Final battle
For those who are behind or have bad memories, my friend Mal and I have a little story called The Final Battle that we've been working on for some time now. *clears throat* Here is a recap...
The Final Battle
It was a typical day in post-war Hogwarts; the entire population was settling down for the start of term feast. Harry Potter had shocked the world by defeating Voldemort at the end of his sixth year, and to everyone’s…shock, Voldemort had reverted to his 17-year-old self. He was now wandering in with the rest of the first years, as he had been doomed to repeat his Hogwarts years from start to finish.
Harry and Ron Weasley were discussing Quidditch in voices almost too loud to be allowed, while Hermione Granger stared wistfully off into space…more specifically, into the general direction of the Head Table. To speak very plainly, she was staring at the Potions Master whose named we have learned is Severus Snape. Her reverie was interrupted by loud taunting of the entirety of Gryffindor House at 17-year-old Tom Riddle, who put up his hood defiantly and stared broodingly into his hands.
"They should be nicer to poor Tom. What did he ever do to them?" said Hermione, wonderingly.
All heads in the Great Hall turned to her simultaneously with varying degrees of incredulousness written on their features. Hermione simply shrugged and sat down to continue daydreaming about her professor.
Headmaster Dumbledore, noticing that the din had quieted considerably, took advantage of the moment to stand up and make a rather startling announcement.
"My dear students and faculty members, I have something to say that may shock and horrify you. Wait, wait, horrify is not the word I’m looking for. Ah yes, it may shock and delight you! I trust you all remember the Triwizard Tournament from a few years back. Well, now that the Dark menace has been taken care of," here he paused to look pointedly at Tom Riddle, who glared back for a moment before returning his stare to his hands, "I, and a few other notable instructors of fine institutions of learning (magical or otherwise) have concocted something similar, only with more schools and less life-threatening situations!"
The crowd began to murmur in anticipation. What sort of scheme had their beloved Headmaster cooked up for them? Most had expected a relatively quiet year, being that a war had just been fought and many people had died, but apparently that was not to be. Harry Potter stood up to express his outrage.
"Headmaster, I think I speak for everyone in this hall when I say that nobody wants to get involved in another of your crazy schemes. The last one, if you’ll recall, nearly killed most of us several times over, and I’m pretty sure that everyone needs a bit of a break, sir."
"On the contrary, Harry, I think we should hear the Headmaster out before we go dumping on his crazy scheme," Ron said, having developed a sense of self-esteem and confidence during his stint in the army.
"Yes Harry, let’s hear what Dumbledore has to say," Hermione agreed, never tearing her glance away from Snape. Snape was still quite oblivious to her attentions.
Dumbledore continued, "Hogwarts, in the coming weeks and months, will be playing host to a world-wide battle of the bands!"
Eyes goggled, mouths dropped open, and dumbfounded stares from the students and faculty greeted the end of that statement. Dumbledore smiled. This was exactly what he expected from everyone. Then, he went on to finish explaining before the food appeared on everyone’s plates.
"Over the course of the next six months, studies will be all but abandoned in an effort to create bonds with those outside our world. You will be rooming with these people, you will be forming friendships with these people, you will be rocking out with these people. I want you to treat this like an education experience…actually I don’t. Okay, now we can eat."
Dumbledore sat down to tuck into his spotted dick with a twinkle in his eyes. Beside him, the gruff Potions Master was contemplating how the Headmaster could have read his mind, besides the fact that the man was an accomplished Legilimens, and how his plans could be falling so spectacularly into place. There was a rock star buried within those billowing black robes, and it was just itching to come out.
Snape knew that girls liked rock stars, that girls chucked their panties at rock stars, and that Hermione Granger was a girl. And therefore, if he was to succeed in winning Miss Granger’s fair hand, he would have to become a rock star.
Being a fairly dark person in nature, Severus was instantly attracted to the decadence of goth rock, although he would never admit it to any living soul. The nights when he could slip into his obscenely tight leather pants and undulate around his room to the sounds of Marilyn Manson were the high points of his life…that and wanking to the thought of Hermione Granger of course. It really was too bad that he didn’t seem to notice that she reciprocated his feelings. But all would be changed when he was finally able to express his feelings through song.
The students turned to their meals, though not too many of them were interested in eating at the moment. Most were content to look at each other and wonder if any of them had any talent, who exactly would be infiltrating their school…and just what a battle of the bands was.
"Harry, you and Ron are in my band," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.
The two friends exchanged glances with each other, and Harry said, "Hermione, are you insane?"
"Not insane, Harry, just eager to show the world that Hermione Granger is more than a know-it-all, bookworm swot. She is a know-it-all, bookworm, swot, ROCKSTAR!" Hermione gathered up her various texts, despite the fact that it was the first meal of term and she had no reason to be carrying texts around as school was going to be interrupted anyway, and walked out of the Great Hall, unaware that cavernous eyes were following her every move.
Harry and Ron exchanged another baffled look. "Do you even play any instruments, mate?" Ron asked Harry, hoping that he didn’t. Ron, in fact, did play an instrument - the drums specifically - and was hoping for something besides Wizard’s Chess that he could one-up Harry on.
"No, I don’t. Between being abused as a child, growing up as a human weapon, and defeating the most evil wizard since 1945, I haven’t particularly had time for hobbies," Harry answered.
