Chapter 5
It had been two days. Two days of the same routine.
Wake up. Brush teeth (the Muggle way, of course—Merlin help them). Eat breakfast. Watch the Space Channel or the Nature Channel while Lucius marveled at things Muggles had apparently known for centuries.
The teeth brushing, in particular, had been an experience.
Hermione had to physically show the Malfoys how to do it in the cramped bathroom, which was equally embarrassing and intriguing—especially for Draco. Seeing Hermione Granger brushing her teeth, her cheeks slightly puffed with foam, a little bit of toothpaste at the corner of her lips… Fuck.
He gave his head a violent shake. No. Absolutely not. He could not be having dirty thoughts about Granger while she was demonstrating oral hygiene.
After that humiliating lesson, Draco quickly retreated to his room, got dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast. It was the usual: a stereotypical British spread—eggs, toast, beans—but the real highlight? Fruit Loops.
By far, the most magical Muggle food he had ever encountered.
But every time he ate them, the Grangers would giggle. And Mrs. Granger—Jean, as she insisted he call her—would mutter something about how he’d need his teeth checked soon. Apparently, the Grangers were what Muggles called dentists—teeth healers.
A profession entirely dedicated to fixing and maintaining teeth.
It was both horrifying and fascinating.
Lucius, on the other hand, spent most of the day glued to the Nature Channel, absolutely enchanted by the African wildlife. He constantly asked Hermione how Muggles managed to film such things.
“There’s usually a cameraman in a camouflaged car,” she explained. “Most animals can’t see certain colors, so it’s easier for them to blend in and film up close.”
Draco, meanwhile, had been struggling.
For two days.
With his admiration—if you could even call it that—of Hermione Granger.
Last night had been the worst.
He’d had a particularly filthy dream about her and woke up with a raging problem. A problem that required immediate attention. But without his wand, he couldn’t cast silencing charms.
So, in a desperate move, he turned on the shower, the sink, anything to cover up the sound, and took matters into his own hands.
The last time he’d… had erotic thoughts about Granger had been in third year. The night after she punched him in the nose.
He wasn’t proud of it.
But that was the moment he really started noticing her. The way she moved. The way her hair framed her face. Her freckles. Her lips. Her eyes.
He was so royally screwed.
And now, here she was, standing in front of him, laughing with his father—of all people.
Draco was too busy not staring at her to notice his mother elbowing him in the ribs.
She leaned in, smirking knowingly. “Darling, you’re being obvious.”
Shit.
Before he could scramble for a response, Mr. Granger—John—came down the stairs, clapping his hands.
“Right then! We need to do some grocery shopping. Farmers market today.”
Hermione beamed. “Brilliant! We can introduce the Malfoys to how Muggles shop for food. You know, using actual currency.”
Jean cleared her throat. “But first, we need to get them into proper Muggle clothing. We can’t have them walking into the market looking like the Addams Family.”
The Malfoys tilted their heads in confusion.
Hermione grinned. “That’s a film. And don’t worry—we’re watching it tonight.”
Both Narcissa and Lucius narrowed their eyes.
“What’s a film?”
____________________________________________________________
Draco hated this.
The jeans were stiff. The fabric was weird. Cotton, Hermione had called it. It was awful. He was used to wearing silk.
When he finally emerged from his room, tugging at the hem of his shirt in discomfort, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Lucius Malfoy was already dressed.
And it was, without a doubt, the most puzzling, bizarre, abnormal sight Draco had ever witnessed.
His father was wearing a sage green flannel shirt—buttoned up to the top, of course—and denim shorts.
Shorts.
Draco’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.
He had never—not once—seen his father’s legs.
Why the hell were they so pale?
Lucius stood stiffly, arms crossed, looking like he was seconds away from hexing his own clothes off his body. Draco, still reeling from the shock of seeing his father’s bare legs, noticed that his mother had yet to appear.
He hesitated before heading upstairs.
When he reached Narcissa’s room, he heard voices—his mother and Mrs. Granger, talking.
Draco froze.
Not because he was eavesdropping (though, to be fair, he absolutely was) but because—for the first time ever—his mother sounded… engaged. Fascinated.
They were talking about fashion.
Mrs. Granger was explaining Muggle clothing styles while flipping through a magazine called Vogue, and Narcissa was actually listening. Asking questions. Looking intrigued.
