Lifestyles of the Rich and Wandless

Chapter One: Never Wear Your Mother's Hand-Me-Downs

"Draco Malfoy, you are hereby declared guilty of becoming the unknowing puppet of your father, Lucius Malfoy, and in consequence, aiding the Dark Lord." There was a ringing noise in Draco's ears that wouldn't go away. Draco sat straight up in the straight-backed chair, trying to appear as Malfoy-ish as possible.

"You have two choices, as a minor," Fudge continued, glaring down at him. Draco tried not to appear cowed. All those people watching him. Draco had never told anyone that his greatest fear was a silent audience. And no one would have ever thought of it. Draco liked it that way. "One: to go to Azkaban, fifteen years. Two: go to a Muggle school for one school year, to reshape your... priorities."

Draco just looked up at him. Azkaban or Muggles... it was a hard choice, especially for a Malfoy. He remained silent, thinking as quickly as he could. Fudge was beginning to turn red from impatience. Draco snickered a bit inwardly. The Wizengamot was starting to shift in their seats as a whole. Finally, Draco muttered, "Muggle."

"What was that?" Fudge said, stifling a yawn.

"I said," Draco said in his usual, icy drawl. "I'm going to live as a Muggle for a school year, because I would be a bloody lunatic to want to go to Azkaban instead."

"Don't talk to the Minister like that!" said a redheaded man indignantly. He glared at Draco venomously. A Weasley. Patrick, or something like that. "You're a criminal, and therefore have no right to speak at all to those above you."

"Bet you love being able to say that, eh, Weasley?" Draco said before he could stop himself. "Bet you love telling me to shut up. I think that's your sole purpose in life, Weasley."

The Aurors came forward and began to drag Draco back into the chair. Fudge cleared his throat. "You will be put into the care of your aunt, Andromeda Tonks, and her husband, Ted Tonks, until the start of the school year. Or you may choose to stay with your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. In fact," Fudge looked over at Dumbledore, who nodded, "that may be advisable. Yes, you will stay with Miss Tonks for the remainder of the summer."

Draco just groaned. A summer with his Mudblood cousin. How exciting.

***

Draco heaved his trunk into the room, glaring at the furniture critically. The house wasn't even his cousin's. No, for some strange reason, they had moved to an overly-neat, all-Muggle neighbourhood in the middle of Surrey. And Nymphadora wouldn't even tell him why.

Quickly, he dumped his trunk in a corner and surveyed himself in the mirror (he scowled at the Muggle clothes that he was being forced to wear). It was fifteen minutes after when he heard the opening and closing of a door, signalling the arrival of his cousin. Giving his outfit one last scowl, he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.

Nymphadora was there, humming and hanging up a ring of keys on a peg. Draco supposed she must have come by what Muggles called a car. She turned when she saw Draco in the doorway, and her jaw dropped. For a moment, she was speechless. Then she began to screech with laughter, doubling over. "What. Is. So. Funny?" Draco said slowly and icily.

"P-pink!" was all Nymphadora was able to say. "P-p-pink!"

Draco stared at her, then down at his shirt. His mother had given it to him the summer before his fourth year, to wear to the Quidditch World Cup. It had once been hers, back when she was still a Black, interested in Muggle clothes. It had been just right back then, but now it was too small. However, it was all Draco had had. "What about it?" he said. He looked at Nymphadora's hair. "Your hair's pink."

"L-lace! P-pink!" his cousin gasped before cracking up again.

"Yeah, whatever," Draco said, annoyed. It was eight o' clock... barely half an hour since he had arrived, and his cousin was already driving him mad. And to top it all off, his wand had been taken away, so he couldn't have used a Silencing Charm on her, even if he had been of age. Disgusted, he walked out of the house before Nymphadora could stop him.

Slowly, he walked down the streets, sneering back at Muggles (who were in their gardens) who stared at him incredulously. Which was all of them. He turned onto a road called Magnolia Crescent, and bumped into an old, hobbling woman carrying a bag. The bag clunked as it hit the ground. The woman, however, just stared open-mouthed at Draco. Draco stared back at her. Finally, he said icily, "Yes?"

The woman closed her mouth. "Excuse me," she wheezed. She picked her bag up and scurried past him, as if afraid. Draco rolled his eyes and wondered why he hadn't picked Azkaban instead.

Scowling, he turned into a park and found a dilapidated old swing set with only one working swing. Disgruntled, he sank back onto the swing and glared at all the people and cars that passed by him. The sky slowly darkened. Draco stifled a yawn and stood up, ready to head back to Nymphadora's house.

Muggle pavement, in Draco's opinion, should have been banned. He nearly tripped twice while walking on its numerous cracks and rifts. He was near the spot where he had met the strange old lady when something whammed into his midriff. It knocked both him and whatever had slammed into him down onto the pavement. Another reason why pavement should have been illegal. It was so bloody hard.

When Draco's vision stopped spinning, he realized it had been a small boy of about ten or eleven who had pushed him down onto the hard ground. The boy had thick blond hair and a pale narrow face. He was short for his age and quite skinny. "Y-you're that k-kid... th-the one wh-who g-goes t-to St. Br-Brutus', ar-aren't y-you?" the boy stuttered.

"St. What?" Draco said, pushing the boy off and leaping up, brushing dirt off his clothes.

