Draco Malfoy and the Goblet of Fire (BOOK 4 of 7)

Chapter 16-Holy Saint Francis

After a long and quiet train ride, Draco saw that his parents weren't there to pick him up so he had to Floo home by himself. When he arrived, he thought that no one was home. He wondered where his parents were, but most importantly, what his surprise was.

He jogged up the stairs to his room and entered to find...

...no surprise. His room remained the same as he had left it before departing for school the previous year. He quickly unpacked his bags and changed into his pajamas. He could really use a nap. The moment he slipped into bed his stomach grumbled. He sighed and put his home robe on before heading to the kitchen to get a snack.

At first, he didn't notice the two and a half people sitting at the breakfast table. He walked into the kitchen, three sets of eyes on him, and began to whistle. He opened the fridge and collected the ingredients for a hamburger. Realizing that he'd left his wand upstairs, he strolled back into the breakfast area where he acknowledged his mother and took her wand without saying anything. He said a few spells and did some wand waving, and before he knew it, his burger was complete. He grabbed the plate and sat down across from his father.

"Hello, Father." He turned to his left and put the wand in front of his mother. Draco turned to the creature sitting across from his mother and nodded, saying, "Hello, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He bit into the sandwich and chewed. "This is delicious," he said aloud. Suddenly, it hit him and he was standing up, exclaiming, "Holy Saint Francis! I forgot the mustard." He ran back to the kitchen and came back with a fixed problem. After a second bite and swallow, he leaped up, knocking back his chair. "Holy Saint Patrick!" He'd finally noticed Voldemort.

"Draco," Narcissa started, "we're not Christians...or Irish."

"Mother, is he who I think he is?" Draco turned back to the no-nosed being. "Are you who I think you are?"

"Surprise," Lucius said without emotion.

"Sir, I mean, my Lord," Draco said to Voldemort, "it's a pleasure meeting you. I said that two minutes ago, didn't I?" Pleasure meeting you, Draco thought, and I hope you will begin to rot soon.

Soon, Draco had been filled in on the situation at the graveyard and that Voldemort believed that his father's house in Little Hangleton was no longer safe now that the Ministry had Crouch.

"He's dead," Draco said. Three pairs of eye froze.

"How do you know this?" Voldemort asked.

"Well, I saw none other than Cornelius Fudge drag his body and a dementor away in the halls at Hogwarts."

"Dementor's Kiss," Lucius said.

"What?" Draco asked, feigning ignorance.

"It means that Barty Crouch Junior's soul has been sucked out by the dementor."

Draco screwed up his face as much as he could and said, "Ugh."

"It doesn't seem fun," Lucius agreed.

"So," Voldemort said, "I believe it is possible to return to the house in Little Hangleton, but I have already had one incident with a nosy Muggle. I don't need any more of them meddling around."

"Which room will you be in?" Draco asked.

"The largest guest room on the second floor," Narcissa answered.

Draco almost sighed in relief; he was on the third. "Well, I guess I'll go to bed now." He excused himself from the table and climbed up the stairs. One question constantly ran through his mind: How did Voldemort sleep? Yes, he was human once, but Draco just couldn't picture the Dark Lord lying on a large bed, cuddling up to his pillow while shivering under the covers. Draco shivered at that thought. It was definitely more frightening than the Dark Lord's idea of fun.

The Hogwarts Express had returned to Kings' Cross Station sometime in the evening, and now it was around eight o'clock. Much to early for bed during the summer. But Draco wanted to think. He didn't know how he would practice his magic now, even though he was significantly farther ahead than anyone in his class. He would try to spend a great deal of time in the library. The Dark Lord would never want anything to do with a fifteen year old.

Then he realized something: he was fifteen. School didn't end until the third week of June, and his birthday was in the first week. He hadn't even remembered his birthday since he'd started Hogwarts. His birthday was a day like any other. None of his friends had ever asked when his birthday was nor had they obliged to share their own.

Did people even celebrate their birthdays anymore? Perhaps his friends had little parties for each other in secret and left Draco out because...oh, say he was asleep then. "Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus" was the school motto: "Never tickle a sleeping dragon."

Draco shoved that thought out of his head; it was a stupid way of thinking. Yes, it was difficult to trust people these days, but he couldn't always rely on himself. He needed to trust-to a certain level, of course- that his friends were there for him...just like most of the Death Eaters were there for Voldemort.

Because only in numbers could he somehow beat the Dark Lord.

THE END

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