A/N: My first Harry Potter fic, for AoGA Secret Santa. Dedicated to Chinky, a.k.a. Ridley Silverlake. I don't really know where I went with this fic, since it's a pretty different archive to write for, let alone a Drapple. Hopefully I meet even the slightest expectations.

Hunger

by Autumn Win-Dow

As the other Slytherin students around him continued to consume their meals as they sneered about the students of the other houses – using their gravy-dipped knives to direct eyes to the culprit of their harsh words – the sixteen year old blonde set down his goblet of pumpkin juice distastefully. It was not the fact that he didn't drink the orange beverage very often – if not at all – nor was he dissatisfied with the perfectly executed magic conducted to brew it in the first place. The cause of his creased eyebrows, the bitter pressing of his pale lips, and the untouched food on his porcelain plate despite the wafting heat and scent of the freshly cooked meals – which came from all directions rather than underneath his nose – was because of the lack of progression in his mission to repair the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. He was determined to succeed in his very first mission as a Death Eater, and Draco Malfoy's slightly desperate spirit which he had never found the need to express previously had finally awoken, and he knew that it was partially because if he didn't complete his mission successfully, there would be severe consequences – surpassing the destructive nature of the shattering of both his pride and his bragging rights which he had abused earlier in the year.

Draco could feel his hands trembling as he gripped the two pieces of silverware in his hands – he was unsure about why he was so nervous at such an early stage of his mission, but his internal reprimanding of himself was not able to dissipate the irritation he was feeling.

Perhaps, to him, it was the fact that he had decided to come to the Great Hall at all, even though he knew that his appetite had vanished a few days prior, and it had not ceased to be that way.

His grey eyes shifted, his glance passing by the head of Pansy Parkinson seated in front of him, and focused on the grinning face of the bespectacled boy seated at the Gryffindor table. Instead of the usual bitter feelings he held for Harry Potter appearing in his mind as usual, followed by his increased distaste for the blood traitors and mud bloods – in particular, for the young Malfoy, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the usual victims of his insults besides Potter and Dumbledore – Draco felt his agitation return. It was mainly due to the fact that his task to kill Albus Dumbledore was tightly linked to the mission of the Dark Lord himself – the notable plot to kill The Boy Who Lived – and his discomfort was enough to easily overpower his usual rival-central thoughts when it came to the darker haired Gryffindor.

The reappearance of his ideas regarding his task led him to look away from Potter – who had become none the wiser about Draco's change of attitude – and his eyes led him not to something or someone who was capable of distracting him for even a brief moment, but the central victim of his mission.

The widely loved Headmaster conversed with Professor McGonagall who was at his side, and both were holding expressions which were completely unreadable for Draco. He despised the fact that many of the powerful people in Hogwarts – notably the adults of whom were not Slytherins in their student years – were capable of hiding their inner thoughts at a masterful level, and no one was ever able to predict or guess what they were thinking – especially Dumbledore, who only displayed expressions of amusement at times, but it was not an idea that Draco could confirm, as he did not have a deep, personal relationship with the infamous wizard, unlike Harry Potter.

However, Draco could decipher expressions which were made to tell him something – as Dumbledore lifted his head to meet his glance, and the blonde saw the infamous shine in the headmaster's eye as he raised his goblet and nodded knowingly. Draco knew that it was not the usual expression he sent to other students who silently greeted the wizard from the other side of the room, but rather an expression of knowing suspicion. The young Death Eater didn't need to guess that Dumbledore was very well aware that he was up to something.

The sound of shifting robes and utensils clinking against plates distracted him from the image of the Headmaster turning away, sipping from his goblet. Draco calmly set down his silverware, but besides the small movement of his thin fingers, he did not budge an inch.

The blonde could vaguely hear the people around him speak in an attempt to grab his attention regarding his still position at the table, but as usual, he ignored his peers and their curious faces. However, they decided previously – when Draco's strange behavior had commenced – that there was no point in doing so, as he no longer chose to talk to them because of personal choice.

The small group left their seats along with the other young witches and wizards in the Great Hall, followed by the professors and the Headmaster – of whom after one pitying glance at the sitting blonde, followed McGonagall as he usually did every evening.

As soon as he was the only person remaining in the Great Hall, he inhaled and lifted his head to glance at the array of leftovers waiting to be disposed of after his departure. He noticed that in particular the bowls of fruit were the ones which were still full to the brim – unlike the many plates deprived of the luscious, warm meat dishes which glorified the Hogwarts concept of dinner every evening. Draco set his eyes on a particular bowl of apples – a combination of deep red and fresh green – and he felt his hand unconsciously reach for a shiny fruit placed along the side.

To the blonde, it was the most perfect apple among the already aesthetically pleasing array of crunchy fruit. It was a light green – almost a pale pastel which complimented his pallid skin – and there was no sign of the slightest dent in the surface of the apple's skin. The fruit was not of an irregular shape either – from his view of the apple, it was completely symmetrical – and the candle light gleamed against the smooth, flawless surface.

