Summary: Seasonal JK Rowling/Charles Dickens crossover. Will a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past alter Malfoy's character?
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling. The plot belongs to Charles Dickens, but he's less likely to sue... See if you can spot which lines are directly stolen from "A Christmas Carol".
Author's Notes: Yes, I know I should be getting on with "No Easy Goodbyes", but I have a big plot problem with that, and my mind has gone temporarily blank on how to sort it out. Plus, I was challenged to write a Christmas story. Thank you for the stacks of reviews, by the way - I can't believe I've had 41 reviews for part 5 of "No Easy Goodbyes", I really appreciate it! Anyway. Enjoy this silliness, I had lots of fun writing it.
* * * * *
MALFOY'S CHRISTMAS CAROL - Part 1
A seasonal ghost story
Malfoy was livid: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The fury on his face had been seen by Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy was as livid as a raging Hungarian Horntail.
Did they know why he was so angry? Of course they did. How could it be otherwise? Malfoy was angry for two reasons.
He had been annoyed when the first blow fell - the letter from his father telling him to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas.
"Your mother has been called away to nurse a sick relative," Lucius Malfoy had written, "and I will be entertaining some of my own friends. With your mother away I think it is better than you stay at school for the holidays."
Narcissa Malfoy's enclosed note had been a little warmer in tone. "Dear Draco, I'm so sorry you can't come home for Christmas. I will send all your presents to you."
The second blow, however, had really made Malfoy's bad mood complete. It was the discovery that, this Christmas, only two students were staying at Hogwarts - himself, and his least favourite companion, Harry Potter.
That Christmas Eve, the school seemed very quiet. The remaining staff and students ate supper together at one long table. Malfoy cast dark looks across the table at Harry Potter, whose head was bent over his plate, but he dared do nothing more to him with several members of staff watching both of them. Neither boy contributed much to the genial conversation Albus Dumbledore was endeavouring to maintain.
Draco wondered moodily, as he drank his pumpkin juice, which hexes might suffice to ruin Potter's Christmas Day. The problem was that if Potter did happen to develop Jelly-Legs or a rash of boils tomorrow, suspicion would almost certainly fall straight on Draco, there being no-one else around for it to fall on.
It seemed far too long before Professor Dumbledore rose, nodded pleasantly to his colleagues, and ended the meal. Draco paused when he saw Potter pushing his chair back, not wanting to find himself in the position of leaving the room at the same time. He followed after a few moments, and saw Potter's back view heading towards the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Malfoy headed in the opposite direction, down the stairs to the dungeon entrance, and through the cold stone corridors to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
The corridor seemed very dark as Malfoy reached the stretch of bare stone wall which hid the common room entrance. The torches which lit the walls were guttering in their sockets, the flames sinking very low. He put out a hand to touch the wall, opened his mouth to utter the password - and froze.
There was a face looking out of the wall at him, and one he recognised. It was the face of his grandfather, Festrus Malfoy, who had been dead for five years.
"Grandfather?"
Draco shut his eyes and opened them again. The wall appeared perfectly normal. No face was to be seen.
To say that Draco was not startled would be untrue. But he put his hand gingerly upon the wall, murmured rather distractedly, "Asphodel and Wormwood," and when the wall slid open he walked into the common room.
He did pause, and look cautiously at the back of the wall as it slid back into place, but there was nothing unusual there.
The common room was empty, and the fire cast dancing shadows around the dim room. Malfoy decided to go to bed, and walked down the passageway which led to the fifth-year boys' dormitory.
The dormitory was empty too, and silent, but Malfoy, for reasons he was unwilling to admit to himself, had a good look round it before he went to his own bed. There was nobody under the green hangings of the four-poster beds, nobody in the vast carved wardrobes, nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging from a hook on his bed-post. Everything was quite as usual, including the faintly ripe aroma from the pair of socks Goyle had mislaid three weeks earlier and which had so far resisted all the boys' efforts to find them, including calling charms.
Malfoy sat down on his bed and took off his shoes, wondering about the face he thought he had seen. There *were* ghosts at Hogwarts, but why would Festrus Malfoy suddenly decide to haunt the school? He had never been seen haunting anywhere else since they had buried him in the family vault at Malfoy Manor. Draco shrugged, and pulled off his socks - and paused, as he heard something strange.
