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 ;)
This chapter is unbetaed, so any and all stinkiness - totally my fault!
Chapter 4 - Performances
"Seven. Right side pocket," Blaise said as he lined up his shot, his left hand arched and spread-fingered as he slid the cue backwards and forwards along the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Draco had invited him over to play billiards before their show that night, partly to help calm his nerves, not that Draco would ever admit it.
The seven ball struck against the side of the pocket and Blaise cursed under his breath.
Draco surveyed the table.
"Two in the right corner," he said and then in one fluid movement, like a cat stretching after a long nap, he sunk his ball.
"Nice," Blaise commented. Draco smirked.
"So how did the whole" - Blaise made a circular motion around his face - "thing go last night?"
"Fine," Draco replied with a non-committal shrug, moving around the table.
"Really? So you actually put that stuff on?" Blaise looked genuinely surprised.
"I don't want to talk about it," Draco replied. He and Mirabel had worked something out involving a bit of eyeliner and some lip gloss, but the painful memories of the previous evening were still too fresh.
Blaise shrugged. "Eh, I think Pans is worrying too much about appearances anyway. I mean, it's the sound that matters, right?
"Here, here," Draco murmured distractedly as he lined up his next shot.
"Speaking of sound - can we get a little music in here? This place is quiet as a crypt. It's spooking me out." Blaise shuddered melodramatically.
"How did you ever survive seven years in the Slytherin dorms?" Draco asked.
"Hummed a lot."
Draco snorted and rolled his eyes at his best friend. "Wireless is right over there. Be my guest." He gestured to the ornate cherrywood and pewter device beside the bar.
"Sure it won't disturb your mum?" Blaise queried.
"What's it, eleven? My mother is doubtless down for her midmorning booze-snooze by now. A marching band rehearsing in the foyer wouldn't wake her."
Blaise shook his head at his friend's casual disregard of Narcissa's drinking problem and turned on the wizarding wireless, fiddling with the dial until he found a current hits station. The end of "Under Your Spell," the Weird Sisters' hit that Draco wrote, was playing:
"Seduced by your looks,
Seduced by your charms,
I've got to have you in my arms!
Under your spell,
Under your spell,
You've got me under your spell, baby!"
"Still popular, huh?" Blaise asked as the song wrapped up.
"Yeah. It's funny how even a load of rubbish can do well when a bunch of hot chicks are singing it."
"Nonsense, Draco. The song is good. Really catchy."
The wireless announcer interrupted them: "Next up, a song that's climbing the charts from the wizarding world's hottest rapper! It's `Cauldron Bottom Gals!'"
"Hey! That's two of yours in a row, Draco," Blaise said, sounding impressed.
Blaise was right. "Cauldron Bottom Gals" was one of Draco's latest effusions, and one he found immensely entertaining due to its sheer tastelessness. He paused to listen.
"Don't want no broomstick witch,
Give me a cauldron bottom gal!
That's right! Don't want to mount no broom,
Rather be stirring a cauldron bottom gal!"
The song broke off into mindless beatboxing at that point and Draco grimaced. The artist was the wizard rap star "The Nasty Wiz," a moniker Draco found more than a little amusing. His father taught him when he was a small boy that "the nasty wiz" referred to the aftermath of a three-day bout with a bevy of Asian prostitutes, and it was something that generally required medical attention. Draco shook his head. Whatever. "Nasty" had paid well for the lyrics, and the song was quite catchy.
As he mused on stupid band names, it dawned on him that Nasty wasn't the only one he was listening to. A feminine voice was singing along just outside the door. His interest piqued, Draco decided to have a look.
Silently motioning Blaise to keep quiet and follow him, Draco crept to the door of the billiard room and slid it open. The sight that met his eyes was even funnier than he had hoped.
Standing in the hallway, in her gods damned sexy uniform, was the She-weasel, singing "Cauldron Bottom Gals" - into the handle of her feather duster, of all things - with all her might. She was thankfully facing away from the doorway, and had no clue she was being watched. As the chorus came around again, she decided to add dance moves to her performance.
