It turned out that Muggle's means of travelling were exhausting.
The first flight passed in a haze between tension and fascination, and it was over too soon. By the time the disembodied voice from above announced the approaching landing, Draco couldn't remember having looked away once from the enthralling expanse of clouds lazily slipping away from underneath them. Even on his broom, he had never flown that high and everything seemed so calm and white up there. With his thoughts still captivated by this new perspective over the world, the sudden descend left him feeling somewhat cheated.
He briefly wondered how psychotic it would have sounded if he demanded for the blasted thing to be kept in the air until he had had the time to adjust. The mere thought drew a hysterical laugh out of him, causing his dry lips to split painfully at the corners. His mind shifted to the last time he had water, for breakfast that morning, and he was still pondering on how to cast an "Aguamenti" without being caught when the plane touched ground with a few harsh judders. His teeth crashed into his bottom lip, sinking into the chapped flesh and filling his mouth with the taste of copper.
Fucking Muggles.
A hand tapped gently on his knee. Draco knew he must have looked a fright when he turned to face the elderly lady sitting next to him, his eyes wild and his split lip sucked in between his teeth.
"Are you alright, darling?" She asked in a sweet foreign accent that had the "r's" rolling off her tongue like a purr.
"Uh-" he replied dully, still half licking the blood off his cut "Oh, yeah, fine!". Were all Muggles this amiable or was it just his blasted luck, once again having him sitting next to someone that couldn't mind their own business? Probably the latter, if he had to base it on how things were going lately.
Her eyes darted briefly to his hands that, he noticed with a great deal of embarrassment, were gripping the handles of his seat so tight they looked entirely void of colour. His fingers spasmed, releasing their clutch slowly as blood started to flow again into circulation.
"Just slightly dehydrated, really." He mumbled under her skeptical scrutiny.
The woman gave him a motherly smile and reached into her purse, materialising an unopened bottle and a little round box. "I always buy too many." She said, pushing the bottle into his hands and opening the metal container. It was filled with hard yellow sweets, coated in sugar powder, not unlike the one his mother seemed to favour.
He wanted to refuse but his treacherous hand had already reached halfway to the box. The lady nudged it closer with an encouraging nod.
"Take two for good luck" She told him with a cheeky grin and Draco felt himself flush, obeying nonetheless.
He plopped one of the sweets into his mouth with a thank you, quickly turning back to the window to avoid further interaction.
The airport was busy and his eyes got caught up again in the stange, effortless way in which airplanes around him seemed to take off in the sky as if they weighed nothing. It was magic, Draco thought with wonder.
The water, mixed with the sour taste of lemon, washed away any lingering blood from his mouth. He sat, staring contently outside until the cabin was almost empty and he was forced to follow the swarm of bodies inside the airport.
The second flight was much longer. He tried fitting his 6 feet frame in the smallest space possible away from the considerable size and sweaty stench of his travelling companion. It only took an hour of uncomfortable shuffling in his seat for Draco to give up. He rummaged in his backpack until he found Potter's Tshirt, an hasty last minute addition that he had packed that morning without really consciously meaning to do so. The cotton was soft and he rolled it into a ball before wedging it between his seat and the window. Then, careful to shield his movements behind his hands, he uncorked one of the vials of Dreamless Sleep Lupin had provided.
Knowing that he would later regret sleeping during the day, he swallowed the entire vial anyway, grimacing at the medicinal aftertaste of the lavender. He was asleep, face smushed against worn cotton, in an instant.
When he woke again they were descending towards San Francisco and he had missed both calls for food.
From there to his final destination was a rather quick trip in comparison. The smooching couple next to him was too busy staring into each other's eyes to pay him any mind, which served Draco just fine.
By the time he had collected the rest of his belongings from the moving line that appeared to be spitting luggage after luggage from a hole in the wall, his stomach was rumbling painfully for attention. Surprised that his bag had made it safely through two stops and what was no doubt the longest journey of his life, he followed the signs towards the exit.
He checked his options and, feeling out of depth, he decided to approach the closest establishment advertising food. He fumbled awkwardly with the Muggle currency that Lupin had exchanged for him. He had decided that the imminent bus ride, combined with three flights, was enough of daily first experiences for him to dare trying the plastic card his Professor said was somehow connected to his bank.
The hotdog looked both disgusting and the best thing he had ever held, and when the vendor had impatiently asked if he wanted ketchup Draco had agreed without thinking.
Ketchup, aside from sticking to his fingers and at the corner of his mouth, turned out to be most definitely the food of the Gods. Draco ordered a large serving of fries drenched in it, before thinking that maybe Muggles life wouldn't be so bad after all.
The experience was short-lived when he had to ask a couple of Muggles for directions to the bus station, which left him feeling both helpless and irritated. Trying to block any thought he wasn't ready to deal with, he concentrated on the pleasant humming of his full stomach and the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he was at least physically well.
By the grace of Merlin he actually found a secluded seat on the bus and promptly dropped his backpack on the spot beside him, hoping that the Muggles would take the hint.
