Maybe I'm Just Deranged
[chapter 3]
"Goyle! You call that a hit?! You expect to win the Quidditch cup acting like a fairy?!" Draco bellowed as Goyle hit a flying bludger with a hit hard enough to dent iron. Draco didn't care that Goyle's form in the game was nearing perfection – Draco knew Goyle. If he let him know that he was doing well, he wouldn't bother, his game would slip, and Slytherin would loose the Quidditch cup to Gryffindor again. Well, that wouldn't happen if Draco had a say in the matter, and he did, now he was captain.
The only trouble Draco had in his mind was Potter.
Harry bloody Potter was captain of the Gryffindor team.
This presented a problem.
As much as Draco hated to admit it – even in the privacy of his mind – Potter was a brilliant Quidditch player. Also brilliant at strategy. He knew Draco's team. And every bloody player on it. Even him.
Thankfully, Draco did know that the only thing that made Potter a better player than him was his Firebolt.
Unfortunately for Draco, his father wouldn't buy him one until he beat Potter.
Draco sighed.
It would be no easy task.
Draco kicked off the smooth, flat grass of the pitch, soaring into the air. Flying always had somewhat of a therapeutic affect on Draco.
He loved the freedom of flight.
He flew around, practising his own flying techniques.
The sun was rising.
And, a thought that caused so much shock to him that he almost fell off his broom entered his mind.
He wondered if Granger liked sunrises.
"Why the bloody hell did I think that?"
***
"Why so glum today, Master Malfoy?" Came the voice of Professor Snape. Draco turned to face him.
"I've been expelled from the hair club. I overdid the gel. I'm so depressed!" Draco replied with a completely straight face.
Professor Snape blinked, then chuckled. A rare sound believed by many students to be incapable of being formed by those lips.
"Actually, Sir, I'm worried about the Quidditch match."
The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
"Yes. You see, this is my first year as captain. I'd like to make it memorable. Basically, I want to win the Quidditch cup. And to do that, I have to beat Gryffindor. Which means beating Potter to the snitch. Which means flying faster than a firebolt. Without a firebolt. I'm sure you see my problem."
Professor Snape made a quiet noise of understanding.
"I know that the only reason we've been loosing to Gryffindor is that stupid firebolt, Potter's good, but I've been flying for a lot longer than he has, so, I'm fairly confident that I should be able to beat him with a better broom."
"I see."
"And my father won't buy me a firebolt until I beat Potter.
Thus, the problem"
"Have you considered saving up for the broom?"
Draco fixed Snape with a long, steady look.
"Ah."
"And even if I did, father wouldn't let me use it unless…"
"You beat Potter without the firebolt. I know, Draco, you've mentioned that fact at least 7 times in the past half hour."
"Sorry sir. It's just a little frustrating."
Professor Snape smiled. Well, 'Snape-Smiled', that is, scowled a little more lightly, with a barely perceptible light in his eyes. It was a debateable gesture – it was either a good thing or a terrible, terrible omen of horrible horrible things. Possibly death. Draco guessed that, due to the current conversation, it was the former rather than the latter.
"I'm sure you'll figure out something, just don't let it affect your studies, will you."
"No way sir. This year I'm going to beat Granger to dux of the year level, too. Hitting two birds with one stone, in a manner of speaking."
***
"For the next two months, this class will be caring for a lesser shift drake, and studying it for it's powers of transformation. You will be working in pairs, which will be randomly assigned. Each pair will be supplied with the equipment required to care for the drake, and you will be expected to hand in extensive notes at the end of the two month period." Professor Mc Gonagall surveyed the class with her even, stern gaze.
"The pairs, once drawn, are permanent and unalterable, as one of the objectives you will be assessed on includes teamwork. Understood?"
"Yes, professor…" The class mumbled, clearly a bit uneasy about this "random pairing".
Professor McGonagall lifted a simple box onto the table.
Draco raised his hand, traditional Malfoy dubious smirk on his face.
"Yes, master Malfoy?"
"You're drawing our names out of a hat?" Someone to the back of the class – probably Pansy (Draco sighed inwardly) – giggled.
"Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with this method, Malfoy?"
