The first day of the holiday, Draco learned he was the only Slytherin who remained behind. That suited him perfectly, allowing him the ability to come and go as he pleased whilst drawing the least amount of suspicion. He spent the entire day working out how to raid Slughorn's stores. The second day, he focused on stealing them and was surprised to find how few students and staff had stayed. The castle seemed utterly bereft. The third day, he began the very slow and very arduous task of repairing the cabinet.

The fourth day, Christmas Eve, found him continuing his work. He woke up, he walked to the Great Hall, he ate half a biscuit, and he went straight to the Room of Requirement where he worked through lunch and dinner carefully continuing the application of a magical primer to the whole of the cabinet. He barely remembered the trip back to his dormitory. Being an only child, Draco never thought the quiet would bother him so much, but he found being alone in a castle normally full of people was unnerving.

When he entered the common room, he stared glumly at the Christmas tree in the corner. Not an ounce of holiday spirit stirred him. In fact, he felt homesick. Disgusted with himself for such a sentimentality, he went straight to bed, ignoring his grumbling stomach and the plate of Christmas cookies on the table.

Draco numbly changed into his pajamas, wondering what the point was if he was just going back up to the Room of Requirement again in the morning. He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the silence. Unwelcome thoughts circled his mind like a stirred cauldron ready to boil over. He thought of his father in Azkaban, how much pain he must be in at the hands of the dementors. Draco had once mocked Potter for his fear of them, but now he found no amusement in their existence. Thoughts of his father quickly led to his mother, alone at the Manor. No, not alone. Aunt Bellatrix was with her… And so was the Dark Lord and his followers.

The Dark Lord… He had been disappointed in Draco's father, had invaded their home and given him this task as a punishment. Draco had one chance to redeem his father and his family, but how could he do it? Dumbledore was a formidable wizard… Would the poisoned mead even be enough to fell the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore? And the vanishing cabinet—could it even be repaired? He had worked so long already with no results. Would this latest endeavor just end in failure, too?

What would happen to his family if he failed? The Dark Lord would kill him, would kill his mother and father, too. He knew it. The price of failure was absolute. But would it be quick? Or would he torture them first?

And just like that, his thoughts cycled back to his father in Azkaban, already being tortured. Hours slipped by, but sleep refused to come.

Draco rolled out of bed when the clock struck five in the morning and he walked into the common room. A fire was burning in the hearth, drawing him in. He hadn't realized how cold he was until he felt the heat envelope him like a blanket. He stared down at the flames licking violently at the air.

He glanced at the Christmas tree and saw his presents had appeared beneath the boughs. He immediately recognized his mother's silver wrapping and was struck by how much he missed her, how he would rather be at home with his family than surrounded by gifts.

A glint of red caught his eye and he frowned, kneeling beside the tree. Who else had sent him a present? Was it a mistake? Was it someone else's gift? He reached under the large fir and pulled out a box the size of a book, but much thinner. The pretty red paper was wrapped with a golden bow and a card read in glittering scrawl: Merry Christmas, Draco. Love, Amaris.

He instantly ripped the paper away and found a dark brown box with the golden emblem of Scrivenshaft's in the corner. He thought of that day in Hogsmeade when she had dropped her package. He had picked it up and she had uncharacteristically snatched it back. Was that because it had been his present?

Draco opened the box and was surprised to find a set of three beautifully carved jade quills, each one a different width and length, surrounded by black velvet. He ran his fingers over them before selecting the middle size. It was comfortable to hold and perfectly weighted. He held it up to examine the carvings and found serpents winding between delicate flourishes. They were flawless. Absolutely brilliant. He wasn't even sure his father owned something like them.

One corner of his mouth tipped up in a small smile. Joy seeped into his bones, easing the turmoil in his soul until exhaustion lay heavy on his head. He reinstalled the quill into the box, put the top back on, and carried it to the couch. He lay down, pulling a blanket over him as he did, and stared at the fire, slow-blinking until his eyes refused to open again.

