Chapter Text
Snow fell in large flakes, dancing a frosty round with the wind that kept lifting them high into the air and dropping them back to the ground. But they never stayed there for long: the blizzard would catch them again and spin them across the horizon. He wanted to run outside and dance with them, to feel the wind against his skin and let the snowflakes cling to his eyelashes.
But Draco only watched from the window, admiring the charms of winter. For the first time, perhaps, he regretted that his room overlooked the depths of the lake, where mermaids often swam by and waved at the students.
All he lacked was tea or something warm, though even that would not warm him completely. It was still cold inside. And not only for him: Christmas was approaching, yet the festive atmosphere only weighed heavily on everyone. The war had cut down joy, torn it apart before their eyes, and thrown it off a cliff. Yes, much time had passed, but was it enough for the wounds to heal?
A ghost in a New Year’s hat flew past Draco, singing some Christmas tune at the top of his lungs, its lively melody drawing the attention of all the students. Some watched with faint smiles, others even laughed, but most simply walked by sadly without lifting their eyes.
They would spend this Christmas alone.
Pain could be read in their eyes. Eyes were always capable of revealing a person’s core. Whether you were arrogant or miserable, your essence and true intentions could be read in your gaze. At least, that was what Draco believed. He saw endless sorrow in the students’ eyes. They could laugh, run, jump, embrace one another — but the moment you looked closely, everything became clear. You do not forget something like that. You learn to live with it.
Outside the window, the wind howled stronger and stronger, as if warning that if you stepped outside, you would immediately be swept into the mad dance of snow. And how he longed to go out there.
But Pansy appeared from around the corner, overturning all his thoughts. It seemed he hadn’t been waiting for her long, yet he had managed to ponder the meaning of life.
"I hope you didn’t fall into depression while waiting for me," she adjusted her clothes. "You look gloomy."
"One could grow old waiting for you," Draco nearly collided with a younger student rushing toward him.
"I’m hungry as a beast," Pansy waved her hand near her nose. "I hope there’ll be more meat."
"Why ‘as’?" The Slytherin felt a light jab to his side and smiled faintly.
In the Great Hall, the weather itself brought pleasure. Fine snow fell from the ceiling, melting before it could reach the tables. Children tried to jump high enough to catch the spot where it disappeared, and Draco noticed a barely visible sad smile on his friend’s face.
"We used to be like that too," she noticed the silent question on his face. "Living children."
"Not for very long."
The hall continued filling with students eager to taste the fragrant dinner. Once cheerful and restless, Weasley now walked gloomily behind Potter toward the table, not even lifting his eyes.
"A moment of attention," Professor McGonagall tapped her glass, and within a minute all voices fell silent. After the war, she had changed as well: her hair was grayer than usual, and chronic pain could be read in her eyes. "Please pause your meal for a moment and listen carefully," her stern gaze seemed to pass over every student. "The teaching staff and I have decided to brighten the days before Christmas. This evening, this box will stand in the Great Hall," McGonagall produced a small red box decorated with white ribbons. "If you place your name inside, you will receive the name of a person for whom you must prepare a gift. This way, you may both enjoy yourselves and form new connections or strengthen old ones. To avoid repetition, pairs will be formed, and you will exchange gifts with one another. You have until tonight to submit your name, and tomorrow morning you will learn the result. Your partner’s name will appear on your wrist, and yours on theirs." Quiet waves of excited whispers rolled through the hall. "If a conflict arises between you and your partner, I will remove the name from your wrist, and you will not be required to give a gift. Thank you for your attention. You may continue."
Silence quickly turned into a buzz of voices. Students discussed the announcement eagerly, and Draco noticed a satisfied smile on McGonagall’s face. Perhaps she had achieved the desired effect. There was more liveliness now.
"What do you think?" Pansy swallowed her food greedily, reminding Draco of Weasley in their first years.
"I think it will help lighten the atmosphere before the holiday," Draco lazily picked at his salad. "The professor did the right thing."
"No, what do you think about it?" the Slytherin girl happily grabbed a pastry. "Will you put your name in?"
"As if anyone would want to give me a gift," Draco laughed bitterly, meeting his friend’s concerned gaze. "Pans, I’m hated, despised, and feared all at once. If I get paired with some Gryffindor, or worse, a Slytherin..." He looked away. "I don’t think there’s any point. They’ll refuse me the moment they see my name — and make a scene out of it."
"Oh, come on, it’s worth a try," her bowl was nearly empty, and Draco was astonished by her appetite. "Trying isn’t suffering, as they say. Besides, you yourself said it wouldn’t hurt to distract yourself."
Unable to resist her persuasion any longer, he sighed and nodded, continuing his meal. Now he watched students of different houses and ages smiling as they dropped slips of paper into the box, which glowed yellow each time a note fell inside.
