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 ;)
Here's an extra long chapter, just for you!
Chapter 5 - The Inappropriate Sniffing Chapter
With a flick of her wand, Pansy undid the handcuffs and watched as her little Gryff rubbed his chafed wrists. The first rays of morning sunlight were streaming through the window, and Pansy lay back on the bed, feeling sleepy, sated, and a little bit sore.
"Well, little Gryff, you proved yourself very teachable. I'm happily surprised. You may kiss me before you go," she said, offering him a cheek.
Colin, naked beside her in the bed, still had that fearful look in his eyes, but now it was tempered with a healthy dose of wonderment. He quickly leaned over to obey her, brushing his lips to her cheek in a hesitant, almost worshipful way.
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice wavering slightly.
"Thank you, what?" Pansy replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Thank you, Mistress Pansy," he said quickly. Pansy smiled.
"Very good. Perhaps we'll do this again, if you're very, very lucky. Now get your clothes and go." Pansy rolled away from him dismissively.
Colin didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled from the bed and threw on his discarded clothing in a haphazard manner. Then, with one last look at the figure in the bed - the graceful curve of her spine, the roundness of her buttocks just visible above the satin sheet - he Apparated away.
Pansy waited for the cracking sound that signaled her new toy's departure, and then rolled onto her back and stretched her arms above her head. When she kidnapped the little Gryff the night before, she hadn't expected much in the way of pleasure - not much beyond the joy of frightening the boy half out of his wits - but truly, she had been surprised and impressed. He had, quite literally, risen to every challenge she set him, and she couldn't remember the last time she had bedded a man who could keep up with her.
"Who knew he had it in him?" she murmured, smiling again. Yes, they'd definitely be repeating that performance.
~*~*~*~
"Put that effing light out!" Draco groused, throwing his arm over his eyes protectively.
"Well, somebody thinks they're all-powerful today," Mirabel chuckled.
Draco peeked out from beneath the crook of his arm and realized that the "light" was in fact the sun coming in through his window. Effing cosmos, never doing what it was told.
With a groan he rolled over to the edge of his bed and rang the bell. Within minutes, he heard a soft knock on his door.
"Enter," he said impatiently. In came the Squib whose name he couldn't remember, the one who'd be a perfect physical specimen if only she had a paper bag over her head.
"You called, Mithter Malfoy, thir?" she asked in a squeaky voice.
"Bring me up a hangover potion, and make it quick," he told her.
After she scurried from the room, Draco tried to piece the previous night back together. He remembered performing at Boozy Sue's, and the absolute rubbish response they got from those damned Muggles. He remembered drinking at the bar; in fact, the five of them had spent the entire paycheck they had gotten for playing on drinks. He remembered them all leaving together, but it was pretty hazy. He must have Apparated home at some point . . . and then what?
Draco rubbed his temples.
"Mira, what time did I get in last night?"
"Oh, around two. You came in with that little red-headed maid. You know, you never ask me to sing lullabies to you. I have a lovely singing voice," Mirabel pouted.
Draco groaned. Oh, gods, Weasley - it was coming back to him now. What a fool he'd made of himself in front of her! Again!
"I asked her to sing me a lullaby?" he asked with a grimace.
"And she refused you, darling. Don't forget that. No woman who refuses my darling a lullaby is good enough for him!"
"Of course she's not good enough for me! She's a damned Weasley!" Draco snapped, feeling unreasonably angry.
"Well, I'm glad you realize it," Mirabel said with a delicate sniff. "You certainly didn't seem to mind her last night."
Draco threw the covers off of him and slapped the mattress in frustration.
"Damn it! Where's that hangover potion?"
~*~*~*~
Colin entered the Ministry's M.E.S.S. office looking frazzled and slightly shell-shocked. His usually carefully combed hair was sticking up at odd angles, his white oxford shirt was buttoned up wrong and untucked, one of his shoes was untied. He smelled faintly of cigarettes and perfume.
