Lifestyles of the Rich and Wandless

Chapter Eight: To Skive Physical Education... With Sophistication by Draco Malfoy

Draco slowly adapted to school in Purgatory... er... Smeltings. He was able to endure those physical education classes (obviously they couldn't educate a Malfoy on how to improve his already perfected physique) only through pure mental endurance. He knew he had to find a way to avoid Potter and Wood, and he had learnt the perfect trick from Blaise.

"Come in, Mr. Malfoy," the nurse called. At least someone showed the proper respect to one of his stature in this cesspit, he thought as he gallivanted into the waiting room. After all, he couldn't simply walk; it wouldn't be fitting for a Malfoy. Gallivanting was definitely more classy.

"Come in, Mr. Malfoy," the nurse repeated, this time with some annoyance in her voice.

"Ha!" Draco laughed aloud. Who was this Muggle woman working as a Healer for Muggle children to be impatient with him? He decided he'd wait for a few more moments before going in just to display his superiority.

He stalled, smirking contentedly, but a girl walked past him and entered the nurse's office, apparently tired of waiting. How insolent! How dare she cut in line? He would, of course, have to prepare his revenge.

"MALFOY!" Wood roared, coming up behind him and pulling on his collar viciously. "There you are, get in there, Blue team needs one more."

"Confound this nonsense!" Draco screamed as he was dragged to the field. "I tell you, I will not play this 'hockey' game with these strange broomsticks that don't fly!"

"Get in!" Potter said, shoving Draco into the field, and tossing the strangely shaped broomstick at him.

"Confound you, Potter!" Draco retorted. "Give me your damn Firebolt!"

"It's with Ron," Potter replied, not looking at the blond boy but watching the stupid Muggles run aimlessly around, using their broomsticks to smack some kind of small object around.

Suddenly, Draco was hit by a fast moving blob, which sent him flying into the air, well, nearly. He quickly positioned the broomstick between his legs, but yet again he had received a faulty one that did not fly, and he did not hit the blob. He fell, rather painfully, with the stick hitting a delicate spot with great momentum. The blob fell next to him, shaking the ground dangerously.

He screamed, stomped on the ground, and managed to knock the blob out of the way.

"Malfoy prevails!" he declared. Once again positioning himself on his broomstick, he decided maybe it needed a running start. He ran at full speed towards a big crowd, stick still held between his legs, and just before he hit the crowd, he leaped with all his strength.

Unfortunately even his best effort wasn't enough to make the damn Muggle stick work. He crashed into the large crowd of Muggles fighting over the ball, causing loud cursing and shouts of 'moron!'

"I'll have you know," Draco said in between gasps of pain and fatigue, "that we Malfoys... mental... superiority..."

"Damn it Malfoy," Wood cried, pulling him up by the collar once more and drawing him aside. Draco sullenly thought about how his lovely salmon pink shirt would be ruined. "You idiot, I've told you a million times, that's a hockey stick, not a broomsti..."

Draco yawned widely.

"Yes, yes, crumpets and tea, blah blah Wood, I think one of my sophistication level would know that."

"Did you even hear a word I just said?" Wood said fiercely.

"I agree," Malfoy said. "Now let go of my apparel; thanks to your ceaseless jerking, I shall now need to wash this shirt."

Potter laughed uproariously at that, and Malfoy sneered at him.

"Yes, Potter, I'm sure you'd like to join the conversation, but your mental capability falls short. Now cease this prattling; there was nothing in my sentence that said anything about gallivanting on a field with Muggles, equipped with a faulty broomstick and no Snitch or Bludgers."

"This is P.E.," Potter said. "You exercise, Malfoy. You know? Exercise? Physical activity? Muggles tend to like to develop muscles in other places instead of just on their face."

"It's not my fault my face is so attractive to you, Potter," Draco said. He tapped his face twice, making sure he had a healthy layer of moisturizer on.

"I'm not here to argue with a ferret," Potter sneered. "Get back into the game; your Blue team is tied, the game is on the line."

He threw a lump of cloth at Draco.

"What am I supposed to do with this, my personal tailor is in Diagon Alley..."

"Wear it," Wood said, pointing to the three holes in the cloth.

"Wear that? My father would..."

"...find you so very attractive in blue," Wood said sarcastically, and the two Gryffindor idiots shared a laugh.

"I refuse!" Draco said. "Look, there's dirt on it!"

He tried to throw it at Potter, but it fell to the ground before it reached him. He really did need to tone his arm strength a bit...

"Pathetic," Wood mumbled.

"Hey, Mudblood!" Draco retorted. "I'll have you know, I fully intended..."

"Okay, let's put it this way," Potter said. "Either you put it on, or we'll extend your sentence to two years here at Smeltings."

Draco picked up the now even dirtier cloth and walked away, grumbling. Damn that Potter. He walked into the changing rooms, and with some more fussing, he finally managed put it on. Stupid thing, he even had to reposition his dragon scale belt... the anger built in him until he couldn't take it anymore. Fine, they wanted him to be a Muggle? Did they think he, Draco Malfoy, the sexiest, greatest, smartest, slickest, most sophisticated...

