A/N: A little late (or early?) for Christmas I suppose, huh? Ah well, hopefully you enjoy anyway. It's just a bit of Draco angst because, really, no one is that emotionless as he.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter series and all associated characters, themes and ideas.

Draco Malfoy sat idly atop the plush leather chair in the grand expanse of his living room, gently running his fingertips over the soft material as he pondered his feelings of emptiness. Although this year had been plentiful – oh yes, plentiful indeed, he had received everything he had asked for and more – he still felt incomplete, as if something had been left untouched, leaving him completely unsatisfied.

His steely grey eyes swept across the room, landing on the magnificent tree dominating the space; the burly spruce that left a sharp aroma simply towered over Draco and the crystalline star at the top nearly grazed the ceiling. Rising to his feet, Draco neatly picked himself up and strode over to the tree to observe the delicate ornaments that had been placed with precision and care.

Draco yanked an ornament off the branch and stared at it, a small smile creeping upon his face. The ornament had been homemade, courtesy of Draco, and contained a picture of his mother, father and himself decorated by a messily pieced-together frame. In the picture he was much younger and was being swept up in his mother's arms and twirled around as his father stood happily beside him. Draco allowed himself to be swallowed in the warmth of the memory before being brought back to his cold reality. No longer was he the beloved Malfoy child, but a mere trophy, barely an extension of the family, Draco thought bitterly.

The sound of laughter from outside pierced his focus and drew him towards the window, his eyes longingly searching for the source. An elderly couple strolled along slowly outside of his house, relishing in the silence of the neighborhood as soft snow drifted along their aged forms. Both were adorned with their own scratchy, uncomfortable Christmas sweaters, instantly reminding Draco of the close-knit Weasley bunch, always enjoying a bit of family ribbing. Each year during the wintertime, the Weasley children always had a new, equally hideous, equally horrifying sweater, finished with cheap, scratchy wool and branded with their initials. He only ever saw the sweaters during weekends and other opportunities that a Weasley would sheepishly enter the public's eye in them, but nonetheless they never failed to make their appearance.

And then blasted Harry Potty and beaver Granger began wearing them too.

"What could possibly be so enticing about a grotesque sweater?" Draco pondered to himself as he thought back to his own wardrobe. Of course he would never own an object of such little value or appeal; but Draco couldn't deny that there was some detail about those sweaters that drew the bunch closer together.

With a firm scowl on his face, Draco sat back down on his chair just as his father, Lucius entered the room.

"Excited to get back to Hogwarts, Draco?" drawled Lucius at his son as he took his own seat across the room. Draco merely acknowledged him with a slight nod, abruptly standing to leave.

"Good night, Father," he said curtly before promptly exited and climbing the grand staircase to his bedroom. Before climbing into bed, Draco wrapped his Slytherin scarf tightly around his neck, the scratchy fabric providing slight discomfort and irritation against his skin.

It was by no means comfortable, but the wool item was the closest thing he would ever experience to a Weasley sweater, so he supposed it would have to do.