Better Be Slytherin
XLII
A Malfoy Manor Christmas

"Did you see the Quibbler today?" mumbled Theodore Nott by breakfast next morning.

Stuffing toast in his mouth, Draco frowned derisively. "Of course I didn't. What? Something about Crabbe having Veela blood? Or a detailed guide to finding Blibbering Humdingers or whatever they're called? Or that the Minister is a vampire?"

"Not really," said Theodore coldly. Draco wondered why he even spoke to him. But it seemed in some matters they were allied. And in some they despised each other. "But it did say that the Dark Lord has taken over the Ministry and that we should not be fooled by them. And that we should support Harry Potter who is on the run."

Draco cocked his head. "Not exactly news is it."

"Not for us, no. But now that it's out there, others will start believing it."

Draco's heart sank. Did this mean...? And as if on cue, his father's great horned owl came soaring down towards him with a rolled up note in its beak.

'You need to take her' was all it said. Draco closed his eyes and wished he could disappear into the Vanishing Cabinet and stay there until all of this was over.


Countryside whooshing past outside the compartment window, Pansy was glancing at Draco without him noticing. He was leaned back against his seat, looking out the window.

She wondered what was bothering him; he'd been distant all since he got his mission. He'd been like this for a year, although he acted as if nothing had changed. Before he got involved with the Dark Lord, he had subconsciously, impulsively shared everything with her. Now there was something he wasn't telling her.

Crabbe and Goyle were playing Exploding Snap, Zabini and Nott were reading. Pansy had a copy of Witch Weekly in her lap but she hadn't been able to focus. Everything else in their compartment was how it had always been. Except for Malfoy. Usually, he would've entertained them all with tales of something cheeky he'd done to Harry Potter, or teased Goyle or talked crap about Dumbledore. His old energetic self, she supposed, seemed to have gone to give room for this new, serious and brooding type. There wasn't even a trace of his former sneer on his face.


Swallowing thickly, he rose just as Pansy and the rest began getting their trunks down to change into ordinary robes and put the school robes away. He commanded loudly, "Binky!"

As the small elf appeared with a pop, Crabbe and Goyle jumped and Draco saw Pansy narrowing her eyes.

"Master Draco!" the Elf bowed deeply, "Nice to see you, sir, Binky has been waiting all term for young master Draco to come home—"

"Take this home," he said in a chilly tone, interrupting her. She frowned at his trunk.

"Is master not coming with—?"

"Take that home. I'll be home in a while."

And ignoring the Elf and Pansy's surprised calls after him; he left the compartment and made his way down the corridor to the compartment he knew Lovegood was sitting in. He'd planned it all, because he wanted it over with as smoothly and quickly as possible. He didn't know why it had to be him to kidnap Lovegood, but he supposed he was just nearest.

He pulled the sliding door open roughly, and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" twice, at Longbottom and the Weasley girl in turn before they had a chance to react. They fell back and lay unnaturally lopsided on the seat with shock etched upon their faces.

"You're coming with me," he said firmly to Lovegood, who had just looked up from the issue of the Quibbler that she was holding in her hands. She looked mildly confused, like she always did.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she said slowly, frowning, as if he'd asked her on a date.

"You haven't really got a choice. Come with—" he began, teeth clenched, but she interrupted him with her light voice.

"Where are we going? Is this about the Sword of Gryffindor? Because we've already been punished for that, we had detention."

He ignored her and couldn't stop the pleading in his voice when he said, "Just come with me and I won't have to curse you."

He stepped forward and grabbed her arm hard. She winced. "Are you taking me to the Carrows?"

He sighed inwardly. He wished. Where they were going now was much worse.

"No," he said shortly.

"I don't suppose I shall bring my trunk with me?" she asked quietly, still not sounding particularly afraid.