He took a seat at the conference table without a word, ignoring the quizzical expression on Harry's face.
"All right, then," said Harry after a moment. "Let's get this meeting started. The girls are having a rather slow time of it over at the manor. Hermione's discovered one or two things that might be useful to us, but nothing that really clues us in about the target's plans. Luna, Colin, you tailed some of his followers into Muggle London last night - what did you find out?"
"Oh, well, Colin and I did start to follow Pansy Parkinson to Muggle London when she left the Diagon Alley location, but then my Wott fell out of alignment and I had to go home," Luna said.
"Your what?"
"Yes, exactly," Luna replied with a smile. "But it's all fixed now, so you needn't worry."
Harry blinked. Luna continued to smile. Ron carefully examined a hangnail on his thumb. Colin stared at the table and didn't appear to have heard the exchange.
Harry swallowed hard, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Colin, tell me you continued to follow the suspect into Muggle London."
Colin looked up, a panicked expression on his face. "I did," he said, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual.
"And?" Harry demanded. "What did you find out?"
"N-nothing really. She went to a nightclub called Boozy Sue's, stayed a few hours, came out and Disapparated. That's all I know." Colin began studying his fingers as intently as Ron had a moment before.
"Damn it!" Harry exclaimed, frustration evident on his face. "This operation is going nowhere fast, people!"
No one replied.
"Okay, we're going to have to change tactics. Luna, I want you to continue to monitor the Diagon Alley location, but Colin, I think it's time you got closer to Malfoy's followers."
"C-Closer?" Colin repeated in a small voice.
"Yes. I'd like you to become embedded within the group." Colin winced, but Harry didn't notice. "Do whatever it takes to get within their folds, Colin."
Colin's face drained of color.
"You've always been good with showing your enthusiasm. You just need to put that enthusiasm toward demonstrating that you find the Dark Side very, very attractive. Once you get them convinced, you can pump them for information. We will know all the ins and outs of their organization!"
Colin slid off his chair and under the table.
"Blimey, Harry! I think he's fainted!" Ron exclaimed.
~*~*~*~
Ginny strolled down the upstairs hallway of the East Wing with a very silly grin on her face. She passed scowling portrait after scowling portrait, pretentious busts and overwrought urns, gruesome tapestries depicting bloody battles, and occasionally, a potted plant, but she simply ignored it all. Her mind was elsewhere. Even the brilliant squares of early morning sunshine that lit the rich carpeting in front of the many windows failed to attract her notice.
She'd been in an excellent mood since she woke up - even Hermione had noticed it.
"You seem awfully bubbly," the brunette remarked as they stood in line in the foyer, waiting for Mrs. Abbott, the housekeeper, to hand out their day's assignments. "What time did you finally get back to bed last night, anyway? You were gone for that cup of hot chocolate a long time."
"Yeah, it did take a long time. I kind of ran into Malfoy on my way back to bed," Ginny said, smiling at the remembrance of Draco's appearance the night before.
"Did you?" Hermione's interest was immediately piqued. "What time was it? Do you know where he had been? Did you find out anything at all?" She whispered in rapid-fire succession.
Ginny glanced down the line and made sure Abbott was too far away to interrupt or overhear. Sure enough, the portly witch was still arguing heatedly with the head cook.
"Well, I think it was about two, maybe a little before. I don't know exactly where he was, but it was definitely someplace that served alcohol." She laughed. "I'm sorry, Herm, not to have found out more, but he was really snockered. He could barely get out a coherent sentence, and couldn't find his room."
Hermione looked aghast for a moment, and then began giggling. "I wish I could have seen that," she laughed.
"Yeah, where's Colin with his camera when you need him, right? Oh, Hermione, he was too funny. He looked so cute, all stumbling around and bleary-eyed." Ginny had to cover her mouth to contain her giggles. Hermione, however, had ceased laughing abruptly, and was now staring at her friend.
