Chapter Text
In hindsight, Draco Malfoy had been warned.
Robards had told him that a rookie's first time travelling clear across the world via Portkey would be—what was the word?—disorienting. Dawlish had suggested, perhaps, an airplane to Australia instead, and maybe Draco would have taken him up on that offer had he known about the nausea, the vertigo, the temporary blindness, the splitting headache. Draco felt like he’d been wrung through the fabric of space like a wet tea cozy and, to top it off, he had no clue where he now was, only that it smelled humid and earthy.
He stumbled sideways and his hand connected with a stone wall. Voices echoed in front of him as the cottony feeling in his ears ebbed. He was certain something had gone horribly wrong.
“Did someone pop in here?”
“Can’t tell, it’s too dark.”
“It’s a boy.”
“It’s a MAN!”
“How’d he get in with the door closed?”
“He’s a wizard, by the looks of that wand.”
“Must’ve apparated then!”
“This close to the school? Ooo what a naughty bloke.”
Draco collapsed against the stone wall. Wood clattered to the floor beside him, like he’d knocked over a stack of broomsticks. His eyes were adjusting in the darkness, but not fast enough. He counted three voices. Were they friends or enemies? Better safe than dead. Bracing himself, Draco swiftly raised his wand arm in their direction and, with his throat feeling like gravel, he ground out, “Protego. Lumos.”
From behind a weak protective shield, Draco flinched in the sudden brightness. The voices shrieked, at first in surprise and then in delight.
“What’d he say?”
“'Protego!' Haven’t heard that in a century. Must be an Englishman!”
Blinking heavily, he took in his surroundings. The Portkey had landed him in a toolshed, with rakes knocked around his feet and the ghosts of three batty old witches in front of him, floating behind a shelf of watering cans. They looked identical, save for their crooked noses.
Draco groaned. “I take it this isn’t the Adelaide consulate?”
“Strewth! The consulate!”
His words sent the witches into an unexpected flurry, their heads disappearing behind the shelf.
“A Portkey traveler, girls, look alive!”
“So sorry. We don’t get a lot of youse in Adelaide.”
“Most go to Sydney or Melbourne as their port of entry, if you can imagine.”
Long Nose and Curvy Nose popped into view, now sporting official-looking uniforms and round spectacles.
"Nice hats," he grumbled, still feeling rather dead himself.
“Welcome to the Deadhouse, satellite consulate for the great state of South Australia!”
The ghost with the warty nose propped herself onto a wheelbarrow, a ghostly scroll of parchment in her lap and a quill in her hand. “Name? Origin? Destination? Reason for travel?”
Lowering his lit wand, Draco reached his free hand into his chest holster and pulled out his credentials, flipping his badge open for her to see.
“Auror Draco Malfoy, here on behalf of the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he said. He omitted the fact that he was technically just a junior Auror. It sounded less official. Warty squinted at the small print on his card and nodded along. “Can you point me toward the Babblecock School of Magic?” he asked.
She locked eyes with him over the top of her spectacles. “And what business do you have there?”
Draco sighed and cursed Potter for sending him on this ludicrous trip.
“I’ve come to see Hermione Granger.”