Draco backed away slowly.
When he returned downstairs, Lucius shot him a questioning look.
“She’s, talking about Muggle fashion with Mrs.Granger” Draco muttered.
Lucius merely nodded. "Obviously" rolling his eyes.
A few minutes later, Narcissa descended the stairs.
Draco turned.
And instantly regretted it.
His mother looked… Muggle.
She wore skin-tight jeans, Nike shoes, and a long-sleeved flowy blouse adorned with lace and embroidered flowers.
Next to him, Lucius choked on air.
Draco winced.
His father’s eyes were bulging. His grip on his cane tightened. And, as Draco watched in horror, Lucius subtly adjusted his flannel shirt as if it had suddenly become too tight.
Draco immediately understood.
Lucius Malfoy was checking his wife out.
And Draco knew exactly what his parents were going to do later tonight.
Merlin, kill me now.
Without a word, he skated away, seeking refuge in the kitchen—far away from his horny father.
There, he found Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who beamed at him.
“Oh, you look delightful, dear,” Mrs. Granger cooed, walking up to him and straightening his wrinkled shirt.
Draco nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the faint blush creeping up his neck.
Then—another set of footsteps.
He turned.
And—fuck.
Hermione was coming down the stairs.
She wore a blue sundress. Simple. Casual. Paired with…
Converse shoes.
What an utterly absurd combination.
Draco opened his mouth—probably to say something snarky—but Hermione, as if sensing it, spoke first.
“What are you wearing, Malfoy?” she teased.
Draco scowled. “I don’t know, Granger. What are you wearing?”
She smirked. “Converse shoes. And this is a sundress.”
His mother, still clearly distracted by Lucius, gave an approving nod.
“You look brilliant, darling,” Narcissa said absently—still staring at her husband.
Draco grimaced.
They were going to be insufferable.
Mr. Granger ushered them all outside toward their bizarre Muggle contraption—something called a car.
It was yellow.
Both Malfoys froze in horror.
Narcissa gasped, clutching her pearls. “Merlin! It’s giving Hufflepuff.”
Lucius scowled. “I disapprove.”
Draco muttered, “This is going to be a nightmare.”
The nightmare only worsened once they were inside the vehicle.
All squeezed together.
Lucius and Narcissa sat in the back alongside Draco, packed in like sardines, while Hermione settled in the front passenger seat.
She was far too cheerful as she demonstrated how to put on a seatbelt.
“This,” she said, tugging the strap across her chest, “is called a seatbelt. It keeps you safe in case of accidents.”
Lucius’ expression darkened. “Accidents?”
“Just put it on, Father,” Draco muttered, still deeply disturbed by his father’s bare legs.
Even worse?
The lingering tension between his parents.
The heated looks.
The way his father kept adjusting his flannel like it had personally offended him.
Draco wanted out.
He did not want to witness the conception of another Malfoy.
As Mr. Granger started the van (a type of car, apparently), he began explaining how it worked—something about an engine, gears, and reverse.
Draco didn’t listen.
He was too busy bracing himself.
The moment the vehicle lurched forward, Lucius hissed, gripping his cane like a lifeline.
“This is unnatural,” he muttered.
But the worst was yet to come.
Hermione, in a horrifying display of excitement, reached forward and turned on the radio.
A strange, upbeat tune filled the vehicle.
“We all live in a Yellow Submarine! A Yellow Submarine! A Yellow Submarine!”
Both Hermione and Mr. Granger sang along cheerfully.
Lucius and Draco stared in silent horror.
Narcissa, however, clapped her hands and hummed along.
Draco buried his face in his hands.
He was never going to survive this.
____________________________________________________________
After thirty agonizing minutes of listening to The Beatles (a band from the 60s and 70s, according to Hermione), the torture was finally over.
Draco had learned two things during the drive:
1. His mother had actually heard of this band before—apparently, her cousin, Sirius Black, had mentioned them once.
2. Hermione visibly deflated at the mention of Sirius, her usual brightness dimmed by something melancholic.
Draco knew why.
She had been there when his aunt murdered him.
The thought left a strange tightness in his chest, and for once, he didn't have anything biting to say.
The only thing that broke the silence was the blaring of another Beatles song.
Finally, they arrived at the Farmers Market.
Once Mr. Granger parked, he instructed them to remove their seatbelts.
