Title: Rock & Roll Queen
Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot and the terrible song lyrics are mine. Frankly, J.K. would probably be appalled at the things I'm making her characters do. The story's title comes from the song of the same name by The Subways.
Author's Notes: Thanks to all of you who are reading, and especially to those of you who reviewed! If you want to review again, I wouldn't mind a bit ;)
Thanks to the very awesome Aduro for the beta!
Chapter 2 - Inspecting
"And these are the quarters you'll be sharing," Mrs. Abbott said, pushing open a narrow door to reveal a dimly lit room. Two beds and a wardrobe took up nearly the entire space.
"Lovely," Ginny muttered under her breath as she dubiously eyed the cramped room.
"Bathroom's down the hall, last door on the right, your uniforms are in the wardrobe there, and missus would like to see you in the entry hall at 8 a.m. sharp. She's inspecting all the new staff, so see that you look smart. And don't take the main staircase, that's for family and guests only. Use the servants' stairs - same way we came up." And with that, the portly witch waddled away.
Ginny slumped down onto one of the beds. "This is really quite wretched, isn't it?"
"I'll admit, it's a bit small," Hermione agreed. "But perhaps these are the horrible conditions the Malfoy house-elves had to endure. Now we can see what they've suffered!" Hermione sounded slightly excited by the idea.
"Well won't that be fun!" Ginny replied in mock enthusiasm.
"Oh, stop it! This isn't going to be all bad, you know. Hey, we get new clothes - that's always nice!" Hermione threw open the doors to the wardrobe and pulled out one of the uniforms hanging there. She spun around to show Ginny, holding the garment against her body.
"Merlin's saggy man-boobs! What is that?!" Ginny exclaimed.
"Merlin's saggy what? Eww, Ginny, that's just wrong."
"A sagging bosom is a natural part of the aging process, Hermione. Don't tell me you're a gerontophobic - that's very close-minded of you," Ginny said in a reprimanding tone.
"You sound like Luna, you know."
"I did, didn't I?" Ginny giggled. "But seriously, what is that?"
Hermione held the clothing out at arms' length and frowned.
"Goodness," she laughed. "I must have grabbed a wrong size. Let's see . . . ."
After each of the identical uniforms - ten in all - had been removed from the wardrobe and thrown onto one of the beds, Hermione finally admitted defeat.
"I don't see how I can wear that," she said with a slightly panicked note in her voice. "Honestly! It's barely an outfit at all. It doesn't even look large enough to cover everything!"
Ginny, who was equally dismayed at the thought of wearing one of the "uniforms," momentarily forgot her own feelings as a small smile crept onto her face.
"Gosh," she began, tapping a finger against her cheek as if she were lost in thought, "these are so small they seem more appropriate for a house-elf than a human."
Hermione immediately saw where this was going. "Ginevra Weasley, don't you dare say it! This is not-"
Ginny cleared her throat loudly to interrupt.
"Perhaps, Hermione - just perhaps - these are the same outfits the house-elves had to wear. Now we can see what they suffered!" Ginny fell over on the pile of uniforms giggling wickedly.
"Not funny, Ginny," Hermione humphed. "Really, as you well know, house-elves didn't wear clothing."
"Then I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky, huh?"
"You're impossible!" Hermione said as Ginny once more fell to giggling.
~*~*~*~
Draco yawned and tapped his fingers idly against the polished surface of his desk. It was too early to be out of bed, but he had much to do today. His office door was open slightly, and Draco smirked as he saw the household staff begin trickling into the entry hall for the weekly inspection. Watching his mother frighten and confuse the help was always a good time. Plus, there was the little matter of Granger and the girl Weasel, and he was just dying to get a closer look at them.
When the first newly hired maid - some squib girl whose name Draco couldn't recall - entered the hall, Draco decided his accountant needed a raise. Stan had been in charge of updating the maids' uniform; Draco had grown sick of the frumpy robes these witches were wearing around his house and told Stan to find something more classically "maid-like." When Stan had reported back saying he had purchased uniforms using some Muggle machinery called "the internet," Draco had been skeptical. However, given the sight before his eyes, Draco admitted that perhaps Muggles weren't all bad. And the designer Stan had used - Frederick was it? - from some city stateside clearly knew a thing or two about dressing women.
