

"But you must make the recipient believe he gave you the most precious gift in the world. You sound as if in agony in this message."

Silence. Well, maybe I was in agony seemed a fitting remark, but a slap would have surely ensued.

"You don't care, do you?"

Grey locked with grey. "No, I do not."

"You do realise that this is for you?"

Draco rose to his feet and walked to the exit. It was the I-do-everything-for-you tactic. He wasn't about to put up with it again. Plus, he's had enough of his father's whining. Yes, it was called whining.

"Don't walk away from me, ungrateful boy. You will never succeed."

Two metres to go. Two metres to freedom.

"You will disgrace the Malfoy name with your insolence."

A metre now.

"Will you do it?"

Stop. Turn around. "What?"

"Will you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Follow my plan. Befriend Potter and then betray him."

"That's rather irrelevant to what you were just saying."

"I don't care. Will you?"

"I already gave you that answer last night during dinner."

"I don't take chances."

"The Dark Lord has influenced you."

"Answer the question."

"Yes."

"Good. Then you need to know the details."

"What details?"

"Just sit down, and I'll tell you."

Warily, Draco retraced his steps and reluctantly reseated himself. His father was trapping him again. He could only stay now - now that his father had captured his attention. If only the subject hadn't been changed, he would be walking back to his room now and rejoicing in the throes of victory.

~

"You know," Hermione said accusingly to Ginny who was going back to her own dormitory.

"I know, but it's not my place to tell," Ginny replied lightly. Ron had made her promise she wouldn't tell, not even the slightest hint.

Hermione looked imploringly at Ginny, but she wasn't used to asking for help and the expression was horribly out of place. She was quite sure that if she only knew the problem, she could help both of them out. After all, she had known them for six years through thick and thin. This was just another argument. "Not even a clue?"

The redhead shook her head. "Nope." She felt rather honored that she knew something so vital about Harry and Ron while Hermione was left in the dark. It wasn't that she was smug about it, but for once, she felt included in her brother's group and not some honorary member.

She was about to walk out the door when she impulsively turned and said, "You maybe clever in school, Hermione, but open your eyes to others around you. If you had your eyes open, you would know." And then she left.

Hermione nodded after Ginny. Her eyes were open all the time, but she knew Ginny was being metaphorical. Had she been blind all this time? Blind and kept in the dark? If yes, then this was her chance to cure herself. So much to see, so little time. Or perhaps this disagreement will fade away after awhile, like everything else will.

~

"Tell him to pass the shepherd's pie, please."

"Harry, pass Ron the shepherd's pie."

Hermione was hopelessly sandwiched between Ron and Harry, who obviously weren't speaking to each other. They even refused to acknowledge each other by name. Instead, they resorted to pronouns.

"I need the butter."

"Ron, Harry needs the butter."

The entire Christmas feast had been like this. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Hermione's arm was tired from all the passing back and forth that she had to do, but no matter how much she tried, the two simply wouldn't cooperate. Not even at Christmas.

"I need a roll."

Nobody answered Ron. If he needs a roll, Hermione thought, he can ask Harry to pass it himself. She wasn't about to help him this time. Harry, naturally, didn't even bother to look up. He simply bit angrily into his own bread.

"Hermione, can you tell him to pass me the roll basket?"

"No." She spooned some chicken soup into her mouth.

"Please?"

"No." She put down her spoon and meticulously wiped her mouth. "Here's the deal, and you two had better listen up because I'm not repeating myself."

Ron and Harry looked up from their food, surprised. Whatever happened to the complacent Hermione?

"I am not your go-between, understand? Just because I happen to be friends with you two and because I sit between you, it does not mean you can use me. Your behaviour is immature and a child's approach to problems. If you two can't make up, fine. Just don't sit there and expect me to sympathise. I'm not in the mood to constantly pass food for you because you happen to pretend that the other is nonexistent. Well, get over it. Neither are invisible, so pass your own food. I haven't even taken a bite yet."

