Draco Malfoy hated China.
He hated the little house on the side of the mountain that was their home for the duration of the project, because it wasn't like the Manor. Actually, it wasn't like any house he had ever been in, even if it was infintely better than the hovel they'd had to stay in while they were in Africa.
He hated that even though the view was spectacular, the countryside just didn't smell like home.
He hated that floo mail took over 24 hours to reach his mother and even longer to come back. And forget owls.
He hated the fact that you couldn't get a meal that wasn't fried and swimming in some kind of sauce and splattered over rice or noodles. No one in this godforsaken place had heard of ham. And what passed for tea in this country was barely even potable.
He hated that the wizarding society here was positively medieval. The floo network barely connected towns, much less places within the towns. The administration was practically non-existent. Only the wealthiest families could afford a proper wizarding education for their children. Therefore, there was a lot of accidental magic, and a lot of persecution of magical people who didn't understand what was going on. Hence the reason the Malfoy Foundation was building this wizarding school.
He hated the fact he couldn't go anywhere without his interpreter, because no one in the freaking country spoke English. Or even French. Wasn't that supposed to be the official international diplomatic language?
He hated that his interpreter and right hand man on this project was a Korean born, Hogwarts educated Ravenclaw named Han who was so freaking brilliant that he made Draco feel stupid at least twice a day, without even trying.
He hated that Han was fluent in Korean, Mandarin Chinese, Queen's English, Vietnamese, Japanese, French, Spanish, Greek, sarcasm, and American Muggle movie lines, so half the time Draco didn't know what he was talking about.
He hated that Han was just the right height and build with hair exactly the right length so that he looked way too much like Severus Snape from the back.
He had only been here a week. He had another four months or so to go.
"You know," Han mentioned at the end of the second week of listening to Draco's grumbling. "You're not the only Englishman in Shanxi province."
Draco snorted and rolled his eyes.
"You do know there's a Scamander Foundation expedition two mountains over, studying that species of dragon that was discovered when we were scouting locations for the school, right? In fact, two of their group even went to Hogwarts." Han popped another handful of peanuts into his mouth. He ate more than Ron Weasley.
"You're just telling me this now?" Draco asked. "Surely you aren't serious."
"Of course I'm serious," Han smirked. "And don't call me Shirley."
Draco shook his head and didn't ask. He had learned by now that the explanations weren't worth it most of the time. "Do you know who they are?"
Han shrugged. "Rolf Scamander is there, of course, but he was home schooled. Then there's Charlie Weasley, who went to school with me, and some younger girl, probably about your year, named Goodheart or something. Blonde, pretty, but kinda weird."
"Lovegood." Draco sighed. "And more than kinda weird."
It figured. More than 5000 miles from home, and one of his nearest neighbors was a freaking Weasley.
Thursday evening Han announced he was going over to the Scamander camp and invited Draco to come along. Draco declined, not in the mood to go play nice with a Weasley and Loony Lovegood. Han shrugged and told him that it was his loss.
After he left, Draco floo called his office, as of course, it wasn't even lunch time there yet. Astoria, efficient as ever, had already arranged for delivery of all the supplies they would need for the month and told him she was floo mailing him the paperwork to sign for the permits they would need for the next stage of the project. He called his mother, who told him she could only talk for a moment, as she was about to go to lunch with his Aunt Andromeda.
"Do I take it that you are regretting your decision to head the Chinese school project yourself instead of sending Han?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.
Draco shrugged. "I don't know. I still think getting away will help put perspective on everything. But I miss you and I miss home and all."
"Do you miss Astoria?" she smiled hopefully.
"Don't push it, Mother." he sighed. "She was my best friend for a long time. I do miss her in that regard. But too much has happened, for things to ever be like they were before."
"Don't say never, Draco." his mother chided. "You two have known each other a long time. You work together well professionally. You have a solid foundation to build on. Have you spoken with her? How is she?"
He rolled his eyes. "Enough, Mother. Yes, I've spoken with her today, but before you get excited, it was just business. If you want to know how she's doing, ask her. She technically works for you."
"She's your administrative assistant." Narcissa pointed out.
"No, she's our administrative assistant." Draco was getting more and more irritated with his mother. "She reports to both of us. And this is enough meddling in my personal life for one day. Go to lunch, Mother."
"I still say you should have let Han manage the site work alone, but you know, maybe what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder..."
"Goodbye, Mother." Draco flipped off the floo.
He prowled around for a while, finally settling on his bed with a book, but had a hard time concentrating. After reading the same page for the third time and still having no idea what it said, he put the book down and stared at the ceiling.
Han wandered in an hour or so later, and knocked on Draco's bedroom door, which wasn't completely closed.
Draco didn't answer. Han pushed the door open anyway, and something sailed across the room and landed on Draco's chest.
"If you don't want that, I'll eat it." Han turned and walked away before Draco could sit up.
Draco carefully unwrapped the metallic paper to find real English fish and chips. He devoured the food before Han could change his mind and come back for it. It was wonderful.
Everyone knew Rolf Scamander was crazy. He saw his father mauled by a manticore and still kept to the family business. Loony Lovegood had been called loony for a reason. And the Weasley, was, well, a Weasley.
But bloody hell, someone over there could cook.