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What the .?
Draco Malfoy fell to the floor with a yelp of pain. Portkey letter still in his hand, he stood slowly and looked around the odd room he had appeared in. From what he could tell from his limited knowledge on the subject, it appeared to be a kitchen of some sort. Although Draco, having a manor full of house elves, had never before been in a kitchen in his life, the table and chairs in the middle of the room, coupled with the various pots and pans scattered around, allowed him to determine the purpose of the room. He hesitantly started to walk around the alien environment, taking in the polished work surfaces, frilly yellow checked curtains with matching table cloth, and the various knick knacks scattered around the windowsills and shelves. Looking closer, he saw what he thought was a small clock, which let off a shrill noise when he twisted it and let it count down. He quickly dropped the egg timer back on the shelf and moved further around the room. Some things were familiar, such as ornamental teapots and framed photographs of smiling people. Draco did a double take when he spotted the latter, lifting one carefully off the windowsill and holding it up to his face. Shaking it a little, a slight frown creased his forehead when the people didn't move.
Must be Muggle, he muttered to himself as he put the item back where it belonged.
After a few more minutes of exploring the curious items on display, Draco moved on to the assorted appliances scattered around the kitchen. The refrigerator fascinated him, and he kept opening and closing the door to feel the cool air waft over his face. Eventually tiring of the game, he moved to explore the microwave, toaster and kettle. It was with his head in the oven that the owner of the house found the boy in her kitchen. Jumping slightly as she walked through the door to be faced with a wiggling posterior, she let out a light scream, alerting the boy to her presence. Draco started in surprise, banging his head on the top of the oven and letting out a yowl of pain. Clutching his head in his hands, he dropped to the linoleum floor and waited for the room to stop spinning. When it did, he looked up at the woman in the doorway.
Who are you? he asked bluntly.
What do you mean, who am I? the woman said, a scowl appearing once she recovered from the shock, This is my kitchen. Who are you?
I am Draco Malfoy, and I think you should be showing me a little more respect, Muggle.
Who are you calling a Muggle, she said angrily, I happen to be a witch, and you should remember that not everyone bows down to the likes of the Malfoys.
You must be a Mudblood if you think you can talk to me like that! he said hotly. He didn't realise just how angry the woman was becoming.
Well, Malfoy, if you think I will show you any respect when you show none to me, then you are sadly mistaken. Respect must be earned, not bought through wealth and connections, good or bad, she said, a meaningful look on her face.
You can prove nothing of my family's connections, Draco said in a superior tone.
Really, she smirked, Then the fact that I have seen Lucius Malfoy bow down to that worthless wretch Voldemort with my own eyes counts for nothing?
You couldn't know that, Draco said, paling a little, You would have to be a Death Eater to get into the Dark Lord's presence long enough to identify one of his servants.
What makes you think I'm not?
Well I would have heard of you, of course.
You may have. You still don't know my name.
The blond stared at her blankly for a minute before reluctantly holding out his hand.
Draco Malfoy, pleased to make your acquaintance.
The woman smiled slightly and took the hand, shaking it slightly. There's hope for the young Malfoy heir yet, she thought.
Heather Evans, at your service.