The squib was wearing stiletto heels that were just made to puncture mattresses and a pair of opaque, black stockings. Traveling up her legs with his eyes, Draco was impressed with the short, flared black skirt that barely covered her tight little arse. She had a white apron hugging her waist - a completely useless little thing - but gods, how it showed off her curves. The best part of the outfit though, in Draco's opinion, was the low-cut, tight bodice, trimmed in lace, that practically shoved her-
Draco's thoughts were horribly and painfully interrupted as he happened to glance up from the squib's breasts to her face. He winced and turned away. Eww. He chanced another glance, in case he had made a mistake, or had gotten something really ugly in his eye. Nope. She was hideous from the neck up - multiple-wart chin, horse-like overbite, mustache, and bug eyes. Draco shuddered.
"A bagger," he mused philosophically, shaking his head slowly at the many injustices in the universe.
At that moment, Granger and Weasley made their way into Draco's line of sight. Granger, Draco had to admit, didn't look half bad: she had decent legs, though she wobbled in the heels as if she'd never worn a pair before. Her waist was small and flat and the uniform certainly flattered it. She was, sadly, a pirate's delight, but not every woman could be blest with a big, bouncing rack that made a man want to blow raspberries in it for hours. Draco smiled to himself, momentarily lost in a very pleasant memory.
He snapped out of it as his eyes focused on the Weasley girl. She was no girl any more, that was certain. Impossibly long, coltish legs, a juicy little arse he could just take a bite out of, the tiniest waist he had ever seen, and her tits - Merlin! Her perfectly rounded bosom rose from the low-cut uniform revealing smooth, white skin, with just the faintest dusting of freckles. Now that was something he could bury his face in. She was so stunningly perfect so far, Draco was almost afraid to look any higher and risk another disappointment. But Draco was nothing if not a risk-taker, and he bravely ventured a glance at her face.
And promptly felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. She wasn't cute; she wasn't pretty; she wasn't even drop-dead gorgeous. There weren't any words in Draco's vocabulary to describe how beautiful she was. So perfect, so lovely, so . . . so . . . .
The vaguely disconcerting, girly fluttering in his stomach was a more eloquent testament to Draco's feelings about the she-Weasel than anything his brain could come up with. Her delicate skin seemed almost translucent along her swan-like neck as it rose to the soft lines of her jaw. Her pale pink lips were set in a half-smirk as if she was secretly laughing at the world around her - an attitude Draco could understand and admire. She had a cute little nose with its smattering of freckles, but it was her eyes, a swirl of dark and milk chocolate - so warm that Draco inexplicably thought of sitting before the fireplace in his bedroom on Christmas, the secret, stolen moments of his childhood; all of that happiness and warmth and comfort were somehow in her eyes, and Draco could only stare, mesmerized.
He was broken out of his reverie by the entrance of his mother, the widow Malfoy, a woman who made a constant state of inebriation look easy. Draco watched as Abbott bowed deferentially before the wine-skin masquerading as a human being and then proceeded to point out the new staff. Narcissa, imperious even when she was three sheets to the wind at eight in the morning, sniffed disdainfully at each person she was introduced to. After going down the line with Abbott to inspect the troops, Narcissa deigned to speak.
"You are not house-elves," she began, somehow making that sound like an insult, "so you will have to work extra hard to try to make up for it. I do not desire to see any of you unless I call, or hear any of you unless I ask you a direct question. Furthermore, I cannot be bothered to learn all of your names. From now on, you will all answer to the name `Smootchy' - is that understood?"
Draco grinned widely as he watched the new hires exchange confused glances and then nod their assent to his mother. The "Smootchy" bit was always good for a laugh, and somehow, no matter how many times he'd heard his mother give this particular speech, it never seemed to get old.