The steady pace of the bus was almost as calming as flying above the clouds, and Draco rested his forehead on the cooling glass, following the dance of city lights against the darkening sky.
After he was sure that nobody would take the seat next to his, he picked up his backpack, hugging it against his chest protectively like he would have done so many years before with his stuffed toy dragon, Prince. His knees came to rest just below his chin, sneaker clad feet perching at the edge of his seat.
Imagining it was his mother's arms around him instead, Draco felt impossibly young. His fingers toyed with the zippers of the bag until they clutched the journal, caressing blindly the rough paper. His magic could sense the incantation binding Narcissa's name to the pages, and he allowed the sensation to pervade his mind. The buzz of the charm sounded similar to a lullaby, and it was grounding and familiar. He wrapped himself in it like a blanket and emptied his mind.
He let go of his responsibilities and burdens. Of his worries and the soul crushing task of being the messenger of Death. For a brief, too brief moment, in a Muggle bus, Draco let go of magic, imagining he was just an ordinary boy going to discover the world.
The sun was setting over San Diego in promising hues of pink and orange, leaving the landscape bathed in a soft light that took Draco's breath away.
"The world is huge." He thought in wonder.
His eyes widen with the implications. Hands against the glass like a child, Draco began to fall in love with things he had never allowed himself to notice before.
After reaching the city centre Draco had to half-heartedly call a cab to his accomodation.
Lupin, the paranoid bastard, hadn't wanted to involve magic. Consequently, on top of everything else, the fucking man had spent a fair amount of the last three days holed up in one of Cardiff's public libraries. He had declared that, based on the little fragments of information he had collected during his two-way mirrors voyeurism sessions, he could use one of those metal knowledge boxes of theirs to help him pinpoint the whereabouts of Potter. Draco hoped with all his might that the town north of San Diego he was headed to did in fact include one Harry Poncy-middle-name Potter in its population count.
The journey wasn't long and the driver blessedly quiet. It was too dark outside to really make out much of the passing landscape, so Draco relaxed against the leather seats. Given time, he could learn to enjoy travelling by car, he thought. It was almost peaceful.
As soon as the cab left him at his destination, though, his good mood plummeted. In front of him was a shabby two storey building that didn't even seem to warrant a name but for a broken red light languidly flashing "MTEL".
Lupin was a motherfucker, and a sadistic one at that.
The walls of the "MTEL" were a sandy brown, paint flaking in more places than not and rude words scribbled everywhere. Two dead potted plants were carelessly positioned at either side of the entrance, like a mocking welcome sign to hell. Hoping that the place wasn't representative of the local fashion, Draco dragged his luggage behind him and entered the building.
"Hello?" he demanded, when the greasy man behind the counter didn't do as much as lifting his eyes from the screen in front of him.
"Yes?" The Muggle asked, unbothered, rubbing some lingering oil from his lips with the back of his hand.
Draco shuddered. "I have a reservation" he replied, pushing a printed sheet towards the man, careful not to make contact with any surface.
The receptionist licked his fingers, before snatching the paper and running his eyes over it.
"Oh, yes. Room 78, already paid for two nights. Here are the keys." He said, swaying said item from his index finger.
Draco held a breath and reached out. He plucked the keyring, holding it as far away from his body as he could. He made sure not to touch the little wooden ball dangling from it, the room number painted on it almost invisible under layers of dirt. It looked extremely sticky and Draco had no intention to find out if it felt just as much.
"Do I need to show you a document?" He stalled, uncertain. Muggles seemed to like checking for identification.
The other man's attention had once more drifted towards the screen. "Nah, don't care." The dismissal was clear. "You can access your room from the outside. Make sure to lock it, we are not responsible if something goes missing. Room 78 is between 77 and 79." He added, snorting at his own dumb joke."
He made a shoo-ing gesture towards the exit and Draco was only too happy to leave.
The room was small and stuffy. The summer heat lingered stagnant in between the four walls, giving the air a murky smell. Draco casted all the cleaning spells he knew and opened the window, unconcerned of any of the dangers the receptionist might have been hinting at. Although he was aware of the complication of using magic against Muggles, he knew that entering the country via plane granted that his wand wasn't traced. If the worst came to the worst, a few stinging hexes and memory charms could only aid to work out his pent up frustration.
He changed out of his sweaty clothes and took a short and uncomfortable shower, trying to keep his naked skin away from touching the tiles. It was a rather difficult task, seeing how the entire fucking cubicle was only about 3 feet wide.
After quickly brushing his teeth and toweling his hair dry with Potter's t-shirt, he transfigured the old stained pillows into fluffy feathers ones and dropped gracelessly into the bed.
Having slept 10 hours on the plane he wasn't tired in the slightest. He blinked up at the ceiling, grimacing at the spots of mold tattering the white paint.
In a fit of anger he took out the journal and scribbled "I HATE YOU" across the first available space. He looked as the dot carrying his mother's name rushed to the border of its own page. It almost felt like she was judging his childishness in disapproval.
Draco smothered his face in one of the pillows and groaned.
It was gonna be a fucking long night.