"What? What is it?" Ginny asked, finally noticing the look of surprise on Hermione's face.
"You just called Malfoy `cute,'" she whispered in horror.
"Did I?" Ginny asked, and then shrugged her shoulders. "Well, he did look cute. What's the harm in thinking that? Even you would have thought so if you'd seen him last night."
Hermione was shaking her head vehemently. "Not good, Ginny. Not good at all."
"What? What's the big deal?"
"Ginny, what is the most important M.E.S.S. rule?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"Um, never steal one of Mad-Eye's doughnuts? The man always knows, I swear!"
"No, not that one! The other most important rule."
"Oh! Never eat at the conference table because that's where Harry and Hermione like to sha-" Ginny abruptly stopped talking. "Uh, what I meant to say, was-"
"Do people really say that?" Hermione demanded, red-faced with embarrassment. "Who saw . . . I mean, how can anybody think such a thing?"
Ginny swallowed. "Just kidding?" she said with a small laugh.
"Oh, this is horrible! I swear, it was all Harry's idea! I didn't want to, but he gets this look in his eyes, this `I-defeated-Voldemort-because-I-am-so-powerful-and-dead-sexy' look, and I can't resist him! I told him we'd be caught, I told him-"
"Hermione, stop! Stop! That's more information than I wanted, thanks."
Hermione harrumphed and glared at Ginny, who did her best to look contrite.
"That wasn't the rule I was referring to either," Hermione continued after a moment. "The number one M.E.S.S. rule is `Never develop personal feelings for the target!' Honestly, Ginny, what are you thinking?"
"Are you kidding me? I said he was cute, not that I wanted to run off with him and bear his evil, pale-arsed babies!" It was Ginny's turn to look indignant now.
"Oh, Ginny, please! I know you. You got that exact same look on your face when you used to talk about how cute Harry was!"
"How dare you bring that up? I was just a kid! And at least I never fell over in a `take me, Harry' swoon on one of the tables in the Great Hall every time he looked at me!"
Hermione's mouth dropped open, and for a moment, it looked like her response was going to be in the form of a small explosion rather than in anything verbal.
"WHY YOU- YOU- " she spluttered.
"Ladies! What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Abbott interrupted. "There shall be no fighting while you are on duty! Now apologize to each other, this instance!"
Each mumbled a "sorry" without looking at the other, but Abbott seemed satisfied.
"Good. Now, Miss Granger, please clean the windows in the solarium and then help Cookie with the canning. Miss Weasley, clean the Missus' and Masters' bedrooms, and then help Maisie with laundry in the dungeon."
Both girls nodded and were on their way.
Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione's preposterous notion. Her, develop feelings for Malfoy? It wasn't even possible. Weasleys were practically born hating Malfoys, and vice versa. It was just the natural order of things. But still . . . she smiled again, as her mind reverted back to thoughts of the usually icy blond begging her for a lullaby.
And thus, with a bounce in her step, despite the stiletto shoes, she sallied into Narcissa's suite, humming something that sounded suspiciously like "Hush little baby."
~*~*~*~
Draco walked into the studio in a foul mood.
"What's got your knickers twisted, mate?" Blaise asked jovially.
"Can it, Blaise," Draco snapped, throwing himself down on the leather couch beside Pansy.
"Would you look at this, boys," Blaise continued, addressing Crabbe and Goyle, who stood a little way behind him. "Here we have quite a pair of opposites." He pointed at Pansy. "This one comes in with a dragon in the sheepfold smile, and this one" - pointing to Draco - "comes in with a scowl scary enough to frighten Snape. Whatever could be the cause of such vastly dissimilar moods?"
"Uh, Pansy had breakfast already, but Draco skipped it? It's the most important meal of the day, you know," Goyle ventured.
"The question was rhetorical, dimwit," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you what the cause is. Our dear Miss Parkinson got a little action last night, didn't she?"
Pansy's smile grew wider. "Perhaps," she purred.
