"Good morning, students," the Headmistress said. "I trust that you are all now fully awake and prepared to revise for your Transfiguration NEWT, having already sat through your Charms revision with Professor Flitwick. I understand he casts an exceptionally loud Avis when needed."
Draco Malfoy had been fully awake since six a.m., thank you for asking, as had half of Slytherin. Pansy had woken up at five-thirty that morning and decided to scry, fallen asleep bent over the bowl, splashed her face in her scrying oil and ruined her makeup. Then, she'd proceeded to throw a screaming fit worthy of the most difficult two-year-old.
Even now, when he glanced across the room, he could see Pansy checking herself in her hand mirror, still convinced that her makeup was messed up even though she'd spent all morning fixing it (and screeching at Draco for not being more sympathetic to her "plight").
"Miss Parkinson, what is that in your hand?" the Headmistress asked.
"A—a hand mirror, Headmistress. I was—checking my makeup."
"My lecture is the most important point at hand, Miss Parkinson."
"Y-yes, Headmistress." A red-faced Pansy slipped the hand mirror back into her voluminous robes.
McGonagall had been displeased by something. It was never a good thing when McGonagall was displeased. Draco shrank into his desk, trying very hard to look inconspicuous. Now was not the time to inadvertently say or do something that might displease her further, not when he had something so important on his schedule for the afternoon.
Suppressing a sigh, Draco checked his wristwatch. (Hermione had convinced him to purchase it by telling him that all well-dressed Muggle men wore one. To his pleasant surprise, the thing was damn useful, making it almost worth the eye-watering sum he'd paid.)
Two minutes past nine o'clock. That meant five hours and fifty-eight minutes until the meeting. Ugh, the morning had been taking forever since the minute he'd been rudely awoken by Pansy's tantrum.
He stole another glance across the room. Pansy's right hand was holding her quill, but her left kept returning to the pocket where she'd placed the hand mirror, as though she would succumb to the urge to check her makeup any second now.
Merlin's beard, she was vain. Draco expected his sanity would last two months, tops, should they still be required to get married. The thought only reinforced the importance of his upcoming meeting and made the wait even more agonizing.
"As we are getting close to exam day, I have something a little bit different planned for today. It is my expectation," the Headmistress continued her lecture, "that all of you have made good progress in your exam preparation. Almost ready to teach this class yourselves, I should think."
Hermione's hand promptly shot up.
"Miss Granger, I already know how well prepared you are," McGonagall said. "You can be our second teacher today, but I already had someone in mind for our first student lecture."
The room went deathly quiet. Draco half hoped she'd pick the Weasel; he needed a good laugh.
"Mister Malfoy," she said. "You seem to be trying dreadfully hard to be inconspicuous this morning. Step up to the front if you please."
Shit.
There was a fine skill to being inconspicuous; you had to try to blend in, without looking like you were trying to blend in. Draco was quite good at it, but apparently there was no fooling the Headmistress.
Walking up to the chalkboard, he schooled his terrified expression into his well-practiced smug grin. "Good morning, students. Today is your lucky day, because I'm so good at this that I invented my very own Transfiguration spell in third year."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Do explain, Mr. Malfoy."
"My pleasure, Headmistress. The spell is named 'Jelly Slugs to Real Slugs', or at least that's what I'm naming it because I invented it. As with any Transfiguration, the first step is to focus on the similarities of the two objects: in this case, the stickiness. Jelly Slugs get their stickiness from the moisture that is held in by the sugar, while real slugs get it from the slime they secrete."
McGonagall suddenly silenced him by holding up her hand. "Mister Weasley, I would like you to explain why your face is suddenly so red."
Ron's hair nearly stood on end. "Because that little prat pulled it on me!"
The Headmistress' gaze turned. "Mr. Malfoy?"
"Third year," Draco said.
She continued to glare at him.
"As you can see, ma'am, it's a very memorable spell. We're eighth years now and Ron still remembers. That's why I thought it would make an excellent demonstration."
She regarded him for a very long moment. "You may continue, Mr. Malfoy."
Ron's hand shot up. "Ma'am, before he gets any further, I'd like to remind the class that this is a very mean thing to do to someone and that I'll hex anyone who tries it on me. It's very cruel to take someone's food and turn it into something disgusting."
"Headmistress, I object to the categorization of Jelly Slugs as 'food'. Neither Jelly Slugs nor Real Slugs provide any appreciable nourishment, which is why Gamp's Law still applies to both. In addition, I question if they are genuinely as off-putting as Mr. Weasley described. After all, he ate three of them before he figured it out."
Hermione's hand was pressed tightly over her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Ron's face turned a lovely shade of purple. "You tricked me into eating slugs, Malfoy! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
Hermione's laugh won the battle against her hand. "Ronald Arthur Weasley, if you were inattentive enough to eat three entire live slugs and almost a fourth until Harry pointed out what you were doing, you really have nobody to blame but yourself."
"SILENCE," McGonagall's voice thundered.
Draco could have heard a feather drop.
