(Disclaimer: I do not own the amazingness that is Draco Malfoy, or any other tiny little piece of the Potterverse. I desperately wish I did though.)
"Shit!" Draco Malfoy cursed, tossing various textbooks out of his school bag. Normally, he was much too cool to be seen carrying schoolbooks, especially as of late... What kind of guy doing the Dark Lord's bidding had time for homework? Not Draco, that's for sure. But when sick of getting beat at everything by that stupid Potter, and in grave danger of failing a semester of N.E.W.T level Potions, something had to be done. Slughorn had given him an extension on their most recent essay, along with some of the more important homework assignments- due to Draco's connections with the inventor of Floo Powder, and Draco wasn't planning on wasting such a close friend of the family's on nothing.
The only problem with this plan was that he didn't have the foggiest idea of what he had done with his copy of Advanced Potion Making. Had it been any other class, he would have demanded that one of his classmates do the assignments for him- or at least give him their book, but the only Slytherin who knew anything about Potions was Blaise, and Draco flat out refused to ask him for help.
Continuing his search, he dumped everything else out of his bag (spilling a vial of England's finest ink and smashing a few good quills in the process), emptying his trunk and wardrobe, and even reached the point of desperation where he ventured into the black hole growing beneath his four-poster bed.
"Crabbe? Goyle?" Draco demanded, barging into the Slytherin common room. "Either of you buffoons seen my Potions book?" he continued, towering over the two.
They each shook their boulder-sized heads and continued trading their Chocolate Frog cards. Didn't anything ever cross their minds that recquired more maturity than an eleven-year-old was capable of? Didn't they know that he was in danger of failing Potions? More importantly, didn't they know that he was in danger of failing the task that the Dark Lord had assigned him? Did they care!
Draco left the Slytherin common room in a huff. He had no idea how he was going to pass Potions without his book- or even where he could get his hands on a spare- without having to swallow his pride and ask Zabini. It was already well after eleven and not only was he supposed to be tucked safely in his four-poster, but it was more than likely that that old bat Slughorn had been asleep for hours. Borrowing a copy from a Professor was definitely not an option.
As he often did when focusing on homework was out of the question, he headed up to the deserted seventh floor corridor. With his Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder stowed safely in his robes, and the assurance that no one would be wandering around the school at half-past eleven, he stopped where the entrance to the Room of Requirement should have been. It was in this instant that his sheer idiocy dawned on him. He had to be the biggest imbecile to ever attend Hogwarts, second only to Longbottom...
"I need a copy of Slughorn's most recent essay... I need a copy of Slughorn's most recent essay... I need a copy of Slughorn's more recent essay..." his brain chanted as he paced back and forth, praying for Granger's essay to be sitting inside the Room of Requirement, happily awaiting a few revisions.
After several minutes of pacing, the doorway had not appeared. Apparently the Room of Requirement needed a truly tangible object to work.
He sighed, knowing he was going to have to do this the long way. "I need to find a spare Potions book... I need to find a spare Potions book... I need to find a spare Potions book..." his brain chanted again, waiting for the doorway to appear.
Same as always, the doorway appeared. Draco pushed the door open and instead of being greeted by his dear old Vanishing Cabinet, he found himself in a room the size of the Great Hall, filled from corner to corner with rows and rows of seven foot high stacks of every Potions book ever created. "Ha!" he said, impressed by his resourcefulness.
Sitting on top of an elbow-high stack at the end of the third row was a nearly new copy of Advanced Potion Making. It had to be his lucky day. He picked up the book and concentrated on what he needed next. No sooner than the thought entered his mind, a desk, chair, fresh roll of parchment and fine eagle quill appeared out of thin air. Feeling more pleased with himself than he had in a long time, he took a seat at the desk and flipped open the Potions book. He vaguely remembered Slughorn mentioning something about page 867 in class...
He quickly flipped through the pages, barely noticing the sharp handwriting that filled the margins of every page. 860... 862... 864...868... He then noticed that there seemed to be no sign of page 867. It jumped straight from 865 to 868.
He ran through Chapter Seventeen one more time, and sighed. He really wasn't meant to pass Potions, apparently. About to give up on the horrid subject forever, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and muttered the counter-curse for a sticking charm. Immediately the pages fell apart, leaving a sticky goo over all of the pages- except one piece of parchment that fluttered to the ground. Once again, the pride of being resourceful made a grin spread across his face. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a Know-It-All like Granger after all...
He leaned out of his chair and picked up the piece of age-worn parchment that had been sealed between the pages. He unfolded it, praying that it would have the entire chapter's notes on it, or anything else that might help him finish the essay before dawn. Instead, he was greeted by the stench of old blood... His eyes quickly ran over the bloodstains, chilling handwriting and gruesome illustrations that covered the page. Chills raced up his spine.
"What in the hell is a horcrux?" he asked himself, his eyes running over the page again.