"Pans, you wound me. Inviting a man other than me into your bedroom?" Blaise said, clutching both hands to his heart.
"Spare me, Zabini," Pansy replied. "You could barely stand last night; I'm sure the General wouldn't have been able to."
Goyle snorted in laughter, and Blaise shot him a death glare.
"So Miss Parkinson," he continued, "do you confirm then that you spent last night in some mystery man's passionate embrace?"
"I did."
"Ah ha! And thus, by logical deduction, I must assume that the reason Mr. Malfoy here looks so particularly vicious is because he wanted to spend the night in someone's passionate embrace, but was rejected! Do you deny it, sir?" Blaise finished, pointing at Draco dramatically.
Draco's scowl, if possible, deepened. "Blaise," he growled, "I think you've been watching too may reruns of Matlock on your Muggle telly."
"First of all, I was watching Murder, She Wrote, and secondly, you're not going to distract me that easily! You propositioned that hot little Weasley number didn't you? And she turned you down!"
Draco glared, but didn't say anything.
"No way!" Crabbe exclaimed. "The Weasley girl turned you down?"
"So she turned me down, big deal. Your mother was happy to console me," snapped Draco.
"Hey, don't you talk about my mum that way!" Crabbe retorted angrily.
"Too right! Let's not talk about her at all. She's a terrible lay," Blaise threw in.
"That's not-"
"What, Crabbe? Are you going to disagree? Do you think your mum really is a good lay?"
"Guys, c'mon. That's my mum . . ." Crabbe almost whimpered, which caused Draco and Blaise to snicker.
This restored, for the most part, Draco's mood, and the group settled down to business. All five former Slytherins concurred that the show the previous night had not gone well, and they also all agreed that it was to be blamed on Muggles' inherent bad taste.
"But if Muggles can't appreciate our music, how are we supposed to practice our performing skills? If we try to play for the wizarding world now, we might flop. We're just not ready," Pansy said.
The group silently mulled this over for a minute.
"Screw it!" Blaise suddenly announced.
"Huh?" asked Goyle.
"You guys don't need any more practice! I watched you perform last night, and trust me, you were brilliant! I say, let's stop screwing around with these Muggles and bring our show home to our own kind."
Draco looked thoughtful for a moment, and then slowly nodded his head.
"Let's do it," he said.
Later, after the group practiced for a bit and were all filing out, Blaise stopped Draco to ask him about the "Weasley situation."
"There is no `Weasley situation' Blaise. She works for me, she's a menial laborer, for Circe's sake, and on top of that, she's a Weasley! She's pureblood vermin," Draco said harshly.
"Sure, all that's true," Blaise conceded. "But she's also gorgeous, she's got legs so fine I wish my animagus form was a dog so that I could dry-hump the hell out of them, not to mention a pair of blouse bunnies that could hop all over me any day. But more importantly, she seems to be able to get under your skin, and I've never seen a witch do that to you, Draco. Seriously. You need to forget all that Weasley-Malfoy rubbish. She's a woman, you're a man, there's some sparks between you. That's all you need to know about each other."
Draco sighed, but didn't look completely convinced.
"Mate, don't bollocks this up. It might be your one shot at real happiness," said Blaise.
"And how would I bollocks this up?" Draco demanded.
"You know, by doing that whole `I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm richer than you, and I'm a Very Important Person' routine."
"You mean, by being myself?"
"Er, yes. Don't do that."
"Gee, Blaise, thanks for the advice. That's really helpful. I can see now why your love life is going so well."
Blaise smiled cheekily. "You're welcome," he replied.
~*~*~*~
Ginny finished cleaning Mrs. Malfoy's suite within a few hours, and, her head still spinning from the hops and barley scent she'd used as a fabric refresher, she made her way to Draco's set of rooms. The difference between the suites was striking. While Narcissa's suite was all pale blues and golds with a velvet brocade wallpaper and more tassled throw pillows than Ginny could count, it wasn't nearly as cozy as Draco's somber green and silver décor. Ginny hadn't noticed it the night before, too intent on avoiding Draco's drunken advances, but the room had a definite soothing quality to it.