There was a clanking sound out in the stone passageway, a noise like a metal chain being dragged along the floor. Someone was coming. The noise grew louder, and then, without a pause, Festrus Malfoy's ghost passed straight through the heavy door and into the dormitory. Draco paled slightly as his grandfather seated himself opposite him, on Crabbe's empty bed. He had a heavy metal chain twisted around his body, dragging across the floor behind him, but otherwise he looked just as Draco remembered him, except that he was transparent.
"Grandfather!" Draco said, staring transfixed at him.
"Draco," said the spirit in return, eyeing him severely. "You have grown since I last saw you. You look like your father - unfortunately."
"Why - why have you come?" Draco asked nervously.
"Not to wish you a Merry Christmas, Draco," replied his grandfather's ghost. "You see this chain I am wearing?" He rattled it as he spoke.
"Yes."
"I made it myself, in a lifetime of pureblood pride and unkind deeds, Draco. You have already started making yours."
The ghost paused, and Draco found himself shivering in the silence.
"I have come to give you a chance of avoiding my fate - and the fate of your father," Festrus continued. Draco looked hopeful. "You will be haunted by Three Spirits."
Draco's face fell.
"Expect the first when the bell tolls one," said Festrus.
"Couldn't I take them all at once, and have it over with, Grandfather?" hinted Draco.
"No. I will visit you no more, and for your own sake, remember what has passed between us!"
When it had said these words, the ghost rose from Crabbe's bed, and, letting out a mournful cry, vanished through the door.
Draco stood up, on rather shaky legs, and checked that the dormitory door was locked. "Poor old Grandfather, being dead must have driven him nuts," he said aloud, but his voice lacked conviction. He got into bed, pulled the covers well up, and despite what he had just seen, went straight to sleep.
* * * * *
When Draco awoke, it was very dark. He was just wondering what had woken him, when he heard the distant clock in the common room striking one. "One o'clock," he thought, remembering his meeting with his grandfather. Perhaps it had been a dream?
Light suddenly filled the room, and the curtains around his bed were drawn by a hand. Draco, sitting up, startled, found himself face to face with the visitor who had drawn them.
The spirit who stood there was a small, slight figure - in build he reminded Draco of little Dennis Creevey. A brilliant light shone from it, so that Draco was forced to look away.
"Who, and what are you?" he demanded.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," replied the spirit, in a low, gentle voice, quite unlike the Dennis Creevey-type squeak Malfoy had expected. "Rise, and walk with me!"
It was in vain for Malfoy to protest, because he found the spirit's grip on his arm strong enough to draw him out of bed. It pulled him not towards the door, but towards the solid stone wall.
"I'll hit the wall!" he protested, but the words were scarcely out of his mouth before he found himself passing through the wall, along with the ghost. It was a very cold, strange sensation, and not a comfortable one.
Draco expected to find himself in another dungeon passageway or dormitory, but to his surprise they were standing in a room he recognised. It was a large bedroom, richly furnished, with a high ceiling, velvet curtains, portraits in heavy gold frames, and antique furniture. It was lit by one branched candlestick full of burning candles, which stood beside a huge bed.
"This is - this is my bedroom!" Draco said, turning to the ghost in astonishment. "My room at Malfoy Manor!" He looked around, frowning. "But it doesn't look quite the same -"
There was nobody in the room, but as they stood there they heard a raised, angry voice in the passage outside, and a moment later the door was flung open. Draco recognised his father, Lucius Malfoy. He expected his father to look straight at him in astonishment, but Lucius did not seem to notice him at all.
"These are but shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost. "They will not see or hear us."
Lucius was looking furious, and was dragging a small pyjama-clad child by the arm - a blond boy of about four years old. With a shock, Draco recognised his younger self. His father looked at least ten years younger, too.
"You will *never* do such a thing again, Draco, do you understand me?" Lucius said, pushing the little boy towards the bed. The young Draco's face was blotched with tears, and he was choking back more.
"Embarrassing me in front of our guests - how dared you?" Lucius continued. "Some of my guests are very important people, boy! They are not to be bothered by whining brats!"