"No," he said again, and while still holding onto her hand, he turned to look out the compartment door window. Students were milling out of the train onto the platform to their awaiting families... He swore. He couldn't just walk out there with her captured. He'd have to Apparate them away. And suddenly he was angry at his father for not giving him any instructions at all on how to carry this out.

He didn't have his Apparition licence, and he hadn't Apparated on his own many times. What if he splinched himself? He had certainly not taken anyone by side-along Apparition. Would it be harder?

Realising he hadn't a choice, he pointed his wand at the small curtain above the compartment door window so that it closed. Nobody could see them now.

"Why did you do that?" said Lovegood slowly. "Aren't we getting out?"

"Nobody's supposed to see us," said Draco shortly. "By the way," he said, postponing what he knew he had to do. "You're holding a banned magazine. Do you want the Carrows to come and get you?"

She didn't answer. She was silent for a while and then, she sad in a sad tone, "Daddy is waiting for me at the platform."

He could tell her to flee the country with her father. He could do it. But he knew he wouldn't, he'd never dare. Not if it risked his own skin. No, he had to do this. It was not as if he'd have to torture her, no she wouldn't even get hurt, she would just be kept for the principle of it. She wouldn't get hurt so what he was doing wasn't really wrong. Draco turned away from her and swallowed thickly again. "Your dad should've been more careful as to what he puts in that magazine of his."

He saw her eyes widening in understanding, before he took a deep breath to try and ease the nausea. And then, nonverbally, he cursed her. "Stupefy," he thought and she fell, limp into his arms. The sight made him even more nauseous.

He didn't want to go home to the house where Voldemort was, where Bellatrix was. His heart was beating quickly and his palms were sweaty. He Apparated away, focusing his thoughts on the manor. Everything spun, his eyes felt pushed into his skull, he wanted to be sick...

But then it was over and his feet met ground and the unconscious body of Lovegood fell onto him. He gasped. He'd never realised how heavy a human body was when it wasn't stirring. He crawled up and dragged her along with him. He staggered, dizzy and resited the urge to vomit, as his eyes found the large black gates before Malfoy manor in the darkness.

Beyond them, beyond the fountain an the overgrown grass, a few of the windows were lit on the lower floor. The house wasn't as impressive as it had been in his childhood. Ivy grew over the walls almost up to the roof, making the house look decayed. The garden wasn't neat anymore, it was overgrown since nobody had cared for it in a long time. He knew Binky hadn't had time for anything but cooking and cleaning and she hadn't for a while. And now that there were always more people than the three of them in the house, she was even more stressed. When he was younger, Narcissa had prided herself upon her garden, which she had let the House-Elves perfect under her strict supervision. Since his father had been sent to Azkban, however, his mother seemed to have lost her interest for everything.

Perhas his mother now wanted the house to look so degraded that the Dark Lord would choose another headquarters.

Draco dragged Lovegood towards the wrought iron gates. They were taller than he was, towering above him. He heard a soft hoot from one of the peacocks on top of the hedge, but those too had grown so high he couldn't see the top of them. He held up his left arm to the gates which then let them through. He hurried as much as he could down the grovel path, staring at the house he called home, thinking of how little he wanted to go inside it.

He suddenly realised he was holding onto Lovegood too hard, in anticipation – he eased his grip so he wouldn't bruise her. He knocked at the large doors on the top of the small stairs, and soon heard someone approaching on the inside.

"Who is it?" said a cold voice.

"It's me, mother!" he panted, and her voice changed at once. The door flew open and she moaned, "Draco! I was so worried." Her eyes fell onto the unconscious girl he was dragging along with her. With a slight disgusted look on her face, she said, "Binky, take this girl downstairs."

The Elf appeared, she and Draco shared a short eye-contact but neither said anything. Binky looked slightly frightened as she snapped her fingers, making Lovegood levitate after her as she crossed the large hall and made her way towards the staircase leading down to the cellar. "The usual enchantments!" called Narcissa after him.

"Mother," he mumbled, and she turned to him.