It was simply done: a large four-poster with a thick down comforter, two squashy armchairs on a rug before the fireplace, and a large armoire on one wall. Windows curtained in green velvet flanked the bed and reflected sunlight in a large gilt mirror in the corner farthest from the door. From what Ginny knew of Draco, it didn't seem suited to his taste. It wasn't nearly austere enough, nor was it dark and gloomy, despite the darker coloring of the room's fabrics. Perhaps, though, Ginny thought, I just don't know Draco.
He'd certainly defied her expectations since she'd begun working at the manor. The day she'd seen him fall in the portrait gallery - sure, he'd been carrying what appeared to be the Dark Lord's purse, a clear indication of evilness - but he'd been nearly civil to her, and he'd even smiled when telling the story of his mother's former house-elf. Then, just yesterday, he'd actually come to her rescue when Blaise was advancing on her. Surely that's what had happened, and that made him downright chivalrous - something Ginny never expected to think about a Malfoy.
Last night had taken the cake though. When Draco was drunk, all his guards were down; instead of wearing the mask of the cold prince of Slytherin, he seemed almost vulnerable. Ginny didn't even want to think about how tempted she felt to brush the hair off his forehead as he lay there begging for a lullaby, or how much she actually did want to climb in the bed with him and feel his arms wrap around her and hold her to his bare chest.
It was just because he was attractive, right? She didn't actually have feelings for him, did she?
"Gah! That's impossible!" she exclaimed to the empty room, dropping her caddy and sinking down onto the unmade bed. "He's a Malfoy, for Circe's sake! I could never like him in a million years! And I certainly don't like him, like him!"
She flopped backwards and slapped the mattress with her palms - an act of frustration that, to an outside observer, would have looked eerily similar to another slapping the mattress had received that day. Luckily, Ginny had no idea that she and Draco shared a mattress-slapping habit; the thought might have made her even angrier given her current insistence on the ironclad, irreconcilable differences between Weasleys and Malfoys.
Strangely though, as Ginny lay there on the unmade bed, her stilettoed feet dangling over the side, she felt all the frustration in her dissipate. The bed was just so comfortable . . . .
And then her eyelids slid shut and suddenly she was imagining Draco leaning over her on the bed, his fists pressed into the mattress to either side of her as his warm breath tickled her neck . . . any moment she was going to feel his lips brush softly across the pulse point below her jaw, and unconsciously, her body arched upwards slightly and she raised her hands to touch his bare chest . . . and then she shot off the bed as if it had stung her.
"Merlin's effing unibrow! That snake must have put a seduction charm on the mattress!" she exclaimed (he hadn't). She glared at the bed reproachfully.
"Miss Weasley! What are you doing? You're behind schedule!" Mrs. Abbott exclaimed, entering the room.
"Oh, right," Ginny said, looking sheepish and hoping her face wasn't as flushed as it felt. "Uh . . . Mrs. Malfoy's room took a bit longer than I thought it would. I just wanted it to be really perfect for her." She put on her winningest smile, which seemed to placate the housekeeper.
"Well then, carry on," Abbott said. "I only came to remind you to use the unscented refreshing charm on this suite."
"Yes, ma'am. Will do." Ginny picked up her caddy and got to work.
An hour later the bedroom was completely tidied, the linens were changed, the old bedclothes were sent to the laundry room in the dungeon, and the room smelled like, well, nothing. Ginny had spent some of the time snooping around Draco's things, hoping to find evidence of Death Eater activity, but apparently, Malfoy was too cunning to keep such stuff lying around his bedroom. Hermione, who had done the bedrooms yesterday, hadn't turned up anything either. Ginny moved on to the bathroom.