His thoughts focused on Amaris, on the night before she left for home when he gave her the necklace. He let his thoughts wander into fantasy, that she had asked him to meet her later instead of saying goodnight. He imagined her bounding up the south tower stairs, coming over the landing in that green dress she'd worn at Easter and he was instantly turned on. He watched her, waiting. She came to him like he wanted her to, stopping just in front of him, her body a light touch against his.

She lifted her head and his mouth crashed against hers. His stomach instantly tightened at the contact, desire growing with the soft, surprised noise she made in her throat. The hand that held hers released her and cupped her cheek, palm sliding along her jaw so that his fingers could curl around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair. Her hands flew to his body, clutching his jacket, drawing him in. He tightened his grip on her neck and angled her head higher so that he could kiss her more deeply, in complete control.

"Draco—" she gasped, but he stifled her words, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. His thumb harshly caressed her jaw, encouraging her to grant him deeper access, and he groaned softly when she did. Their pace increased, exchanging desperate, heat-filled, open-mouthed kisses until she jerked away, sucking in a deep breath.

"Draco," she whispered, panting just inches away from his mouth.

Draco nodded to her, a visual affirmation that he knew what she was thinking, that it was okay. And then he kissed her again.

Suddenly she was against the wall and they were both naked. He was thrusting in and out of her, his hands sliding along her waist and hips. Pleasure pulsed through him. She was gasping and he wanted to kiss her but couldn't lift his head. He was so hot, he could barely breathe.

Draco awoke with a start, the blanket covering his mouth. He threw it off, welcoming the cool air. He immediately realized he had fallen asleep while thinking of her, which had led to an incredibly erotic dream. He groaned, adjusting his trousers to accommodate his erection. If it had been a normal day, he would have gone to his bedroom and taken care of it, but right then, Draco felt so bone-tired that he couldn't imagine getting off the couch.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something other than Amaris writhing against him. It did not work. All he could think about was how it felt in his dream to be inside of her, of her pushed up against the wall, gasping his name. Of course, it would never have happened that way. Draco would never let her first time be in such a cold, uncomfortable place and under such crude, impersonal conditions. He would have sneaked her into the Slytherin dormitory somehow, brought her to his bed. He would have kissed every inch of her body as he removed their clothes and—

Draco went cold, the excitement draining out of him instantly as he was struck with a profound realization. He could never be with Amaris. Not with the Dark Mark on his forearm… Because she could never see it. If she did, she would hate him. Would turn away from him.

There was no future for them. He had repeated it endlessly before, but that moment was the first time the truth had stung so badly. She likes you, his mother had said, and Draco knew deep down he had wanted it to be true even though he had had no intention of returning her feelings. He had planned to reject her for being a blood traitor, but he never had… And now, she would be the one to reject him if she ever saw the mark on his arm.

Anger and fear roiled inside of him until he felt nauseous. He pulled the blanket over his body, suddenly so cold that he couldn't stand it. He curled into the couch and stared at the silver presents beneath the tree. There was no comfort there. They only served to remind him that the person who wrapped them, who should be with him…was not. He felt so alone.

Draco pulled the blanket tighter around himself and couldn't help but think that he was just a few mistakes away from having the all people he cared about taken away from him forever.


Author's Note: It's strange that I somehow thought angsty Draco would be really interesting to write, but I actually found regular bully Draco far more fun and dynamic. I suppose the outside perspective made bully Draco seem very one-dimensional and boring, so that when angsty Draco came along, it was like, "Yes! Finally, depth!" But when exploring the story from his perspective, at least, he was much more interesting when he was a bully (at least to me), sorting out his feelings through his selfishness and quirks. Now, his motivations are so straight-forward and relatable that there's no need to guess what he will do or how he might react. He's lonely and scared and backed in a corner. Poor Draco.