Draco flew and flew and flew. He didn't know how long he had been at it. When he'd started, the sun had just set beyond the horizon, leaving a dusky sweetness in its wake. The evening still had the scent of summer to it, but autumn was beginning to creep around the edges, with a new bite to the air that whipped past Draco's face. Round and round he went, the field farther and farther below him. There was no purpose to his circling, no snitch in sight, of course.

That day he had received a letter from his mother. Graceful and magnificent, his Eagle owl had dropped the envelope in front of him. He had stared for a long moment at the careful yet fluid handwriting, black ink on cream paper.

Dear son,

I hope the school year is treating you well. I know your responsibilities are heavier this year than in the past. As your mother, I see you as just a boy, but the world sees you as a man. Still, I hope you will look to your elders for help and guidance.

It is my wish that you will be able to return home for Christmas, but if not I will understand.

With love,
Mother

Christmas. Draco could not imagine the holidays without his father's presence. School break had always been a time to prove himself, to demonstrate to his father all that he would have to offer as a Malfoy. His mother had watched on, and he had assumed that she had been proud. She would buy him things, and take him to the city for shopping trips which would end with tea in her favorite restaurant, and he would feel that there
was nothing she loved more than to show him off. Now... now everything was different.

There would be no Christmas this year if he did not succeed. He would not return home. Those winter weeks would be too valuable. And his mother would be alone.

But to succeed...

He had a new plan. He could only hope it would work. The necklace had been beautiful; it had caught his eye immediately. Ornate and yet restrained, it exuded power. He knew it had a dark and terrible history. It had wrought much pain since its creation. If it reached its intended... then the job would be done. The Dark Lord would appreciate the method--art and history in his approach.

Who knew what would happen then, how things would change. But perhaps he would have Christmas with his mother after all. Maybe even his father, if the tides had turned.

Now the sky was almost completely dark, the moon only a shadow of itself, wrapped in grey, ghostly clouds. Draco could smell woodsmoke in the air that rushed around him as he flew, and suddenly it seemed as if summer were a distant memory. Flying hadn't cleared his head at all, only filled him with a longing for which he had no place. Right now, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to be flying after the snitch, seeing it sparkle just out of his grasp. He'd even be glad to watch Potter steal it from him.

But instead the grounds were empty, the sky was blanketed in a deathly darkness, and the snitch was nowhere to be seen.

Draco leaned against the stone wall. He had walked for a quite a while during his free period to get to this spot, far outside of the normal paths of Hogwarts students. Just a few square feet of grass, shaded by trees with barren branches, their leaves now brown and crunching beneath his feet. He had settled on a strangely inviting, angular corner to the building. He could only barely hear the distant voices of his classmates, their laughter catching on the cold breeze and drifting away.

He needed a space to think that was not the Room of Requirement. This would do.

So the necklace had failed. Katie Bell was in St. Mungo's.

It would have worked. It would have been fantastic had the necklace made it to Dumbledore's hands.

Now he was back to plan A. The cabinet. Never had he thought he could hate an inanimate object so much. But spending so much time with it, his feelings of bitterness had grown, all directed at its musty wood and ornately curved feet, smooth, impassive doors and detailed metal hinges. He'd be glad if he never had to see the thing again.

And yet, at the same time, it had become his only friend. When he saw his classmates, he found he could no longer slip inside their conversations. It took too much effort to try to connect. Crabbe and Goyle didn't notice, but Pansy was becoming increasingly annoyed. He assumed it was because he wasn't even trying to fake it anymore. But what was the point? If he did succeed, he doubted he'd be coming back to Hogwarts. Maybe there wouldn't even be a Hogwarts, at least not in its current configuration. Draco couldn't imagine Hogwarts without Dumbledore.

Maybe the Dark Lord would turn Hogwarts into something else. A school for the Dark Arts. Now there was a school Draco would attend.

But as it was, Draco felt himself losing touch with Hogwarts life more quickly than he would have imagined possible. He went to lessons and put in the motions, but just barely. Fortunately he was smart enough that he could still keep his marks up--well, reasonably so, at least. He couldn't achieve the perfection that had previously graced his school record, but what difference did marks make anyway? And Quidditch was beginning to feel like a distant memory too. He still made practice more often than not, but now he imagined even his teammates whispering about him. While he flew above them, he imagined they were saying awed, envious things about him, about how he was rumored to be a trusted confidante of the Dark Lord. When they looked at him, it certainly didn't feel like they were looking at one of their own. And he had used to be their prince, their favorite.

So now the cabinet felt like his closest friend. And yet he hated it. He dreamt about it sometimes. What kind of fucking bizarre thing was that, that he would dream about a damn cabinet? In his dreams he saw wood and the empty, single mindedness that was the Room of Requirement. It was more like flashes and images than any kind of normal dream. Powerful words. A door. Dark stained wood, dancing before his closed eyelids.

So he had come here, to lean against the stony grey wall at the far edge of Hogwarts, just to get away from them all. Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy, and the cabinet. Glad to be alone, with the brown leaves and the sharp air of deep autumn. The sky was that dark white grey that almost tasted of snow but not quite.