"I'm sorry, Father, I'm sorry - "
"You will go to bed and stay there, this time, do you hear me? I do not wish to see you tomorrow morning until I send for you, Christmas Day or not."
Draco, watching the little boy climb sobbing into the oversized bed, remembered the incident, and the shame he had felt. He had woken up, and run downstairs to ask his parents if it was Christmas Day yet, and whether he could open his presents. Unfortunately, they had been entertaining important guests for dinner, and Lucius Malfoy had not been inclined to laugh off the intrusion of a four-year-old into a rather secret and delicate discussion.
Lucius Malfoy paused by the door, watching his son pull up the bedcovers. "You are not a baby, and don't need a nightlight," he observed, blowing out the candles, and shutting the door firmly behind him.
Draco could still see, thanks to the light shining from the ghost next to him, but the young Draco in the bed obviously could not, and was sobbing loudly under the bedcovers.
A few minutes passed, before the door was opened again softly, and the light of a single candle shone into the room. It was carried by Narcissa Malfoy, resplendent in a glittering green evening gown.
"Mother!" the young Draco choked, as she hurried towards him.
"Ssh, Draco!" Narcissa sat down on the bed and stroked his hair soothingly. "Father is very annoyed. But everything will be all right tomorrow. Don't forget, it's Christmas."
The little boy's sobs subsided as she soothed him, and she held something out to him. "Look, I've brought you some chocolates from the dining-room."
There was a soft tap on the door, and the worried face of Dobby the house-elf appeared. "Mistress - the master is missing you. He is wondering where you is, mistress."
"Tell him I will be down in a moment, elf," Narcissa ordered, and Dobby vanished obediently. "I must go, Draco - your father wouldn't like it if he knew I'd been up here."
"W-will you leave the candle here, Mother?" asked the little boy, as she tucked him in.
"Yes, all right. Sleep well." She looked back and gave him a rather sad smile as she closed the door behind her.
"Do you remember that night, Draco?" asked the spirit, looking at him.
"Yes," Draco said in a low voice, shielding his eyes from the spirit's bright light. Seeing this long-ago Christmas had given him powerful mixed feelings.
The Ghost of Christmas Past was pulling on his arm, and Draco felt another surge of cold run through him as his feet left the ground again. Leaving the little boy curled up in the grand room, they melted through the panelled wall...
...and into a completely different room. A suburban sitting-room, with flowered curtains, overstuffed furniture and many things which were strange to Draco's eyes. Bright light came from a glass bulb on the ceiling, with a pink fringed shade. A strange box with moving pictures on it stood in the corner of the room, next to the elaborately-decorated artificial Christmas tree.
"Is this - a Muggle house?" asked Draco, who had never been in one before.
"Yes," said the spirit. "A Muggle house...the same Christmas as the one we have just seen, but in a very different family."
The door opened, and a small boy waddled in. Draco blinked. His friends Crabbe and Goyle were solidly-built by anyone's standards, but they lacked the rolls of blubber this child had already managed to accumulate. Piggy eyes in the pink face glinted as the boy made for the pile of presents under the Christmas tree.
A thin, horse-faced Muggle woman with blonde hair in curlers followed the boy into the room. "Happy Christmas, Duddy darling!" she exclaimed. "Come and give Mummy a Christmas kiss."
The boy ignored her, and began purposefully ripping the wrappings off the nearest present, seemingly as unaware of his mother's presence as he was of Draco and the ghost standing behind him.
"Petunia!" A large man entered the room, beefy and pink-faced like his son, and with a large moustache. He was carrying a wrapped present, which he handed to his wife, who simpered at him. "There you are, my dear. Happy Christmas."
He was followed into the room by a boy of about four, much smaller and skinnier than the first boy. He had black, untidy hair, green eyes and round glasses. His glasses and his clothes were too big for him, and the sleeves of his threadbare jersey had been rolled up several times. He was staggering under the weight of several large gift-wrapped boxes.
Draco frowned at this boy. He was pretty sure he knew who this was. It had to be a younger Harry Potter.
"Put them down there!" the large man barked at Harry, who struggled across to the Christmas tree and put the boxes down next to the pile that was already there.
A smile appeared on the large man's face. "Happy Christmas, Dudley - that should be enough to keep you going."
