"It's time the tale were told
Of how you took a child
And you made him old"

Reel Around the Fountain - The Smiths

"I crucify myself and nothing I do is good enough for you
I crucify myself, every day
I crucify myself
My heart is sick of being
I said my heart is sick of being in chains"

Crucify - Tori Amos

Draco shouldn't have been surprised to learn that Theo would be staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday along with him, Goyle, and Crabbe. Afterall, the Notts had been facing the same ministry raids as the Malfoys, so there had always been a likely chance that Draco would have to spend his holiday around the git, but expecting it did nothing to reduce the sting of the news.

Draco was already in a mood as he sat at his desk writing a last-minute letter to his mother, a day after the castle had emptied, leaving him behind in the cold hallways.

Right before everyone had left for the holidays, Daphne, to Draco's surprise, had cornered him in the common room looking uncommonly flustered.

"So, what have you gotten Nell?" she asked with no preamble.

"Excuse me?" Draco said.

"For her birthday, of course! Over the holiday. You knew, didn't you?"

Draco stared, his face blank.

"It's on the twenty-first! She'll be turning thirteen. Did you seriously not know this?" Daphne asked, sounding annoyed.

"She never told me!" Draco shot back.

"You never asked?"

For this, Draco had no response, so Daphne just shrugged and asked him his opinion on the hair potion she was considering for Nell. Draco informed her that he had no idea and she walked off, wishing him a happy Christmas over her shoulder.

So now, Draco sat, desperately trying to come up with some sort of idea for a present that he could get his mother to send to him without alerting her or his father as to who its intended recipient was.

Draco couldn't just ask them to help him buy Nell something. For the rest of Draco's friends, his parents already knew when their birthdays were, and sent off gifts addressed from the whole family without Draco having to give even the slightest hint of input. It was simple and easy, and it gave Draco the reprieve of having to come up with something his friends might like, or having to remember when their birthdays were. He was never good at that.

But, for Nell, Draco's parents would certainly not be getting her anything, so it was left up to Draco to figure something out. This task was made even harder by the fact that his parents had returned to the cold treatment they had given him this summer, and were keeping their communications to a minimum. Draco could figure why, assuming his parents had heard about the reconciliation between him and Nell.

It could have been worse, Draco knew, and he suspected the 'mudblood' incidents were working in his favor to prevent a total incident. His parents were still sending him treats, afterall, though with less frequency than they had last year. With this tepid state of their relationship, Draco didn't want to push his luck.

And therein laid the dilemma.

Draco spent his first Christmas morning away from his parents in a confused haze of conflicted emotions. He awoke, early as he always did, to a large pile of presents delivered by owl at the foot of his bed. Various parcels of differing sizes were stacked, silver wrapping paper reflecting candlelight and glittering magic bows that danced as though brushed by wind.

He looked around the still dark room, finding his roommates all still asleep, but Draco was horribly eager, so he began at once despite it.

He always started with the smallest boxes. These contained stacked galleons, usually sent by random distant relatives that Draco would have trouble putting a face to if he saw them in person. Once unwrapped, the gift paper dissolved in a glittering cloud, leaving behind only the goods they contained.

He did only alright this year, he figured, once he had finished with all of the small boxes and was counting through the stacks of gold. The reduced treasure confirmed his suspicions that the blood traitor rumors about him were still circulating, as they had clearly infected those distant relatives. But it was still quite a bit of money, so Draco didn't take it too personally. If this was the worst it got, then Draco would be lucky.

So he moved on to the presents, the larger boxes beckoning him with their glittery tinsel. They opened to reveal various quidditch accouterments, assortments of jinxing and hexing spellbooks, and more sweets than he could ever eat.

Finally, he reached the parcel at the bottom, wrapped a little less carefully than the others, and therefore hopefully from his mother in response to the letter he had sent only a couple of days ago.

He opened to find a brilliant emerald jumper alongside a set of brand new robes. With a grin, he realized his plan had worked perfectly.

"Nice jumper," came a voice from behind him, and Draco yelped.

"Merlin, Nott, you scared me."

"Happy Christmas," Theo grinned.

Draco nodded back a response. Silently, he put the jumper away in a drawer, alongside the robes he had been wearing throughout the year, that he had purchased back in August.

