The Muggle Experience Begins
Draco followed Hermione’s mother down the hall, glancing around the Grangers’ house with mild curiosity—and mild horror. It was so Muggle. The walls weren’t lined with moving portraits, the chandeliers weren’t enchanted, and the air didn’t hum with magic like it did in Malfoy Manor. Everything was still.
Lifeless. Or at least, it should have been.
Draco frowned, tilting his head slightly. There was a faint buzzing in the air, barely noticeable but persistent, like an unseen swarm of bees lurking just out of sight. His instincts prickled. Was this some kind of bizarre Muggle phenomenon?
His parents must have noticed it too. Narcissa’s brows knit together, her fingers ghosting over her forearm as if trying to soothe an itch that wasn’t really there. Even Lucius, who had perfected the art of looking unimpressed at all times, narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
Draco leaned closer to his mother and muttered, “Do you hear that?”
“Yes,” she murmured back, her voice barely above a whisper.
His father exhaled sharply, straightening his spine. “Muggles,” Lucius muttered under his breath, as if that single word explained everything.
Draco had no idea what it meant, but one thing was clear—whatever that incessant buzzing was, he did not trust it.
Lucius glanced around the room, his sharp eyes narrowing. “It’s probably some kind of Muggle contraption."
Before Draco could question it further, Hermione, who had been watching them with mild amusement, stepped in. “Oh, you’re probably hearing the air conditioning,” she said, pointing toward the ceiling.
Three pairs of Malfoy eyes followed her gesture, landing on a square, vent-like structure that hummed softly with a steady flow of air. They stared at it, as if expecting it to sprout legs and attack at any moment.
“That,” Hermione continued, “keeps the house cool or warm, depending on the temperature outside.”
Draco exchanged glances with his parents. Muggles control the weather inside their homes? That was unsettling.
“But there’s something else you’re probably feeling too,” Hermione went on, tapping the nearest wall. “That faint humming in the air? That’s electricity. It runs through the walls—powers the lights, the Wi-Fi, the internet, pretty much everything we use.”
She might as well have been speaking Parseltongue.
The Malfoys, unable to make sense of a single word she had just said, simply nodded, deciding that whatever Wi-Fi and internet were, they were probably best left unexplored.
“This will be your room,” Mrs. Granger said, opening a door at the end of the hall.
Draco stepped inside, assessing his new living quarters. It was… normal. Smaller than his bedroom at the Manor—then again, everything was smaller than his childhood bedroom, including some wizarding flats. The bed was modest, covered with plain navy-blue sheets. There was a wooden desk against the wall, a bookshelf with Muggle books, and a wardrobe.
Nothing floated. Nothing glowed. Nothing was enchanted.
It was bizarre.
But it would suffice.
Mrs. Granger then led his parents to their own room—across from the Grangers' master bedroom—and Draco placed his suitcase at the foot of his bed before heading back to the living room. He found his parents already seated again, their expressions unreadable.
And then, of course, Potter walked in.
“Alright,” Potter said, looking at them expectantly. “You know what comes next.”
Draco stiffened.
His wand.
His fingers tightened around it, feeling the familiar pulse of magic running through his veins. His entire life, his wand had been an extension of himself—his status, his identity. The idea of giving it up, of severing that connection for an entire year, felt unnatural.
To his left, his parents seemed to feel the same way. Narcissa’s grip on her wand was almost protective, while Lucius’s jaw was locked tight.
But there was no use fighting it.
With a resigned sigh, Draco stared at his wand one last time, running his thumb over the smooth wood. Then, he placed it into Potter’s waiting hand.
Narcissa followed suit, reluctantly placing her wand atop Draco’s. And finally, with an almost imperceptible hesitation, Lucius let his own wand go.
Potter looked at them, eyes sharp, before nodding. “You’re officially Muggles now.”
Draco swallowed hard.
Merlin help us all.
Potter left soon after, exchanging a few words with Hermione before Apparating away.
And then it was just them—the Malfoys and the Grangers, staring at each other across the living room, the air thick with awkwardness.
Granger clapped her hands together awkwardly. “So! Who’s hungry?”
The Malfoys just stared at her.
“Right. Well, we don’t have any groceries at the moment, but we can order some food,” she continued.
Narcissa frowned delicately. “Order food? Do you have a house-elf we could borrow?”
Hermione’s eye twitched. “No, this is an iPhone,” she said, pulling out a strange black square object out of her back pocket like she was revealing some ancient magical artifact.
Draco narrowed his eyes. “A what?”
“It’s a device Muggles use for communication,” she explained. “It’s a phone, but it also works as a camera, a map, a calculator—”
She kept talking, listing off its many functions, but Draco barely heard a word.
Because he was too busy staring at her.
She was wearing tight, form-fitting leggings—Muggle clothing, his brain unhelpfully supplied—and an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few loose curls framing her face.
Draco shook his head. No. Absolutely not.
Maybe if he just went back to bullying her, things would feel normal again.
He was not checking her out.