"Now, Mr. Malfoy, if you could continue your explanation of Gamp's Law."
To his relief, Draco made it through the lecture. He credited his recent habit of studying with Hermione for his success. It had taken him eight years, but Draco finally realized how stupid he'd been to ignore such a powerful asset.
He was through with being a racist snob. All it had done for him was to deprive him of the studying help of the brightest witch in his class—and no good Slytherin turned down opportunities, no matter how unorthodox.
Pansy's desk happened to be on the way back to his seat. He couldn't help but glance at her paper—and scowled at what he saw. "Pansy, did you spend my entire lecture doodling?"
Her face stiffened in indignation. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, this is not a doodle. It's the future cover of a very prestigious magazine."
Draco couldn't image what magazine would be loony enough to accept that—thing—that Pansy was attempting to draw. He squinted, but still couldn't make out what it was.
Never mind; he could ask her later. It wasn't his problem that Pansy had decided to waste his lecture by doodling.
"Miss Granger, if you'd like to come continue where Mr. Malfoy left off," the Headmistress ordered. Hermione eagerly jumped up from her seat and hurried to the front of the classroom, textbook in hand.
"The debate still continues in the Wizarding world," Hermione began, "of whether money should be considered a seventh exception to Gamp's Law. As several of you have learned from trial and error, it is impossible to transfigure anything into a coin."
Ron's face was harder to see now that Draco was sitting down, but he took a quick glance and decided that it was starting to turn red again.
"Those opposed to the classification of this as a law," she continued, "point out that the resistance to Transfiguration is a feature added to the money during the minting process, rather than an innate characteristic. Money can only be produced by specially licensed facilities with the requisite magical capabilities."
The light that shone from the window touched her hair at just the right angle to make it appear golden. It reminded Draco of just how impossibly soft it had become since she'd agreed to be a test subject for Slughorn's attempts to brew shampoo.
Her large, fluffy mane reminded him of a baby bird covered in down. His heart thrilled at the prospect of running his fingers through it. Just looking at her, lecturing from behind the desk, he longed to get up from his seat and run to the front of the room and wrap himself around her. She'd bury her face in his shoulder, the perfect height for him to press his lips into those waves upon waves of gold…
Something splattered in his face, and Draco noticed that he'd dropped his quill and sprayed ink everywhere.
"Scourgify," he muttered, hoping that McGonagall wasn't looking in his direction.
"…Reparifarge as a means of detecting counterfeit money," Hermione continued her lecture as though nothing had happened.
Draco checked his watch again. Twelve minutes past nine.
Ugh.
*0*0*0*0*0*
Revisions ended for the day at two-thirty. Draco wasted no time in hurrying to his dorm to change clothes. Shedding his school uniform, he opened the polished cherrywood trunk at the foot of his bed and removed the outfit he'd chosen the night before.
Khaki pants, cream-colored socks, a green short-sleeved button-down and his brown leather Oxfords.
The blonde boy was suddenly grateful that he'd allowed Hermione to drag him along on her shopping trips to Muggle outlets. If left to dress himself, he'd probably have ended up wearing a neon sign that screamed "I DO NOT BELONG IN THE MUGGLE WORLD" in all caps, just like that.
Draco was checking himself in the mirror when Blaise barged in.
"What's with the Muggle get-up?" Blaise demanded. "You had better not be doing something that will cost us another one hundred House points."
"It does look convincingly Muggle, then?"
Blaise stuck his hands on his hips. "Alright. Who are you, and what have you done with my roommate?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "It's me, Blaise. Muggle clothes and all. I'm going to visit a relative who lives in a Muggle duplex in a Muggle subdivision."
"Why?" Blaise asked bluntly.
"Excuse me. She is my family, and family visit each other." Draco's glare hardened. He was a bit too prideful to add "because she once had a similar issue to what I'm currently facing, and I'm overwhelmed, and I really need her advice".
"I thought that the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black disowned anybody who had anything to do with Muggles."
"They did. The War changed things. You probably didn't know this, but Potter gave that ancient family tree tapestry that he inherited from Sirius Black to my mother. She's…" Emotion suddenly rose up his throat in a threat to choke him; Draco swallowed. "She's going to repair it."
"You mean—repair the names that were blasted off?" Blaise asked.
Draco nodded, not trusting his voice.
"Does this include your relative who lives in a Muggle subdivision?"
Draco nodded again. "There's not too many of us left anymore," he said huskily. "Not after the war. They're dead or spending their lives in Azkaban. We've—we've got to stick together, what's left of us."
"I see."
Draco dug around in his bookbag and pulled out a makeup brush and a tray of powder.
"Is men-dressing-like-women a thing in the Muggle world?" Blaise asked. "Cause if it is, you probably shouldn't be wearing Oxfords to complete the look."
"It's not for my face, Blaise," he grumbled.
"Oh, really." Blaise wiggled his eyebrows.
Scowling, Draco ran the brush through the powder before applying it to his upturned forearm.
"Ohhhhh," Blaise said. "Your relative must not have been too friendly with your Death Eater buddies."