Draco bit down on a snicker as Weasley bent forward and shimmied her arse in a circular motion accompanied by a slight hop. It was ridiculous looking and incredibly sexy at the same time. And effing adorable. Wait. Did he just think that something was adorable? Fuck. He knew it! That makeup had seeped into his skull and messed with his brain. He was becoming downright womanish. Tomorrow he'd wake up to find he'd sprouted breasts, and where would he go from there? A training bra? Draco shook the unwelcome thought from his head and continued to admire his favorite maid.
After the chorus came another round of wordless rhythm, and here Weasley decided to step up her dance routine. She waved her arms in a circular motion over her head as an accompaniment to her rotating rear, and Draco wondered at this point how she managed to do that and stay upright in those stiletto heels at the same time.
The song came to an end and Weasley bowed dramatically to the portraits lining the wall.
"Thank you! Goodnight!" she exclaimed. The portrait of Ethelberta the Meek, from the wilting branch of the family tree, clapped politely. The other portraits rolled their eyes.
"Great audience here tonight!" Weasley said, laughing. Draco and Blaise exchanged a sideways glance and then began to clap, loudly.
~*~*~*~
The irony of her situation did not escape her. As Ginny slid the bronze polish back into the caddy beside her, she reflected on the major battles she had fought with her mum over enrolling in the Auror Academy. The work would be too dangerous, unsuitable for the youngest, and only female, Weasley child, Molly Weasley had argued. Being top in her training squad and gaining a spot in the M.E.S.S. had done nothing to smooth Molly's ruffled feathers and Ginny had to endure constant nagging on the subject. The joys of marriage, motherhood, and the domestic life were expounded upon at length while poor Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin became the embodiment of all the evils of female Aurors.
"Do you remember the time Tonks knocked over the Christmas tree? The fairy lights set the curtains on fire and we all nearly died. No grace, that girl. She's almost mannish, don't you think, dear?"
Or,
"Remus stopped in for tea yesterday afternoon and mentioned that he and Tonks had decided to wait on starting a family. She'll always put her career first, mark my words. Remus will never have a proper home, the poor dear."
Ginny unsuccessfully brought up Hermione and Luna as examples.
"Oh, of course it's proper for them to be with Harry and Ron. If I hadn't had you lot to raise I would have loved to be right by your father's side in the Ministry. It would have been a joy to stand by my man." This, despite Molly's general dislike of all things Muggle.
Nothing Molly said could dissuade Ginny however, and the matron of the Weasley clan was stuck with her fears for her daughter's safety, and worse, her anxiety over whether her daughter would ever wear a skirt again.
Thus Ginny had to laugh as she found herself not only wearing a skirt, but doing housework, and involved in nothing more dangerous than avoiding Narcissa Malfoy's drunken glass-throwing sprees. And given the Malfoy matriarch's weak wrist and terrible aim, even that wasn't much of a challenge.
The spy business was definitely not as glamorous or exciting as popular belief held it to be, Ginny thought as she eyed her dried out hands. That bronze polish was not good for the skin. Another irony of her current assignment was that she finally had proof of her mother's skewed version of reality. If this sort of work was domestic bliss, Molly Weasley must really have a screw or two loose.
Ginny shook her head and pushed her mother from her mind. She had more important things to think about. She was polishing the busts in the hall outside the billiard room, and she knew for a fact that the target was inside, entertaining company. Perhaps if she lingered outside the door, she would overhear something useful . . . .
For a long time, the only sounds Ginny could make out were the click of billiard balls hitting together and the low murmur of conversation - nothing loud enough to understand. She was developing a crick in her neck from holding still so long in an uncomfortable position and began rubbing her shoulder, trying to ease the dull ache.
It was almost a relief when the wireless came on, blaring that stupid Weird Sisters' song that always got stuck in her head. At least it was entertaining, though. And right after it, came one of her favorite new songs. A terribly sexist rap, but so much fun to dance to. She couldn't resist.
~*~*~*~
As soon as they began clapping the She-weasel whipped around, her flame-red hair whirling about her face. Instead of embarrassment, Draco noted the guarded look on her face, and grudgingly admired her for it. It was Blaise who spoke first.