"No Professor. I was just wondering." He smiled sweetly.
"Pansy Patil and Lavender Brown." The two girles squealed and clutched hands. (Draco pitied their poor, hapless charge, a pale blue Drake.)
"Vincent Crabbe and Neville Longbottom." Neville whimpered and Crabbe, predictably, showed no reaction. Draco doubted he'd been paying attention. Another unsuspecting Drake was assigned – this one an almost neon green. Poor thing.
"Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter." The two quietly hissed "yes". Draco rolled his eyes. Their Drake was a rather handsome Orange-brown.
"Hannah Abbot and Seamus Finnigan" Draco zoned out at this point. He didn't really care to listen to the pairs being called out – he didn't care who he was paired with – Goyle would not be an ideal partner, Crabbe, luckily, had been paired off allready and so posed no such threat, and no-one else came close to being considered friends.
"Dean Foster and Blaise Zabini, which means that the last pair is Her-"
Both Draco and Hermione shot to their feet and pointed at the other, almost simultaneously shouting "I'm not working with that!"
"Sit down, the both of you. And I'm afraid you are. Take your Drake and equipment, please."
Draco then decided that his sense of personal dignity would have to take a back seat – he couldn't afford to do poorly in any assessments. So he straightened, calmly took the drake – a deep black colour that seemed to change in different lights – and sat back at his desk. Granger glared at him, and took the equipment, returning to her desk.
"It's usually a requirement of teamwork to be in the same half of the class as your partner, Miss Granger," The Professor fixed Hermione with one of her stern gazes.
"yes, Professor…" Hermione mumbled before taking a seat next to Draco. Potter and Weasley sent her looks of utmost pity from the other side of the class. Draco sent them a jaunty grin and wave.
Weasley responded to this with the infamous one-finger salute.
"Right class, now that that's all in order, I think you should take some time to name your drakes, as there isn't really enough time to do anything else, thanks to Miss Granger and Master Malfoy."
Granger pouted.
Draco grinned.
"I think he's a bit of a Montgomery, don't you, Granger?"
"Montgomery is a disgusting name."
"Well, do you have any ideas?"
Granger harrumphed.
"Fine, then, if you don't have any further ideas, I hereby christen thee," Draco held the little drake aloft and looked it in the eye, "…Mont-"
"Wait, wait, I do have a name, just don't call the poor thing Montgomery," Granger cut Draco off, and, if Draco's eyes didn't betray him, she appeared to be blushing slightly.
"Well, what's this great name?"
"Well, it's, um…"
"Out with it, Granger."
"Benjamin." She finished with ardour.
"Now why was that so hard?" Draco asked while looking at the Drake, who seemed quite happy with the prospect of this name. A rather obvious answer came to Draco's mind.
"OooooOOoh. Granger has a cruuuush," Draco laughed malevolantly, and then realised that his last statement had been rather common and un-Malfoyesque.
"I appologise for that last statement. It is now, officially struck from the record." Draco said to Benjamin.
Draco placed the Drake on the table, where it curled up and watched him and Granger with clever golden eyes.
Granger continued to stare blankly at the front of the class, displeasure all over her face.
"Now Granger, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but, we have to think of Benjamin, here, how would you like to be raised in a family like this? Hm? We have to think of the child…." Draco spoke solemnly, while the drake watched the conversation with detached interest.
"Don't talk to me." Granger said through pursed lips.
"Fine. But when our child grows up to be a psychotic axe murderer bringing plague and famine to the world just you remember that I tried to provide him with a happy family life. Just you remember that, Granger."
Soon after that, the Professor declared that the class had ended, and Draco collected his books, put Benjamin on top and swept out of the classroom.
***
Benjamin jumped from Draco's shoulders and onto the foot of his bed, creeping over to sniff inquisitively at the muggle music-playing-thing. Draco unceremoniously dropped his books on the floor ( charm he'd placed on them at the beginning of the year caused them to fall into a perfect pile.), and then flopped onto the bed next to the little drake.
"How did we get stuck with Granger, Benjamin? How? Why me? What have I done?"
The drake watched him with huge eyes, then turned his attention back to the muggle-music thing.
