What's a Computer
Orca woke slowly, her body sinking into the impossibly soft bed. The sensation was foreign, her muscles unused to such comfort after years of resting on coral and sand. She stretched lazily, her limbs brushing against the silky sheets. For a long moment, she simply lay there, marveling at the luxurious prison of softness she’d found herself in.
The golden light filtering through the curtains painted the room in warmth. A gentle breeze drifted through a cracked window, carrying with it the faint sound of crashing waves. For a girl who’d spent her entire life beneath the sea, the rhythm of the ocean above had always been distant, muffled by leagues of water. Here, it was alive, almost hypnotic.
Finally, her stomach growled—a sound she was still adjusting to. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and planted her feet on the thick rug. The sensation made her giggle softly. The rug felt like walking on sea moss, a thought that filled her with a fleeting sense of homesickness.
With curiosity driving her, she wandered out of the room, her bare feet padding against the polished wood floors. The house was vast, almost labyrinthine, with its high ceilings and ornate decor. Paintings of pastoral scenes and magical creatures adorned the walls, each piece surrounded by heavy gold frames.
She passed a grand sitting room with furniture so pristine it seemed untouched. A door stood ajar, revealing a library filled with rows of books whose spines gleamed with age and importance. Every detail spoke of wealth and care, yet it all felt oddly empty, like a seashell without its inhabitant.
A faint clatter caught her attention, and she followed the sound to a dining room where Draco sat at a long table. He looked up as she entered, mid-bite, and arched an eyebrow.
“You’re awake,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement.
Orca plopped down in a chair across from him, tucking her legs beneath her. “I think this bed thing almost swallowed me whole,” she said with a grin.
Draco smirked. “That’s called comfort. You’re welcome.”
She eyed the spread before her with open curiosity. Platters of golden pastries, bowls of vibrant fruit, and plates of eggs and bacon adorned the table, steam still rising from the dishes.
“What’s all this?” she asked, poking a piece of toast with a tentative finger.
“It’s breakfast,” Draco replied, spreading marmalade on a scone with practiced ease. “Surely you’ve eaten before?”
She shrugged. “Not like this. Mostly fish, seaweed, and whatever floats by.”
Draco froze, his scone halfway to his mouth. “That’s revolting.”
She grinned, snagging a piece of mango and popping it into her mouth. “It’s all I’ve known.”
---
As the meal went on, Orca sampled bits of everything, her questions endless. “What’s this?” she asked, holding up a pastry.
“A croissant,” Draco said, watching her with mild amusement.
She took a bite and her eyes widened. “It’s like eating clouds.”
Draco snorted into his tea, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
The conversation shifted as the plates emptied, the initial awkwardness giving way to a surprising ease. Draco found himself explaining the intricacies of wizarding meals, from the enchanted cooking techniques to the specific charm used to keep butter warm. Orca listened intently, her head tilted like a curious bird.
Eventually, she leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “So… my father is a Muggle,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence.
Draco grimaced. “Unfortunately.”
“I need to learn about him,” she continued. “That means we’ll have to go into the Muggle world.”
Draco’s fork clattered against his plate. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“You said you’d help me.”
“I didn’t mean that. Muggle society is barbaric. No magic, just… machines and filth.”
Orca tilted her head, her calm gaze unyielding. “Then you’ll help me navigate it.”
Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if we get arrested—or worse—it’s your fault.”
---
After a heated debate over attire (“You can’t wear wizarding robes in the Muggle world, Orca!"), Draco reluctantly dressed them both in simple Muggle clothes he’d purchased for appearances during his stay. Orca’s outfit—a pair of denim shorts and a light blue t-shirt—was so strange that she spent several minutes marveling at how constricting it felt.
Draco, clad in a crisp polo shirt and dark jeans, grumbled under his breath the entire time they prepared. By the time they ventured into the nearby town, the sun was high in the sky, and the salty breeze carried the sound of seagulls crying overhead.
They walked side by side, earning curious glances from the occasional passerby. Draco, with his aristocratic features and air of superiority, looked like he didn’t belong. Orca, by contrast, walked with a natural, unbothered grace, her eyes flitting from storefronts to street performers with childlike wonder.
When they finally reached the library, Orca was the first to spot the computers. “What are those glowing boxes?” she asked, pointing.
Draco squinted. “I don’t know. They look dangerous.”
“Let’s find out!”
Before they could approach, a concerned librarian hurried over. “Can I help you two?”
“Yes,” Orca said brightly. “We need to know about someone named Tony Stark.”
The librarian blinked, clearly thrown off by Orca’s enthusiasm. “Well… follow me.”
---
The computer, as it turned out, was not dangerous—though Draco treated it as if it might explode at any moment. Orca, on the other hand, leaned forward with fascination as the librarian showed them how to type in a name and navigate the results.
As the screen filled with articles and images of Tony Stark, Orca tilted her head. “Is that him?”
Draco squinted. “He doesn’t look very impressive.”
They scrolled through the headlines, reading snippets about his playboy lifestyle, his innovative work at Stark Industries, and the opulent parties he hosted. Finally, they came across a profile that listed where his residence is: Malibu, California.
“Malibu,” Orca repeated, committing the name to memory. “That’s where we’ll owl him.”
Draco sighed heavily. “This is ridiculous.”
---
Back at the beach house, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the waves. Orca leaned against the balcony railing, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
“Growing up in the ocean was… simple,” she said, her voice soft. “We didn’t have houses or money. We just swam and lived.”
Draco stood beside her, his usual smirk replaced by a contemplative expression. “It sounds… freeing,” he admitted.
“It was,” Orca said. “But lonely sometimes.”
Draco hesitated before speaking. “When I was a child, we had house-elves who catered to our every need. My parents threw grand parties, and I’d run around the manor causing trouble.” He smirked faintly. “Mother would scold me, but she always let me get away with it.”
Orca turned to him, her eyes searching his face. “You were happy?”
“For the most part,” Draco said, his voice quieter now.
They stood there in silence, the sound of the waves filling the air. For the first time, Draco felt a strange sense of peace in her company, and Orca, oblivious to the shift, simply marveled at the endless ocean.