A/N Dun dun dun!! Okay, for the record, I don't actually know how to do laundry, so bear with me here, people.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to the genius known as J.K. Rowling. Unfortunately, in my opinion, she does not give these two characters enough screen . . . ahem. . . book. . . time. If it were up to me, they would so be front and center. But the world's not perfect.
Satisfied with his thorough exploration of the house, Draco lounged elegantly in the split-level bedroom. He liked it better then the master bedroom. It's not Malfoy Manor . . . but it'll do, he thought. Strange that he hadn't seen any servants. His traveling clothes were getting fairly dirty, and he had no interest in cleaning them with his wand. There was a muggle way for cleaning clothes . . . what was it called? His brow furrowed in concentration, the word finally came to him. Laundry. He'd seen the machines downstairs, but, having no idea how to use them, had waited until someone showed up to do the. . .laundry . . . for him. Obviously, no one was coming.
Heaving a long, dramatic sigh, Draco removed himself from the bed and went into the bathroom. After a shower, he examined his appearance in the mirror. Waving his wand, he changed his hair to a black color, leaving his eyes the same icy gray/blue. Then he altered his nose a little bit so that it wasn't as distinctive, making it less aristocratic and more plain.
Walking to the driveway, he found a number of cars parked around the circular patch of roses in the middle. When he was fifteen or thereabouts, he often nicked cars from the nearest muggle town and learned to drive them. Of course, 'near' is a relative term – the closest city to Malfoy Manor is over 100 miles away, after all.
Pulling himself back to the present, Draco surveyed the different cars. A few he didn't care for at all, but there was a bright-red Jaguar convertible that looked quite nice . . . then he saw the Ferrari. Well, that answers it then, he said to himself happily. Settling down into the leather seat, he drove carefully around town, looking for a place with the same strange machines as he had seen in the house. Finally, on a road called El Camino, he found what he was looking for. 'Launderland' proclaimed the sign over the door. The storefront window boasted several of the machines, so Draco parked and went inside. He sat down expectantly on one of the benches, waiting for one of the attendants to take his dirty clothing and wash it.
It hadn't been long before a young woman – eerily reminiscent of the girl in the pictures – arrived and placed her own bundles in the washing thingy. After she pressed several buttons and added some kind of powder, she sat down next to him. Draco determinedly kept his gaze on the attendant, praying that she would come to him. He could feel the girl's eyes on him. Finally, she asked in a forcibly light tone, "So, if you don't come to the Laundromat to do laundry, then are you here to pick up girls?"
Sighing, Draco chanced a sidelong glance at her. She was watching him expectantly, waiting for a laugh, an answer, some kind of response. "Nonsense," he replied arrogantly, "I'm waiting for the attendant. It's not like I can work one of these muggle contraptions myself." Too late, he realized the slip he had made. However, he didn't see the blank, puzzled look he would have expected on a muggle encountering a new word. Instead, a small smile played over her lips and she stood up.
"Come on," she said playfully. "I'll teach you how to work a washing machine."
Draco eyed the large machine in front of him distastefully. Not only was it a dull, ugly tan color; it had a large, clear pane of glass in the middle. "Fine. I suppose I need to know."
The next forty-five minutes were devoted to Draco's forced learning of how to clean his clothes. Not that he enjoyed it in the least; washing was menial labor reserved for house-elves, or similar servants. Despite this, the girl's instruction made it much easier. Studying her face subtly while she adjusted the settings on the machine, he guessed that she was about his age, maybe a year or so younger. Something about her vaguely reminded him of someone. . . he couldn't have said what or who, but he knew it was there.
As they watched the clothes spin around (with Draco turning rather green from the quickness of the cycle), he began a conversation. "So why are you in the muggle world?" he started, keeping his voice down so that the others in the store – a pair of Asian teenagers clowning around in the corner with a short, brown-haired girl of their age – wouldn't overhear things that they shouldn't. "Are you actually here of your own accord? I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
She half-laughed, her voice echoing around the room. The brown eyes looked suddenly sad. "I'm here to study muggle relations. My name's . . . um . . .Cassie. What about you? You don't look happy to be here in the least."
"It's a long story. Suffice to say that I'm here for my own – " he sneered, "protection. I'd tell you the whole thing, but I don't want to be overheard, and our clothes are done."
"And what's your name again?"
Draco thought quickly. "Westley. Wes for short." Deciding to elaborate on his new name, he added, "Of all the names, my parents had to pick Westley!" He placed a sardonic emphasis on the last word.
"Oh, I don't know," Cassie said thoughtfully. "It's a very . . . hot name. Well suited, if you ask me." With a smirk, she gathered up her bundle and left the store. Now why haven't I seen her in Slytherin? Draco wondered. She's made for that house. Sighing, he picked up his bundle and, ignoring a quiet sigh from one of the girls in the corner that he was sure was directed at him, began the drive home.
A/N Another short one. The entire story will probably be done in short chapters. Anyways, there are a couple surprises coming up . . . won't say what they are, but yeah. For those who didn't figure it out (and I don't blame you – I'm not especially smart myself), yes, Cassie is Ginny. And that's my cue. G'nite, folks!