"Oh, darling," she whispered and embraced him. It was just what he needed. "You're home..."

After many embraces from his mother who seemed even more worried and anxious than she had the summer he'd received his task, a slight catchup with his father and a warm meal, he made his way up the staircase and down the corridor lined with portraits of his old relatives, and soon found himself in his large bedroom. It seemed vacant and dusty, he felt as though it had been years since he'd been here last, but in reality it was only a few months. The dark green bedspread, the banner with the words 'Tojours Pur' over his four-poster, the flames crackling in his large fireplace... it was just as he had left it. He unbuttoned his cloak and hung it up, glancing at the hearth, pondering to fire-call Pansy or Gregory. But no, they were probably busy with their families.

He fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of the Dark Lord and Luna Lovegood. The Dark Lord made him torture her... Not only using his wand... Her blood was on his hands and he felt sick... The dream changed and suddenly it was Pansy dancing at the Yule Ball with Theodore Nott... he tried approaching them but they didn't hear him... When he finally reached out to touch Pansy, his hand went straight through her as if he was a ghost... Pansy was laughing at Nott's jokes, not realising Draco stood there... Just as they moved closer to kiss each other, he screamed and woke himself up. He woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat again. But he was used to it by now.


He woke up way too early. But nowadays, with all his nightmares, sleep wasn't something he desired anyway. He rolled over in his bed to face the large window. The sky was dark, almost black, but far away by the horizon, over the fields and meadows, light shone through the thick blanket of clouds. He knew that today was Christmas Eve, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to spending it with his parents. But he knew he wasn't allowed out to fly on his broomstick either, nor visit friends.

He remembered the manor in his childhood, with its perfects lawns, large rose garden, and his very own Quidditch pitch. Now everything was wiltered and disused. Christmas in his childhoods consisted of waking up to mountains of presents and his mother hugging him warmly, the House-Elves working all day on cooking the feast... He would run around pulling crackers. They would eat turkey and gravy and roast potatoes followed by Christmas pudding... His parents would drink Elf-made wine an look at him lovingly while he opened a second batch of presents as it darkened outside... The House-Elves were dressed with tinsel around their ugly heads for Draco's amusement... Then he would stuff his face with Chocolate Frogs from an enormous box, and try out all his new toys.

How times had changed.

He remembered when the most important thing in his life had been to beat Gryffindor in Quidditch and the House Cup, and the most dramatic thing that had happened him was chasing Dumbledore's Army with the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad.

How times had changed indeed.

He wished Pansy was there. Or, failing that, Greg.

He got dressed and called for Binky to make his bed and unpack his trunk, and then made his way out through the corridor and down the large staircases into the hall. The ceiling was high and a large carpet covered most of the floor. There were voices from the dining room. He stepped insde. There were less portraits on the walls here, the hearth was smaller, and the room felt warmer and lighter than the other rooms in the manor. The table was dressed in white linen, decorated with large candelabras shaped like serpents, and the crockery were in goblin-made silver. Above their heads were a stone chandelier with burning candles.

Lucius was at one end of the long table reading the Daily Prophet. Narcissa was sipping her tea by the other end of the table, being served eggs by another House-Elf.

"Ah, Draco," said Lucius when he stepped inside, lowering the newspaper. He was wearing a purple and gold dresing gown with a white night shirt underneath. His father didn't speak much these days – his voice had even become hoarse for the lack of use. "Come and have a seat."

Draco did as he was told and the House-Elf hurried to pour steaming tea into his cup. He reached out to grab himself some bacon, as his father said, "The Dark Lord was pleased with how you handled the Lovegood girl. It was quick and there were no witnesses. Well done."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"We'll need to get something of hers and owl it to her father."

Narcissa looked up, disapproval on her face, looking between her husband and son but said nothing.

"Why? Surely he's aleady noticed she's gone!" Draco fired up at once. "Even the Lovegoods can't be that daft!"