Draco pulled a sheet of parchment and a quill from his bag, meeting the disdainful looks of some Slytherins who likely considered it childish. Their faces radiated pure contempt, and he grimaced, reminding himself that he used to be just like that. On the parchment, in neat letters, stood the name: "Draco Lucius Malfoy." He began to wait until the hall emptied so he could drop it in unnoticed, but the flow of students only grew. Those who had left rushed to tell friends who had missed dinner about the event, and they, whether ill or not, hurried in as well, eager to participate.
"Here, I wrote mine too," Pansy held up her parchment, her name written in strict handwriting. "I just hope it’s not some arrogant Gryffindor. If I get Weasley, what will I do?"
"Give him a personal psychologist," Draco glanced toward the Gryffindor table, studying the backs of the Golden Trio. "Have you seen him? He looks crushed by life."
"Please, anyone but him," she clasped her hands as if in prayer.
"Even Potter?" Draco watched her expression with amusement.
"I wouldn’t have enough money, even if I sold my house and half my organs," she calculated mentally. "The Great Hero probably doesn’t need gifts, don’t you think?"
"I think someone will make him participate too," Draco observed a small argument near the Gryffindor table, certain the friends were persuading Potter to join.
"Whatever, let’s go," she stood up, extending her hand to him, which he immediately took. "Let’s hope no one pays attention to us."
She was very wrong.
After dropping their names into the box, Draco felt the piercing stares aimed at his back. He immediately regretted his decision. Only a first-year unaware of everything might not refuse him — and that was unlikely.
Turning around, Malfoy caught the hateful looks himself, but he tried to keep walking forward, holding his friend’s hand tightly.
"Well," Pansy spoke only once they reached the dungeons, "I was wrong."
"The only ones not staring at me were McGonagall and Potter," Draco smiled sarcastically as they entered the Slytherin common room, immediately feeling its ever-present chill. "And that’s only because he had his face covered and didn’t see me."
"Let’s hope our future partner is reasonable enough," she was already heading toward her room but turned to give him a sweet smile. "Good night, my Slytherin prince."
"Stop calling me that!" He shot her a deadly look, feeling his face flush slightly. "You know that nickname annoys me!"
Pansy only giggled quietly and disappeared around the corner leading to the girls’ dormitories. Draco lingered outside his own door for a moment, not daring to go in. But the cold forced him to reluctantly turn the handle.
"What the hell, Blaise," Malfoy covered his face with his hands, turning sharply away. "Why do all your entertainments take place in our room?"
After an endless minute of waiting, an older Ravenclaw girl left the room, trailing sweet yet sharp perfume behind her.
"Sorry, I hoped you’d come back later," Blaise smiled shamelessly. "I don’t have a private room, and she’d been flirting with me all day, so..."
"Please, spare me the details," Draco collapsed onto his bed, feeling nothing but exhaustion. "Do you want to participate in the Christmas thing McGonagall started?"
"I must have missed a lot by skipping dinner," Blaise raised his eyebrows, waiting for more. "Or…"
"We’re not talking about that," Draco’s words made Blaise grin widely. "You put your name in the box, and in the morning you’ll see the name of the partner you must exchange pleasantries with." Draco noticed the vulgar smile on his friend’s face. "Oh, Merlin, not those kinds of pleasantries!"
"That’s a pity," Blaise wiped away an imaginary tear. "I thought McGonagall had come up with something interesting."
"So you won’t do it?" Draco met the surprise in his brown eyes and felt a quiet relief that Blaise remained the same as before the war.
"Oh, it’s a good idea," he jumped up, barely managing to cover himself. "You can make new connections..."
"Just make sure it’s not one of the Golden Trio," Draco said.
Zabini laughed at his friend’s words. "Or do you enjoy the idea of being the subject of the whole school’s gossip?"
"Trust me, I’ll find it useful somehow," Blaise searched for a shirt in his wardrobe.
"Great, then get out of here," Draco finally pulled off his trousers. "I want to fall asleep peacefully."
"It’s eight in the evening and Malfoy’s already going to bed — what a sight," Blaise burst out laughing and, quickly dressed, disappeared through the door.
Left alone, Draco ran his fingers through his hair, noting that he should wash it, but he had no strength to go to the showers. His head felt glued to the pillow, his legs almost petrified, unwilling to move at all. Draco knew he wouldn’t fall asleep, that he would toss and turn for at least two hours, yet he could not spend that time on anything more useful than self-reproach.
Would he be hurt if someone truly refused him? What would he feel in that moment? Indifference — or something else? The stiffness in his legs disgusted him, and he shifted position. Now he studied his raised palm. Tomorrow morning a name would appear there. Why did it matter so much to him whose unfortunate present he would have to give?
Draco had been wrong when he thought he wouldn’t sleep that night. When Blaise returned, barely closing the door behind him, Draco was already asleep, holding his palm in front of his eyes.