Muggles...
Draco's eyes widened in shock. How could his perfectly planned apparition have gone so horribly wrong.
He was definitely on a street (he'd got that part right), not that he could se much of it. From every direction, covering every millimetre of space there were muggles pouring past him at an alarming pace. It was most disconcerting.
"Tuh, what a stupid place to stand; get out of my way!" A middle-aged woman with three whining brats attached to her arms pushed past Draco.
Following closely behind her were about six teenage boys, laughing at what they had just seen. "Smooth move... BLONDIE!" One of them commented, as the rest erupted into moronic laughter. As he struggled to prevent himself turning pink in anger and embarrassment, Draco was strongly reminded of Crabbe and Goyle. He shuddered - was it possible that other people existed of such an extreme level of stupidity?
As the boys shoved past Draco, he was knocked into the glass wall of a building. On closer inspection it was a window pane. The window pane of a shop. Not the kind of shop Draco was used to seeing, like those in Diagon or Knockturn Alley, but a shop nevertheless. In white lettering he read, muttering aloud to himself, "WELCOME TO NEXT - OXFORD STREET".
"Next, Oxford Street... Next Street, Oxford..." Draco's mind was slowly coming to terms with his stupid mistake. Groaning, he slapped his hand against his forehead.
"How could I be so bloody stupid?" It wasn't directed at anybody in particular, but several elderly passers-by eyed Draco in a less-than- approving manner for his choice of words.
Without stopping to think for a second, Draco wandered from the shelter of Next's doorway along Oxford Street, keeping up at this horribly fast muggle pace so as to avoid any sort of confrontation unless absolutely necessary.
He reached a street corner, and, moving away from the main flow of pedestrian traffic, leant up against the side wall of a corner shop. No sooner as he was alone, a small owl swooped down from a rooftop depositing a small envelope in his hand. On the back it had the Ministry of Magic's seal. Before he could even begin to comment, the owl had flown away.
Draco shuddered. He knew the contents before even opening it... He slit open the envelope, out of which slid a thin sheet of parchment with 5 words on it, printed in glimmering gold lettering:
** FAILED ** Better Luck Next Time
The little colour Draco's face had to it drained away as true realisation sank in. He was stranded in the centre of London, surrounded by enough muggles to make his skin crawl so much it might just slither off his bones, with no means of communication with the wizarding world and worst of all, if he ever found his way home, his father was going to pulverise him for failing.
Malfoys don't fail.
Another stupid rule driven into his skull by his pompous git of a father.
Ugh... Things were very bad...
Draco rammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and jacket, pulling out the contents. 8 galleons, 6 sickles and a knut. Whilst in the wizard world that gave him more freedom than most, here it meant nothing.
It was quite cold. Draco wrapped his jacket tightly around himself. Something relatively sharp poked him in the chest - his wand!
Draco considered his options for a moment. He could risk trouble from the Ministry if he used wand-magic to get himself out of this, and illegally apparating, without instructor supervision would lead to both trouble with the Ministry AND possible splinching.
Draco winced. How thoroughly unpleasant that would be, to say the least.
Perhaps if he ignored the problem it might go away. Draco knew that this was a blatantly stupid idea, but it could hardly make things any worse. Not like the other two options open to him, which could definitely make things very much worse for him.
***
With that thought in mind, Draco made his way back to the main road and continued walking.
Besides, he thought, it could be interesting.
Draco, having been sheltered from muggles for the majority of his life, had never really experienced muggle appliances. The unknown held an irresistible fascination.
Suddenly screwing up his face in distaste, Draco remembered never to make his secret curiosity for muggle 'memorabilia' too apparent. The thought of being associated with common fools like Arthur Weasley made his stomach churn.
"MALFOY?!" A dangerously familiar voice rang out, causing Draco to spin around faster than an out-of-control zoetrope. His reflex so quick, the tendons in his neck threatening to snap at this unexpected movement, Draco's hand flew to his neck as an involuntary protective measure.
Draco's mouth fell open...
Just when he had thought the day could not get any worse!