Dudley, the pudgy child, abandoned the toy train he'd just taken out of a box, and pounced on one of the new packages.
Harry watched him for a few moments, before turning to the woman. "Happy Christmas, Aunt Petunia."
She looked him up and down for a few moments, with what Draco thought was a rather exasperated expression, before she reached down and grabbed the empty train box from the floor. She handed it to the skinny little boy. "There's your present. You can keep things in it."
"What can I keep in it?" asked Harry.
"Don't ask so many questions!" she snapped at him, before her expression changed completely as she turned to her son. "Do you like the new Action Man, Duddykins?"
"It's broken," Dudley whinged, having just pulled the head off the toy. He flung it away from him, and looked at Harry, who was still clutching his cardboard box. "Give that back to me, it's mine."
"She just gave it to me," Harry complained. Dudley's face went red at this, and he screwed up his eyes, opening a cavernous mouth to scream.
"I - WANT - MY - BOX!"
"Give Dudley the box!" the large man barked at Harry. "And then go and make us some tea, and when you've brought it in, keep out of the way until Dudley's finished opening his presents."
The younger Harry opened his mouth to protest, then obviously decided it wasn't worth the trouble and closed his mouth again. Silently, he handed the box to his cousin, walked to the door and went out.
Draco frowned again as he watched the parents kneel down by the tree and soothe the still red-faced Dudley, encouraging him to continue with the present-opening.
"I wouldn't blame Potter if he thumped that boy," Draco murmured to the ghost, feeling a twinge of sympathy for his old enemy which surprised him.
"I told you these are but the shadows of the things that have been," said the spirit. "We cannot change them."
As the spirit turned towards him, Draco shut his eyes against the glare from its light, and became suddenly conscious of being exhausted. He felt the sensation of flying again, of being suddenly whirled around and dropped into a soft surface. When he opened his eyes, he was lying in his own bed in his Slytherin dormitory, the ghost had gone, and it was dark once more. Exhaustion seemed to overwhelm him, and he sank into sleep immediately, without time to think about the strange things he had seen.
* * * * *
End of Part 1. Want to read on? Head for Part 2! :)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling. The plot belongs to Charles Dickens, but he's less likely to sue... See if you can spot which lines are directly stolen from "A Christmas Carol".
Author's Notes: Yes, I know I should be getting on with "No Easy Goodbyes", but I have a big plot problem with that, and my mind has gone temporarily blank on how to sort it out. Plus, I was challenged to write a Christmas story. Thank you for the stacks of reviews, by the way - I can't believe I've had 41 reviews for part 5 of "No Easy Goodbyes", I really appreciate it! Anyway. Enjoy this silliness, I had lots of fun writing it.
* * * * *
MALFOY'S CHRISTMAS CAROL - Part 1
A seasonal ghost story
Malfoy was livid: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The fury on his face had been seen by Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy was as livid as a raging Hungarian Horntail.
Did they know why he was so angry? Of course they did. How could it be otherwise? Malfoy was angry for two reasons.
He had been annoyed when the first blow fell - the letter from his father telling him to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas.
"Your mother has been called away to nurse a sick relative," Lucius Malfoy had written, "and I will be entertaining some of my own friends. With your mother away I think it is better than you stay at school for the holidays."
Narcissa Malfoy's enclosed note had been a little warmer in tone. "Dear Draco, I'm so sorry you can't come home for Christmas. I will send all your presents to you."
The second blow, however, had really made Malfoy's bad mood complete. It was the discovery that, this Christmas, only two students were staying at Hogwarts - himself, and his least favourite companion, Harry Potter.
That Christmas Eve, the school seemed very quiet. The remaining staff and students ate supper together at one long table. Malfoy cast dark looks across the table at Harry Potter, whose head was bent over his plate, but he dared do nothing more to him with several members of staff watching both of them. Neither boy contributed much to the genial conversation Albus Dumbledore was endeavouring to maintain.
Draco wondered moodily, as he drank his pumpkin juice, which hexes might suffice to ruin Potter's Christmas Day. The problem was that if Potter did happen to develop Jelly-Legs or a rash of boils tomorrow, suspicion would almost certainly fall straight on Draco, there being no-one else around for it to fall on.