"You know, you're completely right."
The drake looked at him again, unblinking.
"I don't need to worry about her, she's not important. I can do the assignment all by myself."
The drake turned it's head on an angle, snorted, and turned it's attention back to the strange creation on the bed next to it.
"It's interesting, isn't it, Benjamin."
No response from the drake.
"You know, talking to you isn't dissimilar to talking to myself."
The drake pounced on the music-playing thing.
"That, my friend, is an excellent idea." The drake looked at him, questioning. Draco picked up the small animal and looked it squarely in the eye.
"We, are going into muggle London."
The drake tilted it's head to one side.
"Don't question my logic. It was your idea, we're going." With that, Draco grabbed a cloak, 30 galleons and a random bag from the floor.
Before Draco left the room, the vague hint of the thought that perhaps 30 galleons was a stupid amount of money crossed his mind, and was swiftly and violently quashed as his Malfoy blood asserted itself. (Malfoy codex, page 233 – No amount of money is ridiculous unless it is a larger sum than you or another Malfoy can accumulate within 30 minutes)
And with that, he left the room, placing a locking charm on the door. Just because he knew that only he could open it, and that prospect amused him vaguely at that moment in time.
***
"Give me a ticket for that train-thing." The tall woman with a severe nose, wearing an immaculate suit looked back at him from behind the counter.
"You have charming manners. It's $3.50 a ticket."
Draco raised an eyebrow at the evident sarcasm, but decided that it would be prudent to hold his tongue. He got out the small fiddly coins and passed them to her, snatching his ticket without a further word and boarding the 'train'.
Draco couldn't see the point of the coins – they were ridiculous, muggles. He almost entered a deep conversation with himself about the complexities of economics, but he decided against it, as he really didn't see that it was a particularly interesting thing to think about at that time.
Draco began to doubt the wisdom of bringing Benjamin along, as the drake tried on several occasions to peek out from under his cloak. (Which Draco was aware would result both in him having to preform memory charms (horrible boring, artless things) and explain to the school and his parents – well, father – what he had been doing in muggle London.)
In fact, Draco was finding that the Malfoy charm was obsolete in the world of muggles – no-one recognised him as the son of, well, his father, and so treated him like they treated everyone else. So all Draco had to rely on was his charisma and, if he did say so himself (which he did) damn fine looks.
A small child, about four, clambered onto the seat next to him (no regard for personal space), interrupting his meandering thoughts.
"Why are you wearing funny clothes?" The child asked, and paused. "Are you a witch?"
Draco twitched. "I am not a witch, thankyou very bloody much, and they aren't funny clothes. I think your clothes are stupid. And they make you look fat."
The child's eyes teared over. "You're a meany."
"Thankyou. It's what I do." Draco flicked his head, hoping to get his hair out of his eyes – it was really bloody annoying him. Benjamin saw the opportunity and stuck his head out of the collar of Draco's cloak.
The child's eyes widened. "Is that a dragon?"
Benjamin looked at the child, and sniffed at it inquisitively.
"Benjamin! You're a prat!" Draco whispered sharply as he shoved the drake's head back into hiding.
"Tell you what, kid, if you don't tell anyone about my buddy Benjamin here, I'll give you this." He held up a chocolate frog. The boy's little hands took the box, clutching it tightly. "What is it?" He whispered in awe.
"It's a chocolate frog. But it's magic, so it'll jump around like a real frog for a while. It's also got a collecting card, and a box." Draco sighed, and got off the train, as it had stopped and he assumed that this was London (as a voice had announced it was a little while ago – Draco had almost thought the voice magical until he noticed the speaker in the ceiling).
After making his way into daylight (bright, tacky, overdone – 'Makes me look pallid'' Draco thought after scrutinising his reflection in a shop window), and realised that he had no idea where, exactly, he was headed.
It was time to call on his primary resource of navigation in unknown areas, he decided, and looked around for a suitable target.
Giggling, that way. Right.
He swaggered over to the group of girls (probably younger than him by two or so years), and stopped.
Before he could open his mouth, the girls started laughing, one pointed at him and screeched "Where'd you get your clothes?"