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "He doesn't know who's taken her yet, and why. Just do what I tell you, Draco," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Fine," said Draco sarcastically. "Do you want me to cut off a finger?"

Narcissa gasped, and he felt guilty at once. Lucius jaw clenched. "This is no time for jokes, Draco. Just get an item of clothing, or a piece of jewellery or something similar."

"What a lovely subject to discuss over breakfast on Christmas Eve," he muttered crossly. "I don't think the dozy cow has got any jewellery, father."

"You'll think of something," snapped Lucius.

He finished his breakfast quickly so that he left the dining room before his parents, and made his way down to the cellar where he knew Lovegood was held. It got darker and darker as he moved down the staircase so finally he had to say, "Lumos!" and light up his wand. In between the bars of the door he could see her just visible in the corner, illuminated by his wand-light. She looked half asleep, but stirred when she saw him. Before she had time to sit up straighter however, he muttered, "Petrificus Totalus". He did not want to see her living eyes as he took something from her.

"Alohomora," he mumbled, and the barred door swung open. He marched in and bent down by her. He studied her quickly, and then his eyes lingered on her left earring. It looked like an orange-coloured radish, and it seemed vaguely familiar to him, as if she always wore this. Making up his mind, he carefully reached out to the unconscious body and pulled out the earring. He held it up for a second to inspect and then stuffed it inside his pocket. He stood up, made his way out of the room, closed the door by magic again, and then muttered, "Finite" and so she moved again. He left before she could say anything, however.

After stuffing the earring in an envelope and fastening it in his father's owl and watching it fly away, he hurried up to his bathroom to have a shower. He felt dirty after what he'd just done.


The following morning he woke up from the sunlight that beamed into his room, blinding him and filling the room with its warmth. He rolled over and threw the covers off him, they were sticking to his sweaty body. The house seemed oddly quiet, echoing almost, when he got up. The floor creaked under the thick carpet as he passed to make his way down the staircase to the kitchens. He found Binky in there, in midst of preparing breakfast. The large clock on the wall pointed at ten to eleven, which took him by surprise. How long had he slept? Much longer than he usually did on Christmas morning anyway. Speaking of, he'd nearly forgotten it was indeed Christmas morning. Where was his pile of presents?

"Where's mother and father?"

"Master and Mistress is out!" squealed Binky, setting the small table in the kitchen for him. A single glass, plate and set of cutlery for him alone. "Visiting Master Abraxas' grave. They waited, but Master Draco slept so long..."

Slightly annoyed at the fact that they hadn't brought him along, or even asked him if he wanted to come, he sat down and began buttering his toast violently. Taking a bite, he looked out the window at the compact layer of snow outside. It wasn't snowing, it was perfectly still, and the sun shone but it seemed cold enough anyway because the snow wasn't melting at all. Finishing his meal, he went into the sitting room. It was empty.

He stood by the door outside the drawing room, pressing his ear against it carefully. Voldemort didn't seem to be in either.

There weren't even sounds from the cellar. He did not know what steered him, but he went back into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of toasts and a goblet of pumpkin juice and made his way down the stairs to the cellar.

"Lovegood?" he said, after luminating his wand. She didn't say anything, but he heard her move, and when he pointed his wand towards where she was, he saw her sit up. She looked tired and worn.

"I've brought you some food," he mumbled, suddenly feeling quite silly.

"That's nice," she said in her usual dreamy voice, but she sounded weaker than the last time he'd heard her speak. "I am quite hungry, actually..."

He opened the door, levitated the goblet and toasts in to her, and when she grabbed it, he stepped out and muttered, "Colloportus," and the door closed again. He watched her gulp down the pumpkin juice thirstily.

"Ah, pumpkin juice," she said and he thought he saw a slight smile. "My favourite."

He watched her eat through the bars without saying anything. He didn't know why he stayed.