He sat down for another moment, smiling dreamily as he thought of more ways to describe himself, before he remembered his anger. Yes, yes... he, Draco Malfoy, would show them! He would go out there and be a better Muggle than all of the real ones, just to prove that he was indeed very versatile, multi-faceted, extremely skilled...

He spent another moment sitting on the bench thinking of more compliments, when Wood's voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

"Damn that Wood, always skulking around... now where was I? Oh yes, I, Draco, will now..." he muttered to himself.

"Get the hell out of the changing room, you pansy!" Wood bellowed.

"How dare you!" Draco shouted back. "I am twice the man Pansy Parkinson is!"

He walked out of the changing room, holding up the faulty broomstick.

"Behold, I am Malfoy, and all of you shall acknowledge my superiority!"

He ran onto the pitch, screaming defiantly.

The Muggles stared at him for a moment, before all collapsing, shrieking with laughter.

"Yes!" Draco crowed. "Lie down before the greatest Muggle you've ever seen!"

Something was wrong, everyone was collapsing, clutching at their throats. No matter.

Draco found the round ball, and swung the broomstick with all his might at it, trying to get it into the goal. It went a few meters before stopping.

He ran at it again, once again swinging it with all his might.

After a few more tries, he finally managed to push the ball through to the goal.

"YES!" he said, jumping in celebration. "Malfoy reigns supreme!"

Wood, clutching his stomach, managed to cry out "Own goal! Red team wins!" before falling to the floor as well, laughing and choking.

"There you are," a girl's voice said, interrupting Draco. It was Blaise, coming to the pitch. "C'mon, I've got something to show you, I found this awesome place in the back of the school..."

She stared at him, and started laughing as well.

"Laugh, little one, laugh all you will," Draco said. "I know you're all just covering for your insecurities, I know my presence is intimidating..."

"Draco, you're wearing the jersey the wrong way..." Blaise said, giggling. "Those holes there, they're supposed to be for the arms, not the legs, and that big hole there... well it's not to give you a pleasant breeze around your privates..."

She howled with laughter.

"Well, I can't help it, it was uncomfortable with my boxers on," Draco said irritably. "As if you didn't make the same mistake first time around."

"No, I must say, I never did," Blaise said, still pointing at him, giggling furiously.

"Women," Draco said. "What strange creatures. Come on then, I'll change back into my formal attire."

The Barney brand suit awaited. Now that, Draco thought, was money well spent.

***

The next week, Draco was prepared. He went early to the nurse's office, prepared with the information Blaise had casually leaked to him a few weeks earlier.

"Come in, Mr. Malfoy."

"Ha! Ha! And another ha!" Draco said triumphantly as he walked in before a girl who had been staring at him in the lineup. Well, all women stared at him, so that observation wasn't really needed...

"What seems the problem today, Mr. Malfoy?" the nurse said, looking bored.

"Er yes, I'm having my mental cramps," Draco said confidently. "Ow," he added for effect.

"Mental cramps?" the nurse asked, staring at him.

"Yes, yes," Draco said. "I'm afraid I can't go to physical education today of course, these mental cramps are very painful."

"Mr. Malfoy, mental cramps don't exist..."

"How dare you?" Draco said indignantly. "I'll have you know, I'm having my full stop as we speak."

"Your... full stop?"

Draco nodded, smirking inwardly. He knew that if he didn't used the Americanized way of saying 'period', the foolish nurse wouldn't suspect that he had stolen the excuse from Blaise.

"Yes, my full stop! It happens once a month, and I can't do anything about it, so you'll have to excuse me from physical education!"

"Nice try, Malfoy," the nurse said rudely. "Now if you'll please, I have real patients waiting..."

"As a man, I won't stand for this!" Draco insisted, not moving. "I have mental cramps and my full stop today, and golly, I'm telling you I will not do physical education today!"

"Please leave," the nurse said simply, looking back down at her log book.

"Damn Muggle!" Draco swore. If only he had his wand... how come it had worked for Blaise and not him? This nurse must've been a lesbian or something; Zabini must've flirted... well he, Malfoy, could manage to convert lesbians easily, after all, he was an incredible physical specimen...

"How are you today, Miss Muggle?" he said sweetly. "I know we haven't really hit it off right, but I'd like to tell you, you look absolutely spectacular today, especially for a Muggle in her fifties..."

Her face contorted.

"Forties?"

The face reddened.

"Thirties?"

No response.

"You can't possibly be in your twenties with those wrinkles," Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

Ten minutes later, he was running around on the field kicking a ball around and slipping on the grass every few steps. His lovely purple 'Dean O'Soar' (pronounced 'dine-oh-soar', very chic; he loved that designer) suit would need a wash soon.

Damn Muggles and their age sensitivity.