He had been raised to hate it all, all which was considered to be beneath him and his blood status. Every flash of childhood memories was filled with at least one 'A Malfoy has never' or 'A Pureblood would never,' comment from his father. He was given guidelines of what was expected from him because he was a Malfoy and a Pureblood and, as such, the rules were unavoidable.

He had never questioned them, the rules or his parents. After all, parents know everything there is to know; they raise their children to know that questioning their decisions or choices or actions was unadvised. Draco just did what he was told to do, felt what he was given, and acted with what he saw. Questioning that tangible hatred for what was considered beneath him never fazed him because he very much enjoyed his status.

Things, of course, change and he once again found himself cursed by an undesired circumstance in life that challenged his ideals and his lessons learned from toddler years.

"Are you enjoying breakfast, love?"

Blinking away from thoughts that he very much would like to never scrutinize, Draco found a woman smiling at him with incredible warmth. In the slow second that his mind was somewhere else, he hadn't a clue who she was, but after he adjusted it and those big brown eyes matched the ones he knew belonged to an enemy, he settled himself instantly.

"I know it's nothing like that extravagant and confusing food you're used to from Hogwarts or Mrs. Weasley, but it's homemade and straight from your own mother," the woman continued. "And besides, it's French toast. Still your favorite, right?"

"What's her favorite?" Entering the kitchen that was decorated in earthy colors—shades of various browns, greens, yellows, and oranges, the same never-one-color plates and mug, and sunshine-yellow curtains parted in the main kitchen window—was a man with his bathrobe still on.

This man settled himself On an empty chair on the wooden, circular table with orange place-mats. The woman across from Draco rolled her eyes in annoyance. "For goodness sake, Richard, do you know what time it is? You've practically slept all through the morning."

"Woman, please," the man called back as he poured tea in a brown ceramic mug. "It's the weekend, do lower your voice."

Decreasing his peripheral vision of the man, like he hoped by doing so he couldn't be seen, Draco observed the man in a few silent seconds. He was the essence of something extreme, something that could easily put you off. There was a way his expression oozed seriousness, that radiated a sense of accuracy and knowledge that made you never want to challenge or cross him. He had sun-kissed skin; hair dark as night and eyes that matched it, and a beard that highlighted his strong presence.

"You would think I married a complete nuisance," the woman said firmly as she crossed her arms in displeasure. "You're nothing but appearances, aren't you?"

The man stood from the chair he'd taken and headed to the kitchen counter. "You married me for my money which is more accurate, Jean." He turned back to them with a plate of breakfast that was reserved for him. "I do always remember that fact."

The woman had been about to retaliate when her brown eyes narrowed and a flash of disapproval crossed her, which then faded into a light resignation. "Oh, Richard. You're wearing those pink, fluffy slippers again. You're such a lost cause, sweetheart."

"You leave my slippers out of this," the man warned with a rough voice. "Hermione likes them, anyway. So your say is invalid, thank you very much."

Draco knitted brows in confusion, he felt that intimidating man placed his lips on the monstrosity of hair he as currently borrowing from his daughter.

"She liked them when she was four and bought them for you on your birthday," Mrs. Granger told her husband, a light irritation still on her voice but her eyes didn't match it. "You're just a sentimental man that refuses to throw away things when they're of no use."

"She's my little girl, of course I'm a sentimental fool," the man confessed, that strong presence fading away instantly as he looked up at his quiet daughter and smiled a smile that matched the warmth his wife used.

Jean Granger rolled her eyes and refilled her cup of tea. "She won't be for long. She'll turn eighteen soon, remember, sweetheart? At the rate she's growing up she'll be married and with her own kids before we know it."

At his wife's words, Richard Granger scowled. "Who could possibly be worthy enough of our only daughter?"Before his wife could answer, the man turned to his teenage daughter. "It better not be the Ron Weasley, Hermione."

Without helping himself, Draco widened Granger's eyes with a disgust flickering in them. Sure, he knew he should probably play the card, as he was almost entirely sure the Bookworm was head over heels for that idiot Weasel, but he still wished to keep his taste. Hopefully that way, in the long run, he'd do Granger a favor by steering her away from poor redheads and toward someone a little more on her level.

