Disclaimer: All characters and ideas associated with the Harry Potter series are the property of J. K. Rowling and the following companies: Warner Bros., Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books, etc. Charles Dickens owns A Christmas Carol. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.
Chapter Three
The Second of the Three Spirits
Malfoy awoke in his own bed. There was no doubt about that. The hangings were all his, the coverlet. A complete sense of gratefulness washed over him as he moved his hands over the surface of them. It was a reassurance that the nightmare with Ganger had been just that, a dream.
Just to be sure Malfoy peeked through a crack in the curtains around his bed. Nothing beyond the bed and its hangings was how he remembered them. They had undergone a most unusual transformation. The ceiling and walls were lined with green—not the traditional Slytherin green, but a living green that seemed to transform his dorm room into a veritable forest, so infused with vegetation it was. There seemed to be a glittering quality about the waxy holly, mistletoe and ivy leaves as they reflected back the light.
As if sensing the presence of Malfoy as he emerged from the curtains to have a look, the fire blazed from the grate in a mighty welcome. Malfoy blinked and rubbed his eyes.
He couldn't believe that this phantasm, this charade, this nightmare had manifested itself again. He should have guessed whom he would meet next.
The tall boy in deep green robes and a white scarf turned to him with a somber look.
Malfoy arose immediately, more affronted by this presence then he had been by Granger's.
The spirit, for he was no more than such an apparition, leveled an impatient and scornful eye upon Malfoy. This enraged him. That was not a look that a Weasley was accustomed to giving anyone. That was his look. No one knew the amount of grace and loathing that that particular look consumed. He was about to voice this inconsistency when the spirit spoke.
"Nice pajamas, Malfoy," it said uninterestedly.
"Your girlfriend thought so as well," Malfoy shot back as naturally as if it were a reflex. If he was expecting the apparition to reply, it didn't. The boy merely blinked.
Malfoy bit his lip. For a moment or two he debated over whether or not it would be profitable to remain silent and let this idiot lead him to God knows where, or if he should push for some information. He decided to pursue the latter course of action.
"What's with all the green, Weasley?"
The boy did not speak, did not look away from Malfoy.
"Yeah, okay. I'll play along. What are you going to show me? Your poor destitute family where there's one lonely chicken leg to split between the fourteen of you and you sister is suffering from some tragic illness, but that's okay because she has some pearls of Christmas wisdom to impart to all of us before her short time on this earth is over?"
The spirit merely blinked again and then said tonelessly, "My sister is fine…and there's nine of us, not fourteen, Malfoy."
"So why are you the spirit that is haunting me?" Malfoy asked, changing tack before he angered the spirit further. "Granger already stopped by and showed me some pointless things from the past. But you're not dead and neither is she…are you?"
"No, we are not dead and may not die for quite a while yet. But in spirit we have been assigned to—," the spirit began to explain.
"Yeah, yeah, my welfare, I know," Malfoy finished with a wave of his hand.
"But say one more thing about my family and my friends and I shall leave you here to negotiate your own end. The decision is yours, Malfoy," the spirit intoned with dark blue eyes that showed that he was less than amused.
"All right, Weasley," Malfoy spat, "what is your angle? How will you try to save my soul?"
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. Touch my robe and I will show you the things that are," the spirit said, holding out a ghostly white hand where Malfoy grabbed reluctantly at one sleeve.
The room and its contents all vanished instantly. Malfoy found himself standing next to Weasley. They were both facing a still-life framed in gold. Malfoy looked down the corridor and up. There was no one around. Neither the painting nor the surroundings found themselves familiar with Malfoy, but Weasley seemed to know of this place and its secrets.
The spirit reached through the painting and walked into the wall. Malfoy followed soon after him.
"Where are we?" Malfoy asked.
"We are in the kitchens of the school," the spirit explained pointing to the droves of busy house elves and piles of food they were preparing for the feast that evening.
Even as Malfoy scanned the room, his eyes rested on a familiar figure. It was Dobby, the elf he had spoken to the previous evening. He was working beside two other elves who diligently stirred a steaming pot of something.
"Are they working on Christmas?" Malfoy asked.
The spirit blinked. "Yes, of course. The meal has to be prepared. Who do you think does the Christmas cooking?"
"The Hufflepuffs." Malfoy returned his gaze back to the toiling elves. "I thought Granger was working to get them the day off?" he asked in a casual tone.
The spirit breathed in a heavy sigh behind him. "The petition that she had asked you to sign was a conditional one," he explained.
"Conditional?" Malfoy asked.
"Conditional. Only if it got a signature from everyone spending Christmas at the school, would the house elves have the day off."