Draco's fist tightened around the makeup brush until he heard the plastic crack. "It wasn't my choice, Blaise. The Dark Lord would have killed me if I'd refused."
"I'm not surprised. You were the son of the most notorious Death Eater in history."
"Bellatrix is not my mother."
"Son of the second most notorious Death Eater in history," Blaise corrected himself.
Draco applied enough concealer to completely cover the awful tattoo, and then a little extra just in case. The thing had only gotten uglier since the Dark Lord's defeat. Casting a quick Reparo on the makeup brush, he checked himself in the mirror one last time.
He thought that he actually looked quite good in Muggle clothes. It was a style he needed to explore a bit further. Maybe he could convince Hermione to drag him along on her next shopping trip.
Draco checked his watch: two fifty-six. He sprinted down the hallways of the castle, Floo powder clenched tightly in his fist. Arriving in front of the Great Hall fireplace at precisely two fifty-nine, he tossed in the powder and stepped into the green flames.
*0*0*0*0*
The first thing to catch Draco's attention as he stepped out of the Muggle fireplace was the color of the walls.
Yellow.
He'd never considered that one could paint one's house in cheerful colors, having spent the first half of his life in the cold walls of the Malfoy Manor and the second half in the basement of an old, dark castle that somebody had decided was suitable living quarters for the most ambitious and clever students at Hogwarts.
The yellow of the walls was periodically interrupted by neatly framed pictures, all of which were motionless. Draco reminded himself that a witch or wizard in Muggle housing with Muggle neighbors probably wouldn't want to stand out.
Taking a careful step out of the living room fireplace, his shoes sank into the plush off-white carpet. A quick glance took in the numerous toys scattered across the floor, indicating the presence of a young child.
"Draco, is that you?" called a woman's voice from another room. "It's snack time for Teddy and we're in the kitchen."
Draco headed through a doorway in the direction of the voice, noticing the surface under his feet change from carpet to tile. The kitchen was surprisingly tidy, given the presence of a small child and the absence of a House-elf. A few mugs hung from hooks on the walls, a pot bubbled on the stove, a red-and-white checkered towel hung from the handle on the over door.
"Da ba!" squealed the toddler from his highchair, smacking a little fist against his snack tray in excitement at having sighted the visitor. Fortunately for everyone, the tray was securely bolted to the chair and no food went flying.
"Hello, Teddy," Draco said awkwardly as the child's hair shifted from blue to green. "Hello, Aunt Andy."
"Hello, Draco." Andromeda Tonks turned around to face her nephew. "My goodness, you've grown! Must've hit that eighteenth-birthday growth spurt since we met last."
"Yeah." Draco swallowed uncomfortably, well aware of the reason behind the infrequency of which he saw his aunt. "Thanks for…um…agreeing to meet."
"My pleasure. There's not many of us left anymore; we've got to stick together, those of us who are still around. By the way, there's tea on the stove if you want any."
"Thanks." Draco took the nearest mug from a hook. It was white with the words "Best Grandma Ever" emblazoned across it in pink cursive.
He'd never be caught drinking out of that mug in front of his peers, but his aunt's home was thankfully free of gossipy students.
"Sugar is in the cabinet," Andromeda said as he poured himself a cup. "Cream is in the fridge."
Draco was spared the embarrassment of having to ask what a "fridge" was, credit to his recent habit of spending time with Hermione and picking up on things. The Muggle thing called "electricity" seemed capable of substituting for magic in many regards (providing light, heat, cold, etc.), the substantial drawback being that Muggles had to pay for it.
Draco took a sip of tea and walked towards the child in the highchair. Teddy seemed to have learned how to feed himself: he stuck his fingers in his bowl of sweet potato puree and then stuck them in his mouth.
"Teddy, hon, use your spoon," Andromeda coaxed, putting it in his little hand and closing his chubby fingers around it.
The instant Andromeda released his hand, Teddy flung the spoon to the floor. "Ga!"
"I suppose we'll try that again later," Andromeda sighed, pulling out her wand to levitate the spoon from the floor and into the kitchen sink.
A faint smile spread across Draco's face at his cousin's amusing behavior. "Teddy, you're barely old enough to walk and you're already causing trouble."
"He's a little stinker. Just like Dora at that age." Andromeda sighed.
Something inside of Draco twisted uncomfortably at the mention of his deceased cousin. "Aunt Andy, I'm sorry…" His throat suddenly went dry and he took an emergency drink of tea.
"Young man, you do not need to apologize. You weren't even old enough to legally give consent when the Dark Lord pressed you into service."
"Thanks," he mumbled awkwardly with his face still in the mug.
Andromeda glanced over at her grandson. "Seems like Teddy's eaten all of the food he wanted, seeing as how he's smearing the remainder over his tray. I suppose snacktime is over." She wiped his face and hands with a towel and removed him from the highchair.
"Now, Draco, you said you wanted to talk about an 'impending massive disaster'. Let's head back into the living room where it's more comfortable."