Draco narrowed his eyes, hexed them all (a nifty curse he'd developed himself that wrote "slut" in pimples across the target's forehead), and stormed off, muttering to himself.
About 30 minutes later, Draco emerged from a muggle clothes store more appropriately attired (Dark blue "Jeans", a black shirt and an emerald green woollen jumper with a silver band around the shoulders), and $250 muggle dollars poorer. He'd also purchased a large backpack which now held his proper clothes and Benjamin.
Feeling better equipped to deal with muggle girls (the very thought caused him to shudder), Draco looked around for a second target.
Once again, it wasn't hard to find a group of girls that Draco deemed would be quite glad to give him directions to a music store. (Who wouldn't, he reckoned, Muggle London or not he was still Draco Malfoy.)
This time, although garbled slightly with embarrassed giggling, Draco was successful in obtaining the information he wanted.
The "Music store" was a highly elaborate affair, full of brightly coloured, unmoving posters and rows of shelves with what Draco assumed were C-something music thing cases, neatly arranged into categories and within those categories the C-something things were arranged in alphabetical order.
'What had Dumbledore said the band was called? It was a colour. Of something. S. Silver something. He said it was rock. Something rock. Right. Rock. Rock and Roll. Rock… Rock…' Draco walked up the isles, searching.
"Classical, no…"
"R&B, what's that? No…"
"Rap… No."
"Pop. Hm. Looks mildly terrifying. No."
"Jazz. Interesting. No…" Draco mumbled as he passed each section. Then, finally, he walked to the section which proudly proclaimed "Rock".
The reading-of-names-searching-for-one-that-was-right resumed.
"Silverchair. That looks right," Draco muttered after looking through about 12 band sections.
He grabbed the four music-thing cases ("frogstomp, Freak Show, Neon Ballroom and Diorama"), and proudly placed them on the counter.
The guy behind said counter raised a peirced eyebrow.
"A bit of a 'chair fan, ay?" He drawled.
Draco paused.
"Yeah."
"D'you know about the concert that's in a few months, then?"
Draco paused again. "No."
"D'you want some tickets then, mate? We sell 'em here, they're going quick, too…" The guy seemed to be regarding Draco as a little slow.
"Yea. In fact, I'll take two. Yeah. Two. So what does that come to?"
"Uh… " He tapped something into this thing with letters and numbers on it, and scanned (or so Draco assumed) the music-things.
"That's…. $220…" [A/N: Sorry.. I don't know what anythings worth in pounds. And ergo I can't convert price –things. So yeah. That's what it'd come to in Australia anywhoo]
Draco rummaged around in the bag he was using to keep his muggle money in, and piled some coins and notes on the desk.
"That enough?"
"Uh… yeah. Definitely."
"Super. Thanks." Draco grabbed his stuff and left the store.
The guy chucked a bit of a skitz, saying something about $280 in change that he hadn't taken, but Draco didn't really care. He had to get rid of all of his muggle money anyway.
On his way out, however, he noticed a poster labelled "Silverchair", so he grabbed it and left, figuring it couldn't possibly be worth $280….
***
Draco almost thought he'd gotten home free, sneaking across the Great Hall on the way to the Slytherin common room, when he heard McGonagal's voice echo across the hall.
He groaned and turned to face her. (It's better to go into a battle headfirst)
"Where have you been all day, young man?" The irate professor snarled.
Draco muttered something about exercising his veto.
"What was that, Malfoy?"
"I was exercising my veto."
"Do you want to appologise for using that tone with a teacher?"
"Not particuarly, no."
"I must say, master Malfoy, I often question the logic behind Severus choosing you as a prefect, if it were up to me… But, that's another matter. 20 points from Slytherin, and I'll be seeing you in detention tomorrow." She swept off, muttering to herself.
Draco stared after her blankly for a few seconds, and strode off to the Slytherin common room.
****
[To be continued, and all that jazz.
Oh, and by the way, all of you, any of you, that've actually been reading this since the start, feel more than welcome to flame me for my disgusting lack of updates.
On another note, damn text formatting, damn it to hell. I'm just having faith that you'll all know which words are in italics.