He was not about to develop some ridiculous attraction to Granger.
Absolutely not.
A sharp nudge to his ribs snapped him out of his thoughts.
He turned to see Narcissa giving him a pointed look, one delicate eyebrow raised in silent amusement.
Draco scowled.
He was not having this conversation.
To his left, Lucius, of all people, actually looked interested in Hermione’s explanation. He asked a few questions, listening intently as Hermione explained things further.
Draco was mildly horrified.
Was this the point of the program? To turn them into eager little students, soaking up Muggle knowledge like first-years in Charms class?
Before Draco could dwell on it further, Hermione put her phone away and announced, “I’m ordering dinner.”
Lucius tilted his head. “Ordering?”
“Yes,” she said, typing something into her phone. “We’re getting McDonald’s and pizza.”
There was a beat of silence.
Draco stared at her. “We’re getting what?”
“McDonald’s,” she repeated, as if that explained anything. “And pizza.”
Lucius frowned slightly. “Are those… animals?”
Hermione snorted. “No, they’re foods.”
Draco shot her a wary look. “They sound like diseases.”
She rolled her eyes. “I promise they’re not.”
Lucius, oddly enough, looked fascinated. “And how does this… ordering process work?”
Hermione grinned, holding up her phone again. “It’s called food delivery. You pick what you want from a restaurant, place the order through an app, and someone brings it to your house.”
Lucius blinked. “Fascinating.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. This was his life now. Watching his father get excited over Muggle food delivery services.
Kill me now.
____________________________________________________________
As they waited for their food (Merlin help us all), Draco wandered around the living room, glancing at the framed pictures on the shelves.
Muggle photos were so unsettling.
They didn’t move.
Little Hermione, frozen in time with a gap-toothed grin, sat on her father’s shoulders. A slightly older Hermione, wearing a school uniform, held up a certificate with a beaming smile.There was no waving, no blinking—just still, lifeless images. Creepy.
It was strange seeing her like this—seeing evidence of a life outside of Hogwarts, outside of magic.
Next to the shelf was a large black rectangle mounted on the wall.
“What is this?” Draco asked, gesturing to it.
Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s a TV!”
Hermione, apparently determined to further ruin their perception of reality, grabbed a thin black object—the remote, she called it—and pointed it at the large, lifeless black box in the room.
With a click, the box lit up.
Moving pictures. Moving pictures.
The Malfoys tensed, eyes widening in horror.
Hermione, unbothered, casually flipped through what she called channels, each one showing an entirely different world with just the press of a button. First, there were people dancing in elaborate costumes (theatre?). Then, there was a man screaming about discounts on something called cars. And then—
Space.
An entire galaxy stretched before them. Stars twinkled in the void, a massive planet slowly rotating in the background. A deep, American voice narrated over the scene, explaining black holes, gravity, and celestial bodies.
Narcissa clutched her pearls, looking moments away from fainting.
Lucius gripped his cane so tightly his knuckles turned white, leaning in toward the screen as if he could touch the very fabric of space itself.
Draco’s jaw went slack. “What—how—” He turned to Hermione, who was watching them with an amused glint in her eyes. “What kind of sorcery is this?”
Hermione smirked. “It’s called a television. Muggles use it for entertainment, education, and news. Think of it like the Wizarding Wireless, but with moving images.”
Draco just stared at her, then back at the screen, then at her again. “You expect me to believe that Muggles—the same people who need sticks to cook their food—managed to create this?”
Hermione just raised an eyebrow and flipped the channel again. This time, it showed actual footage of a Muggle floating inside a spaceship, the Earth visible behind him.
“Muggles went to the moon, you know,” she said casually. “And now they’re studying how to get to Mars.”
Lucius visibly paled. “You’re saying,” he began slowly, “that Muggles went to the moon—”
“—and now they’re trying to get to Mars,” Hermione finished with a nod.
Lucius sat back, utterly floored, gripping his cane like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. Narcissa blinked rapidly, muttering something about re-evaluating everything she’s ever known.
Hermione smirked. Oh, my childhood fantasies are slowly coming true.
She had always dreamed about this—showing Draco Malfoy the vastness of Muggle knowledge, the things that made her world magical in its own way. And now? Seeing the way the Malfoys struggled to comprehend it all?
It was delicious.
Draco, meanwhile, was struggling. He wanted to dismiss all of this as nonsense—Muggles couldn’t possibly be capable of this. And yet, here it was, undeniable, playing out in front of his eyes.
For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy was speechless.
Lucius narrowed his eyes at the screen. “You’re telling me… Muggles figured out how to make moving pictures?”
“Yes!” she said, laughing.
Lucius muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Maybe they’re not as primitive as I thought.”
Draco just stared at Granger.
He had never seen her laugh like that before—freely, without restraint. It was different. Nice, even.
But he wasn’t about to dwell on that.
Absolutely not.
His mother, however, shot him another knowing look.
Draco scowled.
And with that, the Malfoys’ first night as Muggles officially began.