It seemed far too long before Professor Dumbledore rose, nodded pleasantly to his colleagues, and ended the meal. Draco paused when he saw Potter pushing his chair back, not wanting to find himself in the position of leaving the room at the same time. He followed after a few moments, and saw Potter's back view heading towards the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Malfoy headed in the opposite direction, down the stairs to the dungeon entrance, and through the cold stone corridors to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
The corridor seemed very dark as Malfoy reached the stretch of bare stone wall which hid the common room entrance. The torches which lit the walls were guttering in their sockets, the flames sinking very low. He put out a hand to touch the wall, opened his mouth to utter the password - and froze.
There was a face looking out of the wall at him, and one he recognised. It was the face of his grandfather, Festrus Malfoy, who had been dead for five years.
"Grandfather?"
Draco shut his eyes and opened them again. The wall appeared perfectly normal. No face was to be seen.
To say that Draco was not startled would be untrue. But he put his hand gingerly upon the wall, murmured rather distractedly, "Asphodel and Wormwood," and when the wall slid open he walked into the common room.
He did pause, and look cautiously at the back of the wall as it slid back into place, but there was nothing unusual there.
The common room was empty, and the fire cast dancing shadows around the dim room. Malfoy decided to go to bed, and walked down the passageway which led to the fifth-year boys' dormitory.
The dormitory was empty too, and silent, but Malfoy, for reasons he was unwilling to admit to himself, had a good look round it before he went to his own bed. There was nobody under the green hangings of the four-poster beds, nobody in the vast carved wardrobes, nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging from a hook on his bed-post. Everything was quite as usual, including the faintly ripe aroma from the pair of socks Goyle had mislaid three weeks earlier and which had so far resisted all the boys' efforts to find them, including calling charms.
Malfoy sat down on his bed and took off his shoes, wondering about the face he thought he had seen. There *were* ghosts at Hogwarts, but why would Festrus Malfoy suddenly decide to haunt the school? He had never been seen haunting anywhere else since they had buried him in the family vault at Malfoy Manor. Draco shrugged, and pulled off his socks - and paused, as he heard something strange.
There was a clanking sound out in the stone passageway, a noise like a metal chain being dragged along the floor. Someone was coming. The noise grew louder, and then, without a pause, Festrus Malfoy's ghost passed straight through the heavy door and into the dormitory. Draco paled slightly as his grandfather seated himself opposite him, on Crabbe's empty bed. He had a heavy metal chain twisted around his body, dragging across the floor behind him, but otherwise he looked just as Draco remembered him, except that he was transparent.
"Grandfather!" Draco said, staring transfixed at him.
"Draco," said the spirit in return, eyeing him severely. "You have grown since I last saw you. You look like your father - unfortunately."
"Why - why have you come?" Draco asked nervously.
"Not to wish you a Merry Christmas, Draco," replied his grandfather's ghost. "You see this chain I am wearing?" He rattled it as he spoke.
"Yes."
"I made it myself, in a lifetime of pureblood pride and unkind deeds, Draco. You have already started making yours."
The ghost paused, and Draco found himself shivering in the silence.
"I have come to give you a chance of avoiding my fate - and the fate of your father," Festrus continued. Draco looked hopeful. "You will be haunted by Three Spirits."
Draco's face fell.
"Expect the first when the bell tolls one," said Festrus.
"Couldn't I take them all at once, and have it over with, Grandfather?" hinted Draco.
"No. I will visit you no more, and for your own sake, remember what has passed between us!"
When it had said these words, the ghost rose from Crabbe's bed, and, letting out a mournful cry, vanished through the door.
Draco stood up, on rather shaky legs, and checked that the dormitory door was locked. "Poor old Grandfather, being dead must have driven him nuts," he said aloud, but his voice lacked conviction. He got into bed, pulled the covers well up, and despite what he had just seen, went straight to sleep.
* * * * *
When Draco awoke, it was very dark. He was just wondering what had woken him, when he heard the distant clock in the common room striking one. "One o'clock," he thought, remembering his meeting with his grandfather. Perhaps it had been a dream?
Light suddenly filled the room, and the curtains around his bed were drawn by a hand. Draco, sitting up, startled, found himself face to face with the visitor who had drawn them.