And then Potter rounded the corner.

He seemed startled to see Draco, though not as much as Draco was to see him. But it didn't look like pure surprise, more like Potter was caught off guard. What was he up to?

"Are you following me, Potter?" Draco sneered.

Potter flinched. "Why would I bother following you, Malfoy?" He snapped back. So predictable. And not at all a convincing performance. Yes, Potter had something on his mind.

Draco shrugged dismissively. "How would I know? But I'm sure that I'm infinitely more interesting than anything else you'd have to do with your time."

Anger flared in Potters' eyes, and he seemed to recover his nerve. "Trust me, Malfoy, I couldn't care less what you're doing out here on your own." His tone was as presumptuous as ever. "I have no idea what you do with your time. For all I know you're out here to…" Potter broke off the sentence, filling in the blank with a vague hand gesture.

Draco laughed outright. He was almost impressed that Potter could be so crude, but really it was so... vulgar. "Having a wank? That's the best you can come up with? And you can't even say it. You disappoint me, Potter."

Draco was delighted to see a hot blush rush to Potter's cheeks. Damn, this was priceless. Potter looked like he'd rather be anywhere else right now. Served him right for… well, everything.

Flustered, Potter rushed on. "I'm just surprised to find you without your usual adoring fans. So it seems a safe assumption…"

Draco scowled. Enough was enough. "Sod off, Potter. You have no idea what's on my mind."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "If you'd like to unload yourself..."

Draco laughed again. "No thanks, Potter, I'll pass. If I wanted to have a heart to heart, you would not be my first choice." His voice purred seductively on heart to heart. He watched with a smirk as Potter predictably paled and then flushed angrily.

"I know you're up to something," Potter retorted.

"Do you now?" Draco replied coolly.

Potter's eyes flared, and he looked like he might say more, so Draco held his tongue, curious to see what else Potter would reveal in his Griffyndor rashness. But Potter just continued to stare angrily at Draco as if he couldn't think of any follow up, which probably he could not. Finally, he simply turned on his heel, leaving Draco blissfully alone.

The silence was a relief. Maybe he was becoming a misanthrope. Or maybe it was just Potter whom Draco couldn't tolerate. Still, there was a familiarity to their fighting that left a burning in his gut that Draco hadn't felt for a while. It almost felt... good.

Draco shook his head. He did miss making Potter feel like an idiot. But those days were over. It was best not to look back.

He was furious. He wanted to break things.

But he was surrounded by people, by his "friends" who were gathered in the Slytherin common room, saying their goodbyes, even though most of them didn't leave until tomorrow. The superficiality of the exchanges around him made him ill. They sat on the ornate couches and chairs, talking in low, seemingly happy voices about their holiday plans, as if everything weren't different this year. Didn't they know it was all going to change?

He couldn't listen to their nonsense anymore. Draco stood up and pushed his way past his classmates, heading for fresh air. He felt their eyes on him as he left.

The whole thing was wearing on him. He had a headache which hadn't left him for days now.

And Snape, Snape was the worst offender. How dare he? Snape clearly wasn't trying to help--if he were, he'd have let Crabbe and Goyle alone. But instead Draco was forced to maneuver Hogwarts himself, and just his luck that Filch had found him during Slughorn's stupid party. If he'd been there one minute before or after, Draco would have been safely on his way.

But no, instead he had to face Snape, Slughorn, and the fawning Slug Club. Disgusting. Harry fucking Potter was there, by invitation of course--that hadn't escaped Draco's notice. Not at all surprising, but still infuriating.

Draco hadn't cared that he wasn't invited. It was beneath him, a party like that. He didn't need Slughorn's approval. He didn't need anyone's approval. But to have to grovel after Filch had dragged him in there, just to keep from arousing suspicion... it smarted. It was still smarting.

Unthinking, Draco pushed his way through the hall, past other Hogwarts students all seemingly caught up in their own lives. He made his way to a small courtyard that he hoped would be quiet this time of day. Once outside, he released his breath in a sigh of relief. It was cold, and he didn't have a jacket. But the cold felt good. Cathartic. There was even frost crunching under his feet. There would be snow soon. Maybe even today.

Of course Snape had to reprimand him over the fiasco with the necklace. That was so like him. As if everything Snape had ever done had succeeded. Draco laughed bitterly and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, trying to keep them warm. Snape was just a jealous old man whose time had past, and who wanted to steal Draco's glory.

It was Draco whom the Dark Lord had picked for this task. Draco who would be the one to change everything.

But this time Draco couldn't stop the word from appearing in his mind. Why? Why him?

He'd already considered that the Dark Lord might not intend for Draco to succeed. But why? Something between the Dark Lord and Draco's father? Something about which Draco knew nothing?

The thought made his stomach twist. He wouldn't think about it too hard, because it didn't matter. Draco would succeed, and he'd show them all.

His hands were getting cold, despite his efforts. Draco shuddered as a chill passed right through him, and then he suddenly had the sensation that he was being watched.