Which was exactly when their food arrived.
_____________________________________________________________
The doorbell rang.
Hermione perked up. “Oh! That must be the food.”
She hopped up from her seat and went to the door, leaving the Malfoys to curiously follow. Peeking through the corridor, they watched as she spoke to a young man wearing a cap.
What happened next was pure witchcraft.
She pulled out a colorful, thick rectangular object—some sort of enchanted parchment?—and tapped it on a strange device the delivery boy was holding. A moment later, she scribbled something down with a pen, and just like that, the exchange was over. The young man left, and Hermione returned inside, holding several warm bags that smelled absolutely divine.
The Malfoys rushed back to their seats, pretending they hadn’t just witnessed what they could only describe as a bizarre Muggle ritual.
Narcissa, unable to contain her curiosity, asked, “What exactly did you just do? With that… square paper?”
Hermione set the food down and held up her credit card. “Oh, this? It’s a credit card. Muggles use different forms of payment—some use cash, some use debit cards, and some can even pay using their phones.”
Lucius narrowed his eyes. “You’re telling me Muggles can simply tap a piece of plastic and purchase anything?”
“Well, within their financial limits,” Hermione clarified. “It’s all linked to a bank account. You can spend up to a certain limit, and then you have to pay it back later.”
Lucius scoffed. “In the Wizarding World, you simply state your name, sign a few documents, and purchase whatever you like.”
“Yes, well, Muggles have entire systems built around their finances,” Hermione explained. “Loans, credit scores, interest rates—”
But Draco wasn’t listening.
Because Hermione had just opened one of the bags, and the scent that drifted through the air was nothing short of heavenly. His stomach growled, loudly.
They all turned to stare at him.
Hermione grinned, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “I’ll take that as my cue to stop explaining.”
She reached for the food, pulling out strange golden sticks (fries, she called them), round buns with meat (burgers), and something she referred to as fast food. The Malfoys nodded along, only half paying attention—until she opened another box.
The moment the lid lifted, a rush of hot steam filled the air.
Lucius and Narcissa inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut in sheer, unfiltered bliss.
And then—Narcissa moaned.
A very unladylike, completely indecent moan.
Lucius’ head snapped toward her, equal parts horrified and amused. Narcissa, face burning red, covered her mouth in embarrassment. “I—I don’t know what came over me,” she stammered.
Hermione, ever the gracious host, simply smiled. “Oh, it’s fine. Food does that to you sometimes.”
She handed them plates and showed them how to eat—demonstrating how to grab a slice of pizza with her bare hands, then taking a bite.
Both Malfoys recoiled. “With our bare hands? Like—like animals?” Lucius asked, scandalized.
Hermione just giggled and nodded. “Yes.”
Draco, ever skeptical, watched her dip a fry into some sort of thick red sauce (was that blood?), pop it into her mouth, and actually enjoy it.
Curious, he hesitated—then copied her.
The moment the food touched his tongue, his soul left his body.
The warmth. The salt. The flavor.
Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the most prestigious wizarding families, was officially ruined.
Muggle food was delicious.
Hermione wiped her hands on a napkin and smiled. “So, normally when Muggles eat, they either talk and catch up on life, or they watch something on TV.”
She grabbed the remote, flipping through channels until she landed on the Space Channel. The same American narrator from earlier droned on about stars, planets, black holes—things that seemed too vast and complex to grasp.
Draco, however, couldn’t care less about space. He was still spiritually ascending thanks to Muggle miracle food.
Meanwhile, Lucius and Narcissa watched the television with the same intense focus they once reserved for high-class wizarding debates. It was utterly ridiculous—two of the most powerful, aristocratic wizards of their time, watching a Muggle documentary while eating fast food.
Narcissa, ever the refined lady, suddenly set her burger down with a sigh. “Granger, dear, could you perhaps fetch me a fork and knife? As much as I admire your enthusiasm for eating like locals, I’d rather not have my fingers coated in grease and salt.”
Hermione chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll grab you some.”
As she walked to the kitchen, the two elder Malfoys exchanged a look. A look that said: This is going to last an entire year. Are we even going to survive?
When Hermione returned, her parents, John and Jean Granger, followed, grabbing food for themselves. John took two slices of pizza, while Jean settled for fries and a burger, both of them joining the group in silent camaraderie.
That’s when Hermione noticed something amusing.
Lucius had barely touched his food. He held a single fry between his fingers, nibbling absentmindedly, his entire focus glued to the television. His usual calculating expression had been replaced with something bordering on wonder.
Narcissa, meanwhile, had daintily cut her burger into perfect, bite-sized pieces with the utensils Hermione brought, delicately spearing fries like they were an exquisite delicacy rather than Muggle junk food.
And Draco?
Draco was gone.
Draco Malfoy was currently having a life-changing experience with McDonald’s.
Hermione watched, utterly fascinated, as he ate with the focus and dedication of a man experiencing happiness for the very first time.
It was official.
Muggle food had broken the Malfoys.