*shakes fist* It's all so much more simple in a world where HTML is HTML and italics is I ]
[chapter 3]
"Goyle! You call that a hit?! You expect to win the Quidditch cup acting like a fairy?!" Draco bellowed as Goyle hit a flying bludger with a hit hard enough to dent iron. Draco didn't care that Goyle's form in the game was nearing perfection – Draco knew Goyle. If he let him know that he was doing well, he wouldn't bother, his game would slip, and Slytherin would loose the Quidditch cup to Gryffindor again. Well, that wouldn't happen if Draco had a say in the matter, and he did, now he was captain.
The only trouble Draco had in his mind was Potter.
Harry bloody Potter was captain of the Gryffindor team.
This presented a problem.
As much as Draco hated to admit it – even in the privacy of his mind – Potter was a brilliant Quidditch player. Also brilliant at strategy. He knew Draco's team. And every bloody player on it. Even him.
Thankfully, Draco did know that the only thing that made Potter a better player than him was his Firebolt.
Unfortunately for Draco, his father wouldn't buy him one until he beat Potter.
Draco sighed.
It would be no easy task.
Draco kicked off the smooth, flat grass of the pitch, soaring into the air. Flying always had somewhat of a therapeutic affect on Draco.
He loved the freedom of flight.
He flew around, practising his own flying techniques.
The sun was rising.
And, a thought that caused so much shock to him that he almost fell off his broom entered his mind.
He wondered if Granger liked sunrises.
"Why the bloody hell did I think that?"
***
"Why so glum today, Master Malfoy?" Came the voice of Professor Snape. Draco turned to face him.
"I've been expelled from the hair club. I overdid the gel. I'm so depressed!" Draco replied with a completely straight face.
Professor Snape blinked, then chuckled. A rare sound believed by many students to be incapable of being formed by those lips.
"Actually, Sir, I'm worried about the Quidditch match."
The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
"Yes. You see, this is my first year as captain. I'd like to make it memorable. Basically, I want to win the Quidditch cup. And to do that, I have to beat Gryffindor. Which means beating Potter to the snitch. Which means flying faster than a firebolt. Without a firebolt. I'm sure you see my problem."
Professor Snape made a quiet noise of understanding.
"I know that the only reason we've been loosing to Gryffindor is that stupid firebolt, Potter's good, but I've been flying for a lot longer than he has, so, I'm fairly confident that I should be able to beat him with a better broom."
"I see."
"And my father won't buy me a firebolt until I beat Potter.
Thus, the problem"
"Have you considered saving up for the broom?"
Draco fixed Snape with a long, steady look.
"Ah."
"And even if I did, father wouldn't let me use it unless…"
"You beat Potter without the firebolt. I know, Draco, you've mentioned that fact at least 7 times in the past half hour."
"Sorry sir. It's just a little frustrating."
Professor Snape smiled. Well, 'Snape-Smiled', that is, scowled a little more lightly, with a barely perceptible light in his eyes. It was a debateable gesture – it was either a good thing or a terrible, terrible omen of horrible horrible things. Possibly death. Draco guessed that, due to the current conversation, it was the former rather than the latter.
"I'm sure you'll figure out something, just don't let it affect your studies, will you."
"No way sir. This year I'm going to beat Granger to dux of the year level, too. Hitting two birds with one stone, in a manner of speaking."
***
"For the next two months, this class will be caring for a lesser shift drake, and studying it for it's powers of transformation. You will be working in pairs, which will be randomly assigned. Each pair will be supplied with the equipment required to care for the drake, and you will be expected to hand in extensive notes at the end of the two month period." Professor Mc Gonagall surveyed the class with her even, stern gaze.
"The pairs, once drawn, are permanent and unalterable, as one of the objectives you will be assessed on includes teamwork. Understood?"
"Yes, professor…" The class mumbled, clearly a bit uneasy about this "random pairing".
Professor McGonagall lifted a simple box onto the table.
Draco raised his hand, traditional Malfoy dubious smirk on his face.
"Yes, master Malfoy?"
"You're drawing our names out of a hat?" Someone to the back of the class – probably Pansy (Draco sighed inwardly) – giggled.
"Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with this method, Malfoy?"