He frowned to himself as he processed his lost thought. What and who exactly was on Granger's level? Why had he just thought of it? And why did he have the slightest nudge of optimism that hoped she really didn't fancy the Weasel like everyone speculated?

"He's a nice boy, Richard," Jean told her husband, interrupting Draco's personal thoughts inside her daughter's head. "And besides, you like him."

Richard rolled his dark eyes. "I just say that so Hermione won't swat me beside the head. But seeing as she looks ill at the mention of his name, I'm hoping she finally saw reason and moved on to someone with a little more knowledge."

"Someone like Harry Potter?"

"Yes, in fact," Richard responded to his wife's question. "Hermione has said he was raised in our world, Jean. He knows what it's like, what we do. And if she insists on spending all her time with those two then at least I hope she goes for someone who values her world. Yes, she's a witch, but she also came from us. I want that to count for something."

It does count for something, Draco thought to himself bitterly, but not in the way you'd expect.

"Harry's like her brother, Richard. Hermione has said so on many occasions. Let's just leave it at that because you know if she showed any interest in Harry you'd hate him too." Jean gave the man a knowing look.

Looking up from his French toast, Mister Granger flashed a grin at his daughter. "All right, sweetheart, what do you have planned for us now that you're home?" he asked, all eager to leave behind the distasteful subject of boys that could possibly be involved with his only daughter. "Your mum and me have closed the Dentistry for all your holiday so feel free to go wild. It's adventure time."

"She had syrup on her toast, Richard. That's as wild and adventurous as she's going to get."

At that, at the casual way Mrs. Granger spoke about her daughter, Draco couldn't help but to laugh loudly at it. These muggles knew perfectly well who their little Bookworm daughter was that even they had to tease her lightly about it.

At the sound of their daughter laughing so wholeheartedly, both Mister and Mrs. Granger looked up at her with twinkling eyes, smiles and their own rounds of laughter.

As they stared at who they thought Draco was, he matched their expressions and their glittering eyes with the ones in those muggle photographs Granger had on her bedroom wall.

It was them. They were the reason for it, the reason for that sparkle in Granger's brown eyes. They were the reason why her childhood pictures were nothing but smiles and ridiculous faces. They were the reason she was and had been happy and whole.

In that small and precise moment, he now knew why Granger was who she was. She was the perfect mixture of both her parents. Although he'd never really heard her crack a joke before, he was certain that all those beaming photographs with her Gryffindors were for a reason. She probably was great to be around with.

As the laughter died down and Mister Granger rose up on his pink and fluffy slippers, he spoke to his daughter. "Go and distress yourself for a while, darling. Mum will call you down when it's time to head out."

With a kiss upon Granger's head again, Draco smiled at her father and then proceeded to march off to her bedroom with a little ease.

X

Muggle [Noun]

1. A person with non-magical abilities

2. A person not aware of the supernatural

3. A person of unintelligent and proper background

4. A race of human beings meant to be wiped out and/or contained

The definition of that word could have kept getting darker and darker as he continued to think about it, but at the moment Draco decided not to. Nothing he had learned, nothing he'd been taught by his parents and by other Purebloods mattered.

Muggles were a strange group of people, he had to admit, but they did wonders with the plain and simple resources they were given. They had built a world for themselves with very limited supplies, until they grew and extended them. It had to have been hard work, but they did it and evolved without a wand.

Thrust into a world he'd been taught to despise with every fiber of his being, Draco actually found himself captivated by what he saw. He, of course, would never give up his magic even if the Dark Lord demanded him, but the Muggle world was certainly something.

He had spent the day out in the streets of Muggle London—he'd been out of the confined walls of his precious Wizarding and Pureblood World and saw that Life extended so far. He'd seen there were many places outside their undercover barriers that separated them. He'd seen another race live and breathe and mingle together, so unaware of everything else.