She wasn't surprised to see some makeup scattered across the vanity. Malfoy had been wearing eyeliner the night before, after all. Even that didn't surprise Ginny. She'd seen Fred and George go out to Muggle London with makeup on; they'd become awfully trendy since their joke shop took off, and they explained to her that the look was "metro" - something Muggle women apparently enjoyed. Trust Malfoy to be similarly versed in attracting women.
Draco's clothes from the night before were crumpled in a heap near the large garden tub. Ginny stooped to pick them up and caught a whiff of scent. Unable to resist, she held his t-shirt up to her nose and inhaled deeply. She could smell smoke and beer - a distinctly bar smell - but underneath it was something musky and male and unmistakably Draco. It was intoxicating.
"What are you doing?" a cold voice asked from the doorway.
Startled, Ginny dropped the t-shirt and met the cruel gaze of Malfoy himself. He was regarding her like she was an interesting insect in a specimen jar. Her first thought was just to run - anything to avoid explaining why she'd been sniffing his gods-damned dirty clothes! The only thing that could have possibly been worse is if he had found her prancing about with his boxers on her head, and, Ginny thought ruefully, he might have if he'd been ten minutes later!
Running was not an option, however. Malfoy was blocking the door.
"Well, Weasley? I'm waiting for an answer."
"Um, I was just checking these clothes to see if they were dirty," Ginny said lamely, unable to meet his eyes.
"Weasley, when you find clothing on the floor, clothing that you've actually seen me wearing recently, it's safe to assume it's dirty. Merlin's overgrown happy trail! You must be the worst maid ever!"
Ginny, who usually would have been fired up over the insult, was still feeling too embarrassed, and merely nodded in reply.
"You're finished here. Go find some other part of the house to muck up," Draco said, his voice dripping with arrogance.
That did make Ginny angry. All morning she'd been thinking of him as "cute" and "almost nice" and "completely shaggable," and now here he was being his usual arse-faced prat of a self.
"Are you sure you don't want me to sing you a bit of something before I go?" she taunted.
"Weasley, if you value your job at all, I suggest you leave this room now," he scowled.
It was on the tip of Ginny's tongue to tell him just how much she valued her job, and exactly where he could shove it, but she remembered just in time that she would be letting the entire M.E.S.S. team down if she did that, and so she clamped her mouth shut.
As she marched past him out of the room, he smirked and said, "That's what I thought. Can't let all the blood traitors in the Shack or the Hovel, or whatever you call your home starve, can you?"
Ginny whirled on him. "You may be my boss, Malfoy, but you're a real bastard, you know that?" With that, she stormed out of the room.
~*~*~*~
What did Blaise know? Draco asked himself as he made his way to his bedroom. He didn't have a thing for the Weasley. She infuriated him! Always mocking him, always making him look like a complete fool.
That was the thought in his head when he entered his room and saw the She-weasel in the bathroom, sniffing disdainfully at his discarded clothing.
And now she's going to decide I smell, he thought angrily.
He hadn't meant to insult her as much as he had, but she just couldn't resist bringing up the lullaby thing! He would not be laughed at in his own house!
"Well, you made short work of that one, darling," Mirabel purred after Weasley stomped out of the room. "She was getting far too comfortable in here for my liking."
"What do you mean `comfortable?'" Draco demanded.
"Lying about on the bed, rummaging through your things - I swear, love, I've never seen a chit so besotted with you!"
Draco felt an electric shock run through him. Weasley liked him? Was it possible? Blaise's advice suddenly sounded in his head.
"Don't bollocks this up . . . one shot at happiness . . ."
"Weasley, wait!" Draco shouted, bolting from the room.
Ginny was moving quickly down the hall, and didn't turn around as he ran after her.
"Weasley!" He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around to face him.
"How dare you?" she exclaimed. "Let go of me right- "
Ginny didn't get to finish her sentence because at that moment, Draco's lips crashed down onto hers, effectively silencing her.
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A/N: "blouse bunnies" from http://www.adulttoyreviews.com/words/titword.html, a list of "breast" synonyms
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