Brave New World

While the adults (and Hermione, who somehow managed to convince them that she was necessary) were out house shopping, Harry and Ron went looking for some kind of game to pass the time. Ginny was upstairs, writing something in a bright purple book that looked rather like a diary. Draco was shocked that she would even touch such a thing after the...whatever his second year. Apparently that Gryffindor bravery was more than just show. She glared at him when he paused, though, so he figured that a little light conversation would not be welcome there. That left him with nothing to do but wander about the house.

He decided to try to master something utterly Muggle before that Granger girl got back. If he hadn't been so bleary-eyed this morning, he would have been mortified by the coffee fiasco. Of course, Draco knew just enough about kitchens to know that they occasionally had fires, explosions, and other unspecified not-good occurrences. This meant that he should find something non-flammable to work with. Only Pott--Harold--that sounds horrible, better go with...Harry...knew anything at all about the Muggle devices, and he had disappeared. So he could mess with anything, but if he wasn't careful he could also explode anything. He eventually settled down by the big box in the parlor.

It had a number of buttons on it. More importantly, they all were labeled. This was a promising start. It appeared to be sleeping, and he wasn't sure how to wake it up. He tried 'volume', both up and down, but the strange beast didn't move. He hesitated before pressing 'channel'. What if the beast channeled something horrible, like a demon? But there were up and down switches, Draco reasoned--if it summoned something horrible, he could always flip to another creature. And run upstairs, his mind-chicken whispered. This, however, produced no results whatsoever. Neither did 'tv/vcr', whatever that meant. The last button on the right, rather larger than the rest, was labeled 'power'. Should he give such an uncooperative beast power? Could he take it back if it got out of hand? There wasn't an up/down for this property. But he HAD to prove he could make it in this Muggle prison. He poised himself for flight if necessary. His finger hovered over the button.

Merely brushing it didn't work. He steeled his resolve, the pressed with all his might. Abruptly, the beast's giant eye filled with the image of a woman in strange attire with an atrocious haircut sitting behind a desk, speaking. Draco jumped back several feet, but she did not seem to notice him. Tentatively, he waved. No response. He decided to try speaking. "Hello?" Still no response. Could she be simply ignoring him? By this point, he had decided that the beast was in fact some Muggle version of the Floo Network, through which he could speak to or even visit others far away. Since the woman apparently could not see him, he assumed somewhere along the line it must be broken. Probably on this end, he reasoned. He tried shouting at it, but it didn't listen at all. Stupid Muggle Floo!

In frustration, he drew back his foot to kick at it--it worked with house elves, why not with MuggleFloo's--but what the woman was saying drew his attention and stopped his foot mid-kick.

"In Southern Scotland yesterday, an unexplainable blaze demolished one of the areas greatest landmarks. The manor home, built in the 1200's, was one of the few ancestral homes still belonging to the family, rather than the public. Now, all that stands of this proud historical home is the east wall of the kitchen, the rest devoured in flames. It is unknown whether the family was in residence at the time of the blaze. Investigators are combing the rubble for clues, both as to the cause and as to any possible casualties. In Wales, a bridge collapse injures four as..." Draco tuned out the rest of the woman's lecture. In his mind, the picture on the wall next to her was still stuck in the image of the burnt-out mansion, piles of grey against the scorched wall of the kitchen. He remembered playing next to that wall, barely more than a toddler, as his mother berated the house elf for giving him sweets and spoiling his supper. He remembered the tree next to it, hiding in it and jumping down to surprise an unsuspecting Pansy just a few months ago. Now the tree was only a scorched trunk. He wondered if there was enough left of the three bodies for the Muggles to realize there were casualties.

The pressure from a hand placed on his shoulder made him jump at least a foot in the air. He also cursed a bit as he spun around to face his attacker. His hands were raised defensively, although it was obviously untrained but mere instinct. He cursed even louder when he saw that it was Potter, a serious expression on his face. The Weasel was standing by the door, his face turned to 'idiotic sympathy'. Draco did not need their pity. And sympathy was out of the question--these two could never understand how it felt to watch your entire life go up in flames in front of you. Especially knowing that you were responsible for it.

Draco decided that the best course of action would be to resume his efforts to beat the disobedient beast into submission. He kicked it lightly, and his foot grazed one of the channel buttons, he didn't know which. Immediately the eye shifted to a scene of large mechanical objects chasing each other. A man hanging out of the mouth of one fired some kind of projectile behind him. It hit the mechanical beast but it didn't slow it at all. Loud and strange music came through loudly.

Still staring at the beast, Draco addressed Potter, who he could feel still watching him with that unbearable look on his face. "Potter, this thing is malfunctioning. Perhaps your could put your Muggle skills to use and ensure that it sees both ways." Silence for a moment, and then a light chuckle from the Boy-With-Entirely-Too-Much-Luck.

"It doesn't see anything at all, Mal--Drake. That's a television, and it...it sends out programs and shows them to you. Most of the time its not even live, its recordings. It shows...news, and movies, and...its for entertainment. You can only communicate one-way through it, like the news lady...I mean, right now we're watching a movie. That's like a play, except..." for the next twenty minutes, Potter--much as it pains you, think of him as Harry--tried with only a bit of success to explain television, film, and electricity. After a few minutes, the Weasel--er, Ron--sat down on the sofa, and Harry sat next to him. That left Draco no choice but to collapse into the chair. It was surprisingly comfortable for a Muggle device. And it certainly seemed easier to understand than this 'electro-city' of Harry's. His initial explanation off it--"It's just, I don't know, like magic--" did not help at all.