The spirit who stood there was a small, slight figure - in build he reminded Draco of little Dennis Creevey. A brilliant light shone from it, so that Draco was forced to look away.
"Who, and what are you?" he demanded.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," replied the spirit, in a low, gentle voice, quite unlike the Dennis Creevey-type squeak Malfoy had expected. "Rise, and walk with me!"
It was in vain for Malfoy to protest, because he found the spirit's grip on his arm strong enough to draw him out of bed. It pulled him not towards the door, but towards the solid stone wall.
"I'll hit the wall!" he protested, but the words were scarcely out of his mouth before he found himself passing through the wall, along with the ghost. It was a very cold, strange sensation, and not a comfortable one.
Draco expected to find himself in another dungeon passageway or dormitory, but to his surprise they were standing in a room he recognised. It was a large bedroom, richly furnished, with a high ceiling, velvet curtains, portraits in heavy gold frames, and antique furniture. It was lit by one branched candlestick full of burning candles, which stood beside a huge bed.
"This is - this is my bedroom!" Draco said, turning to the ghost in astonishment. "My room at Malfoy Manor!" He looked around, frowning. "But it doesn't look quite the same -"
There was nobody in the room, but as they stood there they heard a raised, angry voice in the passage outside, and a moment later the door was flung open. Draco recognised his father, Lucius Malfoy. He expected his father to look straight at him in astonishment, but Lucius did not seem to notice him at all.
"These are but shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost. "They will not see or hear us."
Lucius was looking furious, and was dragging a small pyjama-clad child by the arm - a blond boy of about four years old. With a shock, Draco recognised his younger self. His father looked at least ten years younger, too.
"You will *never* do such a thing again, Draco, do you understand me?" Lucius said, pushing the little boy towards the bed. The young Draco's face was blotched with tears, and he was choking back more.
"Embarrassing me in front of our guests - how dared you?" Lucius continued. "Some of my guests are very important people, boy! They are not to be bothered by whining brats!"
"I'm sorry, Father, I'm sorry - "
"You will go to bed and stay there, this time, do you hear me? I do not wish to see you tomorrow morning until I send for you, Christmas Day or not."
Draco, watching the little boy climb sobbing into the oversized bed, remembered the incident, and the shame he had felt. He had woken up, and run downstairs to ask his parents if it was Christmas Day yet, and whether he could open his presents. Unfortunately, they had been entertaining important guests for dinner, and Lucius Malfoy had not been inclined to laugh off the intrusion of a four-year-old into a rather secret and delicate discussion.
Lucius Malfoy paused by the door, watching his son pull up the bedcovers. "You are not a baby, and don't need a nightlight," he observed, blowing out the candles, and shutting the door firmly behind him.
Draco could still see, thanks to the light shining from the ghost next to him, but the young Draco in the bed obviously could not, and was sobbing loudly under the bedcovers.
A few minutes passed, before the door was opened again softly, and the light of a single candle shone into the room. It was carried by Narcissa Malfoy, resplendent in a glittering green evening gown.
"Mother!" the young Draco choked, as she hurried towards him.
"Ssh, Draco!" Narcissa sat down on the bed and stroked his hair soothingly. "Father is very annoyed. But everything will be all right tomorrow. Don't forget, it's Christmas."
The little boy's sobs subsided as she soothed him, and she held something out to him. "Look, I've brought you some chocolates from the dining-room."
There was a soft tap on the door, and the worried face of Dobby the house-elf appeared. "Mistress - the master is missing you. He is wondering where you is, mistress."
"Tell him I will be down in a moment, elf," Narcissa ordered, and Dobby vanished obediently. "I must go, Draco - your father wouldn't like it if he knew I'd been up here."
"W-will you leave the candle here, Mother?" asked the little boy, as she tucked him in.
"Yes, all right. Sleep well." She looked back and gave him a rather sad smile as she closed the door behind her.
"Do you remember that night, Draco?" asked the spirit, looking at him.
"Yes," Draco said in a low voice, shielding his eyes from the spirit's bright light. Seeing this long-ago Christmas had given him powerful mixed feelings.