~*~*~*~
Ginny, Hermione, and the squib, Maisie, trailed behind Mrs. Abbott as she guided them through the manor, going over their many duties. She had just finished explaining that the main rooms of the manor - dining room, study, library, billiard room, sitting room, solarium, etc. - would have to be cleaned by hand. Apparently, wizard magic, unlike house-elf magic, reacted particularly badly when, say, something like a dusting spell was cast on the various "knickknacks" strewn about the manor. Ginny grimaced as Mrs. Abbott muttered something about "first maid," "ears" and "permanently covered in dog fur."
"The bedrooms, however, can be wand-cleaned safely. Laundry and sheets should be sent every morning to the laundry room in the dungeon, and refreshing charms should be cast on the carpeting and draperies," Abbott droned. "Now listen up, girls, because this is important: the Missus likes her refreshing charm to smell of hops and barley - if you're unfamiliar with that particular scent combination, I have a sample in the kitchen - but the young Master prefers an unscented refreshing charm - strong perfumes give him headaches. Is that understood?"
Ginny nodded dully and rolled her eyes behind Mrs. Abbott's back. Hermione, on the other hand, looked like she had just read something particularly fascinating in Hogwarts, A History. Ginny threw her a questioning glance - did I miss something? - to which Hermione only smiled brightly.
Simultaneously, all four women began emitting a soft ringing from the Malfoy crest pins each wore affixed to their uniforms.
"Smootchy!" Narcissa's voice rang out. "I've broken another glass in the solar!"
The squib's eyes widened in panic and Ginny and Hermione exchanged glances.
"Would you like to get that, Smootchy, or shall I?" Ginny asked.
"Oh, by all means, Smootchy, she's all yours," Hermione replied.
"Tank goodneth. Mithuth Malfoy ith a bit thcary," said Maisie, her overbite causing her to whistle slightly in a way Ginny would have found cute in a small child. Maisie, on the other hand, could put on a bonnet, suck on a lolly, and play with a room full of kitties and puppies and she would still be horribly, hideously uncute.
"Good of you to volunteer, Miss Weasley," Abbott said, ignoring Maisie's comment and sounding for all the world like a general sending a soldier out to battle. "And when you're done helping the Missus, please mop and wax the floor in the portrait gallery."
~*~*~*~
"Finally! It took you long enough!" Pansy whined as Draco entered the Diagon Alley studio. He was the last to arrive apparently, and nodded in greeting to the rest of the crew.
"We have so much to do! Do you want to start with image or sound first?" Pansy, her annoyance forgotten, was nearly squealing. Draco cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Take sound - she's been going on about this new mystery song for the last half hour and I'm bloody near to killing her," Blaise drawled.
"All right then, Pans, let's see it," Draco said, hesitant to look at a song he didn't write himself. And given that Pansy Parkinson's twisted brain spawned it, he was right to be leery.
Pansy handed him the parchment excitedly, and he glanced it over.
"Pansy! What the bloody hell is wrong with you? I can't sing that about myself!"
Pansy's face fell into a dramatic pout, complete with droopy eyes and protruding lower lip. Blaise snatched the parchment from Draco and he, Crabbe, and Goyle bent over it.
"Draco's got an ass so tight / Makes me want to take a bite," Blaise said in a monotone. "Or perhaps give it just a little lick, / Spin him around and suck his - Pansy! That's got to be your worst pick up attempt yet! Not to mention a complete rubbish song. Shame on you, Miss Parkinson, you naughty bird, you!"
Crabbe and Goyle just shook their heads at the blushing brunette. Every week she attempted some new plot to seduce their lead singer, and every week she failed miserably. The closest she had come to bagging Draco was when she brought in chocolate cupcakes for his twentieth birthday laced with a "see it, want it" love potion. Unfortunately, Crabbe took an unlucky step into Draco's line of sight at the most inopportune moment, and both men still had painful memories of the incident.
Draco cleared his throat and everyone gave him their complete attention.
"Let's try this song," he said, passing out parchments to Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle immediately picked up his bass and began strumming the low, rhythmic bass line. He nodded his head slightly to the beat.
Pansy took her sheet music over to the drums and absently twirled one of her sticks as she read over the part, her brows furrowed in concentration.
