[Harry]

Harry laid in the dark as the swarm of silky smooth engulfed him, thinking over the day's events. It certainly had been an eventful day.

"If you think so, then bloody act like it, you oblivious bastard!"

What did he mean by oblivious? Even though the argument was ended abruptly in an extremely comical way, he couldn't help recalling Draco's words.

Yes, they've established pretty well that Harry was an oblivious prat. But that definitely wasn't relevant to the row they were currently having. What was he oblivious to? Did he miss some sort of message?

Harry rolled over on the mattress, still deep in thought. He then remembered the disheveled Draco in front of him when he appeared at his door. It was an image that had been gnawing at him since he slammed the door shut behind them. Why did he look so worn out? Was it because of him? If it was, why was he so affected by it? It's only been a little over a week... but Harry still remembered himself crying all over his couch just earlier that day. Would it be possible that he felt the same way... too?

Harry buried his head into the pillow. It didn't smell much like Draco since he figured this might be the guest bedroom. Despite the tumbling thoughts inside his head, he smiled into it. He was staying over again after all.

His train of thought was promptly sliced in half with an ear-splitting, blood-curling scream.

[Draco]

"Ah... Draco," said a snake-like voice. "Christmas is in the air," the scarlet pupils narrowed and the thin line of Voldemort's mouth curled into a twisted smile.

He stood up slowly, pacing around the chair Draco was in in circles, his loose robes flying behind him. It flared a sickly-sweet scent of death.

"Your term has started September first, correct?"

"Yes, my Lord." Draco tried hard not to make his voice tremble.

"Three months!" Voldemort snarled into his face suddenly, making Draco jump and whimper involuntarily.

"Three months, it had been..." he mused, continuing his pacing. "And why, have all of my faithful servants told me... that Albus Dumbledore, is still out and about, very much alive..."

"I- I'm sorry, my Lord," Draco whispered.

"Indeed... sorry, you shall be..."

The Dark Lord came to a halt behind him. He could feel his breath closing upon his neck. "Stupid boy," he hissed.

Draco winced. "Fearful, now, are we?" Voldemort chuckled with evil mirth. "And you've been foolish enough to be suspected... and nearly caught- by the filthy squib... my, my," he circled around and planted himself directly in front of Draco.

"The Dark Lord does not tolerate silly ignorance, dear Draco... like father, like son,"

Draco braced himself as Voldemort reached inside his robe.

"Crucio!"

Draco tumbled off the chair, every inch of his skin and bone glowering with pain, he felt as if he was on fire.

The pain stopped abruptly. He laid on the cold stone floor, sweat trickling down his forehead.

Voldemort cackled wildly. "Well, well, just a taste test..." he glowered. "Get up, silly coward," he snarled. "You're far from done."

Draco scrambled to climb back into his chair, trembling from head to toe. "Time is running out, my dear Draco," he continued. Suddenly, he was looking directly into a cold and empty mass of red.

"You have till the end of the year," the Dark Lord enunciated, slowly.

"Y- yes, my Lord," Draco trembled.

"Very well," he said. "CRUCIO!"

Draco screamed.