Chapter Six: Christmas

All of the students leaving for the holidays were gone by nightfall and the few left in the castle scattered. Draco, well aware that many of the students who'd stayed were Slytherins, avoided the Slytherin haunts, but, as he turned a corner to find himself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe, he realized that perhaps avoiding them didn't mean they wouldn't seek him out.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here boys," Blaise said with an almost feral grin. "An interesting spineless, yellow-bellied specimen known as the 'traitor'."

"Heh heh," Vincent laughed dully. Gregory just looked confused. Draco sighed.

"If only I had proof, Zabini," he threatened. "You'd be thrown into Azkaban before you could say 'Master'."

"I'd watch my back if I were you, traitor," Blaise hissed, grabbing Draco's collar and hauling him off the ground. "Or my goblet."

"Heh heh," Vincent laughed again. Gregory tugged hesitantly at the back of Blaise's robes.

"Erm…why is Draco a traitor?"

Blaise glared at him. "We've been over this before, idiot. He betrayed the Dark Lord and helped Potter and his friends escape. Don't touch my robes."

"But…" Gregory almost wilted under Blaise's dark gaze, but pointed out, "Draco hadn't even sworn his first oaths like you had."

"Gregory," Blaise sighed, "I see we are going to have to talk again. Come on, Vincent. We'll see our old friend Draco again." He walked off, Vincent close behind him. Gregory paused a moment, as though he didn't know what to do.

"Thanks, Greg," Draco said, surprised that his former friend had stuck up for him.

"Don't get any ideas," the boy snapped. "Just because I don't think you're a traitor doesn't make you any less of a mudblood-lover and a complete disappointment."

"Greg, I—"

"That's Goyle to you. You're a disgrace to Slytherin."

He hurried after Blaise and Vincent, leaving Draco standing outside the Head Boy's room, wondering.

Christmas was a quiet affair at Hogwarts this year. Draco slept late. When he awoke, he remembered that nobody he remotely liked was in the castle, so he stayed in bed for another hour. He finally got up close to noon, stumbled through his shower, performed a quick dry/straighten charm on his hair, and walked back through his bedroom, where he was completely shocked to find a small pile of gift-wrapped boxes at the end of his bed.

There was an envelope on top of a very small box. The address was his mother's handwriting. Draco perched on the edge of his bed and carefully opened the letter.

My Dragon,

I know why you aren't coming home for Christmas, though you didn't say it in so many words. I appreciate your concern. I am in a safe place, but I cannot say where for fear of this owl being intercepted.

Your father is dead. The Dark Lord's plans are thwarted. The Daily Prophet will have wind of it soon, and I will be accused of his murder. I neither confirm nor deny this. I only say that now his torture is over, and may he have what peace he can find, poor soul. He was a good man, my son. I know you think him a monster, but the two of you just had different ideals. He was like the tree that breaks in the wind, you are like the tree that bends in the storm—the one that can change, the one that survives.

I am sending to you the seal ring with the Malfoy crest. It is your birthright and perhaps the only of your proper inheritance you will ever receive. You are the Patriarch of the Malfoy family. It is not much, but it is who you are.

I'm sorry you haven't anyone to help you in your time of trials. Be strong, my dragon. You are a Malfoy and a Black and a Slytherin and above all, you are my son Draco, and I believe in you.

I love you.

Forgive me.

Mother

Forgive her? Draco wondered. For killing Father? I suppose she did kill him—probably to put him out of his misery.

He unwrapped the small box that accompanied the letter and opened it. The large seal ring that he'd seen on his father's hand—and his grandfather's hand before he'd died—lie nestled in tissue paper. His fingers drew close to it, then he paused. It was entirely likely his father had put curses or jinxes on it. He set it aside to have a curse-breaker look at it later and turned his attention to the other presents.

The first was from Hermione. A card accompanied it.

Draco,

Merry Christmas! I wasn't sure what to get you, so I settled for a few books that I've always found most useful. Enjoy!

Hermione.

There was a copy of One Hundred Basic Curses and Their Counters, Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, and Hogwarts, A History. Draco smiled, remembering the many times Hermione had snapped at him, exasperated, "You really ought to read Hogwarts, A History."

The next box was slightly crushed, like someone had sat on it. A short, scrawled note accompanied it.

My mum made you a Weasley sweater. If you make fun of it, I'll curse you three ways from last week. I got the chocolates from my brothers' shop.

Sure enough, the box contained a knit sweater in Slytherin green and silver. Draco laid the sweater on the bed and set the chocolates on the nightstand, carefully not putting any in his mouth. He'd heard about Weasley's Wizardly Wheezes and thought it would greatly cheer him up to slip them into the Slytherin Common Room and see what happened.