Snape must have caught wind of their conversation, because he looked in their direction and smirked. There was nothing that amused him more than the three best friends arguing amongst themselves. Fortunately, everyone else was too busy laughing and being loud to care. No one else seemed to realise that not all were infected with the holiday spirits.

They didn't make up, of course, but from then on, there was a silent compromise formed. They neither addressed each other by name nor dared to make eye contact, but Hermione was left alone for the most part.

Dumbledore dispersed them all like a flock of sheep after the feast, sending everyone to their beds. Contentment consisted of two things: good food and restful sleep. Having been satiated of the first, people now automatically yearned the latter. Even so, many weren't planning on sleeping until morning. A few Gryffindors rushed to their common room with haste, whispering excitedly about their night entertainment (which mostly consisted of setting off Filibuster Fireworks). Ginny left as well, although she looked rather lost and unsure of what she would do next. The two Slytherins shot everyone a wary look and withdrew themselves rather suspiciously. Those who were left - Ron, Harry, Hermione, the professors, and a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs - were spooning the last traces of dessert into their mouths.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last students to leave the hall. The teachers murmured a few good nights, and Hagrid waved merrily. He was drunk, again. And much to Snape's disgust, Hagrid thumped him soundly on the back as the half-giant took another swig.

When they reached the portrait hole, Hermione climbed inside and said, "Well, I don't know how the two of you are going to spend the rest of the evening, but I've got some assignments to finish. See you all tomorrow!"

Ron and Harry, instead of exchanging glances, stared at the other's shoes. They weren't exactly sure of what they were going to do themselves. They wouldn't be able to get away from each other, since they slept in the same dormitory.

For a moment, Ron looked like he was on the verge of sticking out his hand for a handshake and apologize. But the moment passed swiftly. "Er, I've got work to do too." He, too, went inside.

Harry was not partial to the choices he had. He could either do his homework or go to bed. Both involved staying in the same room as Ron. There was no one else in his year who was left who shared a dormitory, so there was no one to strike up a conversation with. The fourth year Gryffindors who were now playing Exploding Snap in the common room were completely unfamiliar to Harry. Plus, he wasn't in the mood for loud games. Of course, there was another option. He could go wander the halls with his invisibility cloak. It was the only choice that held any interest at all.

He went to his dormitory, hoping that Ron would be so immersed in his work that Harry would go unnoticed, but not so. Knowing Ron, he couldn't concentrate if he tried. When Harry tiptoed into the room, he was sucking on a sugar quill and boring holes into the opposite wall with his distant staring. Ron snapped out of his reverie when Harry entered and watched closely as Harry dug out his invisibility cloak. He watched but never spoke.

Somehow, this made Harry unspeakably frustrated. Why didn't Ron just say something instead of staring listlessly? Harry found this act very irritating. What was he? Mute? Say something, damnit! He felt guilty - very, very guilty, though he didn't know why.

"Why don't you say something instead of playing dumb?" Harry suddenly demanded, slamming his trunk shut.

There was no reply, but Ron was looking at him in the eyes now.

"Say something!" The urge to shake Ron's shoulders was so strong that Harry actually crossed over and seized them.

Ron struggled in his grasp and finally managed to swat the arms away. "What's there to say?" he asked fiercely, face white. "You already know everything!"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do! Don't be stupid!"

"Then tell me!"

"What do you want to know, Harry?"

"Why?"

"Why are you? Don't I have as much right as you do?"

"Then-"

"Do you really believe that the Boy-Who-Lived has access to everything? Is it really hard for you to comprehend the fact that others could be attracted to her?"

"I am not saying that!"

"You think you're the only person to like her? And because of that, you'll automatically have her?"

"I-"

"Hermione isn't stupid, you know. She's independent, not like other girls. She won't fall for your fame. And she's most certainly not stupid enough to accept you because she thinks you're the only person to like her!