Soon, Harry got tired of trying to explain something he knew absolutely nothing about. Draco had tuned him out already, and was watching the Muggle device--t-something-vision. The chase scene had ended, but the subsequent shoot-out was rather riveting. Until one man sent an Avada from a very odd-shaped wand. Draco jumped and turned back to Potter. "Potter, change it! Now!" His resolution to no longer use last names as well as his plan to master Mugglehood both were forgotten. He took a number of deep breaths as he heard a variety of odd sounds as Potter obediently (for once) channeled something different. He eventually settled on a rather boring scene of people with odd accents sitting in some kind of bar, talking about who knows what. Someone laughed from somewhere out of the reach of the eye regularly. However, the smooth sounds of speech rather than violence helped calm Draco down and he was able to prevent a panic attack.

He heard a clatter of stone and glass beside him; apparently Weasley had found a chess set. It appeared to be broken, though. Normally the pieces chatted rather loudly in preparation for the battle, but these didn't even move. The red-head set it up anyway. Draco wondered if this was Muggle chess, and if it was, what the differences were. He was quite good--best in Slytherin two years running. He had yet to beat Professor Snape himself, though. Weasley noticed his interest. The look on his face was obviously Gryffindor prejudice battling Gryffindor nobility, but after a moment he smiled crookedly but almost genuinely.

"Fancy a game? Harry's no good at chess, but I don't believe we've ever played. I always wondered how Slytherins played chess." Obviously, the Weasel thought entirely too highly of his own abilities. Draco decided it was high time that someone showed him that there was no way Gryffindor LACK OF PLANNING could win against Slytherin CUNNING. Harry watched for about two seconds, then mumbled something about going to talk to Ginny for a while. Finally, something the Boy-Who-Wins-Everything,-Even-Battles-Dark-Lords was miserable at. Even better, it was something that Draco was good at.

Unfortunately, he quickly discovered that Weasley--Ron, Ron, call the idiot Ron!--was also quite good. Very likely just as good as Draco. It had taken them a few minutes to figure out how to operate the Muggle set, but once they realized it required manual moves rather than voice commands it became almost pleasant to stretch his wits against an almost-worthy opponent. Did I just think of Weasley as WORTHY of anything? Malfoy shook his head lightly. You better start being a little bit more sociable, Draco...remember, you're outnumbered. By Gryffindors AND by Muggles. So find some way to live with it.

Nearly an hour later, they were still hunched over the board. It appeared as if Ron would most likely win this game, although if he just didn't notice that pawn, Draco would. However, sounds at the front door drew their attention. With a surprisingly co-operative glance at each other, they moved into attack position, Draco clutching a lamp and Ron a heavy book. When Hermione burst in, smiling, the two just managed to not hit her. She was followed in by a slightly damp Lupin and Black and a positively dripping Professor Snape. He glanced past them. It did not appear to be raining outside--in fact, the sun was the only thing in the sky. He wondered if he would hear the story. It was bound to be amusing.

"Oh Ron, we found it! It's just perfect! We can't move in for another week, but it will be just wonderful!" Hermione gave him a quick hug while she babbled nonstop. When she turned to Draco, she hesitated obviously. She wanted to make him feel welcome, part of the group he was unfortunately now a member of, but as he had said at breakfast, seven years animosity doesn't just go away. She settled eventually on simply a warm smile. "I think you'll like it too, Draco, once you get used to its Muggleness. The owner said we can all go see it tomorrow when we seal the deal." Draco forced his lips to curl upward a bit. An excursion out of the house, actually among Muggles, as soon as tomorrow? The girl was crazy! But then again, he did have to go out sometime...oh well. He could have a panic attack later. Right now he wanted to find out why his godfather was dripping wet on a perfectly sunny day.

Professor Snape, however, was in no mood to talk. He stormed up past them and up the stairs, splashing a confused looking Harry and Ginny on his way to his room. The house reverberated when he slammed the door. Draco noticed Lupin roll his eyes and glare at Black, although it appeared to be rather good natured. Black, of course, just grinned. Draco was very nervous about being in the same vicinity with this man, who was obviously unbalanced mentally. One did not mess with the premiere Potions Master in Europe unless one had serious masochistic tendencies.

Ron was the one to ask the question that they were all wondering. "What was that all about?" Neither adult said a word, and when Hermione opened her mouth, grinning widely, Lupin stepped on her foot. Draco had never seen the werewolf do anything so...childish. However, Hermione shut her mouth quickly. She did have a good head on her shoulders, Draco had to give her that. Not one to miss hints, unlike the rest of her Gryffindor friends. He resolved to ask her about it later. No way was he asking his godfather, not when he was in that kind of mood, but he'd find out, eventually.

"Ya. So. We found the house. You guys can all come see it tomorrow, when we go deposit the money. Speaking of, Moony, we better go call Dumbledore. Does the tele-whatchamacallit work? Harry, can you show me how to...what do they call it, call someone up?" Black looked up as Harry nodded and slipped past Ginny. Draco noticed that in the process he basically wrapped his arm around her waist. Glancing around the room, he saw that both Hermione and Ron had also noticed it. Neither seemed terribly pleased about it. This could get better than those Muggle soapdishes, or whatever Harry called them.