Draco's eyes widened in shock. How could his perfectly planned apparition have gone so horribly wrong.
He was definitely on a street (he'd got that part right), not that he could se much of it. From every direction, covering every millimetre of space there were muggles pouring past him at an alarming pace. It was most disconcerting.
"Tuh, what a stupid place to stand; get out of my way!" A middle-aged woman with three whining brats attached to her arms pushed past Draco.
Following closely behind her were about six teenage boys, laughing at what they had just seen. "Smooth move... BLONDIE!" One of them commented, as the rest erupted into moronic laughter. As he struggled to prevent himself turning pink in anger and embarrassment, Draco was strongly reminded of Crabbe and Goyle. He shuddered - was it possible that other people existed of such an extreme level of stupidity?
As the boys shoved past Draco, he was knocked into the glass wall of a building. On closer inspection it was a window pane. The window pane of a shop. Not the kind of shop Draco was used to seeing, like those in Diagon or Knockturn Alley, but a shop nevertheless. In white lettering he read, muttering aloud to himself, "WELCOME TO NEXT - OXFORD STREET".
"Next, Oxford Street... Next Street, Oxford..." Draco's mind was slowly coming to terms with his stupid mistake. Groaning, he slapped his hand against his forehead.
"How could I be so bloody stupid?" It wasn't directed at anybody in particular, but several elderly passers-by eyed Draco in a less-than- approving manner for his choice of words.
Without stopping to think for a second, Draco wandered from the shelter of Next's doorway along Oxford Street, keeping up at this horribly fast muggle pace so as to avoid any sort of confrontation unless absolutely necessary.
He reached a street corner, and, moving away from the main flow of pedestrian traffic, leant up against the side wall of a corner shop. No sooner as he was alone, a small owl swooped down from a rooftop depositing a small envelope in his hand. On the back it had the Ministry of Magic's seal. Before he could even begin to comment, the owl had flown away.
Draco shuddered. He knew the contents before even opening it... He slit open the envelope, out of which slid a thin sheet of parchment with 5 words on it, printed in glimmering gold lettering:
** FAILED ** Better Luck Next Time
The little colour Draco's face had to it drained away as true realisation sank in. He was stranded in the centre of London, surrounded by enough muggles to make his skin crawl so much it might just slither off his bones, with no means of communication with the wizarding world and worst of all, if he ever found his way home, his father was going to pulverise him for failing.
Malfoys don't fail.
Another stupid rule driven into his skull by his pompous git of a father.
Ugh... Things were very bad...
Draco rammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and jacket, pulling out the contents. 8 galleons, 6 sickles and a knut. Whilst in the wizard world that gave him more freedom than most, here it meant nothing.
It was quite cold. Draco wrapped his jacket tightly around himself. Something relatively sharp poked him in the chest - his wand!
Draco considered his options for a moment. He could risk trouble from the Ministry if he used wand-magic to get himself out of this, and illegally apparating, without instructor supervision would lead to both trouble with the Ministry AND possible splinching.
Draco winced. How thoroughly unpleasant that would be, to say the least.
Perhaps if he ignored the problem it might go away. Draco knew that this was a blatantly stupid idea, but it could hardly make things any worse. Not like the other two options open to him, which could definitely make things very much worse for him.
***
With that thought in mind, Draco made his way back to the main road and continued walking.
Besides, he thought, it could be interesting.
Draco, having been sheltered from muggles for the majority of his life, had never really experienced muggle appliances. The unknown held an irresistible fascination.
Suddenly screwing up his face in distaste, Draco remembered never to make his secret curiosity for muggle 'memorabilia' too apparent. The thought of being associated with common fools like Arthur Weasley made his stomach churn.
"MALFOY?!" A dangerously familiar voice rang out, causing Draco to spin around faster than an out-of-control zoetrope. His reflex so quick, the tendons in his neck threatening to snap at this unexpected movement, Draco's hand flew to his neck as an involuntary protective measure.
Draco's mouth fell open...
Just when he had thought the day could not get any worse!