Dragon

Chapter Four

Fifteen years ago, this would have been an announcement of little value. But fifteen years ago, Lord Voldemort had been in power for years. Now. now he was returning. This marked a significant turning point in the time we all lived in. The mudbloods, Muggles, and all who opposed the forces of the Dark Lord were unsafe. Lord Voldemort had let all know his wrath was fully returned.

Now some mudbloods, who possessed some sort of magical powers, had been wiped from the face of the earth. This was good news indeed. Especially for the pureblooded wizarding families that chose the correct associates.

I could not suffice a smile, thinking of how good it would be to see Granger's face among the dead. But father had apparently not seen my wishes, as he continued on, "Perhaps you have heard of the Dubose and Her lair families?" He paused, and looked to me. I grinned. "They no longer... grace this world."

There was more applause. Then, quite suddenly, something crossed my mind. Where were mother's dratted Gryffindor relatives? Where were the Hagens? They would surely turn us in for this sort of rally, those Dumbledore supporters. They were good for nothing, and surely mother had been smart enough to shoo them away?

My cold blue-gray eyes scanned the crowd, looking for heads of blonde hair, glasses, or horrified expressions. With much relief, all heads of blonde hair I sighted belong to Celeste's family (which included Kayta's family as well; they were related), and the Malfoy family. There were no horrified expressions, only expressions of delight and wonder.

"Now," my father said softly. Everyone quieted down to hear him speak. "Tell no one what you support openly. Stealth is key, and remember: do the crime, serve the time, and if you squeal, there will be very little time left for you. I bid you all a pleasant day, and I wish my son Draco a happy birthday."

Father waved curtly to the crowd, and apparated with a small pop. There was an instant buzz sent throughout the atmosphere; talk of Lord Voldemort. Everyone present knew he had returned, and Potter had escaped by the skin of his crooked teeth, but this was the first killing, besides Diggory. It was a nice feeling. Knowing something drastic had happened. And there was nothing Potter and Company could have done about it.

Suddenly, opening presents didn't matter too much anymore.

* * * *

The day after my birthday, father took the family shopping, for school supplies and other necessities.

We arrived via a flying carriage, as father had arranged for us. It was similar to the display Beauxbatons put on the previous year, entering for the Triwizard Tournament. Well, we arrived at Diagon Alley in the carriage, but only after father insisted on a discreet stop at an old deserted manor, so he could secretly use an unmonitored portion of the Floo Network to arrive at Knockturn Alley.

"Draco, go with your mother to Diagon Alley," father said before stepping into the colorful flames. My mind replayed his sentence in my ears again. "I have business to attend to." He looked at me and shook his staff, noticing the way I had longingly eyed the flames that would soon lead to Knockturn Alley, where I longed to visit again. "Narcissa, take him and buy his school supplies."

My mother nodded, stuck her nose in the air, and tugged my sleeve. "Some other time, Draco," my father said as mother dragged me away. I sighed.

"Yes, father."

I felt Mother's guiding hand lead me to the carriage, seeming to cling slightly to me, as if she didn't want me thinking of such evil things, like they could corrupt my mind. I absentmindedly gazed out the window, seeing English countryside roll by.

Thank God for the Wizarding entrance to Diagon Alley. I would have died if we had been forced to share the street with Muggles and nutcases alike.

Those who continually waged war with evil resided here, and delighted in shopping in boring shops, which help nothing more than books, robes, or broomsticks. How people could stay entertained with such items baffled me; the dark arts and potions were truly fascinating.

A few obviously new to the Wizarding World oooohed and aaaaahhed, but for me, it was nothing short of normal. Well, I suppose when you live inferior lives without the luxury, even house elves may seem interesting. Perhaps Granger should be asked about that subject. Disgraceful.

I grinned, and steppes out of the carriage, which was sleek and black, with silver wheels, and serpents sculpted exquisitely for decorations.

I noticed the streets were rather more crowded than usual, as in this area, it was much safer to purchase dark items, whereas years ago, you were bombarded by Ministry of Magic goons, demanding to know your wishes for the object you had purchased. One would think that security in Knockturn Alley would increase; yet the blokes at the Ministry have decided to draw their attention and efforts elsewhere, where they believe more help is needed.

"I'll get your necessaries," mother said, looking around Diagon Alley with a shot of malice. The people were so... common. "Browse around and see if there's anything else you'd like." She didn't give me a chance to tell her that there wasn't much that I wanted at Diagon Alley, as she turned and left quickly, carefully avoiding all people that looked guilty of siding with Dumbledore.

I too did the same. Dearly wishing I could browse Knockturn Alley with father, I set off to the most decent shop in all of Diagon Alley: Quality Quidditch Supplies. Perhaps they would have a new model broom for father to purchase for the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Or if not, a seven Firebolts would do just as well. Then I would be more than a match for old Potty.

As there always was, a crowd was circling around the shop, gazing in the window at the display. Being several heads shorter than the hulking masses that would never survive a ride on a broomstick, it was hard to see. "Move aside!" I commanded, pushing through. A few glares from the crowd made me grin. But the glares were nothing compared to the display in the window.

There it was, sleek and shiny, mahogany wood gleaming perfectly as the dark wicker twigs were entirely untouched... It was the Nimbus Millennium. "Faster than the Firebolt! Rides even smoother, glides perfectly!" Beamed the sales witch, who was a dumpy old lady whose bumpy nose suggested that perhaps she had had better days in her younger years.

