Summary: Draco meets the Guardians of the Galaxy. Or rather, looks at them. From afar. He's not crazy.

"Master Malfoy sir please?" a house-elf squeaked, pulling nervously on its ears as it fidgeted and did its best not to make eye contact.

Draco sighed, then put his quill down lest he spill ink on the new law proposal he was drafting.

"Yes…" he fumbled for the creature's name.

He had been making efforts to treat his servants better lest the righteous Granger menace burn his manor down in her fury, but honestly, he couldn't care less.

"What is it?" he settled for.

"Strange strangers on property, sir master Malfoy. They is crushing ancient rose bushes."

Draco stood up abruptly, wand already in hand. At his request, the elf led him to the South lawns, although the dratted thing couldn't explain how intruders got through the wards in the first place.

When he was close enough, he sent his servant away so it's whining wouldn't draw attention, then cast a disillusionment charm on himself to get within earshot of the invaders.

"This is not Avengers base, Quill," a blue, bald man said.

As if that wasn't strange enough, a green woman thanked him for stating the obvious while a small, furry animal mocked the man named Quill for getting them lost again. The latter at least had the grace to look human, even if he was the one responsible for annihilating his mother's prized roses with his metal airplane.

Muggles, he scoffed.

Although… were they? With their colourful skins and talking pets? Draco shrugged it off. From what he knew of the Muggle world, their fashion, fads and technologies evolved faster than he could keep track of.

He thought he had seen the worse of these uncouth intruders, insulting each other and brawling like pygmy puffs on pepperup right there on his perfectly trimmed lawn, when a tree walked out of the airplane, dancing to some silent music.

It was a living tree, with eyes, and legs and arms. It was alive. Self-aware. It talked, or it was singing, he supposed, even if he hadn't a clue what the word "Groot" meant. Upon seeing its companions fight, branches suddenly shot out of him like tentacles which separated his friends.

"Nope," Draco said, turning on his heels and heading back home.

He was going to take a camomille and go to bed. Or maybe draft a new law on why muggles were crazy and should be avoided at all costs.