They were to be Nell's gifts. Draco hadn't missed the frayed patches that had cropped up on Nell's current robes, and he guessed they'd likely need to get much worse before she finally went out to buy new ones. In truth, Nell was lucky that Draco took such good care of his own, because that was the plan he had finally settled on after Daphne's proclamation. The new jumper his mother thought would be for him would actually be going to Nell for her birthday, and Draco's current robes, still quite new and of a much higher quality than the ones she owned, would be for her Christmas present. Draco felt quite clever to have come up with such a good plan in so little time.

It almost made the annoyance he had at spending the holidays at school a little better.

But his mood was only truly lifted when he saw the magnificent decorations adorned through the Great Hall that night for dinner. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Malfoy Manor during the holidays. No, he generally found them to be quite splendid.

The whole of the manor would be decorated in glittering tinsel enchanted to rise and fall with delicate grace, emulating a constantly falling jeweled snow. White trees and blue lights would line the hallways, glittering like starlight and icicles. And the grounds were nothing short of perfection, unblemished snow completely covering the expansive gardens and fields, so white it almost hurt to look at.

But Hogwarts Christmas, Draco was learning, was warm . Golden light and flickering candles. Red and green, and sparkling full fir trees adorned in a whole assortment of colors. Flitwick had even enchanted musical instruments to line the walls and chorus through Christmas carols, some wizarding ones that were instantly familiar, and some Draco could only assume to be muggle. It was almost weird how much Draco found himself not minding.

Even the food was delicious, honeyed and hot, the kind of decadence to melt in your mouth and stay in your memory for years to come. Goyle and Crabbe stuffed themselves silly with puddings and pies, and Draco couldn't help the second and third servings he found himself taking, even when his stomach had begun to hurt. Even Theo's icy demeanor had thawed when his eyes fell upon the ginormous chocolate pie, covered in a layer of red candied cherries.

Draco was having such a wonderful time that he didn't even notice how much Potter was ignoring him throughout the meal, a marked change of pace from the weeks of relentless staring.

Eventually, even good things had to end, and with a tired sigh, Draco heaved himself up from the table and departed back to the Slytherin common room, leaving behind Crabbe and Goyle, who were both still gorging themselves silly. He was eager to try out the new chess set he had been gifted by his father, all of the chessmen made of shining marble, which would no doubt shatter gloriously. Maybe he could get an older Slytherin to agree to play with him.

However, to Draco's surprise, when he reached his room, he found Artemis, his owl, with a whole new parcel in his claws. Excited for the potential of yet another present his parents might have forgotten, he tore it open eagerly.

But a present, it was not. Instead, he found inside a letter from his father attached to an article pulled from the Daily Prophet.

INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car. Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation.

"Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.

Draco snorted after he finished reading it. Figured his father would want to make sure he saw this, a reminder of the type of family they could be, the type of embarrassment Draco could represent. In a way, though, it was wonderful news. If his father had the success of besting Arthur Weasley under his belt, he was sure to be in a much better mood by the time Draco had to go home for the summer holiday. Maybe it would be enough of a success that Lucius might finally thaw the icy coldness he felt toward Eleanor.

Spurred by this potential, Draco ran off to the common room, excited to show either Crabbe and Goyle, or Theo, whose families had all suffered through summers that were quite similar to the one Draco had. Unfortunately, he found the room empty, the fireplace crackling in the corner for nobody. Draco sighed and sat down in an armchair by the fire, content to wait, and sure they'd be there soon.

After half an hour and about two chapters extra in his assigned Potions reading, Draco grew bored. Resolving to hunt down the gits himself, he strolled out of the passageway, listening for signs of life. It wasn't long before he heard the dull deep voice of Gregory Goyle from somewhere distant in the labyrinth of dungeon hallways.

He found them looking like they were getting a scolding from a red-headed prefect. As Draco got closer, he realized the prefect was none other than the oldest Weasel.

"There you are," Draco drawled, looking at them. "Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny."

As he approached, he glared up at the Weasel, and realized he wasn't quite sure what this one's name was.

"And what're you doing down here, Weasley?" Draco sneered.

Weasley looked outraged. "You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!" he said. "I don't like your attitude!"

Draco snorted, the article still on his mind. Would this… was it Peter?... still be saying that if he knew about the article still burning a hole in Draco's pocket? Eager to get on with it, he motioned Crabbe and Goyle to follow him back without even a word again in the Weasel's direction.

As they got further away and out of earshot, Draco said, "That Peter Weasley –"

"Percy," corrected Crabbe.

Ah right . Percy, like 'prissy'. Draco snorted. "Whatever," said Draco. "I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed."

