Work Text
The very first thing I did after landing the designated apparation point, a tiny alleyway between two shops in Covent Garden, was unfold the shopping list. Hermione took it from me and I bristled at the intrusion. “You didn’t have to come with me. I’m quite capable of shopping on my own.”She looked at me with a hint of disbelief etched into the slant of her eyebrows. “You’ve never even used muggle money before, Draco. It would hardly be responsible of me to set you loose on the population of London.”“It’s no different than using galleons. You hand the clerk money and if it’s too much, they make change.” Honestly, I almost wondered if she thought I was an imbecile. If millions of muggles could do it every day, it must be easy. I took the list back. “Besides, the entire point of me doing this is to prove to your parents that I’m not the same ignorant little shit that I used to be.”Lacing her fingers with mine, Hermione said, “I’ve told you. My parents don’t think that. Even if they did, cooking them dinner is hardly likely to change their minds.”She was right. One meal wouldn’t erase all the stories Hermione had told them of my bullying in school or my choices in the war. Ever since the ministry acquitted me of my crimes, I did everything possible to fix my reputation. I became an auror. Donated hundreds of galleons to the survivors' fund. Befriended the Boy Who Lived himself. But none of it could ever be enough. Still, I had to try. My first meeting with her parents needed to be absolutely perfect.“Can’t hurt my chances though.”We stepped through the barrier charms and out onto the dark street. At that time of night, long past dinner time, fewer muggles wandered the two blocks between us and the nearest supermarket. We met nearly no one on the walk and my anticipation only grew. I’d carefully selected the recipes I would cook for Mr and Mrs Granger: shepherd’s pie and a trifle. Not fancy, but reminiscent of the family meals Hermione remembered so fondly from before she left for school. I second guessed myself. Was it too simple? Too contrived?The supermarket’s name, in large neon red and blue letters on a yellow background above the door, was Lidl. As we walked up to what I presumed was the door, I noticed that there were no handles and started to raise my hand to push the door open. As if anticipating our arrival, the doors separated on their own with a rush of cold air. No sign of a charm or spell. I glanced at Hermione, who continued walking as though nothing had happened. Shrugging it off, I followed her.A light melody played, punctuated by the occasional squeaking wheel of a trolley being pushed through the aisles. Practically empty, I noted with pleasure. Perfect for my first encounter with a muggle shop. Much less likely that I would embarrass myself.As Hermione picked up a black plastic shopping basket, I consulted the list. In Hermione’s neat script, it read:
500g minced lamb
Mashed potatoes
1 large onion
500ml Beef stock
Custard
Whipped cream
Strawberries
I’ve never been a great cook. Before the war, most of my meals were made by house elves, either at Malfoy manor or Hogwarts. Hermione must be better at it than I knew though, since she hadn’t bothered to write down the ingredients we would need to make proper mashed potatoes or custard.“Right. What’s first?” Hermione snatched the list from my hand again. “Strawberries and an onion.”I followed her to the right, where we found rows and rows and every vegetable imaginable. The painfully bright light, from what I later learned were florescent bulbs, shined in arcs over the speckled red apples and yellow lemons. It hurt my eyes.“I’ll get the onion.” I volunteered myself for something easy. An onion was an onion, no matter how unfamiliar the environment. Finding a pile of them stacked in a bin labeled with a sign that said £0.75, I chose the least bruised of them all. On my way back to Hermione and the basket, a thundering rumble startled me. It echoed along the wall, quieter than a real storm sweeping overhead, and was followed by the most miraculous sight. Rain began to fall on every row of vegetables simultaneously.“Hermione!” I hurried back to her and whispered, “Why is it raining inside? The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office is going to go mental when they hear someone used an atmospheric charm in the presence of this many muggles.”She had the gall to laugh at me. “It’s not a charm. Muggles invented a system to automatically water the produce. It’s a tactic to keep it looking fresh longer so people are more likely to buy it.”“Automatically.” I didn’t understand. “You mean there’s someone around here who turned on the hose?”“No, I meant there’s a timer and at even intervals the thunder plays over the speakers and the tiny hoses in each section turn themselves on.”