"No Professor. I was just wondering." He smiled sweetly.
"Pansy Patil and Lavender Brown." The two girles squealed and clutched hands. (Draco pitied their poor, hapless charge, a pale blue Drake.)
"Vincent Crabbe and Neville Longbottom." Neville whimpered and Crabbe, predictably, showed no reaction. Draco doubted he'd been paying attention. Another unsuspecting Drake was assigned – this one an almost neon green. Poor thing.
"Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter." The two quietly hissed "yes". Draco rolled his eyes. Their Drake was a rather handsome Orange-brown.
"Hannah Abbot and Seamus Finnigan" Draco zoned out at this point. He didn't really care to listen to the pairs being called out – he didn't care who he was paired with – Goyle would not be an ideal partner, Crabbe, luckily, had been paired off allready and so posed no such threat, and no-one else came close to being considered friends.
"Dean Foster and Blaise Zabini, which means that the last pair is Her-"
Both Draco and Hermione shot to their feet and pointed at the other, almost simultaneously shouting "I'm not working with that!"
"Sit down, the both of you. And I'm afraid you are. Take your Drake and equipment, please."
Draco then decided that his sense of personal dignity would have to take a back seat – he couldn't afford to do poorly in any assessments. So he straightened, calmly took the drake – a deep black colour that seemed to change in different lights – and sat back at his desk. Granger glared at him, and took the equipment, returning to her desk.
"It's usually a requirement of teamwork to be in the same half of the class as your partner, Miss Granger," The Professor fixed Hermione with one of her stern gazes.
"yes, Professor…" Hermione mumbled before taking a seat next to Draco. Potter and Weasley sent her looks of utmost pity from the other side of the class. Draco sent them a jaunty grin and wave.
Weasley responded to this with the infamous one-finger salute.
"Right class, now that that's all in order, I think you should take some time to name your drakes, as there isn't really enough time to do anything else, thanks to Miss Granger and Master Malfoy."
Granger pouted.
Draco grinned.
"I think he's a bit of a Montgomery, don't you, Granger?"
"Montgomery is a disgusting name."
"Well, do you have any ideas?"
Granger harrumphed.
"Fine, then, if you don't have any further ideas, I hereby christen thee," Draco held the little drake aloft and looked it in the eye, "…Mont-"
"Wait, wait, I do have a name, just don't call the poor thing Montgomery," Granger cut Draco off, and, if Draco's eyes didn't betray him, she appeared to be blushing slightly.
"Well, what's this great name?"
"Well, it's, um…"
"Out with it, Granger."
"Benjamin." She finished with ardour.
"Now why was that so hard?" Draco asked while looking at the Drake, who seemed quite happy with the prospect of this name. A rather obvious answer came to Draco's mind.
"OooooOOoh. Granger has a cruuuush," Draco laughed malevolantly, and then realised that his last statement had been rather common and un-Malfoyesque.
"I appologise for that last statement. It is now, officially struck from the record." Draco said to Benjamin.
Draco placed the Drake on the table, where it curled up and watched him and Granger with clever golden eyes.
Granger continued to stare blankly at the front of the class, displeasure all over her face.
"Now Granger, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but, we have to think of Benjamin, here, how would you like to be raised in a family like this? Hm? We have to think of the child…." Draco spoke solemnly, while the drake watched the conversation with detached interest.
"Don't talk to me." Granger said through pursed lips.
"Fine. But when our child grows up to be a psychotic axe murderer bringing plague and famine to the world just you remember that I tried to provide him with a happy family life. Just you remember that, Granger."
Soon after that, the Professor declared that the class had ended, and Draco collected his books, put Benjamin on top and swept out of the classroom.
***
Benjamin jumped from Draco's shoulders and onto the foot of his bed, creeping over to sniff inquisitively at the muggle music-playing-thing. Draco unceremoniously dropped his books on the floor ( charm he'd placed on them at the beginning of the year caused them to fall into a perfect pile.), and then flopped onto the bed next to the little drake.
"How did we get stuck with Granger, Benjamin? How? Why me? What have I done?"
The drake watched him with huge eyes, then turned his attention back to the muggle-music thing.
"You know, you're completely right."
