Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this story, they belong to a certain Ms Rowling

Title: Nostalgia

Summary: As the pressure to murder Dumbledore mounts, Draco finds himself slipping back to a time when being able to hold your Firewhisky was the greatest pressure of all…

The ancient wood gave a final groan of defiance as it rebelliously remained in place.

"Damn it, Goyle! Stop arsing around and move the damn thing!" Draco cried exasperatedly. Goyle nodded apologetically and attempted to heave the large cabinet forward.

"Don't just stand there, Crabbe, Goyle can't move the entire thing," Draco admonished. Crabbe gave Draco a hint of a mutinous stare (which Draco didn't fail to notice) but obediently put his boulder of a shoulder against the side of the cabinet, but to no avail. After five or so minutes Draco cursed loudly.

"Trust Borgin to have the only working one."

"Can't you just bewitch it to move, Draco? Y'know, loco… locomordis?" Goyle suggested.

"Locomotor Vanishing Cabinet, you idiot. You think I haven't tried that? It's bewitched not to be moved by magic," Draco exhaled in frustration, "We'll leave it tonight. I'll owl Borgin in the morning." Draco tapped his chin thoughtfully, wondering if mention of his father or perhaps the Dark Mark would be necessary to swing Borgin over again. A bored throat-clearing interrupted his contemplation. He looked up to see Crabbe and Goyle waiting expectantly.

"You can go, then," Draco said dismissively, gesturing carelessly at the door. He watched their hulking figures disappear in the maze of paraphernalia, half-annoyed, half-amused at their infinite stupidity. How they had ever succeeded in surviving life thus far puzzled Draco greatly, although he liked to think much of could be attributed to his direction.

But none of that mattered now. He was going it on is own… they were no more than lackeys now. He, Draco Malfoy, would be the pride of his family after this. His father would tell him he was a true Malfoy, a perfect son. Aunt Bellatrix would laugh madly and give him a bottle of her best Firewhisky. As soon as it was over… all he had to do was flick his wand at the pathetic wretch who was his Headmaster and it would all be over… that was all he had to do. Flick his wand. Kill a man. It was nothing.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself and made his way out of the Room. The corridors were icy in the silence of midnight, moonlight pooling in cats' cradles on the stone floor. He was truly alone, in both the physical and emotional sense.

Or not.

He spied the couple half-heartedly hiding in an alcove further down the corridor. "Terry!" the pig-tailed girl squealed. Terry leaned in and planted a slobbering, inexperienced kiss on her lips. She blushed furiously, enhancing her likeness to a pig, thought Draco snidely. Terry boldly pressed a kiss on her neck, much to her delight. She giggled drunkenly and allowed a snort to escape, to Draco's horror. Such heathens, he thought in disgust. At least he and Pansy had mastered the art of secret trysts in the secluded corners of the library and even late night ventures in the Common Room. Although none of it stays secret, he thought ironically. Pansy couldn't resist spilling every scintillating detail of their endeavours to anyone who was stupid enough to listen.

The couple didn't hear him approaching above their combined giggles and nervous gasps. As he passed them he glared at them accusatorially.

"Oh shite… oh, um… er, we were just going off to bed," the pig-tailed girl cried, mortified.

"Not – not together!" Terry inserted nervously.

"I wouldn't want to go to bed with that pig either," Draco commented in a disgusted tone, and strode away, his confident footsteps not quite drowning out the hushed reassurances of the pathetic Terry and the indignant sobs of the pig-tailed girl. Somehow, Draco found no pleasure whatsoever in their combined feebleness, as he usually would have. The overwhelming pressure had drained the pleasure from his life… how he wished, somewhere deep in his mind, that he could be as silly and carefree as that Terry and his girlfriend (although he would never admit it). It had been so long since the blithe days of the Yule Ball…

The Slytherin girls had all looked on enviously as he courteously offered Pansy his arm. He nodded at the ridiculously out of place Crabbe and Goyle to follow him, and left the Common Room feeling as if no one could be as cool as he was. They met up with Blaise and Daphne, and Theodore and Millicent (who seemed amazed that Theodore had asked her and not the rather more desirable Tracey Davis) outside the ballroom.

"Good evening, Draco," Daphne smiled invitingly while Pansy practically cut the blood flow to his arm off. Her death grip loosened when Draco coolly returned the greeting, but she missed the lusty wink he threw Daphne over his shoulder as they turned to walk into the ballroom. He graciously asked for Pansy's hand for some of the slower dances (let it never be said a Malfoy maltreated his date), and when the eight of them snuck off with two bottles of Firewhisky Blaise had supplied, he relented and allowed her thin, slightly sweaty fingers to interlink with his. The eight of them sat and choked down the liquid fire, laughing at the stupidest things and making over-the-top conjectures about their grand, grand futures… He remembered the hooded envy in Blaise and Theodore's faces as he left a little early with Pansy's arm wrapped promisingly around his waist. That night, although he had never admitted it to anyone, he had felt truly free… no expectations, no pressure, just him, his wildest dreams and a group of people who, for one evening, had almost felt like friends.

"Draco?" Daphne's husky tone awakened him from his reverie. He found himself in the Slytherin Common Room, the comforting green glow present even in the dim light. She was perched on the edge of a couch, next to a smaller girl with the same delicate facial shape.

"Good evening, Daphne," he replied politely, as though returning to the common room at one in the morning was perfectly normal behaviour for a lone sixth year.

"What've you been up to?" she asked suspiciously. Draco was surprised at how alike she and Pansy were sometimes…

"Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies."

"Draco – '' Daphne caught herself before she could offend him. Nobody questioned the Malfoys' motives. Draco raised an eyebrow, as if challenging her.

"Um… this is my sister, Astoria. She's in fourth year now," Daphne said awkwardly, gesturing to the slight figure next to her.

"It is a pleasure, Astoria," Draco intoned courteously, as he had been taught to do a million lifetimes ago. The young girl finally lifted her head to look at him, and his politely disinterested gaze was met by a set of fierce, passionate blue eyes. He almost smiled at how nostalgic it made him to see the fresh naïveté in her eyes.

"Well, Daphne, I trust you won't keep your sister up too late. We have classes tomorrow, if you'd forgotten," he said in a demeaning tone and bade the two sisters good evening. Daphne watched in shock as he strode towards his dorm. Draco may have been behaving more and more oddly of late, but he hadn't lost his born and bred Malfoy audacity.

Author's Note: So I figure that Draco is politer (if not friendlier) to his fellow Slytherins. He was still fairly cozy with Pansy in HBP, and what with all the must-kill-Dumbledore-or-my-family-will-die pressure, I imagine he might not have been that interested in meeting a skinny little fourteen year old.

Any suggestions would be very very much appreciated