"How many people didn't sign?" Malfoy asked in an uncharacteristically dejected tone. His eyes wandered from the stern and accusing features of ersatz companion, Weasley, to a pathetic little creature that had fallen from her stool by the fire. In a crash of bottles and intermittent hiccups, the elf in her dirty shirt and matching skirt sat up from her heaps of butterbeer bottles and began to sob.
"One person," the spirit answered.
Malfoy looked at the spirit who leveled a harshly accusing glare at him and then back to the wretched elf on the floor.
At present Dobby came rushing from his duties to tend to the fallen and depressed elf.
"Winky," Dobby said in a chiding voice. "Winky, please be patient. Dobby and the others have to get the feast in order for the good students and staff. As soon as Dobby has done that, Dobby will take you to see your master, Dobby promises."
"Winky misses her master," the sobbing elf hiccupped. "Winky wants to see her family. Winky misses Christmas with them."
"Winky mustn't cry. Dobby is sorry for Winky and is working as fast as Dobby can. Then we can sneak out and see Winky's family for Christmas, Dobby promises."
Winky blinked and seemed to cheer up. She stood and wobbled a bit. Straightening her wretchedly filthy clothing she smiled. "Winky will help. Feast will be done faster if Winky helps," the elf said.
She rushed back to the stove where Dobby had been basting two turkeys.
"Who are her master and her family that she misses so much?" Malfoy asked, staring after the elf.
The spirit shook his head solemnly. "They are but graves now. In life they had been Mr. Crouch, his wife and their son."
Malfoy opened his mouth to say something and to his great surprise saw the room fade from view to be replaced firstly with the sound of laughter and then the sight of a festive party underway. There was the familiar sight of his friend and school mate, Blaise Zabini.
"Ah, now this is a better way to employ yourself, spirit. We can spy on our own school friends and enemies. No more of that, 'I miss my dead family' crap. That was getting on my nerves," Malfoy said with a smile.
The spirit turned to look at him. "Are you sure you would rather visit this scene?"
"Yes, I know these people well. They are my friends. There's Zabini right there and there," he pointed, "There's Pansy," his expression fell a bit as he said the name. "And there, over there is Millicent and Sally Anne with Flint."
"He said 'Humbug'. I swear he did!" he heard Blaise's laughter coming from the middle of the room, infusing the other guest with the same joviality.
Malfoy listened at this and said nothing.
"More shame for him," Pansy answered from across the room raising a Champaign glass in her hand.
Malfoy wheeled around as he heard the spirit laughing.
"Your friends, Malfoy?" Weasley asked with a raise of his eyebrow and a sneer of his own.
Malfoy returned his gaze to Pansy in earnest. She was very pretty this evening in a burgundy that would never have suited anyone else with her hair color. The fact that she seemed truly happy (a look she had never worn when he was anywhere to be seen) seemed to enhance her charms. Her smile was full and unassuming. She was laughing genuinely, laughing at him.
He blinked. He felt an unfamiliar sinking in his heart. He always knew that there were people that who would take pleasure in mocking him. He had always assumed that they were all of a different house, a different creed from him. Not his friends, his comrades, the ones who always affected a likeness to him whenever he was nearby. Never had he dreamed that they would unite in mocking him behind his back. That was the job of his enemies, Weasley and Granger and Potter and all of the other Gryffindors.
"I say if he is too good for the season and for his friends then he can rot away in that lonely dungeon room for all I care," Zabini said, raising his glass in response to Pansy's.
Malfoy felt the heat of rage in his cheek. There was a look exchanged between the two. And while Malfoy could never dream to still hold a claim to Pansy he was infuriated at the thought of Blaise moving in on what once was his. He had always labored under the misapprehension that it was anyone's privilege, their good fortune, to be considered among his friends. Now he realized that they laughed at his deceitful and malicious behavior behind his back.
And didn't he deserve it? Had he been pleasant to anyone? Hadn't he given them enough ridiculous reason to poke fun in his absence?
He looked to the spirit next to him who was watching the scene with less than concealed interest. At least, he thought, his true enemies never waited till his back was turned. Friends, he was fast learning, were far worse.
"For all anyone cares," Flint joined in with a raise of his glass as the room roared with laughter around them.
In utter astonishment and anger he watched Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson walk away from them and out on to the terrace where Malfoy could no longer see them.
He made to follow but was halted by one cold hand. The spirit shook his head and turned to leave. Malfoy reluctantly followed.
He turned back to the scene of his friends once more and found them all still laughing heartily at their friend, the miserable Draco Malfoy.
When he turned from the scene again the spirit was gone and he was alone. Where his field of vision ended, a thick sea of fog swirled before him. It parted only to allow a lone figure to pass through. The figure was cloaked in a long black cape and its face was masked by a hood.