"Those were some nice moves, Weasley," he said with a soft, insinuating tone. "It looked like you could use a dance partner, though." He moved closer to her as Ginny backed away.
"Blaise, leave off," Draco snapped. "As . . . entertaining . . . as the Weasel is, she's actually being paid to clean. Isn't that right, Weasley? Don't you have any real work to do?"
Ginny looked from Blaise to Draco quickly and nodded.
"Yes, sir," she said, her eyes meeting Draco's and holding them for a moment. "I apologize." She grabbed her caddy and moved swiftly down the hall. Before she disappeared around the corner, however, she turned and Draco saw the corners of her lips quirked into a devious grin.
"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, sir," she called back to them, "I've thoroughly tested this hallway, and I think you'll find it entirely safe for walking - in case you were worried." Before Draco had a chance to respond, she was gone.
"What gives, Draco? The fun was just getting started," Blaise said, disappointment and surprise evident in his voice. "And what was that last bit about?"
A low growl emitted from Draco's throat, startling Blaise.
"That one's mine," Draco replied tersely and returned to the billiard room, leaving Blaise gazing after him with both eyebrows raised and a smile playing upon his lips.
"Interesting," he murmured to the empty hallway.
~*~*~*~
Pansy was getting annoyed. It was one thing for the stupid Gryff and that lunatic Ravenclaw to be constantly following her, for whatever reason. But it was completely another thing for them to be doing it so obviously. As if she was too dumb to notice. She was a Slytherin, for Hades' sake! Cunning, suspicion and wariness were in her blood! The two blonds hounding her might as well have been a troupe of dancing hippogriffs for all their efforts at concealment.
Take the present instance, for example. Pansy had exited the Diagon Alley studio and was on her way to the Muggle pub, Boozy Sue's, where the band would be playing that night. Sure enough, her two tails were right behind her. For a few minutes, they managed to keep reasonably well hidden, ducking into a store when she turned to glance behind her (to keep them on their toes, of course). But then that Ravenclaw freak, Looney or whatever her name was, dashed right out into the street actually shouting! Pansy couldn't figure out what she was saying - it sounded like complete gibberish. And then the madwoman Disapparated right then and there!
Pansy almost marched right up to the blond Gryff, who to his credit looked equally baffled by his partner's sudden departure, to give him some pointers.
"If you're going to spy on me, for whatever sick pleasure you're getting out of it, at least try, try not to be so effing obvious, you fuckwit!" she wanted to shout at him. But she didn't. Instead, she gritted her teeth, lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and kept walking, all the while hearing her tail's footsteps behind her.
She couldn't arrive at the pub soon enough.
~*~*~*~
Draco learned two very important lessons from his band's first public performance. One, dragonskin pants really chafed. Between the lights and the number of warm bodies crowding the pub, he worked up quite a sweat - no, scratch that - quite a glisten, because of course, Malfoys don't, under any circumstances, sweat (how plebian!), and that glisten increased the friction between his skin and his tight, tight pants, and he was sure he was going to have a rash down there in the morning.
The second thing he learned is that Muggles have no taste in music.
Constellation had played a three-song set, the new, original song they had been practicing all week, and covers of two Broomstick Jockeys songs (of course, it was all new to the Muggles). No one had booed them off the stage, but the crowd's reaction was less than enthusiastic.
"They're no Arctic Monkeys," he heard one of them say. He had no clue what that meant - there are no monkeys in the Arctic! - but he gathered it was an insult. His suspicion was confirmed when he took a seat at the bar.
"Better luck next time, eh chap?" said the bartender, a beefy man with a ruddy face and sandy hair.
Draco rolled his eyes and ordered a scotch on the rocks.
"Hey," said a voice by his side. He turned and encountered a bleach-blond with huge knockers and . . . huge knockers - he was so distracted by her breasts he couldn't be bothered to examine the rest of her.
"I liked your singing," she said in a slightly slurred voice.
