Part III.
"Okay…I know exactly where I am, and I have a vague semblance of a thought as to how I got here, but I want to know why I'm here."
"This is one of the things Dobby is bidden to show Master!" the house elf said, tugging on Draco's robes and gesturing for the Malfoy heir to follow. Draco did indeed know where he was. It was Malfoy Manor, and by the look of the place, at Christmas time.
"Look, Dobby, I don't know where this is heading…" Draco said, pulling at his robes to free them from the elf's grip.
"Master will see soon!" Almost as soon as the elf spoke, they had entered (through a closed door, which completely surprised Draco) the family room. Draco's jaw dropped as he took in the decorations and holiday glow of the place.
There was a giant evergreen tree in the center of the room. It was covered with tinsel and garland and glass ornaments in varying shapes and sizes and colors. There were piles of packages wrapped in gorgeous paper with vividly colored bows and ribbons arranged neatly under it. A fire crackled in the fireplace, throwing the shadows of a line of three red and white stockings across the floor. Each sock had trinkets bulging out of it. A small table near the fireplace held a plate with half-eaten cookies and crumbs next to an empty glass that Draco knew once held milk. He was snapped out of it by the sound of the door opening behind him.
"PRESENTS!" came the scream. Draco turned to see a very young blonde child turn and run back down the hall, leaving the door to the family room wide open, screaming, "MOMMY! DADDY! PRESENTS! THE FAT MUGGLE LEFT PRESENTS!"
Draco's face held a mixture of shock and horror. His face still held that strange expression when the blonde tyke came barreling back in, followed by his parents. His father and mother both had long blonde hair. His father's eyes were a steel gray, while his mother's were light blue. They smiled at each other, then at the young boy, who was sitting at the base of the tree and looking at the assortment of gifts as if wondering which one to open first.
"Now, now, Draco. Leave those for later. Let's see what's in the socks," the mother said, laughing as she walked to her son.
"Why? They're just socks with stuff in them," the young Draco said.
"Don't you want to see what the stuff is?"
"Not really," the boy said as he pulled one of the outermost presents toward him. "Not as much as I wanna see what's in these."
"Narcissa, let him open whatever he wants. He's a boy." The boy's father had taken a seat in one of the cushy chairs near the fire and was watching the delight in his son's eyes.
"Really, daddy?" the young Draco asked. The older, sixth-year Draco gagged.
"Yes. Go on, have your fun." The father said. Narcissa just shook her head.
"You're encouraging him, Lucius. I wish you wouldn't."
"Wow!" came the younger Malfoy's voice as he opened one of the other presents. "Lookie! The fat Muggle brought me a broom!"
"Um…okay? What purpose does this serve?" asked the older Draco.
"Master used to love Christmas. Even if it was a fat Muggle that brought Master his gifts."
"So…that's me…when I was seven?" the older Draco quirked one eyebrow.
"Yes. Don't you see, Master?" Dobby said.
"Not really…"
"Then I must take you somewhere else!" With that, the house-elf snapped his fingers, and the vision of Malfoy Manor melted away to reveal a familiar green and silver room. There were five beds arranged in a circle around the room with a trunk at the foot of each. Draco again saw himself, this time as eleven.
"This is my first year at Hogwarts! What does this have to do with anything?" the sixth-year asked, barely held back rage and irritation coloring his tone.
"Watch, young Master." Dobby pointed at the door.
"What's wrong, Draco?"
"Nothing, Zabini. Just leave me alone." The young Draco laid back on the bed and covered his eyes with his arm.
"Something's gotta be wrong. Otherwise, you'd be in the common room with the rest of us, joking about stupid Gryffindors and lazy Hufflepuffs."
"I'm just…not in the mood."
"Oh…I remember this now…A particularly nasty fight with Potter and Weasel."
"They talked terrible things, they did," Dobby agreed.
"What?" the eleven-year old Blaise asked. "Not in the mood to trash the other Houses?" He walked over to Draco's bed and sat down on it. "You're seriously tripping, Dray."
"I'm not 'tripping'. And I wish you would stop using that Muggle slang."
"Well, sorry. If you would just tell me what's wrong…"
"I hate Christmas, that's what's wrong!" Draco screamed, sitting up.
"Yeah…The Christmas before I started at Hogwarts, my father decided to tell me that my life had been planned out for me. After I left school, I would become one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, whether I wanted to or not. From that moment, I hated my father, and I hated Christmas, because they both reminded me that I don't have a choice."
"Master is beginning to see!" Dobby said delightedly. "Master can go back, now!" With another snap, Draco was back in the Slytherin common room.
He sat bolt upright on the sofa and looked at the clock.
It read ten minutes to midnight.