The drake looked at him again, unblinking.
"I don't need to worry about her, she's not important. I can do the assignment all by myself."
The drake turned it's head on an angle, snorted, and turned it's attention back to the strange creation on the bed next to it.
"It's interesting, isn't it, Benjamin."
No response from the drake.
"You know, talking to you isn't dissimilar to talking to myself."
The drake pounced on the music-playing thing.
"That, my friend, is an excellent idea." The drake looked at him, questioning. Draco picked up the small animal and looked it squarely in the eye.
"We, are going into muggle London."
The drake tilted it's head to one side.
"Don't question my logic. It was your idea, we're going." With that, Draco grabbed a cloak, 30 galleons and a random bag from the floor.
Before Draco left the room, the vague hint of the thought that perhaps 30 galleons was a stupid amount of money crossed his mind, and was swiftly and violently quashed as his Malfoy blood asserted itself. (Malfoy codex, page 233 – No amount of money is ridiculous unless it is a larger sum than you or another Malfoy can accumulate within 30 minutes)
And with that, he left the room, placing a locking charm on the door. Just because he knew that only he could open it, and that prospect amused him vaguely at that moment in time.
***
"Give me a ticket for that train-thing." The tall woman with a severe nose, wearing an immaculate suit looked back at him from behind the counter.
"You have charming manners. It's $3.50 a ticket."
Draco raised an eyebrow at the evident sarcasm, but decided that it would be prudent to hold his tongue. He got out the small fiddly coins and passed them to her, snatching his ticket without a further word and boarding the 'train'.
Draco couldn't see the point of the coins – they were ridiculous, muggles. He almost entered a deep conversation with himself about the complexities of economics, but he decided against it, as he really didn't see that it was a particularly interesting thing to think about at that time.
Draco began to doubt the wisdom of bringing Benjamin along, as the drake tried on several occasions to peek out from under his cloak. (Which Draco was aware would result both in him having to preform memory charms (horrible boring, artless things) and explain to the school and his parents – well, father – what he had been doing in muggle London.)
In fact, Draco was finding that the Malfoy charm was obsolete in the world of muggles – no-one recognised him as the son of, well, his father, and so treated him like they treated everyone else. So all Draco had to rely on was his charisma and, if he did say so himself (which he did) damn fine looks.
A small child, about four, clambered onto the seat next to him (no regard for personal space), interrupting his meandering thoughts.
"Why are you wearing funny clothes?" The child asked, and paused. "Are you a witch?"
Draco twitched. "I am not a witch, thankyou very bloody much, and they aren't funny clothes. I think your clothes are stupid. And they make you look fat."
The child's eyes teared over. "You're a meany."
"Thankyou. It's what I do." Draco flicked his head, hoping to get his hair out of his eyes – it was really bloody annoying him. Benjamin saw the opportunity and stuck his head out of the collar of Draco's cloak.
The child's eyes widened. "Is that a dragon?"
Benjamin looked at the child, and sniffed at it inquisitively.
"Benjamin! You're a prat!" Draco whispered sharply as he shoved the drake's head back into hiding.
"Tell you what, kid, if you don't tell anyone about my buddy Benjamin here, I'll give you this." He held up a chocolate frog. The boy's little hands took the box, clutching it tightly. "What is it?" He whispered in awe.
"It's a chocolate frog. But it's magic, so it'll jump around like a real frog for a while. It's also got a collecting card, and a box." Draco sighed, and got off the train, as it had stopped and he assumed that this was London (as a voice had announced it was a little while ago – Draco had almost thought the voice magical until he noticed the speaker in the ceiling).
After making his way into daylight (bright, tacky, overdone – 'Makes me look pallid'' Draco thought after scrutinising his reflection in a shop window), and realised that he had no idea where, exactly, he was headed.
It was time to call on his primary resource of navigation in unknown areas, he decided, and looked around for a suitable target.
Giggling, that way. Right.
He swaggered over to the group of girls (probably younger than him by two or so years), and stopped.
Before he could open his mouth, the girls started laughing, one pointed at him and screeched "Where'd you get your clothes?"