"Is it Christmas Day?" she asked silently when she'd finished. "I've been trying to keep track of the days."

He nodded, but then remembered she probably couldn't see him through the darkness. "Yes," he then said. For some reason he didn't quite know himself, he pulled up a old, small wooden stool from the corner and sat down. After a few minutes, she said, "Are you still there?" in a tone that sounded as though she'd just realised she hadn't heard any footsteps go up the stairs.

"Yes," said Draco and wondered why.

Maybe she heard that by his tone, because she said, "You're feeling guilty."

"I…" he began, but then he frowned and snarled "Don't tell me what I feel." He looked away.

She ate a bit more and he heard her offer a piece of toast to Ollivander, who mumbled a weak, "No, thank you, dear".

"Fine, sir," she said gingerly, "I'll just leave it here for you if you want some later."

Then she turned to Draco, who disliked the eye-contact they shared. "He's quite weak. I don't think locked in here for long is very good for your health."

Draco thought briefly that she must be the weirdest prisoner in the world.

"He only has himself to blame," said Draco. "He could end this if he just told the Dark Lord what he wants to know."

He heard Lovegood sigh. Then, in a voice that scared him, a low, pleading voice, she said, "Couldn't you please let me go? I'm sure daddy will stop writing about Harry Potter..."

Suddenly, his usual nausea came back. "You know I can't do that."

"It's just... I'm a bit afraid..."

He closed his eyes. This was a girl, a girl he'd seen around Hogwarts for years, a young girl just like Pansy was..

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said quietly, softer than before. He couldn't help it, he was cold sweating, nervous, hating it.

"I'm afraid of You-Know-Who... He's up there, isnt' he...? I'm sure my father will stop writing whatever you want if you give me back to him."

"It's not up to me," he said apologetically, feeling panicky. What if the Dark Lord would hear him talk to her like this? He'd be fed to the snake!

"What if they torture me?"

"I—" he gasped, "I dont think they will," he finished lamely. There was nothing he could do. It wasn't up to him.

He heard her sob and sniffle. His heart sank. He needed to get out of there.

"Don't tell anyone I was down here," he said, stressed, and rose quickly, and ran up the stone stairs.

He closed the thick door behind him, knowing he put the cellar in complete darkness, and stood panting against it. He couldn't go down there again, it was to hard for him.

He hurried up to his bathroom and threw the door open. A large bath tub stood in the middle of the room with serpents heads as feet. He hurried over the black marble floor and turned one of the gold taps on. He jerked off his robes and stood in front of the basin for a moment, breathing heavily.

He looked up into his own face in the mirror. And suddenly he remembered, he'd been standing this way over a basin at Hogwarts last year, in a similar breakdown. He run a hand over the scars on his chest from where Potter had cursed him.


His parents came home in the early afternoon and told him about how Voldemort had gone to Godric's Hollow last night and almost captured Potter and Granger, as they dumped their finest travelling cloaks onto Binky. Draco wondered briefly why Weasley wasn't with them – was he really ill with Spattergroit like the rumours said?

The Dark Lord himself arrived later, Draco saw him through a window as he moved up the grovel path, his long black robes billowing after him, and his face white like the dead. He seemed to be even angrier after that. He was back in the drawing room. He locked himself in there and Bellatrix was the only one allowed in. Not that Draco complained.

Binky lit a fire in the sitting room and they had a glass of Firewhiskey by the sofas round the fireplace. Narcissa reached out a small black package to him. Surprised, he put his glass down.

"What's this?"

"Your Christmas present," she said, smiling slightly. Not at all like how she had smiled when he opened presents in his childhood. Lucius gave a curt smile too, leaned back in the sofa, resting his hand with the glass of Firewhiskey on the armrest.

He opened the box and found an expensive-looking watch inside.

"It's goblin made," said his mother with a haughty smile. "Been in your father's family for centuries."

"Really?" he couldn't help himself gasping. That was really cool.