“I see.” I didn’t let on, but this seriously impressed me. Hermione didn’t need to know how primitive I thought muggle technology was before this. If they could mimic weather magic indoors though, they rose in my esteem.Hermione took the onion, tucking it into the basket next to a plastic carton of strawberries. Her neat white trainers squeaked on the polished floor as she walked on toward the back of the store and out of sight. Not wanting to be left alone with the automatic pipes and strange pseudo thunder, I followed her.The aisle we turned down stretched the length of the store with five shelves on either side full of boxes, jars, and bags. Neatly organized boxes of dried pasta, arranged by color in a seemingly random pattern, took up most of the left side. Across the wide path, a sea of red jars stretched back into the shelf.“How convenient,” I whispered to myself.Nonplused, Hermione walked to the other end of the aisle, crouching in front of a wall of packets, each displaying a different kind of food succulent and steaming.I touched the edge on one. “What are these for?”Glancing up, she smiled. “Oh, those are just seasonings for slow cooking. Muggles put all the ingredients for a stew together, including one of those packets, and turn the machine on to cook for several hours.”I couldn’t prevent the smug smile that curved my lips. “A bit inefficient, isn’t it? You could cook a good roast in 10 minutes flat with a wand.”“Actually, it’s the height of efficiency. The slow cooker keeps a low heat on the stew all day while you’re at work without burning it. Stew basically cooks itself and you come home to a perfect dinner.”“I suppose that has some appeal.” With renewed interest, I pulled the packet from its plastic holder. The recipe printed on the back confirmed Hermione’s information. Muggles did indeed possess the ability to cook their food with a primitive sort of stasis charm on it. An unbidden image surfaced in my mind of a bubbly cauldron brimming with cherry red pepper up potion, perfectly frozen at a rolling boil.With a sudden hum, Hermione seized a carton of beef stock from the lower shelf and stood. A few steps further down the shelf she reached toward the top shelf, her reach just shy of the edge. Being the gentleman that I am, I retrieved the box just above her hand for her. A powdery substance shifted inside it, drawing my attention to the label.“Instant mashed potatoes! Are you sure this isn’t a wizarding supermarket? Muggles can’t do anything instantly.”Snatching the box from me, Hermione grinned. “Of course they can. Mix this with hot water, fluff it a little with a fork, and you can avoid all that messy potato peeling.”I could hardly believe my ears. I spent three hours mastering the spell to peel potatoes. Even with a wand, it took nearly half an hour to boil the disobedient little roots every time I wanted them. I clamped my tongue between my teeth to prevent letting a gasp of surprise loose.“You make it sound world-changing. A quicker dinner holds no comparison to potions that ‘bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses’.” I deliberately quoted Professor Snape, harkening back to the very first lesson of our Hogwarts’ days. Hermione couldn’t fail to remember the overwhelming joy of first experiencing magic as a bushy-haired eleven year old, thereby distracting her from my own current joy. I made a mental note to return the following night and purchase at least five more boxes of this ingenious product.Her grin spread. “If you say so.”As she collected the remaining ingredients, my resolve to return solidified. Who knew muggles invented machines to mix cakes and custards for them? I wondered if a wizard somewhere might have stolen the idea for the self-stirring cauldron from a muggle.We found the last ingredient, a simple wrapped package of ground beef, on the back wall of the building. I was almost disappointed to learn how similar it was to the butcher’s shop in Diagon Alley.Basket now full, Hermione marched to the front. At what appeared to be a register, surrounded by candies and glossy magazines, a teenaged clerk stood waiting for us under a shining light.Hermione carefully transferred the ingredients from our basket onto a rough black shelf in front of him. Before my very eyes, the shelf moved! It shuffled along and deposited each items directly in front of the clerk. My eyebrows rose. Before I had the chance to whisper my question, the clerk picked up the beef stock and dragged it across the table in front of him.Beep.He set it down behind him and moved on to the next item and then the next.I leaned close to Hermione’s ear, whispering, “What was that noise? How is he going to remember how much these cost?”Turning her head toward me, she whispered back through unmoving lips. “That noise was the scanner. It keeps track of the cost for him and adds it up at the end.”I wondered how expensive such a machine would be. My accountant at Gringotts could do with a machine to check his sums for him.As the clerk lifted each of our purchases, a low beep reverberated through the air. Excitement nearly burst from my lungs. How marvelous these muggle inventions were! I searched my mind for someone who would share my enthusiasm. Someone who would not share it with Hermione. In a bout of genius, I remembered Arthur Weasley talking about the function of a muggle plug in the ministry elevator the day before. I began hatching a plan to convince Arthur to join me in my next adventure.I felt sure he would join me. After all, it seemed muggles had a certain wonderful magic of their own.