They did so enthusiastically—anything to get out of that hideous, Hufflepuff-colored monstrosity.
As they stepped out, Draco took in the scene.
The place was packed with Muggles.
He had never seen this many at once—except maybe on the train ride to Hogwarts, when they passed through Muggle cities.
It smelled… fresh.
Fruits, vegetables, baked goods, and something floral lingered in the air.
He could almost forget he was surrounded by Muggles.
That was until he noticed his father.
Lucius was not looking at the market.
Lucius was looking at his mother.
Or more specifically—
Draco clenched his jaw in horror.
His father was checking out Narcissa’s—thick arse.
Draco wanted to self-destruct.
With a horrified shudder, he lunged toward Mr. Granger and Hermione, desperate for an escape.
Thankfully, Mr. Granger gave him a task: “You can pick out any food you’d like.”
Hermione smirked. “Come on, Malfoy, I’ll show you what Muggles usually buy.”
He followed her through the maze of stalls, determined not to be like his father.
Not to stare.
Not to—
Merlin help him.
The sun hit her just right, making the fabric of her sundress almost sheer.
Her freckled shoulders glowed with warmth, and her wild curls, tied into a ponytail, bounced with every step.
And then—
She smelled good.
Like Vanilla Bean.
Old Books.
And something… floral.
Every time they passed each other, they bumped shoulders.
Every time, her scent lingered.
He was in hell.
Behind him, his parents still weren’t focused on shopping.
Lucius was completely entranced by his wife, while Narcissa—utterly unbothered—was busy hoarding an obscene amount of fruits and vegetables.
She grabbed a woven basket and, to Mr. Granger’s horror, began filling it with everything in sight.
Mr. Granger paled slightly, likely realizing just how much money he was about to spend.
Draco, meanwhile, was too busy trying not to lose his mind.
___________________________________________________________
As they continued filling their woven baskets with fresh fruits, vegetables, canned goods, and cartons of milk, Hermione suddenly bumped into someone.
“Oh my gosh—James?!” Hermione beamed. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since summer camp five years ago! How have you been?”
Draco barely had time to register Hermione’s excitement before the tall Muggle turned around.
He had black curly hair.
Blue eyes.
Hermione’s face flushed as she smiled at him.
And Draco felt a sharp pang of something he refused to acknowledge.
Jealousy.
He shook it off immediately.
Why should he be jealous of a Muggle?
Yes, James was… decently attractive—for a Muggle level of attractiveness, at least.
But Draco was obviously more attractive than him. Obviously.
And yet—
James turned fully toward Hermione, grinning as he pulled her into a hug.
Draco’s hands clenched.
What the hell?
Was this bloke sniffing her?
How dare he?
As they pulled apart, James started catching up with Hermione about some incident at summer camp involving glue and hair.
They were laughing.
Giggling.
Draco felt ill.
Then Hermione turned to him.
“Oh! Where are my manners?” she said, still smiling. “Let me introduce you—James, this is Drake Felton, a classmate of mine at the private school I told you about.”
Draco barely registered the fake name before James turned to him, extending a hand.
“Ah, yes! Nice to meet you, mate.”
Draco didn’t shake it.
He simply nodded, keeping his arms crossed and giving James the coldest stare he could muster.
James raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it.
“Well, it was nice catching up, Hermione,” James said with a small chuckle. “I’m here with my gran, so I should get back to her."
"Say hi to Miss Ellen for me", Granger chirped.
James gave her a little wave before walking off.
As soon as he was out of sight, Hermione whirled around to face Draco, arms crossed.
“What was that?” she demanded. “Why were you so rude to him? Is it because he’s a Muggle?”
Draco rolled his eyes and started walking.
“Oh, come on, Malfoy.” Hermione huffed, following him. “You need to interact with more Muggles. You’re practically a Muggle now because of the law.”
Draco stiffened at that but said nothing.
He just kept walking.
The jealousy still lingered in his chest.
It was stupid.
Completely stupid.
He was not jealous of some Muggle man.
But—
He had not liked seeing Hermione in someone else’s arms.
And that was a problem.
Trying to push it aside, Draco searched for his parents—
Only to immediately regret it.
His father was still staring at Narcissa like he wanted to devour her.
Like he was about to do unspeakable things in the middle of a Muggle Farmers Market.
Draco had enough.
