DISCLAIMER: The Hogwart's Characters and Hogwart's Plot belongs to JK Rowlings. YEAH! Thanks JK

DRACO MALFOY AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE

Chapter 1

THE REAL HOGWART'S CHAMPION

By Lady Lestrange

Draco Malfoy stalked into the Slytherin Common room and flung himself onto a sofa. "I can't believe Dumb-as-a-door just cancelled Quiddich! CANCELLED. For the whole year. What are we going to do between these stupid 'tasks'. There are only three of them. There's no reason for Quiddich to be cancelled. I need to owl my father," Draco muttered.

"It will be back next year," said Greg as he searched through his bag for a chocolate frog.

"Next year, the Nimbus 2001's will be another year older." Draco seethed. "We needed to play this year!"

Greg found the frog, crushed and melted, but he ate it anyway. He looked at the wizard card for a moment before trying to lick off the remains of chocolate. The picture, of Morgania gave him a look of total disgust and leaped away from the picture frame.

"I can't believe it." Draco got up, paced across the common room, and knocked the candy wrapper out of Greg's hand. "Are you listening to me?" Unfortunately, the wrapper still had chocolate on it and stuck to Draco's hand. With an obscene gesture, he crumpled the paper wishing it were Dumbledore's head, and stuck it in his pocket.

"Of course, I am, Draco," said Greg. "You're upset about Quiddich being cancelled. Whatta you want me to do about it."

"Nothing." Said Draco. "Just nothing."

"Too bad you're not old enough to join the Tri-Wizard Tournament," said Vincent.

Draco froze the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

"Draco," said Vincent, "You're not old enough."

"And we're not old enough either," said Greg. "We can't put your name in the cup. So there's no point in you asking."

"Even if we did," said Greg. "You probably wouldn't be picked. There's only one champion from each school."

"Slytherins are never picked for anything," interjected Pansy as she entered the room from the girl's dorm side. "It's so unfair. Can't you get your father to do anything about that, Draco?"

Draco threw Pansy a sour look. He was sick of her always asking can't your father do this or can't your father do that, but she did have her uses. "Maybe," he said as he kicked off his shoes and lounged on the sofa again.

He didn't even have to tell her anymore. Like an obedient little house elf, she came over to the sofa, sat down and picked up one of his feet in her large and very capable hands. She began to rub. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. There had to be a way to make this work to his advantage. There always was, he just had to think of it. "Toes, Pansy," he said. "How many times do I have to tell you, just below the toes?"

"That better, Draco?"

"Much." But not as good as his house elf, Letty, thought Draco. Now she could do a foot massage!

"Draco," said Greg softly. "Is it OK if we leave? We have to get our homework for tomorrow."

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, Draco dismissed them to go find someone to do their homework for them. Draco shifted his weight and put his other foot in Pansy's lap. Obediently to his unspoken request, she switched feet.

"How many older cousins do you have in Slytherin?" asked Draco.

"Loads," replied Pansy. "Why?"

"I'm trying to call up a favor."

"You helped Morag with his potions last year," suggested Pansy.

Draco remembered, but that was because he wanted to go out with Morag's sister. That favor was already called in, but Draco wouldn't tell Pansy that. "No, not him," said Draco.

There's Chamilla, said Pansy.

Well, that was a possibility, thought Draco. She was a pretty sixth year. "Are you sure she's 17?" asked Draco. Wondering if he could manage to get a date with her as well as getting her to put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

"Positive." I went to her birthday celebration last week," said Pansy.

"So what does she like?" asked Draco shifting his weight yet again.

"Older men," said Pansy dryly.

Draco kicked her.

"O-Oof ! What ya' kick me for?" Pansy demanded.

"Opps," he said. "Just getting comfortable." He rolled over on his stomach. "How about my neck and shoulders?" suggested Draco.

"Go to hell," said Pansy, getting up from the sofa, but Draco's hand snaked out and grabbed hers.

"You don't want to do that," said Draco, pulling himself up to a sitting position and still holding on to her arm. "We make too good a team."

"Good for who?" asked Pansy.

Draco dug in his pocket for his wand and felt the candy paper. With a grin, he produced the wand and the paper in one instant. The paper however was growing into stems and soft purple flowers—pansies. "PANSIDIOUS!" For you," he said.

"Oh, Draco."

She moved back over to her place beside him and started to rub the tense muscles in his shoulders and neck, the flowers forgotten on the floor.

"I think Camilla will do nicely," murmured Draco into the pillow. "Is there something father could buy her that would help me to convince her to put my name in the Goblet of Fire?"

'Well she got practically everything for her birthday," said Pansy. " Even a new Firebolt.—

Maybe a flying carpet, but they're illegal.

"That's it!" said Draco.

==

A week later, Draco was patiently turning on the charm for Chamilla. She was now holding the parchment with his name and the Wizarding School in Canada in her hand, but she wasn't taking the bait. Draco recognized that she was just toying with him, because he had done the exact same thing too many times. "Do you know how many little boys, have asked me to put their name in the Goblet of Fire?" she said

It took all Draco's control to continue to work this plan. Little boys, indeed! "But none of them was a Malfoy," said Draco.

"So."

This was starting to border on begging, and Malfoy's didn't beg. "Pansy said you didn't get everything you wanted for your birthday."

"Mostly," she replied. "My parents are nearly as rich as yours, Draco. There's nothing you have that I want." She grinned evilly. "Well, maybe a pet ferret-----"

Draco gritted his teeth. He was going to get Potter for that trick. He leaned very close to Camilla so only she could hear. "A flying carpet?" He suggested.

She shrugged, but he had already seen the look of avarice in her eyes. He smiled. A greedy Slytherin was something he knew exactly how to exploit.

The Great Hall was already starting to fill with students for dinner. She looked around at the crowd. "I don't want anyone to think I put my name in and wasn't picked," she said. "I'll think about it."

Just then, a giggling group of Hufflepuff Seventh years walked past them. One of them, bumped into Chamilla and the piece of parchment with Draco's name on it fluttered to the floor.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!" snapped Chamilla, and she stalked back to the Slytherin table without looking at the parchment.

"Sorry," the Hufflepuff said, and reaching down to pick up the parchment called, "You dropped this."

Chamilla was already talking to some of the Slytherins at the table, and the noise in the hall did not allow the words to carry more than a few feet from the speaker, so the Hufflepuff turned to Draco.

"Not mine," he said innocently holding up his hands in front of him. The poor Hufflepuff seemed torn between taking the parchment back to Chamilla at the Slytherin table or just leaving it on the floor.

"She was on her way to put it in the Goblet of Fire though," said Draco, "If that helps."

"Oh it does," she beamed at him, walked up to the Goblet of Fire and dropped the parchment in.

It took every ounce of self-control he had for Draco to walk nonchalantly back to the Slytherin table. His smirk was growing with every step. As he reached Chamilla, he couldn't help himself; he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Never mind about that favor. I won't need your help." He paused to let the words sink in. "I do have a flying carpet on order though, so if you ever want a ride sometime let me know. We'll work something out."

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