They reached the entrance to the common room. " Pure-blood ," Draco said, and the common room door opened. He walked the three of them to a table by the windows and sat facing the fire, letting its golden flames warm his legs. As they sat, Draco pulled the article from his pocket and shoved it under Crabbe's nose.

"That'll give you a laugh," Draco said as he watched Crabbe's beady eyes fall on the paper.

Draco ignored them as they read, knowing that watching either of them try to read through something was an exercise in patience Draco didn't have. Instead, he wondered about the rest of the holiday, and how he might spend it. Maybe he could get out his broom at some point and challenge someone to a game…

Eventually, the article was presented back to Draco, much more quickly than he had expected. He looked up, eager to see the glee on their faces that might earn Draco some points with the pureblood family circles.

Instead, they both stared at him blankly, no hint of amusement whatsoever. Draco felt an anger rouse in his chest. Were they so lazy that they couldn't even be bothered to read it?

"Well?" said Draco impatiently. "Don't you think it's funny?"

"Ha, ha," said Goyle bleakly.

No, they certainly hadn't read it . As was usual with these two, Draco would have to resume the heavy lifting of the conversation.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them," explained Draco. "You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave."

But instead of the laughter Draco was so accustomed to whenever the Weasleys were brought up, Crabbe looked furious and Goyle looked bored. A new worry shot through Draco, as he wondered if he had done something that had once again turned his reputation sour. That would certainly explain why Crabbe and Goyle were being so petulant. But, for the life of him, Draco couldn't think of what he might have done.

"What's up with you, Crabbe?" snapped Malfoy, eager to just hear whatever he was accused of now.

"Stomachache," Crabbe grunted.

Draco felt his worry ease slightly. He had seen the way Crabbe was going at that Christmas supper. Perhaps Draco was worrying for nothing.

"Well, go up to the hospital wing. Say hi to the mudbloods for me," said Draco. "You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet. I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."

Remembering the look on that first-year's face, all moon-eyed and hero-worship at stupid Potter, Draco continued, taking pictures with an imaginary camera. In an impression of Colin, he said, " Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter? "

At least around Crabbe and Goyle, Draco could be as cruel as he felt like being in any given moment. The crueler he was, in fact, the harder they'd laugh. Unlike Eleanor, who usually would have stopped Draco by now, or would have just flat out ignored him.

But Crabbe and Goyle weren't laughing now and another pang of worry shot through Draco's stomach. It was easy bait but they didn't laugh, and Draco couldn't help but dread what new rumors might be circulating about him.

"What's the matter with you two?" he demanded, his worry lacing through his voice inadvertently.

With that, the two laughed finally, only providing Draco with a modicum of partial relief.

He diverted to an easier topic, which was coincidentally part of the reason Draco had to worry so much. He continued, "Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend. He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger. And people think he's Slytherin's heir!"

With a sigh, Draco said, "I wish I knew who it was."

And Goyle spoke finally, "You must have some idea who's behind it all."

Draco scowled. They knew he had no idea.

And that was when it dawned on him. They must have known somehow! That was why they had been acting strangely, surely, as they were trying to bait Draco into asking. He turned to them and stared.

"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?" Draco said. "Do you know something?"

But before he could continue, they were interrupted by Theo strolling in, his face that same cocky grin that Draco had begun to loathe.

"Alright boys?" he asked them.

Draco nodded back curtly.

"What're we talking about, then?" Theo asked as he sat right next to Draco without even asking.

"Oh, you know. Just everyone's favorite topic," Draco said with a sigh, before he felt an uncomfortable bristle in his neck. Could Theo know ? "I asked my father about what Greengrass told us, actually. Of course he didn't tell me anything, except that the first time the Chamber was opened was around fifty years ago."

"That can't be all he told you, surely?" Theo asked with an annoying knowing smile.

"Sounds like you know something, Nott. Care to share with the class?" Draco seethed.

Theo laughed annoyingly, and said, "Well, you see– my father was actually quite happy to give me a few more details. He told me that a mudblood died the last time it was opened."

Draco's eyes widened involuntarily, but so did Crabbe and Goyle's, which was a rare relief given the circumstance. Maybe they were all still just as in the dark as Draco was.

"Who did it?" Draco asked.

"No idea," Theo said with a shrug. "But whoever opened it last time was caught and they're probably still in Azkaban now."

"Azkaban?" Goyle asked.

"The wizard prison, Goyle, Merlin, do you forget everything?" Draco snapped, impatient with the taunt of new information Theo was holding.

"Who died?" Crabbe asked.

"Who cares? A mudblood. Does it matter which one?" Theo said with a roll of his eyes. "Besides… I'm much more interested in discussing who's opening it this time around."