The boy didn't answer. He was busy staring at Draco's shirt, which only reached to the point two inches above the waistband of his trousers. "Hey, Evans!" shouted a voice from behind the boy. A gang was riding swiftly towards the two on expensive-looking Muggle racing bicycles. The leader was an extremely fat boy with blond hair that stuck to his head. Draco wondered how he managed to ride the bicycle without crushing it into a tangle of metal and rubber. "Who's that with you?"

The gang stopped their bicycles and stared at Draco incredulously, like every other Muggle that day had. Then the fat boy started laughing, making his leather-clad body shake monstrously. The rest of his gang soon joined in. Draco was sick of people staring and laughing at him. He was a Malfoy! Malfoys commanded respect. They did not parade about, getting laughed at.

"What is so funny?" he said coldly.

The fat boy blinked owlishly at him. "You're wearing a pink belly-shirt! What's not funny? You're parading about like you're about to go out with another bloke!" He peered at Draco. "Er... you are a bloke, aren't you?"

Draco's cheeks flushed pink. "Of course I'm a male!" he said indignantly.

"Well then you're a pretty gay one aren't you?" sneered the fat boy.

Draco's eyes flashed. "I am not attracted to other males!" he hissed. "I am a perfectly straight arrow. You on the other hand, may be straight, but you're a straight mass of fat." He put his trademark sneer on.

The boy's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish's. "Beat him up!" urged a scrawny teenager with spots all over his face.

Draco was in his element. "You know, you remind me of a dorm mate of mine. I didn't know he could read until our second year. He was never smart at all. Because the day after, he was as dumb as always. And," he added with a smirk, "he also looks like a pig who's been taught how to eat with a fork and a knife. Because that's all that you seem to be able to do."

"What? You little..." the fat boy said, starting forward. "I've been practicing my boxing since the age of four. And I'm the Junior Heavyweight Champion of the Southeast."

Draco didn't know what boxing was at all, but he said, "Yeah. You are a heavyweight, aren't you?" Before the boy could respond, he said, "What did you practice on, hmm? A stuffed bear?"

"My cousin," the boy growled.

"Your cousin must be more stupid than you are, then, if he just stood there and let you practice on him," Draco said.

"Just move!" the boy said, pushing past Draco and heading towards the boy named Evans, who was shaking and looking petrified. "So, Evans," he said conversationally. "You think I look like a pig who's been taught to walk on its hind legs? It's getting rather old now."

"But I agree," Draco drawled, leaning against the handlebar of the boy's bicycle nonchalantly.

The boy spun towards Draco. "Shut it, you!"

"Shut what?" Draco said innocently.

"Just shut it!"

"What do you want me to shut? That window over there?"

"Shut your mouth!"

"Finally!" Draco said dramatically. "We get to the point. So quick on the uptake," he added sarcastically. He shut his mouth. "Mmmph mmph hmmph!" he said through his clenched teeth. This was actually... fun. And if he got too far, well there was always his wand... HIS WAND! He didn't have his wand! He opened his mouth again. "I'll... just be going now," he said nervously. He didn't care whether he was a Malfoy or not.

"You're not going anywhere," the boy said.

"Hey, Big D," the scrawny boy said to the fat boy. "He's coming. You know, your first punching bag."

Big D suddenly looked nervous. "Uh..." he said. "Maybe I'll stick with this bloke here..." he gulped. "He did something weird last summer, erm... he... he blew up the living room with a stick of dynamite, and he... he carries a knife! Yes, he carries a knife! And a gun!" He nodded vehemently.

Draco got the feeling he was making up excuses. "He's got a gun?" the scrawny boy said incredulously. "Where'd he get a gun?" Draco remembered that phrase. A gun was a metal wand Muggles used to kill each other. Maybe he would ask that bloke they were talking about for the gun, and then he would be able to escape the clutches of the Ministry and go to his relatives in France or something.

"Never mind that," Big D said sourly. He glared at Draco. Draco gulped.

***

An hour later, Draco had dragged himself back to Nymphadora's house. He was bruised, battered, and angry. Why hadn't Nymphadora told him about his shirt? And who was this Big D bloke, anyway? This Muggle neighbourhood was dangerous.

His cousin opened the door, and stared at him. Draco glared at her. "There seems to be a menace running about this place, in the form of a massive blob of fat," he drawled painfully. "Tell, me, Nymphadora..."

"Tonks," Nymphadora interrupted.

Draco just looked at her. "Tell me, Tonks, why you live in a place where all the Muggles are either stupid or murderous? Or both? And why is it that you didn't say anything about my sh..."

"Your shirt? Malfoy, I didn't get a chance to say anything," Tonks said coldly, adopting the Black family coldness. "You left before I could say a word. Now get in here. You know, Malfoy, if I wasn't paid to do this..."

"You're paid?" Draco said. "You should be paying me!"

Tonks glared at him. "Malfoy, that's the exact charming attitude that got you beat up in the first place. As I was saying, if I wasn't being paid, as an Auror, and if I... never mind. Get in here, and eat something."

"You're not my bloody house-elf!" Draco said.

Tonks stared at him. "That is just sad," she said. "The phrase is 'you're not my bloody mum.'"

"Whatever," Draco said icily. "I'm not eating any Muggle food."

"There's no such thing as Muggle food," Tonks said in an exasperated voice. "You have a choice Draco. Eat, or eat."

"Not much of a choice," Draco said sullenly.