"I wore it in my youth," smirked Lucius. "I received it as a coming-of-age present. Before me, your grandfather had it, and his grandfather before that."

"Thanks," he said, an honest smile erupting on his face.

Then they had the gloomiest Christmas dinner he'd ever had. Bellatrix came over for some reason (nobody particularly wanted her there) but other than that it was just the three of them. He had no grandparents on either his mother's or father's side anymore. He had another aunt but his mother wasn't in contact with her. They drank expensive Elf-made wine and had turkey with redcurrant jelly that Binky had prepared for several hours. The Elves had tried decorating the manor with tinsel and baubles, but Narcissa had hissed at them to take it down. The only things now remaining were misletoe here and there and a large dark green tree with simple decorations. The Malfoys thought it tacky to decorate too much.

He'd basically stopped speaking in Bellatrix's presence – or rather, in any of the Death Eater's presence. And since Lucius and Bellatrix were practically always quarreling with each other, they too had seemed to adapt the non-speaking behaviour.

In the middle of a large mouthful of brussel sprouts, a large owl soured in through the window and dropped a note on an empty plate near Bellatrix. She picked it up.

"Oh, look at that," she said, "Rodolphus and Rabastan will be joining us."

Draco felt as though his insides had turned to ice, and he had a very difficult time getting the Christmas pudding down. When the other Death Eaters arrived, already drunk and asking for more eggnog and Firewhiskey, he had enough and went up to his room.

He stood by the window looking out over he garden, the fountain and the peacocks on top of the hedges. He wished Christmas could be like a few years ago when he and Pansy snuck out to Goyle's and drank all of his parents' Firewhiskey. Life was so different now. He'd been a child then.

He sipped his seventh Butterbeer in an attempt to find solitude in drunkeness, but merely found his stomach full and bubbling. Perhaps he'd go up to his fathers study to see if there was any Firewhiskey in the old stash.

When his mother knocked on his door a while later, he did not let her in. He stayed absolutely silent and pretended not to hear her.

Slightly dizzy and absent-minded from the drinks, he made his way out of his bedroom. He could hear voices from below, so he was fairly sure he wouldn't be caught on his way to his father's study. He made his way up to the second landing. In the staircase, he paused by the window, because he spotted Voldemort gliding along the grovel path, away from the manor... The fountain playing, the enormous snake around his shoulders... It looked disgusting. He hoped the Dark Lord wouldn't turn around and see him. He wondered where he was going...

He turned the bronze handle shaped like a serpent's head. This room was always occupied in his childhood, this had been where his father spent most of his time. Now, it was dusty and stuffy. Ancient portraits hung crooked on the wall. The chandelier was cobwebby. Books lined the dark wooden walls but he doubted his parents had read many of them.

A large mahogany desk stood before him, with rolls of parchment and quills set neatly on top of it. An empty crystal container stood on the table next to an equally empty glass. He knew exactly where he was going. Walking around the desk and slumping down in the hard leather armchair, he reached into a small cabinet under the desk. Ah, his father's 'secret' stash.

He pulled out an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey. When he straightened up again, his father was standing before him in the door frame. For a second, they looked at each other, Draco was frozen in movements. Had it been two years earlier, or even one, he would've put the bottle back at once.

Not anymore. He stared back at his father, almost defiant, and put the bottle up on the table.

"I see you've found my small hiding place," Lucius commented easily. Draco broke eye-contact, opened the bottle and poured himself a large glass.

"I found it years ago," said Draco lazily.

"Perhaps you shouldn't drink so much," said Lucius, moving inside the room. Draco was still pouring into the glass. "Draco!" he snarled, "That's enough."

And he put a hand on Draco's arm. Draco put the bottle down reluctantly. His father was, after all, still authoriative even after everything that had happened.

"You think I haven't had a drink before?" slurred Draco. "You think I can't handle it?"