He looked up to find himself under the direct, unflinching gaze of that Mudblood, Granger. Her brown eyes met his for an unsettling moment. He didn't look away.

And then she turned around, heading back into the warm glow of Hogwarts. Draco watched her leave before sinking to sit on a cold, stone bench. He sat there for a long time, watching the lights from inside the arched windows glow golden yellow as the evening took hold, a velvety cold darkness settling on the courtyard.

Draco's eyes fluttered open. He lay still for a moment, waiting to become accustomed to the morning light. Sitting up slowly, he pulled the blankets up to his waist. He must have kicked them off during the night. Another dream, no doubt. His nights were full of them now. Disjointed images of the cabinet, of words, of his mother's voice, distant, as if through a tunnel. Of the Dark Lord, the feel of electricity in the ornately decorated, heavily curtained room when he had called Draco to him and told him what he wanted Draco to do.

Draco shuddered. He leaned forward and reached down to the low, horizontal window, wiping at the white frost which blocked his view. Slowly the snowy grounds of Hogwarts came into view. White and cold and grey. The sky was almost the same color as the snow. The darkness and mist seemed to bind the emptiness of winter, so that it felt as if there were was no escaping it. Empty, sunless winter would stay forever.

Falling back in bed, Draco pulled the blanket up to his chin, and turned over. His hand slipped down his body, into his pajama bottoms. He was hard, and alone. He was one of the only Slytherins staying for winter break. It wouldn't hurt to...

He jerked himself slowly, trying not to think at all, banishing all thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to think of anyone. Not of warm bodies or wanting anyone else. Certainly not of Pansy or any other inconsequential girl. He just wanted to feel, and to forget, to feel good, just for a fucking second.

Especially he didn't want to think of the Dark Lord and how it felt to be his pawn. How fucking angry it was making him, more every day, as he did what he was told. And how Potter thought he knew what Draco was up to. He didn't even have a clue. That sanctimonious prick, thought he had faced all the problems in the world, and that he was always right, when he didn't even begin to know what it felt like for Draco, the things Draco would have to do. He'd leave Potter in the dust when all was said and done.

Draco groaned and turned over, so that his body was flush against the soft bed and dark green cotton sheets. God he wanted... not to think. Just to feel. He needed to escape all of this completely, just for a matter of seconds, just long enough to...

And too soon he was coming, in a sticky mess on his bed. Flushed and frustrated, he sat up. Fuck, now he needed a shower. And a new set of sheets.

In the smooth tiled bathroom shower, the hot water was bracing. It surrounded him in steam, tangible and moist. The shower felt like a bubble, separating him from the world.

Hogwarts for the holidays. This was a first. It was crucial that he stay, for now there would be no students to get in his way, no need for Crabbe and Goyle to transform into little girls. The polyjuice trick had been amusing at first, but now it was getting old. As was the waiting, waiting to be sure he could emerge from that room back into the real world, the one inhabited by other students and professors. The one where life went on.

Draco bent his head forward into the water and closed his eyes. He missed his bathroom at home, the deep red-brown wood and cream colored tiles that always felt so appropriate in their classic design, the way the sunlight danced through the window onto the floor, crisp and clean. The prefects' bathroom... could have been uglier, Draco supposed, but it still felt anonymous and cold, even in its attempted luxury.

He was supposed to get away from here during the darkest winter weeks. He needed the biannual break from Hogwarts. But he had stayed, as he knew he must, while all the others around him had left. Most everyone had returned to their families for the holidays this year, driven away by the pervasive fear of the Dark Lord that lurked behind every scared first year's eyes. Or so Draco assumed. Now he had the hallways and bathroom and even the Great Hall almost to himself. It felt false. Like a dream.

The pulsing water was real, though. Personal and cleansing. Direct. He felt his head clear as water streamed around him. The task ahead of him was... what he would have to do. He'd give himself one more day to fix the cabinet, and then he'd put his new back up plan into motion. He didn't have much time, if he were going to go through with it. He already had a good sense of what to do, thanks to that Mudblood. Granger wouldn't be pleased were she ever to learn that she had unwittingly handed him such a tool.

He would just need to figure out the final logistics. There was a chance it wouldn't work, but there was a chance it would. And if it didn't, then it was back to the cabinet while he considered his other options.

With the water rushing around him, this plan felt logical, centering. As if he could make a list, as he might for his homework assignments. He'd simply cross each item off as he went. Not thinking about any of it.

Draco turned the water off and just stood, willing this moment of clarity to last. He leaned against the tiles of the wall, feeling the steam dissipate, the hot air transforming into a cool reminder of the winter outside.

And before he could stop it, there was that yearning again. Fuck.

He had to not feel it. It wasn't an emotion that belonged to him. He was never the type to long for something that couldn't be his.

But that was because everything could be his. And would be, when he was done. He was learning now... With each failure, his knowledge and understanding of the Dark Arts was growing stronger.

Really, this was a priceless opportunity the Dark Lord had offered him--to be exceptional. He'd be the most powerful wizard of his generation. He'd leave them all in the dust.