"Have you ever considered her feelings? Do you think she'll agree just in the snap of a finger? You selfish git!"

"I DON'T THINK THAT!" Harry roared, clutching his wand in anger. He wanted to lift this magic holly stick and shut Ron up with a silencing spell. He hated what Ron was saying.

"Then what do you think?"

"You know, you had no right to react like you did this afternoon. Just because I said I liked her, it doesn't mean I think she'll accept me. Nor does it mean I think she belongs to me! You were imagining things, Ron. Did the words, 'She must be desperate to go out with me!' ever pass my lips?"

"No, but you implied them. You're used to getting what you want, Harry, so whenever you want something, you make it sound like a command. What you meant but did not say was, 'I am the great, rich Harry Potter. Ickle Ron Weasley doesn't matter. I can dump everything on him, and he'll just follow along and do whatever I want! He'll try and get me together with Hermione!'"

In times like this, one is just too angry to go on. One feels as if he could blast the other to pieces and not care. One wondered at the other's stupidity and frankly hated the other.

Harry spun around and stalked to the door. "You don't understand me."

"You don't understand me either. I know you're wondering if what I said is true. Get a mirror and look at yourself as you recite what you said to me this afternoon."

Harry walked out the room without a second glance. He had no idea where he was going, but all of a sudden, the Gryffindor common room and dormitories were too small to accommodate the both of them.

~

After Harry left, Ginny came into check on her brother. She wore a tragic frown.

"'Lo Ginny." Her brother turned his face away.

"I saw Harry leave in a hurry, so I assumed the worst. I was right, you two have been arguing again."

"The worst?" The laugh sounded like the rustle of autumn leaves. Dead and hollow. "The worst hasn't come yet."

"I think you're putting too much on him and yourself."

"I don't care. He deserves it. Does Hermione know?"

"No, I kept my word."

"I feel so restless, Gin, like I should be doing something. Do what, though? It's like he's going to get to her first if I don't interfere!"

"Then maybe that's the thing you want to do, interfere."

"But who's she going to listen to? Him, or me?"

"I heard you yelling at Harry. You said Hermione isn't stupid. Well, you're right. She isn't stupid. She'll listen to both of you, not just him because he's famous."

"And yet...I somehow can't convince myself."

"Look, Ron, it's Christmas. Be kind and generous to yourself and give it a break, all right? It's the holidays! You always complain about how there's a shortage of holidays. Well, they're here now, but you're ruining it for yourself by worrying! I'll talk to both Hermione and Harry if you'd like!"

"But you won't-"

"No, I won't tell." She hugged her brother fiercely. Inwardly, Ginny sighed hopelessly. It seemed inevitable that Ron would sink into depression if something didn't happen. She supposed that after years of storing away anger and hopelessness, that day's argument had been the straw that broke the camel's back. She had needed to treat him like a child twice in a day, which certainly was not a good sign, since Ron hardly preferred to show his weaknesses.

Ginny left, presumably to speak with either Hermione or Harry, leaving Ron in an exhausted haze. He hardly remembered what he had said to Harry, nor did he care overly much. The anger wore him out as a long jog might. He felt sticky all over but was too tired and lazy to take a shower. He felt his neck creak when he moved his head slowly, and his vision was starting to waver because of drooping eyelids. He wanted sleep so badly. If he just...the bed was unusually comfortable...the blankets, so soft and nice... The eyelids closed.

~

Lucius was having a bad Christmas day. He was disappointed in everything. He was losing control over his son, he could hardly control his own lust, and he had gotten a cigar box with the message 'Death benefits many,' from his son. He had, of course, burned the cedar box immediately. Pity, though. The box had been a pretty piece of craftsmanship.