Lucius smiled mildly and sat down by the chair facing the desk. He let Draco stay in his seat. "Come now, Draco. You don't think I've noticed you and Miss Parkinson sneaking in here the past few summers? Not to mention that I've been in constant contact with your head of house about what's gone on at school..."

Draco felt his cheeks go warmer. "I'm of age now," he said defiantly.

"Are you hearing me critisise it?"

Draco said nothing, and had a big gulp of the drink. He swallowed thickly and his face screwed up in disgust.

Lucius looked amused. "You might as well pour me one too."

His hand shaking slightly, he grabbed a second glass and nonchalantly poured some into it, spilling half.

"Perhaps you should not have any more," his father said silently. He still let Draco have his seat behind the desk, however.

"Don't tell me what to do," he said before he could stop himself. He'd never said anything like that to his father, and he knew that without the alcohol he wouldn't have done it.

He expected a telling off, but Lucius just looked at him silently. His face was unreadable.

Almost reassured by his father's reaction, he felt braver, and so he added, "You don't get to do that anymore. I'm of age now."

They both knew what he was referring to.

"That's what you think I have been doing?"

"Yes!" said Draco violently, taking another swig. Lucius just watched him getting more and more pissed.

"I've made some mistakes," began Lucius, looking out the window. Draco could see his pupils following the movement of the peacocks outside. They were equally high up as them now.

"You could say that!" snarled Draco. He didn't know where all his anger came from. "You think I would be in this situation if it wasn't for you?"

"I'm—"

He'd never thought his father would let him speak to him like this.

"You think I'd have to kidnap girls if it wasn't for you?"

"If you had an issue with that, you could've refused, you never expressed—"

"Oh, please!" said Draco loudly, "I could've refused, could I? What, and be killed?"

His father was silent and looking at him. His jaw moved as if he was about to speak, but he didn't find the words.

"This is all your fault," he then breathed. He took another gulp. Lucius still didn't say anything, he just looked at Draco.

"I'm aware of that," he said finally. Draco gave out a single humourless laugh.

"That makes up for it!"

"What do you want me to do?" Lucius hissed. "I'm as much in this as you are."

"Yeah but you're in this because you chose to! Not because your father fucked up."

Fearing that he'd gone to far, he looked up at his father, wincing back slightly. Lucius jaw clenched.

Then he said, "I had some pressure from my father as well."

Draco laughed again. "Oh, boo-hoo! 'Some pressure', that must've been horrible! You still could've said no, couldn't you!"

"So could you."

"I trusted you! And then you messed up and I had to repay for it! You're the only reason I've got this thing," he held up his left underarm, where they both knew the Dark Mark was branded.

Lucius looked away, and grabbed a cigar from the table and lit it. He puffed on it, and Draco looked at him with violent anger. "I suppose," Lucius said, "I brewed my potion and now you have to drink it."

"That's one way of putting it," snorted Draco, pouring himself a second glass even though the room was spinning around and he had to struggle to keep his eyes on his father.

"We'll get through it, Draco," Lucius then whispered forcefully. "I'll do whatever I can—"

"Not much, then."

He emptied the glass down his throat and stood up with a sway. "Happy Christmas, father."

And he left Lucius in his study without another look.

When he stumbled back into his bedroom, he struggled to get his robes off and thew them in a corner. The Elves could get that in the morning. He staggered to his bed, too angry and drunk to do anything but go to sleep. This day was spoiled anyway.

"In my day, I would never have allowed a Malfoy to act like such a drunken slob," said a snarky voice. He whipped round, expecting someone in his bedroom, but realising it had been the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy's grandmother that had spoken. "It's not fitting of a boy of Pure blood!"

"Good thing you're dead, then!" he snarled at Allegria Malfoy's portrait. She gasped.

"What a disgrace! You unpleasant boy! You're not worthy to be the heir of my name!"

He pointed his wand at it, mumbled, "Silencio", and fell into a heavy sleep.