When Draco popped back into his bedroom, the sun had risen, and it glimmered through the crack in his window's curtains.
"Well, I suppose I'll leave you then," the spirit of Christmas present said, "Good seeing you Draco."
"Wait-" Draco started, but it didn't matter. The vibrant Edwardian lady was gone and not a sign of her was left in the room.
Thoughts of the young boy Draco had seen plagued his mind. He had looked so happy and content, but the spirit had called him sick. She had said he would die soon. Did the boy even know how sick he was? Did anyone around him realise the severity?
Draco sat on the side of his bed, his head in his hands, as he pondered his thoughts. The darkness of the room his only friend. He felt the heaviness of his eyes as they threatened to close. His sleep had been disturbed one too many times by the spirits who had visited him in the night. He shut his eyes to give them a rest.
Then he heard a sound. A crack of sorts like someone had apparated into his room, but other than that there was no indication that someone was in his room. The silence remained. Draco looked up from his hands.
In front of Draco stood a figure in dark red robes. They were tall and slender and looked neither man nor woman. Their face was hidden by their hood, making them seem like a living shadow. They looked like a dementor, but Draco didn't feel the same despair and sadness that dementors brought. Instead, Draco felt a sudden feeling of dread and foreboding at the hooded figure. They did not speak or make any indication that they even saw Draco. They only stood.
"Are you…" Draco paused apprehensively," the third spirit?"
For a moment, Draco questioned if the figure had heard him because they did not react to Draco's voice, but then the figure lifted their hand out at a ninety-degree angle.
Although Draco feared the Spirit, he instinctively knew what to do. He stood up on his bed and walked over to the red robed figure. When they were standing face to face, Draco took their hand.
Immediately a shiver raced up Draco's hand at the chilling iciness of the spirit's hand. It was as if Draco had just placed his hand on a block of ice.
The spirit turned away from Draco as they raised their other hand. Red sparks flew from their palm, the amount slowly growing until it formed a large red hole like portal which emitted a chilling breeze, as if a storm was waiting inside for Draco. Unlike the other portals from the two other spirits of Christmas which had been a horrifying, yet playful transportation system, this one was a simple hole into a red void. Although, somehow it was all the more terrifying.
The spirit waited in front of the void, as if wanting Draco to make the first step. The spirit did not push him, or say a word, yet Draco knew there was no other option. He had to go in.
With the spirit hand in his, he stepped in. He pushed against an ever-growing wind storm until he found himself completely surrounded by the red abyss. Then, when the spirit let go of Draco's hand, the wind switched from pushing Draco away from the tunnel to pulling him into its depths. The spirit walked ahead of him, unbothered by the changing weather.
The tunnel was the colour of thick blood. It haunted yet entranced Draco. Draco wanted to ask about the holes in the tunnel which looked like empty black holes, but somehow, he knew not to speak to the spirit, and he knew even if he did, he would get no response.
Without warning, the spirit stopped causing Draco to almost crash into them. The spirit lifted their hand, much like they had to create the tunnel in the first place and caused a black hole to appear at the end of the tunnel, larger than the ones Draco had pondered over before. The spirit walked through, and Draco followed.
Inside the hole was an infinite darkness. There was no ceiling and no floor, only a black void absent of light. Then, in the distance Draco saw a sun beam shine over a section of the area and he felt a sudden compulsion to run toward it. The light grew bigger and bigger until it turned into the sky on a cloudy day which illuminated a park.
No not a park, Draco thought, a graveyard.
As Draco walked further in the cemetery, the area grew bigger and bigger until the darkness was only visible in the horizon. Then, out of thin air, in front of Draco appeared a church-like building. Draco walked up to it and opened the door.
Inside, the building looked like a normal church. Long benches lined the sides of an aisle in the middle. Draco walked down the aisle onto an elevated stage which stood at the back of the church. As he stood looking out to the rest of the building, the doors burst open and twenty some chatting people walked in. They all wore formal suits or simple dresses. Most wore black, but not all.
The people walked through the church, and each chose a spot on the benches.
Draco decided this must be a funeral, but no one was crying. In fact, no one looked sad at all. They all chatted amongst one another in an almost gleeful manner. If this was really a funeral, wouldn't these people be at least a little sad?
Then Draco heard a creak, like the opening of a box. Draco turned to the noise.
It hadn't been the creaking of a box, it had been the opening of a casket, and inside was a man much older than Draco, yet sickeningly similar.
Draco's eyes widened as he took a step forward. It was Draco, there was no mistake. The dead man in the casket was the striking image of his father with his mother's eyes which rested open. His pale skin was that of a wrinkly old ghost. Even as he rested, he held a permanent frown.
Draco's breathing quickened. This was his funeral, but no one seemed to care. No one cared he was dead. He took a step back so as to not have to look at the motionless version of himself.
Then he heard a chilling voice whispering into his ear.
"Do you understand Draco?" the voice asked. With no discernible accent, It was high pitched yet low at the same time in a way that Draco found impossible to explain. What he did know was that he feared the voice.
Draco opened his mouth to respond, but when no words came out, Draco opted to shake his head.
"You never married, so there was no one to plan your funeral. When your parents died, you were left completely alone. These people here, they are your future coworkers and acquaintances. None of them were fond of you and most of them spoke badly of you when you weren't around. They only came for the free brunch after the ceremony," the spirit said, "Well except for one. He's not here yet, but he should be coming anytime now."
Through Draco's paralysing fear, he forced himself to look at the doors of the church which were now opening. Out of them stepped an old man with brown hair, tan skin, and black round glasses.
Potter.
Draco paused. "Were we… friends? In the future I mean."
"No," the spirit replied, "He did not come here for you. He came for himself. To close off the chapter of his life that was you, but he does have regrets. Part of him wishes he would've tried harder to help you, but the other part of him knows deep down that there was no way to change you."
Draco stayed silent as the church suddenly faded away into oblivion and they were back into the graveyard. They stood in front of a gravestone that read Here rests Draco Malfoy. In front of his gravestone stood a crowd of people.
"Are they here for me?" Draco asked hopefully.
"No," the spirit replied, "No one stayed for your burial. They are here for him."
The spirit pointed to the gravestone next to Draco's which Draco slowly turned and walked over to.
Here lies Timothy Acker who left us too early. May his soul forever rest in peace, the gravestone read.
Draco stood shocked. "Is that- That's the homeless boy, isn't it?" Draco stammered out of his paralysed body.
The spirit's silence told Draco all he needed to know.
"He… He really died…" Draco whispered in disbelief, "He was poor, yet all these people mourn him. Why did no one help him?!"
"He did not want to seem weak, so he kept his suffering to himself. Once people caught on, it was too late," the spirit said, "Draco, it is important for you to understand that if you stay on the track you're on now, this is your future. A loveless life without friends or smiles. You'll become more and more reserved until your bitterness eats you away and turns you into a horrible man. Unless the course of events change, this is what's coming to you."
"NO!" Draco cried out as his face turned red and tears began to pool in his eyes, "YOU'RE LYING!"
"I am not."
Draco shook his head as the tears began to flow down his face like a silent stream. "I'LL DO ANYTHING! I'LL CHANGE I PROMISE! JUST LET ME GO HOME!"
The spirit nodded. "As you wish."
And so they took Draco's hand as if they were about to waltz and made the red portal reappear. The two were sucked into the whirlpool of blood.
And then, Draco was back in his room.
"Good luck Draco," the spirit said before he disappeared into nothingness.
Draco collapsed into a great heap on the floor as he let himself cry, sobbing into his knees for the first time in what felt like forever.
He was going to change. He needed to change.
And he knew just the way to do it.