Chapter Two: Revels of Christmas Present

Christmas Day, 1997

Needless to say, it was the worst Christmas ever. Draco woke up later than he ever had on Christmas morning as there were no noises to disturb his drugged sleep. Once he was conscious, he simply lounged for a full hour and a half before he padded downstairs to the tree the house elves had erected and began sorting through the presents under it. He could feel his pulse race with anticipation as he went for the tag of the first few gifts, but in the end, all of the lovely and impersonal trinkets with their carefully-worded cards were from the usual suspects – distant cousins and other continental relatives. Two packages were addressed to Lucius and Narcissa, from a great-aunt and a third cousin once removed, respectively. He put those aside, unopened. He eschewed the traditional Malfoy Christmas breakfast laid out at the table but nicked some toast and a cup of tea. Feeling darkly rebellious, he took the toast straight to his father's study and proceeded to write impersonal thank-you letters to the impersonal gifts, choosing not to reply to Great Aunt Dottie or the Damien Forteuse family. Then, realizing he had absolutely nothing better to do, he pulled down a hefty-looking brown tome on Magical Law from the bookshelf and dropped it on his father's mahogany desk, hearing a satisfying crunch of toast crumbs when the book impacted with a heavy thud. Unfortunately, just the introductory chapter rendered Draco cross-eyed with boredom, and he found himself taking much greater interest in his father's quill collection than the basic tenets laid out by the wizards of yore.

Before lunch – or was it afternoon already? – the house-elf Hibby appeared in the study with a soft pop. "Master Draco, Miss Pansy is here," she chirped.

He became alert at once. "She is?" He could feel the small hairs on his forearms stand on end.

"Truly!" Hibby squeaked, undoubtedly delighted that one of Master Draco's friends had finally come calling.

Draco couldn't blame Hibby for being behind the times. He stalked downstairs into the receiving salon to find his ex-girlfriend and erstwhile schoolmate standing stiffly in front of the fireplace, staring at a small package in her hands. "It appears I've forgotten to re-key my Floo," he drawled coldly.

Pansy's head snapped up and her expression darkened. "It's true, then," she said, looking a bit alarmed at his physical appearance.

He didn't know what she was talking about, but he covered it with a sneer. "Surprise."

"I tried to go to Azkaban last night for you!" she screeched, looking like she might hurl the package at him. "When they said you weren't there, I thought you were dead! What's wrong with you, Draco? Why didn't you tell anyone you were out?"

"It was kind of a hush-hush thing," Draco replied sardonically, "with the double-crossing and the Ministry not wanting to appear desperate and all."

"But you could've told your friends," Pansy insisted stubbornly.

He threw her an icy look. "I have no friends."

Pansy's face screwed up in disgust. "Feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?"

"Not one of you came to visit me in Azkaban," he said tightly. "Not a single one."

"Are you daft? I just told you, I was there yesterday!"

"What the bloody hell took you so long?"

"I was terrified!" she screamed. "We all were! How could I go to see you, knowing that my parents could go the same way, that the Ministry could detain me for ransom?"

Draco snorted. "Please. Your parents? Worth something to the Ministry? They're accessory at best. The Dark Lord would never have trusted them with-"

"Shut up! Besides, you're one to talk. You never visited your father."

"Actually, I had a nice long visit with my father," he drawled. "He gave me this," he added, drawing the tip of his index finger down the crooked line of his nose. "But you're right, I never visited before. He told us not to come. You see, unlike yourself, my mother and I would've been in actual danger. Perhaps I'm a hypocrite. After all, yesterday was the first time I visited him since I was a prisoner. That's right," he said to Pansy's slack-jawed expression, "we could've missed each other in passing. But I don't think I'll be going again in the future."

Pansy seemed at a loss for words. "I brought you this," she said finally, thrusting the package into his hands.

Draco unwrapped a box of Peppermint Toads. "Still my favourite," he murmured. "Thanks, Pansy."

She smiled a bit and tucked her short, dark hair behind her ear in what he knew was a nervous gesture. "I would've gotten you something else if I'd known you were free…maybe a wand-polishing kit to get you back on the right track."

Draco drew his wand for her inspection. "I think I've settled in just fine."

Pansy gasped. "That's your old wand! It wasn't broken?"

"I convinced the court to give it away for safekeeping."

"And here I thought you said you had no friends," she said, looking mildly curious.

"And here I thought you'd said I was wrong," he replied lightly. The whole argument had improved Draco's mood greatly. It was good to have company again. Aside from his disastrous outing the day before, he had been completely alone since shortly after the final battle. He was gratified to know that people still thought of him and had possibly cared that he was locked away. "Would you like to stay for lunch, Pansy?" he asked impulsively.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Lunch? That was hours ago."

"Was it really? I must've had a longer lie-in than I thought. That Dreamless Sleep, I can never tell."

"Dreamless Sleep? Was your visit to Azkaban that awful? I never got past the Ministry station, but I suppose it would be difficult to return after being there for so long."

"It wasn't too bad," he lied.

Pansy smirked knowingly. "Right. You just took Dreamless Sleep for no reason."

"I take it all the time," Draco said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The smirk slid off of Pansy's face. "What do you mean, 'all the time'?"