"Thank you," Draco replied, glad that someone, finally, appreciated his work.
"What's your shirt mean?" she asked, close enough now that Draco could smell the cloying sweetness of cheap beer on her breath.
Draco looked down at the t-shirt he had handpicked for his first public performance. It was black, a soft pima cotton, and said "MUGGLE" in large white lettering across his chest.
"What do you mean `what does is mean'? It's just a reminder that I'm just like you - nothing different about me at all," he told the blond, eyeing her suspiciously. Had she somehow seen through his perfect "blend-in-with-the-Muggles" disguise? Was she even now toying with him?
Big Knockers blinked at him, drunkenly and uncomprehendingly.
"You're real pretty. Wanna come back to my flat? It's close by," Knockers said finally, leaning forward and exposing miles of slightly flushed skin.
"Er, no, thank you," he replied curtly and turned away from her. Honestly, sex with a Muggle? What kind of animal did she take him for? No matter how great her tits were, he would never stoop so low. Of course, he mused inwardly, it was his own fault he was in the position to be propositioned by a Muggle. Him and his rock star ambitions. If only he could have been content with his fabulous wealth, his playboy lifestyle, his dashing good looks, his sexual prowess, the fear and/or respect of the wizarding community . . . but no, he wanted more.
"Merlin's back hair! What's wrong with me?" Draco whispered harshly to himself.
"Another scotch," he told the bartender. "And make it a double."
~*~*~*~
They were all trashed when they left Boozy Sue's. Blaise, who kept erupting into random giggles, was being frogmarched between Crabbe and Goyle, though neither of them could move in a straight line and kept pulling him in opposite directions. Pansy had the hiccups, and, like every other time she had too much to drink, she was both really randy and addicted to the word "fuck."
A sample of their conversation:
"Fuck, Blaise. Can't you" - hiccup - "quit your fucking giggling" - hiccup - "it's giving me a fucking headache, for fuck's sake!"
"Teehee," Blaise replied.
"I need to get these pants off," Draco whined to no one in particular.
"I can help with" - hiccup - "that," Pansy said, trying to focus her eyes enough to leer at him.
"Back off, witch," Draco replied. "Why do women constantly try to use me for my body? Am I only a piece of meat? When will someone care about the Draco inside this beautiful façade? Am I too sexy to be loved?"
Pansy, along with the others, had wandered away by this point, and so, with a much-put-upon sigh, Draco Disapparated.
~*~*~*~
Pansy was once more alone. Draco had Apparated home some time ago, and Crabbe and Goyle had finally gone to take Blaise back to his flat - the sot was too gone to get home himself without splinching.
Pansy glanced around. Abandoned, deserted in Muggle London, in some dark alley, and gods, she needed a good screw. She hiccupped in frustration.
Just then, she heard a garbage can crash to the ground further up the alley. Her first feeling was alarm - even if she was a witch, she was still alone, and not at all sober, in a strange place.
And then she remembered her tail, and chuckled to herself. The gods had sent her a solution to all her problems.
She crept up the alley, swallowing her hiccups so that she didn't make a sound.
"Hello, little Gryff," she whispered into the blond's ear.
"Eeep!" he exclaimed, and then gulped loudly.
"Um, why, Pansy Parkinson? Is that you? Fancy meeting you here," he said, his voice cracking every couple of words.
Pansy chuckled. "Yes, how fucking odd," she murmured. "I know you've been following me, Gryff." She moved slowly, deliberately closer to him, and he retreated until his back bumped up against the brick wall of a building.
Her prey looked at her, his eyes wide with fear.
"Tell me, Gryff," she said, her lips brushing against his earlobe, "are you as virginal as you look?"
He gulped again.
"That's what I thought," Pansy said, and then seizing his arm, she Apparated them both away.
~*~*~*~
Draco was stumbling along a second-floor corridor, humming to himself (damn Blaise, it was quiet as a crypt in the Manor!), and searching for his bedroom. The fact that the entire building was spinning didn't help matters.
He heard shuffling footsteps behind him and decided to wait, hoping that whoever it was could help him find his room.
