‘You know I'm bad, I'm bad,’ Draco was singing to himself, the earphones neatly covering his ears as he was listening to the muggle contraption he borrowed from one of his fellow Muggle Studies students, unsuccessfully attempting what one of the students had called the moonwalk. He could not execute the action of making a forward motion, while moving backwards, no matter how often Ernest Macmillan had shown it to him, before the term finished.
At first Draco had been outraged when Dumbledore had summoned him to his office and told him that he had decided that it might be a good idea for him to attend Muggle Studies to get a better appreciation of muggles.
‘You should not see this as a punishment, but as an opportunity to further your education in an area that clearly has been lacking heretofore,’ the pompous headmaster had told him. The words an echo of something he had heard Professor McGonagall mutter under her breath, when she learnt of the incident.
Such fuss over calling that stupid Gryffindor girl a mudblood.
While his father used the term regularly, deep down Draco knew that he should not have addressed Hermione that way, but she simply always got under his skin. It was not so much that he thought that he was superior to her, despite what his father believed, but she somehow always made him feel inferior, especially in front of Potter. He hated being made a fool of in front of the Boy Who Lived. Not that he had anything to proof, of course. He was a pureblood after all. Yet here he was, being punished for simply pointing out that Hermione Granger was a muggle-born. Granted, it probably had more to do with him using that slur and adding filthy to it. But you filthy mudblood had somehow sounded so much more satisfying than you overbearing muggle-born.
He initially tried to just ignore everyone and anything during the Muggle Studies class, but in spite of himself, he gradually became fascinated by what the professor was explaining to them. It appeared that Muggles had managed to adapt extraordinarily well to their lack of magic and while squibs might bemoan the fact that they could not do magic, their muggle counterparts, not knowing any better, were perfectly well equipped to make do without magic. They might not be able to fly on broomsticks, or aparate or use floo powder, but they had other modes of transport and quite a variety of them: bicycles, tricycles, mopeds, scooters, motorbikes, cars, busses, trains and aeroplanes. They even managed to sent men into space, using rockets. In addition to mechanical modes of transport, they used a range of animals, such as donkeys, elephants, camels and horses. They were quite adept at horseback riding, both as a form of transport and as a means to relax and even to use in sporting activities. In fact, muggles seemed to have an endless array of sporting activities and pass times, including a range of World Cups that attracted many more visitors than the Quidditch World Cup and did not require any complicated arrangements to hide these events from the magical community.
While Draco loved playing quidditch, he liked the idea of trying his hand at some of these muggle sports. Imagine being able to chose from such a wide array of sporting activities rather than just wizard chess and quidditch. He imagined beating Potter in tennis and athletics and soccer or rugby. Yes, he would certainly like that very much.
The more Draco learned, the more he realised that life as a muggle wasn’t as primitive as his father had made it out to be.
One topic that fascinated him was the world of fashion. The Muggle Studies Professor had brought in a huge supply of glossy fashion magazines. Once Draco and his classmates had gotten over the initial shock that the images did not move, they spent the rest of the class flicking through the various magazines, looking at the colourful styles, some more outrageous than others and Draco felt himself thoroughly enjoying the discussions with his fellow classmates.
He also tried to imagine himself wearing some of the outfits in the pictures and daydreamed about strutting his stuff on the catwalk. He had a good eye for picking the best robes and was used to getting his clothing tailor made and choosing the most luxurious fabrics, befitting the Malfoy name. He was well aware that some of his fellow Slytherins made fun of his vanity, but he put it down to jealousy on their part. Muggle fashion appeared to him far more flamboyant and innovative than even the most stylish robes of the Wizarding community.
After fashion, the Muggle Studies curriculum had turned to music and dance and, for homework over the holidays, they were given the task to learn a song and practice a dance routine, which is how Draco was now learning the lyrics to this song BAD and was trying to moon walk and practicing some hip trusts.
Because I'm bad, I'm bad - come on
(Bad bad - really, really bad)
You know I'm bad, I'm bad - you know it
(Bad bad - really, really bad)
He had managed to swipe one of his mother’s white leather gloves and had persuaded his aunt Andromeda to take him shopping in one of London’s many muggle shops for a red leather jacket, a white silk shirt and black leather pants. When he told her that they were doing some Michael Jackson impersonation show, which was a slight exaggeration, she also gave him a lend of one of uncle Ted’s fedoras.
Officially the two families were not in touch, but the two sisters would occasionally meet up for a cup of tea in London and Draco loved meeting his aunt. The fact that she had married a muggle and was therefore no longer welcome in the Malfoy Mansion, did not bother Draco one bit and he found it sometimes difficult to reconcile all the things his father told him about muggles with the kind and considerate manner of his uncle Ted. Not that he would ever be able to express such observations to his father, nor would his mother ever mention anything about her clandestine meetings with her sister.
Because I'm bad, I'm bad - come on
(Bad bad - really, really bad)
You know I'm bad, I'm bad - you know it
(Bad bad - really, really bad)
Draco was nearly knocked against the wall, by a whack of his father’s cane.
‘What in the name of Slytherin do you think you are doing?’ Lucius asked his son, looking outraged from the strange contraption covering his son’s ears to the single glove on his son’s right hand to the small box protruding from the belt of this trousers.
Draco, slightly dazed from the smack on his arm, inwardly cursed himself for not hearing his father coming up the stairs.
With as much courage as he could muster, he turned to his father and calmly said: ‘Home work, Sir.’
‘Home work?, you say, HOME WORK?’
Draco could see the tell-tale trembling at the corners of his father’s mouth and knew he would be in for a hiding.
‘Professor Dumbledore is making me do Muggle Studies, because I called one of the students in my year a mudblood,’ he added quickly.
‘It is completely outrageous of course, and I would have come to you sooner, Sir, but I felt you had enough to deal with at the moment…’ He let his voice trail off.
Draco hoped against hope that the fact that he had called someone a mudblood would be enough to save him from a beating.
Lucius’ piercing eyes stared right into Draco’s ones. While similar in colour, they were far more menacing than those of the young Slytherin.
‘Homework is over,’ Lucius announced. His words slow and deliberate, as he stretched out his hand for the earphones and Walkman he had borrowed from Ernie. Draco had no choice but to hand over the muggle equipment to his father. Secretly hoping that he would be able to persuade his mother or Dobby to retrieve them later, or at least before he would go back to school.
‘And take off that stupid glove,’ his father commanded before he left the room.
When the door closed behind his father, Draco heaved a sigh of relief. His upset at having lost Ernie’s Walkman paling in comparison to his relief at having avoided a beating, for now at least.
‘‘You know I'm bad, I'm bad,’ he continued humming to himself.
While he would never in a million years admit this to his father, Draco was looking forward to his next Muggle Studies class after the holidays and he had to admit that maybe Professor Dumbledore had been correct in his assessment of what would be good for the young Malfoy.
He also made a mental note to apologise to Granger, when he would see her next.
And yes, maybe pigs would fly one of these days, as that funny muggle expression went.