Draco narrowed his eyes, hexed them all (a nifty curse he'd developed himself that wrote "slut" in pimples across the target's forehead), and stormed off, muttering to himself.
About 30 minutes later, Draco emerged from a muggle clothes store more appropriately attired (Dark blue "Jeans", a black shirt and an emerald green woollen jumper with a silver band around the shoulders), and $250 muggle dollars poorer. He'd also purchased a large backpack which now held his proper clothes and Benjamin.
Feeling better equipped to deal with muggle girls (the very thought caused him to shudder), Draco looked around for a second target.
Once again, it wasn't hard to find a group of girls that Draco deemed would be quite glad to give him directions to a music store. (Who wouldn't, he reckoned, Muggle London or not he was still Draco Malfoy.)
This time, although garbled slightly with embarrassed giggling, Draco was successful in obtaining the information he wanted.
The "Music store" was a highly elaborate affair, full of brightly coloured, unmoving posters and rows of shelves with what Draco assumed were C-something music thing cases, neatly arranged into categories and within those categories the C-something things were arranged in alphabetical order.
'What had Dumbledore said the band was called? It was a colour. Of something. S. Silver something. He said it was rock. Something rock. Right. Rock. Rock and Roll. Rock… Rock…' Draco walked up the isles, searching.
"Classical, no…"
"R&B, what's that? No…"
"Rap… No."
"Pop. Hm. Looks mildly terrifying. No."
"Jazz. Interesting. No…" Draco mumbled as he passed each section. Then, finally, he walked to the section which proudly proclaimed "Rock".
The reading-of-names-searching-for-one-that-was-right resumed.
"Silverchair. That looks right," Draco muttered after looking through about 12 band sections.
He grabbed the four music-thing cases ("frogstomp, Freak Show, Neon Ballroom and Diorama"), and proudly placed them on the counter.
The guy behind said counter raised a peirced eyebrow.
"A bit of a 'chair fan, ay?" He drawled.
Draco paused.
"Yeah."
"D'you know about the concert that's in a few months, then?"
Draco paused again. "No."
"D'you want some tickets then, mate? We sell 'em here, they're going quick, too…" The guy seemed to be regarding Draco as a little slow.
"Yea. In fact, I'll take two. Yeah. Two. So what does that come to?"
"Uh… " He tapped something into this thing with letters and numbers on it, and scanned (or so Draco assumed) the music-things.
"That's…. $220…" [A/N: Sorry.. I don't know what anythings worth in pounds. And ergo I can't convert price –things. So yeah. That's what it'd come to in Australia anywhoo]
Draco rummaged around in the bag he was using to keep his muggle money in, and piled some coins and notes on the desk.
"That enough?"
"Uh… yeah. Definitely."
"Super. Thanks." Draco grabbed his stuff and left the store.
The guy chucked a bit of a skitz, saying something about $280 in change that he hadn't taken, but Draco didn't really care. He had to get rid of all of his muggle money anyway.
On his way out, however, he noticed a poster labelled "Silverchair", so he grabbed it and left, figuring it couldn't possibly be worth $280….
***
Draco almost thought he'd gotten home free, sneaking across the Great Hall on the way to the Slytherin common room, when he heard McGonagal's voice echo across the hall.
He groaned and turned to face her. (It's better to go into a battle headfirst)
"Where have you been all day, young man?" The irate professor snarled.
Draco muttered something about exercising his veto.
"What was that, Malfoy?"
"I was exercising my veto."
"Do you want to appologise for using that tone with a teacher?"
"Not particuarly, no."
"I must say, master Malfoy, I often question the logic behind Severus choosing you as a prefect, if it were up to me… But, that's another matter. 20 points from Slytherin, and I'll be seeing you in detention tomorrow." She swept off, muttering to herself.
Draco stared after her blankly for a few seconds, and strode off to the Slytherin common room.
****
[To be continued, and all that jazz.
Oh, and by the way, all of you, any of you, that've actually been reading this since the start, feel more than welcome to flame me for my disgusting lack of updates.
On another note, damn text formatting, damn it to hell. I'm just having faith that you'll all know which words are in italics.
*shakes fist* It's all so much more simple in a world where HTML is HTML and italics is I ]