But the thing that bothered him the most was his own sexual desire that day. After a formal dinner, Narcissa and he had retired to some parlor or other. Christmas was the one day when Lucius actually bothered with his wife. She had managed to look irresistibly lovely tonight. One moment, he had practically been on top of her ready to ravage her with pent up lust. And the next...he was disgustedly walking out the door buttoning his shirt with ungraceful haste.

It was only later that he realised it was the scent of lilies in her hair that had turned him off so suddenly. Lucius hated lilies.

On the day of his mother's death, a large bouquet of lilies arrived for him from Anonymous. The well-wisher pitied the motherless child and told him to never give up. The sympathetic letter disgusted seven-year-old Lucius. He didn't even know his mother. She was only a shadow figure who organized fancy birthday parties for her indifferent son. The well-wisher clearly did not understand him and pictured him as a heartbroken child desperately clinging on to the memories of a dead person. What memories? Lucius despised such pitying people.

The present Lucius was now very much annoyed. He decided that the lily scented shampoo would have to go. But how could he make Draco's insolence go away? It wasn't something tangible he could just toss out the window. Yet, slowly and surely, Draco was losing faith in his father.

He had almost completely lost power that day. Without his sharp turn of topic, his son would have walked straight out of that door and be lost forever.

He was in front of his bedchamber now. A strange smell lurked in the air - the smell of unwashed bodies and sour milk. But the scent was practically invisible. It was something one could sense, but if someone purposely searched for it, it didn't exist.

Lucius slowly turned the brass door handle. He heard a click , then the door slowly opened itself.

It was completely dark inside, despite the fact that he had left a candle burning when he left. The sickly smell was much stronger now, and there was no smell of cedar and dust to cover it up.

"Lumos."

There was no one inside, to his surprise. There wasn't even a house-elf to start the fire that Lucius wanted. It was also cold inside, colder than usual. The room felt as if it had been abandoned for centuries.

Lucius gave himself a fire before starting to undress. First went his cloak. He meticulously hung it on the back of the door. The shoes were the next to go. And then his shirt. His naked torso fair glowed in unearthly paleness. He was starting to undo the belt when a horrible sliminess encircled his feet, and the smell of sour milk became as strong as ever.

The thing made a noise, and Lucius looked down. His hand strayed to where his wand was in his pants pocket. Something yellow-green was bunched in coils around his feet. The head rested on the rug, and a forked tongue flickered.

Lucius hastily put back on his shirt and stood still, staring into the far corner of the room. "My Lord," he whispered.

"Surprisssed, Lucius?"

"I must admit, I was not expecting a rendezvous, my liege."

"Seems like Nagini likes you," the Dark Lord murmured. He hissed loudly in Parseltongue, and the snake left Lucius' side and joined her master.

"Has something vital occurred, my lord? It is hardly fitting for you to be here."

"What, do you think I am weak still?"

"No, no. Of course not."

"Have you spoken to your son yet?"

"Yes, I have. I told him he should befriend the Potter boy and lead him to us."

Voldemort exhaled in what would have been a sigh had the hissing not interfered. "Such a long processss...so horribly tedious. I do not like to wait, Lucius. I have had to wait sixteen yearss...one might say that I could wait a little bit longer. But you see, waiting is not my...thing."

"My apologies. However this is the surest way."

"You will monitor your son and his progress. You will report to me on a weekly basis. As much as your son fascinates me, I do not have hours upon hours of leisure to track him. You will be my eyes and ears."

"Yes, of course."

"I don't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary."

"I understand."

"You may use any method of spying that you would like. I care not as long as the job is done. I trust you not to do something stupid and get yourself into trouble with the authority."

"Yes, Master. I will not fail you."

"You had better not. Well now, sleep tight." The Dark Lord cackled and vanished. There was no pop to signal that he'd Disapparated. He hadn't flown out the window, since every single one was closed. Lucius couldn't help but think that his master's exit didn't have the dramatic feel that it was destined for, as it was rather overdone.

Any method of spying he chose...Lucius was going to have some fun.