"Do you know something, Nott?" Draco asked, his throat a little tight.

"Of course. We all know who it is, don't we?" Theo said.

Draco's stomach dropped. "Oh?"

"Why, it's Potter, of course," Theo said, and his mouth curled up in a laugh.

At this, Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. Goyle and Crabbe laughed too after a moment, and Draco figured he must have been getting worked up over nothing as he usually did.

"I did quite like Milicent's theory, though," Theo added.

"What was that?" Goyle asked.

"Oh, you remember," Theo said with a devilish grin. "That it's Capulet doing all this."

Draco heard Crabbe gasp. The idiot . "Oh, please. You can't possibly be serious," Draco said.

At this, Theo tilted his head to Crabbe and Goyle. "You two see my point, don't you? I mean, you were the ones who inspired me to look into it, really."

"Us?" Goyle asked, his face a mess of confusion that was familiar in an unidentifiable way. Goyle looking confused was common as all get out, but the way he was wearing it now… it was different, somehow.

"Haven't you two heard of her mother?" Theo asked them.

Draco interrupted. "If we started going around accusing people just for having Death Eaters as parents, we'd hardly be narrowing down the list at all."

"Sure," Theo said. "But that's not what I mean."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Theo. He really didn't like where this was going. But, surely, Theo couldn't know, could he?

"Draco, you must know what I'm talking about. What Ottilie Hemlock was most famous for?" Theo asked. "Other than her death, of course," he added with a laugh.

"Of course I do," Draco said, sneering. "But–"

"Do you two know?" Theo asked Crabbe and Goyle, interrupting Draco.

Draco raged as they shook their heads.

"Well, you see… Ottilie Hemlock had, what some might call, a special focus. She was a Death Eater, as you lot know, but most have forgotten quite a bit about her story. About what made her a Death Eater in the first place."

"What's that?" Crabbe asked, his face blank.

"Ottilie Hemlock liked murdering poachers," Theo said casually. "She ran with werewolves and centaurs and all sorts of half-breeds. In fact, she's the whole reason that werewolves sided with the Dark Lord during the war. And she used to release all sorts of beasts on unsuspecting wizards. Slaughtered them down like pigs. You wouldn't believe what she did to this one witch who was trying to use Unicorn Blood to come up with a potion to reduce wrinkles."

"And… and what's that got to do with the heir?" Goyle asked, his voice sounding surprisingly frightened.

"Isn't it obvious? Ottilie Hemlock liked her monsters. Killed for the sake of them, she liked 'em so much. Doesn't that sound quite like the kind of person who could tell her daughter just exactly how to control the monster in the Chamber?" Theo finished with a smile.

"But Ottilie died when Nell was only a baby, right?" Crabbe asked, and Draco glared. Did Crabbe just call Eleanor 'Nell '? There was something very, very strange happening here.

Theo rolled his eyes. "And, what, left nothing behind? I'm sure if she had wanted to, she would have found a way to leave Capulet all the information she needed."

At this, Crabbe and Goyle were silent. And Draco seethed.

But Theo just laughed and stood up, talking about some presents that he hadn't opened yet. With a wave and a happy Christmas , he was off, leaving behind the bomb that Draco had to diffuse.

Desperately, he turned to Crabbe and Goyle and said in a hush, "Listen… please don't bring any of that up to Eleanor, alright?"

"Why not?" Goyle asked, and he actually looked mad, his forehead creasing strangely.

"Because–"

But Crabbe's shout cut him off.

"Medicine! Hospital wing!" he yelled, and grabbed Goyle by the arm, running the two of them off and leaving Draco alone.

He could kill Theo. He really really could. If Theo kept that up, going around and telling everyone the same thing that Draco had learned after hours of research he spent during the last few days of school the year prior…

Eleanor loved her beasts. It was one of the only subjects that seemed to come naturally to her, a startling change of pace from her usual dreadful showing. Draco couldn't have Theo ruining that by telling her how her mother shared the same interest. Eleanor could never learn that her mother's love for beasts was what pulled her to the dark arts and motivated her to kill ruthlessly. Eleanor could never learn that she had inherited that passion from her mother, because, if she did, Draco knew she would abandon it.

And Draco couldn't have her abandon it. Because it was his last hope.

No, Draco needed to let Eleanor's passion develop on its own, so that maybe, it could be the final point he needed. The final reason to convince her to pick the smart side. To do what she truly thought was right, not just what she thought she ought to think was right.

To survive.