The Ghost of Christmas Past was pulling on his arm, and Draco felt another surge of cold run through him as his feet left the ground again. Leaving the little boy curled up in the grand room, they melted through the panelled wall...
...and into a completely different room. A suburban sitting-room, with flowered curtains, overstuffed furniture and many things which were strange to Draco's eyes. Bright light came from a glass bulb on the ceiling, with a pink fringed shade. A strange box with moving pictures on it stood in the corner of the room, next to the elaborately-decorated artificial Christmas tree.
"Is this - a Muggle house?" asked Draco, who had never been in one before.
"Yes," said the spirit. "A Muggle house...the same Christmas as the one we have just seen, but in a very different family."
The door opened, and a small boy waddled in. Draco blinked. His friends Crabbe and Goyle were solidly-built by anyone's standards, but they lacked the rolls of blubber this child had already managed to accumulate. Piggy eyes in the pink face glinted as the boy made for the pile of presents under the Christmas tree.
A thin, horse-faced Muggle woman with blonde hair in curlers followed the boy into the room. "Happy Christmas, Duddy darling!" she exclaimed. "Come and give Mummy a Christmas kiss."
The boy ignored her, and began purposefully ripping the wrappings off the nearest present, seemingly as unaware of his mother's presence as he was of Draco and the ghost standing behind him.
"Petunia!" A large man entered the room, beefy and pink-faced like his son, and with a large moustache. He was carrying a wrapped present, which he handed to his wife, who simpered at him. "There you are, my dear. Happy Christmas."
He was followed into the room by a boy of about four, much smaller and skinnier than the first boy. He had black, untidy hair, green eyes and round glasses. His glasses and his clothes were too big for him, and the sleeves of his threadbare jersey had been rolled up several times. He was staggering under the weight of several large gift-wrapped boxes.
Draco frowned at this boy. He was pretty sure he knew who this was. It had to be a younger Harry Potter.
"Put them down there!" the large man barked at Harry, who struggled across to the Christmas tree and put the boxes down next to the pile that was already there.
A smile appeared on the large man's face. "Happy Christmas, Dudley - that should be enough to keep you going."
Dudley, the pudgy child, abandoned the toy train he'd just taken out of a box, and pounced on one of the new packages.
Harry watched him for a few moments, before turning to the woman. "Happy Christmas, Aunt Petunia."
She looked him up and down for a few moments, with what Draco thought was a rather exasperated expression, before she reached down and grabbed the empty train box from the floor. She handed it to the skinny little boy. "There's your present. You can keep things in it."
"What can I keep in it?" asked Harry.
"Don't ask so many questions!" she snapped at him, before her expression changed completely as she turned to her son. "Do you like the new Action Man, Duddykins?"
"It's broken," Dudley whinged, having just pulled the head off the toy. He flung it away from him, and looked at Harry, who was still clutching his cardboard box. "Give that back to me, it's mine."
"She just gave it to me," Harry complained. Dudley's face went red at this, and he screwed up his eyes, opening a cavernous mouth to scream.
"I - WANT - MY - BOX!"
"Give Dudley the box!" the large man barked at Harry. "And then go and make us some tea, and when you've brought it in, keep out of the way until Dudley's finished opening his presents."
The younger Harry opened his mouth to protest, then obviously decided it wasn't worth the trouble and closed his mouth again. Silently, he handed the box to his cousin, walked to the door and went out.
Draco frowned again as he watched the parents kneel down by the tree and soothe the still red-faced Dudley, encouraging him to continue with the present-opening.
"I wouldn't blame Potter if he thumped that boy," Draco murmured to the ghost, feeling a twinge of sympathy for his old enemy which surprised him.
"I told you these are but the shadows of the things that have been," said the spirit. "We cannot change them."
As the spirit turned towards him, Draco shut his eyes against the glare from its light, and became suddenly conscious of being exhausted. He felt the sensation of flying again, of being suddenly whirled around and dropped into a soft surface. When he opened his eyes, he was lying in his own bed in his Slytherin dormitory, the ghost had gone, and it was dark once more. Exhaustion seemed to overwhelm him, and he sank into sleep immediately, without time to think about the strange things he had seen.
* * * * *
End of Part 1. Want to read on? Head for Part 2! :)