With a smug smile gracing my thin lips, I recalled briefly the long, thin package I had held the previous day on my birthday. It had been a Millennium, I was sure of it. Father would undoubtedly want the best thing on the market, to make the Malfoy family proud.

"Wow! Would ya lookit this, Harry!" I heard an all too familiar voice in the crowd say excitedly. Soon someone with red hair, shabby clothing, and loads of freckles had pushed his way up to the front of the crowd. "Oh." Added Ron Weasley, noticing me standing smugly near the window.

"What are you looking for, Weasley?" I asked, stepping closer to the filth. I ignored father's warnings about mingling with common populace. "You could never afford a twig, even if you sold your whole house! Tut, tut... this will only make you yearn for the life you only dream of."

"Leave him alone, Malfoy," said another voice that was sadly familiar. Here had come Saint Potter to yet again save Weasley's dirty neck. "Too bad they haven't got brains on sale; have you looked in the Apothecary yet?"

I sneered at Potter, and replied, "What, Weasley bargain off his for money?" Ron Weasley lunged forward at me, apparently trying to make up for his lack of money with a brawl, but as I happened to be seeker for the Slytherin team, he was too slow to dodge me, and landed face first into the cobblestone street.

"It isn't as if he's not used to being in the dirt," I laughed, before what I should have guessed happened. With a great lurch forward, I was face down on the street next to Weasley, feeling a throbbing pain in my jaw. Potter had right hooked me in the jaw. Thus, doing the only other thing I could think of. I rolled to the side, and let the crowd buzz. Weasley was recovering quickly, and soon lurched forward, but was caught swiftly by Hermione Granger, who was standing in front of Potter as well, who was held back by the diminutive Ginny Weasley.

There was such a bustle around Potter, everyone thinking he was crazy and had finally blown a gasket, that no one cared that I was slipping off unharmed, except for the bruise on my jaw. Mother was finishing her purchase of my books in Flourish and Blotts, when I bounded over to her, grinning smugly. She noticed the bruise on my face, and tried rather unsuccessfully (in my opinion) to hide her concern.

"Potter and Weasley," I said, to explain. Mother nodded. "But the press will be taking care of Potter, I'm sure."

Mother grinned, knowing that I had come off better at the end of that fight. "Your father will be waiting, Draco," she said, thankfully calling me by my rightful name. "Hurry along, there are mudbloods here." The shopkeeper stuck his nose in the air at us as we scuttled out of the bookstore. It was still a mystery how mother got her shopping done that fast. It seemed to me as if only five minutes had passed by.

But time flies when you have fun.

* * * *

The summer's end came nearer and nearer, and I could not decide if I was glad or not to leave home for the school year. I would be void of father, yet enemies such as Potter would befall me at Hogwarts, as I was forced to attend classes with mudbloods and mudblood lovers.

Nonetheless, despite my nitpicking and assertive talking, I was not transferred to Durumstrang. On September the First I found myself boarding the train with Crabbe and Goyle (still faithful, yet still idiotic cronies), finding a compartment to ourselves. I hoped that Pansy Parkinson, Celeste, Kayta, or any other annoying people that attended the school would not join us.

No such luck.

"Draco!" Came the squealing voice of Pansy Parkinson, who had a face to rival a pug. "I heard about your scuffle with Potter at Diagon Alley! It was all over the papers! You're a GENIUS! He shouldn't be famous, he seems more infamous!"

Though revolting as she was, I had to grin, and take in the attention. I had a plan for the train ride: lie low and avoid Potter. Potter would be more than keen for revenge upon me. I wasn't planning on getting my leg cursed off me, and until Potter had time to cool his jets I would keep to myself.

Or not.

It was in my nature to comment when something of interest was happening to Potter, who basked in his own feigned glory. The ones who deserved the attention, such as myself, were left in the dust. Even our own parents paid little attention to you, except let you sleep peacefully for a night because you caused harm to others.

My plan for the train ride, of course did not work out. It just wouldn't be a train ride to Hogwarts if I didn't shake up Potter and Company. How truly devastated they would be if I did not grace them with my presence. I was sure they were missing me, so I planned my entrance for about five minutes, then made my way off to the compartment where they so often were situated.

Flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, I pulled open the glass door to the compartment door, and grinned at Potter as if I were meeting an old friend. He returned my smile with a livid glare. How homely he looked.

"I do hope your limbs don't decide to. run away with you!" I said; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. I had told them all about the incident, of course. What else were grunts for? "Now, play nicely, Weasley," I added, as Ron rose, his face as red as his hair.

"Stalk off, Malfoy," Hermione said acidly. Her bushy hair seemed to have gotten bushier during the summer, and she had browned well, too, making her look like a gingerbread cookie. I didn't mean that as a good thing. She reeked of mudblood.

"And a mudblood like you's going to stop me?' I sneered. Potter, Weasley, and Granger all pulled their wands, and it was at that moment the ugly old witch who carried the snacks cart rolled into the compartment. This left the Dream Team in despair, as I strutted away.

Weasley heaved a cauldron cake at me, but hit the glass door, which sent my minions into an uproar. I could tell this was going to be a better year than the previous ones already. My thoughts were of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, as I settled down smugly in my seat. If only we could get a decent one. We hadn't had one yet.