As he finally rose from his seat, he tossed the apple in his hand before pulling it closer in a firm grip. Draco was unconsciously careful of making a dent in the dent free surface, and he believed the cause to be the fact that the apple was a test subject for a crucial step in his plan.

Despite his internal questionings, he left his seat, and eventually the Great Hall, in order to reach the section of Hogwarts which he had visited so many times in the year that he knew the surroundings like the back of his hand.

The other students had immediately left for their dormitories, therefore the halls and stairs were empty as Draco smoothly made his way, casually tossing the apple in his hand. His face remained stern despite the relaxed gestures of his right hand – however, his right hand was the only part of him relaxed at that moment.

XXX

The Room of Requirement had not changed in appearance since the last time he had entered – and it was exactly what he had expected.

A dull, dusty room with a broken, ornate cabinet set in the centre.

Once again, he glanced back at the apple in his hand – the only source of vibrant colour in the dark, grayscale room. Usually, he was not so fond of colour to the extent of appreciating it – the only importance he held for the colour of something was the pale yellow of his hair, which matched his father's perfectly. It was his pride as a Malfoy – as well as a pure-blood – which held him together with a permanent scowl etched in his bony features.

Besides that, it was the first time in his seventeen years that he was thankful for the prominence of a bright colour among the dark depths of the room.

A part of him was hoping that the cabinet had been fixed, as the apple would return flawed if it was still broken – and he already felt reluctant to use the apple in the first place.

But he eventually fought off his feelings with the thought of the stupidity a Death Eater were to possess if he cherished the shape of a fruit rather than the status of their task.

Draco sneered – his grip on the apple tightening – as he took cautious steps along the dusty floorboards.

He halted in his steps when he was half a metre away from the intricately designed doors, his firm resolve evident in his expression. After a brief moment of eerie stillness – as he was in no hurry at that moment, blankly staring at the green fruit in his hand – he raised his other hand and grasped the handle of the Vanishing Cabinet's door.

Just like the many previous times when he opened the doors, they creaked faintly as the obvious effects from the cabinet's aging as well as the incident in Filch's office. Just like the exterior, the slightly splintered interior of the cabinet was evenly dusted.

They must be at the other cabinet's location by now, he thought to himself as the hand in possession of the Granny Smith apple smoothly rose, and the blonde carefully placed the fruit on the middle shelf.

Draco had no clue why, but he felt the same feeling from the Great Hall as soon as his fingers broke contact with the firm skin of the fruit – thus led him to swiftly grip the handle of the ajar door once again, and pushed it shut without hesitation.

As soon as he could no longer see the apple – which was hidden by the intricately designed oak board on its rusted hinges – he finally understood how he felt.

It was simpler than he believed it was – he was just hungry.

The young Malfoy simply chuckled at his discovery – as well as his stupidity – after realizing that it was nothing drastic, due to the fact that he hadn't eaten in days. However, he didn't know why his senses had activated in the room with the cloggy atmosphere rather than the expansive hall full of the most luscious scents. The absence of the apple from his vision led to a dry throat, wanting to savour the sweet taste of the crunchy fruit – but only one thing was stopping him from doing so.

He had to finish his task first.

"Harmonia nectare passus."

A quiet chant from the Death Eater's cold lips, followed by the brief sound of rapid wind from within the cabinet, sounded within the expansive Room of Requirement.

A pale hand returned to grip the dull gold handle of the cabinet door, and he pulled it open to see not even a trace of the vibrant fruit which previously lay upon the shelf, except the particles of dust shifted by the apple's placement.

Draco smirked at his success in fixing the Cabinet, and closed the door once again.

"Harmonia nectare passus." He repeated, and the whistling sound returned from the within the cabinet.

However, his smirk from a moment ago was long gone, as a large chunk of the apple had vanished. Not only was the Vanishing Cabinet still flawed in its function, but Draco had hoped that it would come back in one piece – to no avail.

Draco picked up the vibrant green apple – which now exposed a considerable amount of light yellow fruit from within – and he decided that there was still a large amount of progress needed to complete his task.

But for the first time as a Death Eater, he decided to put the matter aside for a moment as he raised the apple and took a large bite into the thin green peel.

He had never felt so pleasured in consuming food as he did at that moment – partially because of his hunger build-up from the past week, as well as his sudden realization that apples had a taste which he was immediately fond of.

Draco suddenly had a feeling in his gut - and his stomach - that he wasn't going to be hungry again anytime soon.

A/N: Okay, it didn't end up as good as I'd hoped it would. But I hope you like it... somehow. I don't really know the purpose of this fic, it was supposed to be a non-crack Drapple, but it doesn't seem sentimental.

Once again, I hope it gets even a little bit of your appreciation. Shout-outs to Ridley Silverlake, the recipient of this Secret Santa.