He stormed up to Lucius and slapped his shoulder.
“Get over yourself, Father!” Draco hissed. “You’re an old man! Please don’t torture me like this.”
Lucius merely chuckled, looking entirely unbothered.
“Someday, you will look at your future wife just as I look at your mother.”
Draco scowled. “No, I won’t.”
Lucius sighed dramatically. “I cannot help it, Draco. It’s my first time seeing Narcissa like this. Ravishing. I mean, she’s always ravishing in her gowns, but in these—”
His gaze dropped to Narcissa’s skin-tight jeans.
“These tight, amazing—”
“Father, please stop.” Draco looked physically ill. “I’m going to murder myself.”
Lucius laughed heartily.
“As if I don’t already know about your little problem, Draco.” His eyes gleamed knowingly. “I’ve seen you staring at Granger in that dress. Don’t lie to me.”
Draco felt his ears burn.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
“I might have had a thing for her when I was younger,” he admitted, “but not now.”
Lucius simply tilted his head, unconvinced.
Draco cleared his throat.
“But… wouldn’t you disapprove?”
Lucius’ expression changed.
His smirk faltered slightly, replaced with something more serious.
Draco hesitated.
“You know… because she’s Muggle-born,” he said slowly.
Lucius inhaled deeply before releasing a sigh.
“Son,” he said, his voice lower, “ever since I pledged my allegiance to that noseless idiot—”
Draco froze.
Lucius’ gaze hardened.
“—and realized I had put my family in danger, I stopped believing in those ideals.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I stopped the moment your aunt tortured you.”
Draco felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs.
Lucius wasn’t done.
“I couldn’t stand by those beliefs anymore,” he admitted. “Not after—”
His throat tightened.
“…not after what happened to Granger.”
Silence.
Father and son stopped walking, frozen in place, their gazes locked.
It was the first time they had ever acknowledged it.
What had happened in that manor.
What had happened to both of them.
They had never spoken about it.
Never addressed the horrors.
But now—
Draco’s stomach twisted.
And for the first time in his life, he saw something in his father’s eyes that he had never seen before.
Guilt.
____________________________________________________________
After gathering everything they needed, Mr. Granger ushered them all to the center of the market.
“Well, it seems like we have everything we need to last the next two weeks,” he announced. “Let’s check out.”
And so, the Malfoys experienced yet another unbelievable indignity—
Waiting in line.
Mafloys never waited in a line before.
Not once in his entire life.
It was absurd.
It was humiliating.
It was one minute long, but it felt like an eternity.
His father was irritated, his lip curling slightly in disgust.
His mother was checking her nails, looking thoroughly unbothered.
Draco, however, was… distracted.
By Granger.
By her freckled skin.
By the way her shoulders glowed under the sunlight.
By the barest glimpse of her collarbone peeking from the neckline of her sundress.
Merlin’s bloody beard.
He needed to get a grip.
Finally, it was their turn at checkout.
Both Malfoys observed the transaction intently, feeling as though they were studying Muggle anthropology.
Lucius narrowed his eyes as Mr. Granger pulled out a small plastic card instead of money.
A Muggle artifact.
Lucius and Draco watched as he swiped it, typed in some numbers, and—just like that—the purchase was complete.
Fascinating.
Draco absently wondered what else Muggle technology was capable of.
But that thought quickly vanished the moment they stepped outside.
Because—
Another mortifying realization hit them.
They had to go back into the Hufflepuff vehicle.
The awful, hideous, yellow monstrosity that had tormented them for the past hour.
Lucius sighed.
Narcissa simply glided toward it, completely unaffected.
Draco, resigned to his fate, slid into his seat with a huff.
They settled in, groceries on their laps, and—
Suddenly, the car filled with the blaring sound of another Muggle band.
This one was called Queen.
The song was dramatic.
A bit much, honestly.
But of course—his mother was humming along, tapping her fingers against her knee.
His father was still completely enamored with Narcissa, stealing glances at her jeans like a lovesick teenager.
Draco, meanwhile, sat stiffly, clutching his groceries—
And daydreaming.
About Granger.
Again.
It was going to be a long year.
An excruciatingly long, torturous, self-control-testing year.
Living with Hermione Granger was going to be an absolute struggle.
And the amount of—
Wanking
—he was going to do in the next few months?
Absurd.