Ginny Weasley emerged out of the darkness, clad in blue and pink polka-dotted pajama pants, a large Cannons sweatshirt, and fuzzy purple slippers. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders and she smelled faintly of hot chocolate.
"'ello She-weasel," Draco said amiably. Ginny eyed him suspiciously.
"She-weasel," he continued, blithely unaware of the expression on her face. "I used to call you that, remember? Good times. She-weasel. . . . Sheeee-weasel. . . . Shweasel." He hiccupped loudly.
"Merlin, you're blitzed off your arse, aren't you?" Ginny demanded.
"You know what sounds like shweasel?" he asked, completely ignoring her question. "Sha-wing! I love that word! Sha-wing! Sha-wing! Sha-wing!" He made this speech even more bizarre by thrusting his hips out awkwardly with each "sha-wing." Ginny was mesmerized at first by his strange, slightly horrifying dance.
"Stop it! Stop! That's really creepy!" she exclaimed finally, her hands covering her eyes.
Draco halted abruptly. "Okay," he said. "Hey, Weasley, I can't find my bedroom."
Ginny had to hide a smile at how earnest and forlorn he sounded. Like a five year old looking for his mum in a toy store.
"Fine," she replied, "follow me." She turned and led him down the dark hall to his room.
"Nice outfit," she said as they reached his bedroom door. "I especially like the eyeliner."
"Thanks," Draco replied absently, and then stiffened. "Are you making fun of me, Weasley?"
Ginny smiled. "No, I wouldn't dream of it . . . sir," she said. "Is there anything else I can do for you, or can you take it from here?"
Even drunk, Draco could see the laughter she was just barely containing, and he valiantly struggled to sound sober.
"Actually, Weasley, I do have another task for you," he said. "Turn down the bed while I get changed."
The suspicious look was once more on Ginny's face, but again Draco ignored it and disappeared into his bathroom.
When he emerged, his face washed and make-up free, the cursed pants removed and a salve applied to his much abused skin, clad only in satin drawstring pants, and feeling slightly more sober, his bed was neatly turned down and the She-weasel was standing stiffly in his doorway.
"Will that be all, sir?" she asked curtly, averting her eyes from his bare chest.
Draco climbed into bed and smirked.
"Tuck me in," he said.
"What?"
"You heard me, Weasel."
"Malfoy, that is not in my job description," Ginny said hotly.
Draco yawned. "Weasley, tuck me in. I don't care if it's in your job description. I'm sleepy, and I'm the boss."
Ginny spluttered and stomped over to the bed. "Fine," she spat, and roughly tucked the comforter beneath his shoulders. Draco smiled beatifically at her, ignoring the brutal treatment.
"Thank you, Weasley," he said, closing his eyes. Ginny didn't reply, but he could feel her standing there, glaring down at him.
"If you're going to stay, you could sing to me. I'm partial to `Kookaburra' or `Hush Little Malfoy' for bedtime."
"I am NOT singing to you," Ginny replied.
Draco shrugged, but didn't open his eyes. "Well then, you could climb in - my blankets are still awfully chilly." He wondered in his sleepy, partially drunken way how close the She-weasel was to slapping him.
"You are such a prat," she said after a moment, "but you still don't seem really evil to me." That last bit seemed more to herself than to him, but his eyes shot open anyway.
"Evil? Of course I'm not evil," he replied. "Evil takes work, and sacrifice! You really have to care about your cause and all that rubbish. Honestly, look at everything Voldemort went through to be evil - ending up a red-eyed, noseless freak. Or my father - he was nearly mad before the Aurors finally put him out of his misery. Complete idiots if you ask me. I'm far too selfish and lazy to be evil."
"Now that I can believe," Ginny murmured.
"So are you getting in, or what?"
"Goodnight, Malfoy," Ginny said firmly, moving toward the door. "That is never going to happen."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Weasley," Draco called after her as she disappeared into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her. "But it will happen." And with that thought, he drifted off to sleep.
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A/N: "too sexy to be loved," from http://www.thesuperficial.com
"sha-wing," from Wayne's World
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