There had been freedom in the air as he walked through the streets of Muggle London. No one looked at him with disgust or distrust or with curious glances. In return, he didn't look at them with distrust or disgust either, though there was plenty of curiosity on his part. How could there not be, after all? They went about their day like it was normal. There was nothing on their faces that resembled the ones back in his world.

Muggles did not walk with fear following them, with a cloud of Death lingering over their heads, or the pressure of war on their shoulders. They just lived. It was incredible, that freedom. The taste of clean air was tainted with nothing magical, but Draco supposed that's where the magic was. 

He hadn't felt so light in years.

"Hermione, dear, have you enjoyed yourself so far?"

Inhaling the easy atmosphere around him, Draco turned Granger's body around to face the girl's parents. There was an easy smile on his face as the two muggles entered their own living room with shopping bags and illuminated faces from their previous outing.

"Yes, Mum," Draco replied to Mrs. Granger with that warm feel she'd inherited to her little Bookworm of a daughter.

"Are you sure, darling?" Mrs. Granger pressed as she seated herself on her beige-colored couch. "You were very quiet throughout it."

Putting a comforting hand on his wife's knee, Mister Granger looked up at his daughter with a slight frown. "I hope you're not upset with us because we didn't allow you to spend the entire holiday with your friends."

Draco shook Granger's head, making her brown hair fly all around him. There was this aroma of strawberry and sunshine in it that almost made him stop and wonder how he'd never smelt it before in the days he's been her. "It's not that, father," he replied quickly, replacing the thought, "I was just so...happy to be out. It felt nice."

The man replaced his expression with a much lighter one. "Well, that's good to hear, darling. I know it can get a bit tiring and boring hanging out with your folks, but we do miss you. The house gets so lonely without you."

Draco said nothing. Though he was a muggle, Draco couldn't help but to be a little intrigued by Granger's father. There was something about his rough exterior that seemed almost unreachable and impossible, but when he looked at his wife or when he looked at the person he thought was his daughter all of that disappeared. He was a man who loved his family. He was someone with deep warmth and love that extended to the two only people in his life.

As he inspected Richard Granger, Draco assumed his curiosity for the man was because he reminded him of his mother. Narcissa Malfoy was frozen and still as ice on the outside, but Draco had always been able to see fire behind her eyelids that was composed of love and affection for her family.

His mother could never be what Mrs. Granger was for the Bookworm, he knew that. She would never be the affectionate type, the one with the sweet nicknames, the small caresses, the smiles, but she did have warmth. It was hidden, like a spark of lightning in dismal rain, but it was there.

Though they were two very different women, Draco was aware that Mrs. Granger was at the line of losing her only child just like his own mother —  except one knew it and the other didn't. He knew if Mrs. Granger knew what danger lurked in the world they trusted her daughter to be a part of that she'd fight for her survival.

"Of course, that's me being a sentimental fool like your mum's always saying, but we shall ignore her, right? She doesn't understand that you and me, kid, are bound by that daddy's-little-girl bond and that I'll refuse the Weasleys taking you in for the holidays."

Draco looked at the man again, at his adoring eyes as he thought he was staring at his 'little girl'. For a moment he wondered what this muggle could and would be capable of if he knew his daughter was in danger.

Would he be like Draco's own father and let it take her without option? Would he let evil claim her because of the beliefs a dark wizard had, just because he had no control?

At the flicker of thought about his father, Draco wondered what Mister Granger would do if he knew Lucius Malfoy had attempted to murder his only daughter? What if he knew his daughter had been subjected to Draco's teasing and humiliation? What would he do if he knew she was tortured and held captive in his home?

"Fine, fine," Richard rolled his eyes at something his wife said that Draco didn't catch. "I'll stop bothering her. I reckon she doesn't love her old man as much. I blame books and hormones."

Mrs. Granger giggled and swatted her husband's leg. "Oh, my love, you need a hobby. I think being a Dentist is not doing it for you. Perhaps you should retake golfing."

"Oh, yes. I'm not falling for that one, Jean," Mister Granger retorted with a snort. "When I golfed you almost divorced me because I had a love-affair with that Taylor Made club that my brother sent me."

