Chapter One: Man Overboard
A/N: Be warned: I am a big fan of the "."
The guards emptied Draco's pockets and counted his money. He only had 60 Galleons, 5 Sickles and 7 Knuts on him (hardly enough to support a Malfoy for three days!), but they wouldn't allow him to go to Gringotts. Instead they handed him a pile of thin paper and some coins. Draco examined the colored paper in disbelief. surely this couldn't be money? What was to stop a Muggle from making his own? Parchment, colored ink and some artistic talent was all it would take.
Draco shoved the money into his pocket and stalked out of the Ministry into Muggle London. He swore at himself for letting this happen. You see, a wizard must willingly agree to have his power temporarily removed. Otherwise, wizards could take advantage of each other. Voldemort could have rendered Harry useless and vice versa. Either way, the war would have been a lot shorter. But ancient magic protects all witches and wizards of being stripped of magic against their will. So why did Draco willingly hand over his wand? It was simple, really. As much as he detested Muggles, they were simple creatures, and he was a Malfoy. Surely he could handle being a simpleton for a month. Crabbe and Goyle did it all the time. And he was sure it was better than the alternative; a month in Azkaban with the mysterious new guards Dumbledore had replaced the Dementors with.
So here he was. "Draco Malfoy, Muggle," he spat, disgusted. He stepped out of the phone booth into the pouring rain. Draco no longer had his robes, had neglected to bring an umbrella and could not conjure one. He stood, sopping wet on the corner as the realization that he had nowhere to go hit him. He began walking, in search of a place to wait out the rain and to form a plan. A Muggle vehicle drove past, splashing Draco as it went. He could feel strands of hair pasted to his forehead. Ignoring the chill rushing through him, Draco watched the cars go by. He noted they were more effective than umbrellas at keeping Muggles dry, and they could take him places to boot. If only he could get one. but how? He didn't know how much his Muggle money would buy him.
"All right, mate?" A Muggle man yelled, as he passed Draco under cover of an umbrella. "Shoulda watched the Weather!"
Draco eyed the man uncertainly. Do Muggles have a way of predicting the weather? Do they know about Divination? The Muggle then stepped into the street and raised a hand. Aha! He's hailing the Knight Bus; he must be a wizard! With the hope that this man could help him, Draco ran up behind him.
Just then, a black Muggle car came to a stop, and the man hopped in the rear. "Sorry mate, you'll have to get your own taxi!" the man said cheerfully. Draco heard the man give the driver an address and the car sped off, leaving Draco wet and pissed off.
So some of these Muggle cars will give you rides. Now he had a way to get out of the rain. "But where am I going to go?" he asked. He remembered seeing something called a Phone Book in the phone booth. From what Draco had observed Muggles doing, he gathered that a phone was something akin to a fireplace, except that you couldn't see who you were talking to. He started back toward the Ministry phone booth he had come out of, but realized there was another one just across the way. He hoped they all worked the same.
Draco stepped into the shelter; he was pleased to find that these phone books listed addresses as well as phone numbers. He had to admit that was pretty clever of the Muggles. It wasn't as efficient as the Floo Network, but it was the best thing he had right now. Draco felt a glimmer of hope, but it disappeared the moment he realized he didn't know anyone who would be listed in a Muggle directory. After all, Malfoys didn't associate with Mudbloods.
"Bloody hell," he said. Life as a Muggle just got a little worse. Draco flipped to the G's, and sure enough, "Granger, H." was listed. He tore out the page and scanned the street for black cars. He spotted what seemed to be a taxi queue a ways down, where Muggles were waiting in turn for cabs. Draco was surprised by their docility; he'd always pictured Muggles to be rather barbaric. He queued up and eavesdropped on a group of teenaged Muggles as he waited. They all seemed to be talking about a fellow called Robbie Williams. Draco assumed this must be the Muggle Prime Minister, though Muggle politics must be different than Wizard politics, because Draco was sure no teenaged girl had ever expressed a desire to "do" former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge.
Draco forgot just how wet he was until he got into the car. He shivered and pushed his hair to one side. Now that he was in the car, he wasn't quite sure what to do. "Um, I need to go to Baker Street. Uh, 110 Baker Street." The driver nodded, and the car lurched away.
A short while later, the cab came to a halt outside an unobtrusive white building. The driver looked at Draco expectantly. Draco panicked; he knew he was supposed to pay, but he didn't know how much or what kind of bills to give the man. The driver tapped a box impatiently. "12,40" the driver said. Draco looked at the notes in his hand. He found one marked "10" and fumbled through his coins. He found two with "2" printed on them, and nervously handed the money to the driver. The man grunted, and Draco assumed he had given enough. He stepped out of the car and prepared to face Hermione. She was the only person who could help him. Unfortunately, she also despised him.
