Draco opened his eyes and beheldeth the translucent figure of Blaise Zabini clothed in white. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Blaise?"
"Blaise Zabini? Is that who I am?" The apparition looked down at himself. "Hey, not bad - better than last time."
"I am too tired to deal with this...whatever it is. Sod off, Blaise. I feel a hangover coming on..."
"No, you don't get it!" The figure floated through the foot of Draco's bed and clasped its hands appealingly. "I'm not actually Blaise, I just took that form because you would be more moved by it!" He - it - paused. "Wait - I wasn't supposed to tell you that, was I? Um. Sorry, I'm sort of new."
Draco was burying his head in his pillow. "Come on, don't you feel any amazement and remorse at my sight? Camaderie? Don't you want to know how I am?"
The blond sighed and flipped over. "No. Why should I? I could ask you if I desperately needed to."
"Um, no you couldn't...I'm dead."
That brought the other boy awake and almost fully cognitive. "What? You're right next door! Or here. Something like that."
The whatever-it-was frowned. "Bugger. How old are you, anyway?"
"Seventeen. Which you know, because you were born exactly a week after I was. Look, whoever you are, if this is some kind of prank I'm not up to it right now. Ask after coffee." He flopped down again and tried to tug the blankets over his head.
"Ohshitohshitohshit...some bastard up in management screwed this up again...and I have to clean up again. Self-righteous asses, this'll probably come out of my paycheck..." The Blaise-thing sighed and sat back against the bedpost. Draco's narrowed eyes surfaced over the black duvet. "I will say this once more, and for the last time - what the hell? And get off my bed. You're probably getting ectoplasm or something on it."
"Long explanation or short explanation?"
"As the sole heir to the Malfoy name and fortune, I command that you make your explanation as brief as possible or suffer My Wrath."
"Right. Ever read A Christmas Carol?"
"But that's a Muggle - "
"Yes. Ever read it?"
"Of course - had to for Muggle Lit."
"That wasn't the only time."
Draco pondered this for a moment. "Aren't I a bit young for repenting of my life? Oh...there's been some kind of mistake."
"Knew you were bright. Worst thing is, I'm going to get hell for this."
"And how is this my problem? Yeah, you screwed up. Your funeral. So bugger off and let me sleep."
"No dice, kid. I'm here, we're all set to go, you sound like you need it anyway." The irritatingly Blaise-like wraith-thing crossed his arms and glared at Draco. "Blah blah blah turn back now blah blah repent." He snapped his fingers and vanished.
Blinking muzzily, Draco decided that it was all a dream and he might as well give up and go to sleep.
An hour later, he was awakened by a sharp jab in the side. "Oy, Malfoy - wake up. Can't hang around all bloody night."
Draco opened his eyes and immediately shut them again. "God, no...look, I'm not going to invite Tiny Tim over for dinner, I'm not going to be Mr. Nice Guy, and I'm not bloody being led through my past by the Golden Trio's Weasel."
"Look, you don't have much past, so let's go through this quick." Draco felt himself being forcibly hauled upright and propelled into a vortex.
The Manor...an ornate Christmas tree, piles of glittering presents and gold paper, a sullen six-year-old in formalwear. When one of the brightly clad guests patted Younger Draco on the head, the latter kicked the former in the shins, overturned the punch bowl, and took off for his room. Draco smiled fondly. "Ah...the memories..."
The ghostly redhead beside him scowled. "Should have known you were always a little brat, Malfoy."
"Wait, aren't you spirits omniscient or something?" Draco saw the perplexed frown growing and sighed. "All-knowing."
"Well, for one thing, I'm not exactly a spirit. I - " At that moment, both the scene and the Weasley vanished.
Heh. This was a lot of fun to write. More to come.