A Christmas Carol for Draco Malfoy
Pairings: SLASH HP/DM LL/GW and Het RW/HG
Rating: M for language
I don't own A Christmas Carol or The Harry Potter Series unfortunately, because if I did, I would be rich and not writing this story. No Infringement intended or anything! Total AU for the last book and 19 years later...
Chapter 1 Bollocks!
Snape was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. Draco Malfoy was there to witness the dead and slowly decomposing body be put in the earth forever while worms ate at his flesh and turned him into fertilizer at an agonizing pace that would make even a snail cringe.
Severus Snape was as dead as the Dark Lord.
Malfoy knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Snape had been a family friend for many years. Draco was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Malfoy was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of Potions making on the very day of the funeral, and because of that, surely Draco Malfoy would loose a chance to really sit down and learn the art .
The mention of Snape's funeral brings me back to the point Draco started from. There is no doubt that Severus Snape was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot -- say Godric's Hollow for instance -- literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
Malfoy never painted out Snape's name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the Potions classroom door: Professor Snape. Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Malfoy! a sneering, wretched, egotistical, Muggleborn hating, selfish, conniving prat! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his young features, nipped his pointed nose, sharpened his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes cold, his thin lips blue and spoke out shrewdly in his nasily voice.
Nobody ever stopped him in the hallways to say, with gladsome looks, `Professor Malfoy, how are you? When will you come to see me?' No students asked him for help, no house elves dared to look him in the eye, no colleague of his ever once in all his life inquired if he would like to sit next to him during a meal. But what did Draco Malfoy care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance because he could not be hurt again, never again.
Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve -- Professor Malfoy sat busy in his Classroom. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the occasional patter of feet outside of the room. The door of Malfoy's room was open that he might keep his eye upon his apprentice, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was grading essays. Malfoy had a very small fire, but the apprentice's fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. The apprentice however, was donned in an atrocious sweater that looked as though a colour blind woman picked it out.
"Happy Christmas Malfoy, how are you?" It was the voice of Malfoy's old enemy, whom had entered the room so quickly that this was the first time that Malfoy had heard him approach.
"Bollocks!" Malfoy grumbled, not looking up once to see his once old enemy, Ron Weasley.
"You can't mean that Malfoy, sure as hell Christmas isn't Bollocks, quite the contrary." Ron said to Malfoy.
"Happy Christmas, HAPPY? Why should you be happy, you and Granger have six Halfbloods already, Christmas is a very hard time for you, you're poor enough..." Malfoy said snidely.
"Then Why the Hell are you so depressed, you're rich enough!" Ron said harshly, anger slowly rising.
"Bollocks," was Malfoys answer.
"Don't act like that, it's Christmas!"
Why shouldn't I, when I live in such a world full of idiots? Happy Christmas! Fuck Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, and yet another hour closer to death? If I could get away with it, every moron who goes about chanting "Happy Christmas" should be smothered in his own mince pie, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. So fuck Christmas!
"Malfoy..."Ron begain but was sharply cut off by Malfoy.
"You celebrate your way and I will celebrate mine."
"Celebrate! You don't celebrate!" Ron exclaimed.
"Let me leave it alone, then. Hell lot of good it's done for you!" Malfoy hissed, his grey gaze narrowed.
"There are many things from which I might have gotten some good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among it. But I'm sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow men, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And because of that Malfoy, even though I never got a galleon, sickle or knut out of it, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!" Ron says, to which his sister, and Malfoy's apprentice, Ginny starts to applaud a little bit.
"Weasley, you have changed my mind, I will give and give until my little shrivled up heart explodes." Malfoy said sarcastically, glaring at the tall red head infront of him.
"Don't be like that, my mum wanted to know if you would like to eat with us tomorrow for dinner."
"No,"
"Come on, why?" Ron asked.
"Why did you get married?" Malfoy asked.
Ron looked confused but answered, "because I fell in love..."
"You fell in love with the Mudblood and I fell in love with my money and solitude..." Malfoy said, pointing at the door.
"Wha'?"
"Get out Weasel."
"Please Malfoy, my Mum really wants you there!" Ron exclaimed
"Go away Weasley."
"Damn you, if you are going to be a right prick about it, the Happy Christmas, a million times Happy Christmas!" Ron yelled while handing Ginny her lunch that he brought.
"OUT!"
"And A HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
"Bollocks..." Malfoy mumbled and returned to his work.
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