"I don't really know how to make myself plainer."

"How many nights in a row have you taken it?" she asked, looking suspicious now.

"All of them."

"What?"

"I. Take. Dreamless. Sleep. Every. Night. God, Parkinson, what have they done to you? You used to be smarter than this."

"But you – you can't take it every night!" Pansy sputtered.

Draco expelled his breath in an exasperated burst. "Look, Pansy, I-"

"No, it's dangerous!" she cried. "You shouldn't take it for more than three days in a row!"

"Oh, it's dangerous," he said sarcastically. "Well, if a daredevil such as yourself says so, I should re-think my regimen."

"You need dreams, Draco! They help reconcile your past with your present and future. You can't fully understand yourself otherwise."

"I swear, if you start bringing up that Divination drivel I'll hex you out of my house." He'd expected his admission to turn Pansy into a fawning admirer of his quiet suffering, not some crazed Trelawney-esque harpy.

"It's not drivel!" she cried indignantly. "You need dreams to be healthy, and Dreamless Sleep is supposed to be a stopgap measure for someone who's been traumatized. You're not supposed to take it for weeks on end! It's addictive! You're going to end up permanently damaging yourself!"

"Don't get hysterical on me," he said calmly, digging into his box and popping two Peppermint Toads into his mouth.

"Okay, I'm sure you've been through a lot of terrible things in the past few months," Pansy allowed, calming down a bit and taking advantage of Draco's candy-induced silence. "You have to work through them, though. You can't simply push them aside. You can't have slept normally in Azkaban, and Dreamless Sleep is a dangerous crutch. You have to break this habit. Promise me you won't take it anymore."

A Toad kicked out at the roof of Draco's mouth. He swallowed them in retaliation and he could feel them struggling on their way down to his stomach. "I don't promise you anything."

"Draco," she said in that patronising tone she had, one of the things he had used to convince himself that he was glad she had dumped him, "promise me. Promise me you'll stop taking it and promise to tell me if you need any help getting through the night."

"You'll lay me down properly and give me good dreams, will you?" he asked with a lascivious wink.

Pansy scoffed, but Draco noticed that her cheeks were stained a delicate shade of pink. "Please. I call you an ex-boyfriend for a reason."

"Can't blame a bloke for trying, can you? You look good, Pansy," he added sincerely.

She smiled, sad and mollified at the same time. "Thank you. I mean it, though. No more Dreamless Sleep."

Draco sighed. Her nagging was negating the pleasure of the Toads hopping around in his stomach, although they were very weak now. "Fine, I'll try," he grumbled.

"You'll feel much better once it's all out of your system and you're dreaming properly again," she assured him. "You're not alone in this."

But minutes later, when Pansy realized the time and begged off to rejoin her family, Draco felt very alone indeed. After a light supper he retired once again to the library to redouble his efforts to find a useful section in the magical law book. Close to midnight, he determined that there was no useful section in the book and vowed to buy a more accessible work in Diagon Alley. The thought of being around so many people slightly alarmed him, but he knew he'd have to re-enter society at one point or another.

When he finally crawled into bed, he rubbed the crick in his neck and reached automatically for the small cabinet on his bedside table. It was only when the Dreamless Sleep was in his hand that he remembered his conversation with Pansy. He contemplated the small phial, trying to decide how much of her tirade was based on fact. The thought of damage didn't faze him – he was already damaged, what was a bit more on the pile? – but he inherently disliked the idea of being addicted to something. Really, though, his use of the potion was more habit, not addiction. He certainly didn't need it. He placed the potion back in the cabinet and settled comfortably into his plush pillows.

Once the lights were dimmed, he began to have second thoughts. His room felt cavernous, but his sumptuous wool-filled comforter pinned him in place. It was too warm inside the heavy blankets, but definitely too cool without it. His mouth was dry, and his down pillow kept bunching awkwardly. The quiet made his ears ring. How could he possibly sleep if his ears were ringing? The room was the antithesis of his hard pallet in Azkaban with never-ending shouting; if he had been unable to sleep there, one would think he could sleep like the dead when surrounded by every trapping of comfort. He tossed to his other side, pulling irritably at his pyjamas which refused to move with him. With a frustrated sound, he tore off the shirt and a moment later, he kicked off the pants. "Hibby!"

He felt, more than saw, the house-elf appear. "Master?"

"Firewhiskey," he barked. Seconds later, a bottle and a small glass materialised on his night table. He poured himself a hefty portion and when he set the bottle down again, a small movement beside his hand caught his attention. In the dim light, he couldn't quite make out the small, framed photograph on his bedside table, but he didn't have to see it to know it. Its edges, hidden by the matting, were ragged from his constant handling. He toasted the photo he'd studied a hundred times before with a dark twist of his lips and grimaced as he welcomed the burn into his system. Inspiration struck him and he summoned the box of candy Pansy had given him. He poured another shot of Firewhiskey as he sucked on two Toads, wondering anew at Pansy's unexpected appearance and whether she was truthful about her desire to see him. Would other allies follow in her steps? Were they really his allies now? Draco swallowed the candies and chased them down with the second shot. "Welcome to hell, boys," he chuckled, settling back into bed.