Ding. Ding.

"Well, next time don't forget our anniversary for some irrelevant golf match," Mrs. Granger said in a teasingly warning tone as she stood from the couch as Draco heard that ringing bounce of the walls again.

"Your mother," Richard clucked his tongue as he glanced at his daughter. "She's all sweet and fluffy, but then she's attempting to murder me with golf balls. It was one anniversary, right? She could've gone easy on me. I remembered the past nineteen."

Draco had open Granger's mouth to reply to her father, after he'd established that the ringing had been a way to tell the muggles someone was at their door, when he saw himself enter through the door.

He dropped Granger's jaw, making her brown eyes widened with outrage  as his own silver eyes glanced pleadingly at him for a moment as they approached.

"Darling, you've a visitor," Mrs. Granger spoke as she showed a tall boy into her living room, aiming a secretive smirk at her daughter as her husband shot off the couch with a frown.

"And you are?" Mister Granger questioned bluntly, his eyes completely focused on the blonde boy in his living room.

Clearing his throat lightly, the boy with silver eyes intruding in the Granger household pulled himself together with haste. "I...I'm sorry to impose, but I was...in the neighborhood and wanted to see if I could...erm...talk to Hermione."

"Are you that Smith boy down the street that's always hanging about our yard in the summers? Because if you are, I'm certain my daughter's not interested." Mister Granger still kept his frown.

"Don't be rude, Richard." Jean reached over and pinched her husband's arm. "And this is not that boy, this one's another."

At that, Mister Granger still did not look amused.

"Draco," Malfoy was quick to pick up whatever the hell had brought the Bookworm to march his body into a muggle location without warning, "I'm so glad you stopped by and visited me. I hope your holiday's going well."

Mister Granger turned to his daughter, scowling at her with disapproval. "Who's this, Hermione?"

"He's from school," Draco told Granger's father with her calm voice. "I'm sure I've mentioned him before. It just might have slipped your mind."

"Well, Draco, welcome to our home," Mrs. Granger cut in before her husband could say something that could embarrass her family by his rudeness. "We'll be in the kitchen, Hermione," she then turned to her daughter, "you can talk here privately."

Mister Granger frowned deeply as his wife gripped one of his arms and started tugging him to the kitchen. "I've ears of a bat! I can hear everything!" he warned as he was dragged away. A slap echoed from the kitchen soon after.

Taking out Granger's wand, Draco waved it with a quick flick of her wrist, casting a Silencing Charm the muggles wouldn't notice, and then scowled at his own face. "What are you doing here?"

"Dad's a bit dramatic sometimes," Hermione breathed at the boy possessing her body. "He's all talk, though...He just...I'm his only daughter, you know? He's just afraid."

At the way his silver eyes were glowing with an attempt to hide the pain Granger was feeling inside of him, Malfoy shook it away as his anger did not reside. "Charming stuff, Granger, but none of it matters. Why are you here? You could've been followed!"

Digging his teeth into Malfoy's bottom lip, Hermione felt his eyes burn in their sockets. "I wasn't," she replied in a murmur.

Before Draco could ask how she was so sure about that, he watched with narrowed eyes as she took out his wand from the pocket of his trousers. She made his fingers shake.

She inhaled for a few seconds, trying to mask the Slytherin's face in a way she's seen him do so many times. She was hiding something, Malfoy could see it. He could see the panic burning in his eyes, his chest heaving with it.

"What was the point of those galleons you made, Granger, if you—"

"I'll explain later," she cut him off and headed straight to the kitchen where her parents were with a look of determination finally settling in.

Draco knitted her brows in confusion and followed pursuit quickly.

As he entered the kitchen, a step or two behind the Gryffindor, Malfoy felt a deeper bewilderment stab the body he was borrowing when he saw himself raising his wand and pointing it to the faces of the muggles that were staring back. Fear stretched on their faces as they stopped their quiet chatter among themselves.

Malfoy gaped at the threatening pose Hermione directed at her own parents. "What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

Then there was a burst of light.