Malfoy Christmas

Disclaimers et al: None of the characters belong to me. This is just another fic where I say 'Draco ain't all bad really'. Just enjoy, and Merry Christmas to all!

Draco Malfoy woke early on Christmas morning, opening his pale eyes slowly. He looked out of his window at the snow landing on his windowsill, then pulled the covers up again. Sinking back into the green sheets, he frowned. It was just another Christmas after all, nothing special.

He finally rose two hours later, shivering slightly in the chilly air. He dressed in smart robes, as he was expected to. With his hair neatly combed back, he wandered down the spiral staircase. His father was already downstairs, sitting at the table with the Daily Prophet in front of him. As Draco entered, Lucius threw the paper down.

"Pah!" he snorted, picking up his teacup, "it's full of 'Merry Christmas' rubbish. No decent news at all."

Draco, knowing his father's Scrooge-like attitude all things Christmas, kept quiet and sat down in his seat. Pulling out his wand, he tapped it against the side of the plate. Instantly his plate was filled with sausages and bacon, sent up by the house elves.

Eating mechanically, he barely looked up as his mother entered the room. She glanced around disdainfully at the meagre decorations -the holly on the mantlepiece and the ivy round the candlesticks- as if wishing away their very existence.

"Good morning," she said cordially, as she did every day. Father and son greeted her in return, then turned back to their breakfasts.

After they had eaten, they all went to different rooms in the manor; Lucius to his study, Narcissa to her rooms, and Draco to the library, where he pulled his Transfiguration homework out. When he had returned home from school earlier that week his father had been disappointed. Very disappointed, because of Draco's grades that term. He had been furious, and had ordered Draco to work all holidays at his studies.

Not that I'm missing anything, he thought miserably, scratching across the parchment with his quill. There's never any Christmas cheer round here. Not that it'd be better at Hogwarts.


The Slytherin common room was mostly empty on Christmas Eve when Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, walked in through the portrait hole, having told the painting the password, 'pure-blood'. Draco stretched himself out on the sofa, while Crabbe and Goyle sat on the one opposite. Crabbe fidgeted impatiently, picking at his flat, squashy nose.

"Wonder what I'll get from Santa this year," he said slowly. Draco snorted.

"Don't tell me you believe that there's a fat idiot who comes down chimneys every year?" he sneered.

"Well, yeah," Goyle said, "how do the presents get here otherwise?"

"Magic, by any chance?" Draco scowled. "Honestly, you two are just so thick sometimes."

He turned his head to look away, his hands pulling at the cushion between them.

It would be nice, he thought, to actually believe something like that. I've never been told any of that stuff, not even when I was tiny. It's all nonsense though. Father told me I'm better off not being that credulous.

He sighed and picked up a textbook from the table. He flicked idly through it, ignoring his henchmen's discussions about the next day.

//////////End Flashback//////////

Draco looked up as the gong sounded for lunch. He shut his books and traipsed down to the dining room, where the usual turkey and vegetables were steaming on the table.

They ate, again, in silence. Lucius was still angry with his son for failing to beat a Muggle-born with his grades. He watched Draco picking at his food, and was strongly reminded of how he resembled him. The blond hair and pale eyes almost seemed to mock him, as he had his suspicions that Draco harboured doubts about following his father.

After the meal, Draco slouched back up to the library. His Defence Against the Dark Arts book stared back at him, through the eyes of the photographed Grindylows, Sea Monks, Devil Fish and Sea Serpents. Under the title 'Strange and Mysterious Creatures of the Sea', he began to write.

He was disturbed an hour or so later by his father's entry into the library. Looking up, he saw that Lucius carried a broomstick in his left hand. Not just any broomstick, however. This was a Firebolt. It was laid across the desk before him, its wood shining in the candlelight.

"Father." Draco began, but was interrupted.

"This," Lucius said coldly, "is your Christmas present. As it would seem you cannot beat Potter on your broom, which was purchased recently, we have bought you this one. You cannot fail to win this time."

He span on his heel and strode out of the room. Draco stared after him, then turned his attention to the Firebolt. It was as perfect as any broomstick could be, but his father's orders had tainted it somehow, taken out the pleasure of having it.

"Well, merry bloody Christmas," he muttered.