Crabbe perched himself on one of the woofers and fingered the electric guitar part. Soon a cacophony of sound filled the room as everyone practiced. Blaise, who had assigned himself the role of "band manager," strolled from one person to the next, reading the music over their shoulders.
"This is bloody brilliant, Draco!" he finally exclaimed.
"Of course," was the reply. "I wrote it."
Practice lasted a couple of hours until finally Draco pronounced them good enough for their first performance the following evening at a small Muggle nightclub.
Pansy stretched her back and twirled a drumstick, her favorite trick from the correspondence course she had taken - "Drum Like Meg White!"
"Gods, my back is so sore," she whined, eyeing Draco reproachfully. "We still need to work on your look for tomorrow, Draco."
"What's wrong with my look?" Draco asked indignantly, running a hand through his hair. "I already have my outfit picked out for tomorrow: black dragonskin pants and a t-shirt I had specially made for the occasion. You'll love it, trust me."
"I suppose that's fine," replied Pansy. "But image for a rock star is more than just the clothes. Here, come and look at these pictures."
The boys gathered around Pansy on the couch - Draco and Blaise on either side of her, and Crabbe and Goyle perched on the couch's arms. Pansy began pulling large glossy photos from a manila envelope on her lap.
"I've been doing some research on big Muggle rock stars. Here, look at this one - his name's Billie Joe, from a band called "Green Day" - very popular. What do you think?"
Draco eyed the photo critically. "Well, his skin tone is similar to mine, but that black hair makes him look very washed out. I like how he styles it, I suppose. Wait, though - is he . . . is that makeup around his eyes?" Draco looked up in disgust.
"A very astute observation, Draco," Pansy smirked. "He is wearing quite a bit of eye-liner. His whole band does. Let's look at the next photo, shall we?"
The five former Slytherins went through a variety of head shots: Vince Neil from Motley Crue, Bret Michaels from Poison, David Coverdale from Whitesnake, Sebastian Bach from Skid Row, Scott Weiland from Velvet Revolver, Justin Hawkins from The Darkness; when they got to Gene Simmons from KISS, they all started laughing.
"Oh, those crazy Muggles," Blaise said, shaking his head. "What will they think of next?"
But despite the over-the-top look of the KISS frontman, a decided trend had emerged from the series of photographs: Muggle rock stars liked to wear makeup, and they all had very bad hair stylists.
"How did I never notice this before?" Draco asked in shock. "How did I not see that `rock star' is equivalent to `poofter'?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "One, you didn't notice the makeup before because on stage, this look isn't as noticeable. Plus, you were looking at the whole package - the sound, the clothes, the attitude. And wearing a bit of makeup won't make you gay, Draco. Stop being so melodramatic."
"Yeah, Draco, the day you become a knob-slobberer is the day women cease to exist," Blaise laughed.
At the mention of knob-slobbering, Crabbe threw Draco an uneasy look and edged away from him slightly.
"Pans, I'm not wearing makeup, and that's final," Draco said firmly.
"I had a feeling you might say that," she replied. "I saved one photo for last that I think might change your mind." Slowly, she pulled the last glossy from the envelope. "This is someone quite unique. Apparently, he is well-known as a Muggle rock star, but secretly, he is a dark and powerful wizard, one who likes to steal Muggle babies and possibly eat them. His self-proclaimed title is `Goblin King.'"
There was a moment of awed silence as they stared at the photo.
"He's rather wicked looking," Blaise said in a hushed voice.
"He's uh . . . well," Goyle began, squirming uncomfortably.
"It's okay, Gregory, lots of men find him attractive. It's quite normal," Pansy said reassuringly.
Goyle blushed but didn't reply. Four heads turned toward Draco, waiting for the verdict.
Finally, he spoke. "I like it. Pansy, show me how to look more like this David Bowie."
~*~*~*~
A/N: The maid "uniform" can be seen here: http://www.fredericks.com/product.asp?catalog%5Fname=Holiday2002&category%5Fname=Costumes%2DPlus+Sizes&product%5Fid=92158
Pirate's Delight = Sunken Chest
D/G interaction coming up in chapter 3! Like it, hate it, have suggestions? Review and tell me what you think!
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