The guards emptied Draco's pockets and counted his money. He only had 60 Galleons, 5 Sickles and 7 Knuts on him (hardly enough to support a Malfoy for three days!), but they wouldn't allow him to go to Gringotts. Instead they handed him a pile of thin paper and some coins. Draco examined the colored paper in disbelief. surely this couldn't be money? What was to stop a Muggle from making his own? Parchment, colored ink and some artistic talent was all it would take.
Draco shoved the money into his pocket and stalked out of the Ministry into Muggle London. He swore at himself for letting this happen. You see, a wizard must willingly agree to have his power temporarily removed. Otherwise, wizards could take advantage of each other. Voldemort could have rendered Harry useless and vice versa. Either way, the war would have been a lot shorter. But ancient magic protects all witches and wizards of being stripped of magic against their will. So why did Draco willingly hand over his wand? It was simple, really. As much as he detested Muggles, they were simple creatures, and he was a Malfoy. Surely he could handle being a simpleton for a month. Crabbe and Goyle did it all the time. And he was sure it was better than the alternative; a month in Azkaban with the mysterious new guards Dumbledore had replaced the Dementors with.
So here he was. "Draco Malfoy, Muggle," he spat, disgusted. He stepped out of the phone booth into the pouring rain. Draco no longer had his robes, had neglected to bring an umbrella and could not conjure one. He stood, sopping wet on the corner as the realization that he had nowhere to go hit him. He began walking, in search of a place to wait out the rain and to form a plan. A Muggle vehicle drove past, splashing Draco as it went. He could feel strands of hair pasted to his forehead. Ignoring the chill rushing through him, Draco watched the cars go by. He noted they were more effective than umbrellas at keeping Muggles dry, and they could take him places to boot. If only he could get one. but how? He didn't know how much his Muggle money would buy him.
"All right, mate?" A Muggle man yelled, as he passed Draco under cover of an umbrella. "Shoulda watched the Weather!"
Draco eyed the man uncertainly. Do Muggles have a way of predicting the weather? Do they know about Divination? The Muggle then stepped into the street and raised a hand. Aha! He's hailing the Knight Bus; he must be a wizard! With the hope that this man could help him, Draco ran up behind him.
Just then, a black Muggle car came to a stop, and the man hopped in the rear. "Sorry mate, you'll have to get your own taxi!" the man said cheerfully. Draco heard the man give the driver an address and the car sped off, leaving Draco wet and pissed off.
So some of these Muggle cars will give you rides. Now he had a way to get out of the rain. "But where am I going to go?" he asked. He remembered seeing something called a Phone Book in the phone booth. From what Draco had observed Muggles doing, he gathered that a phone was something akin to a fireplace, except that you couldn't see who you were talking to. He started back toward the Ministry phone booth he had come out of, but realized there was another one just across the way. He hoped they all worked the same.
Draco stepped into the shelter; he was pleased to find that these phone books listed addresses as well as phone numbers. He had to admit that was pretty clever of the Muggles. It wasn't as efficient as the Floo Network, but it was the best thing he had right now. Draco felt a glimmer of hope, but it disappeared the moment he realized he didn't know anyone who would be listed in a Muggle directory. After all, Malfoys didn't associate with Mudbloods.
"Bloody hell," he said. Life as a Muggle just got a little worse. Draco flipped to the G's, and sure enough, "Granger, H." was listed. He tore out the page and scanned the street for black cars. He spotted what seemed to be a taxi queue a ways down, where Muggles were waiting in turn for cabs. Draco was surprised by their docility; he'd always pictured Muggles to be rather barbaric. He queued up and eavesdropped on a group of teenaged Muggles as he waited. They all seemed to be talking about a fellow called Robbie Williams. Draco assumed this must be the Muggle Prime Minister, though Muggle politics must be different than Wizard politics, because Draco was sure no teenaged girl had ever expressed a desire to "do" former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge.
Draco forgot just how wet he was until he got into the car. He shivered and pushed his hair to one side. Now that he was in the car, he wasn't quite sure what to do. "Um, I need to go to Baker Street. Uh, 110 Baker Street." The driver nodded, and the car lurched away.
A short while later, the cab came to a halt outside an unobtrusive white building. The driver looked at Draco expectantly. Draco panicked; he knew he was supposed to pay, but he didn't know how much or what kind of bills to give the man. The driver tapped a box impatiently. "12,40" the driver said. Draco looked at the notes in his hand. He found one marked "10" and fumbled through his coins. He found two with "2" printed on them, and nervously handed the money to the driver. The man grunted, and Draco assumed he had given enough. He stepped out of the car and prepared to face Hermione. She was the only person who could help him. Unfortunately, she also despised him.