Draco ran. He ran as fast and as far as he could, trying to get anywhere in the manor where he could pretend he hadn't heard his mother.
This close to Christmas (22 days!) you'd have thought he was safe, wouldn't you? Oh no, you'd have been wrong. It may be freezing, it may be the depths of the winter but that sun was shining and his mother insisted that he would be going outside.
And so he ran. Off into the distant towers that hadn't been used in centuries, along secret corridors that hadn't been heard of for a millennia, at least. Trying to escape.
The sunburn had subsided in October, leaving Draco nothing to use as an excuse next time. But, to be fair, no one but his mother would ever suggest going out at temperatures this low.
Draco ran through the library, through the west wing and through assorted underground passages.
And, pulling the Floo Powder out of his pocket, he dove into the fire, narrowly missing two owls and a house elf. Shouting his destination, he was transported out of his home, and he ran out of the fire. Smack bang into the arms of his mother.
Squealing, Draco apparated himself to the only place he could think of. Treading water, he ran up to the island.
Shivering, resigned to spending the night outside, Draco pulled himself up onto the shores of Azkaban.
He was not impressed. Nor, as Pansy would put it, was he a happy bunny.
And then the screaming began. Draco glowered and threw himself down in the sand. He was very far from impressed as he settled himself down for the night.
And when morning came, Draco hauled himself into the water, and apparated into his fireplace.
Which was very hot. Draco was forced by the house elves to leave the burny goodness of the fire, and had a hot shower.
Or at least tried to. As his mother had used all the hot water.
Sulking, Draco went to bed, and developed a decidedly nasty cold.
And this, this here, is what tanning enduces. Damn his crazy mother, and also Bah Humbug.
Draco hated Christmas for s very good reason.