The next was from Harry. It was just an envelope—no box. When he opened it, a gold coin fell out. Draco picked up the coin and held it in his hand, flipping it over his knuckles as he read the letter.

I suppose you know about the D.A. in fifth year. After we disbanded, we didn't reform last year, but we decided to get back together after the hols. You're in by unanimous agreement. The coin grows warm when I set a date for the next meeting, and the numbers on the side tell you the date and time. I set the meetings. We'll be in the Room of Requirement since it's so handy for practices. Merry Christmas.

Harry Potter

Draco looked curiously at the gold coin. It looked like a regular wizarding coin. Someone had done some very sophisticated magic. He shrugged, pocketed it, and picked up the final box.

There didn't seem to be a note, but he found it when he opened the box. Inside the box was a hip flask and a folded piece of parchment.

Don't get poisoned. —Ginny

"Hm," Draco said aloud. "Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Ginny."

He tucked the flask in an inside pocket in his robes and finally went down to the kitchens to see about getting some breakfast.

Two days later, Draco decided to approach Professor Snape.

"I need a curse-breaker."

Snape leaned back at his desk, his pale fingers interlaced on his chest. "And what reason do you have to trust that I wouldn't send you to a fraud?"

Draco smiled. "I'm not going to die from a cursed signet ring, Professor. You and I both know that."

"What strand of reasoning led you to this conclusion, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Severus, won't you please call me Draco again?"

"You made that choice for me, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied smoothly. "Now, if you please, explain why you won't die from a cursed signet ring."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be honest with you, sir, I don't know what side you're on." He leaned forward and looked his Head of House in the eyes. "But I know that whatever side you're on, you have a vested interest in my continued existence, at least for the present. If you are against the Dark Lord, you will want me, the one who foiled his plans last year, to live. If you are a supporter of the Dark Lord—" Draco paused.

"If I am a supporter of the Dark Lord, then what?" Snape inquired.

"Then you might slip a certain potion into my drink or you might deliver me to the Dark Lord so that he may administer the potion personally, but you would not arrange for me to die from a cursed signet ring. In this aspect, you are the only one I can trust."

Snape laughed shortly. "We are both of us in peculiar situations, Mr. Malfoy." He summoned a House Elf, which brought tea. "Sugar?"

"You know I'm not going to drink that, Professor."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You saw the House Elf bring it."

"And I know that you are a professional, sir. A professional what, I am not sure, but a professional nonetheless."

The greasy-haired professor smiled. "Sometimes you truly are your father's son."

"I'm nothing like him!"

"You are," Snape relied calmly, sipping his tea. "I will give you the name of a good curse-breaker. You can send her your signet ring. She does good work and charges a fair price. In exchange for this assistance, however, I want you to answer a few questions for me."

Draco frowned slightly. "I suppose that depends on what they are, Professor."

"Why did you approach me instead of running to the Headmaster?"

"I knew that I could trust you in this regard."

"But you couldn't trust Professor Dumbledore?"

"I wouldn't so much say that I couldn't trust him to find me a good curse-breaker," Draco said. "I just feel as though I understand your motives better—whichever master it is that you're truly serving. I can predict what you're going to do, to some extent. I can even be relatively sure what actions the Dark Lord will take because I understand his motives. But the Headmaster…I have a difficult time understanding such altruism."

"Yet you yourself displayed altruism last year when you foiled the Dark Lord's plans."

"No," Draco replied thoughtfully. "My motives weren't unselfish. They were entirely selfish. I didn't want the blood of my classmates on my hands, I didn't want to be some little dark minion, and I didn't want to be like my father. And all those people I rescued, they have selfish reasons for wanting the Dark Lord gone. He killed Harry's parents, he had the Weasley's father killed, his Death Eaters killed Hermione's parents and tortured Neville's parents into insanity. But Dumbledore I don't understand."

"I see," Snape said. "And what—"

"I think that's enough, sir," Draco cut him off. "I am sure you have already discerned more than I told you."

"Fair enough," Snape replied. "Here is the name of the curse-breaker." He handed Draco a slip of parchment. "Just send her your ring."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said, standing and making his way to the door.

"Oh, and Draco?"

Draco half-turned. "Yes?"

"Do try not to get yourself killed."

Less than a hour after the Hogwarts Express returned to Hogwarts, Draco felt his pocket grow warm. Puzzled, he reached in and pulled out the Galleon Harry had given him for Christmas. He had forgotten about it. The numbers on the side told him that the meeting was set for that very night at 7, almost right after dinner.

Draco smiled, placed the warm coin back in his pocket, and knocked on Hermione's door.