Ron gave an inward cheer but affected a sympathetic look. "Well, we have, as Dumbledore said, six months in which to prepare, so I’m sure you can learn how to play the guitar by then."
"Well, I guess if you think so Ron." Harry smiled at his best mate, and then turned back to his dinner.
On the other side of the hall, Draco Malfoy turned his gray eyes on the various members of his House and grinned in satisfaction. His mates returned the grin as they all knew about Draco’s not-so-secret ambition to be a pop star in a boy band. It appeared that his chance had come.
"Oy, Draco, can I be in your boy band?" asked Crabbe, stuffing a dinner roll into his oversized mouth. Draco’s lip curled in obvious distaste; Crabbe was too ugly to even be the "ugly one" in a boy band, while Goyle was just a tubby bitch and therefore didn’t qualify. Draco also had serious doubts about their talents in general.
"No, you cannot be in my boy band. I am just going to have to wait to see who joins us at school. I’m sure there will be at least four other decent looking blokes with talents as considerable as mine."
Draco was nudged in the side by the boy sitting next to him. "No, Blaise, you can’t be in the band either, as I’m not entirely sure what you look like."
Draco had been quite serious about his aspirations for some time. If he could pinpoint a time, it would probably be when he was around thirteen years old, and was on a journey to find himself. This journey took him to a small Muggle neighborhood in an undisclosed location of the world, where he was taking an idyllic stroll on a beautifully warm spring day. He passed a group of Muggle children, sitting on their front steps with a large black box at their feet. This black box emitted a different, yet altogether pleasant sound. Something about having the right stuff…
Draco was in love. His lover was a little music genre called pop. Its king was the boy band. Draco yearned to be its prince.
The various murmurings of the students and teachers had begun to die down a bit, as most were now eating instead of talking, when the doorway to the Great Hall swung open and streams of people began to pour in. People of all shapes and sizes, some beasts, and a walking clock - all came in the room and headed toward the Head table. The murmurings began in full force again.
The students and teachers from other schools had arrived.
Tom Riddle allowed his gaze to follow that of the rest of the school, minus Hermione who would most likely have something to say about it, to the odd assortment of people that had gathered in the large space before the head table. He grumbled to himself, knowing that no one would want to be in a band with him; and yet, he knew that he didn’t need a band. If there was one skill that he had left over from his brief stint as wizard Britain’s resident person-whose-name-must-be-hyphenated, it was vast oratorical genius. He had quite the way with words, and this would be his time to shine.
His brown eyes alighted on a fair maiden who was standing curiously separate from the rest of the group. He admired the curl in her auburn locks, which were actually mostly hidden beneath a navy blue newsboy cap. He looked her up and down, but he could barely distinguish a figure beneath the layering of boyish clothing she wore. So he decided to give up lusting after her, and returned his thoughts to the cheeky Weasley girl who he’d seen flashing a bit of thigh to the ruddy Potter boy.
At the front of the hall, however, the young woman that Tom had been lusting, albeit briefly, over was in turn doing a bit of lusting of her own…on her own. She walked over to a tallish sort of man with brown, curly hair. He looked down at her with a smile, although it was the sort of smile that said ‘sure I like you, but I don’t like you like you’ and tweaked her nose, which she certainly did not appreciate. She went back to brooding quietly at his side, while Dumbledore addressed a Goat, a severe-looking woman who reminded many of Professor McGonagall and not Rita Skeeter, a beautiful enchantress, and a cocky-looking blonde man who seemed oddly familiar.
"It’s absolutely spanking good that you got here so quickly from Canada, France, and Stratford-upon-Avon, my friends," Dumbledore said motioning for the Goat, the severe-looking woman, the enchantress, and the cocky blonde to join him at the head table. "As for the rest of you, you may go sit down amongst the students. Go! Begin forming unbreakable bonds of musicianship. Sally forth!"
"Well, you heard the man," Dr. Dillamond, the Goat, said to his three delegates. Madam Giry motioned to her students as well as the broodingly sexy man in the mask and his friend, who might have been Remus Lupin but then wasn’t, to follow. The enchantress simply pulled out a rose and began plucking off its petals, which sent a beast, candle, teapot, clock, strangely attractive ugly man and his fat manservant and a beautiful girl scattering very quickly. And finally, Benedick raised a cocky blonde eyebrow at his four friends, who actually were not friends, and they walked off separating amongst three house tables. Hufflepuff was once again sadly left alone.
"Oy, you, you lot are quite pretty. Why don’t you join us over here at Slytherin?" said Theodore Nott. Draco had to congratulate the random boy whom he couldn’t remember having ever really said anything before for his ingenuity. The girls were, in fact, quite pretty, and they would certainly have the best time at the Slytherin table. Eye candy was always appreciated, but they so rarely had any of their own as Pansy Parkinson only seemed to look like a pug dog, and Millicent Bulstrode was manlier than Blaise Zabini was. And that was everyone.
The gaggle of pretty girls chirruped excitedly and vied to see how many of them could sit next to Draco. One girl he recognized instantly as Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, although why she was still in school baffled him.
"’ello again Malfoy. You look very well," she said, in her silkiest, most Veela-like voice. "I am not still in school, as you might ‘ave assumed. I am working for ze Opera Populaire with ze ozzers, and Madam Giry asked me to join ze delegation. Isn’t zis exciting?"
"Stop talking, Fleur, I only like looking at you," he replied. "Now, you two, who are you?"
The curly-haired blonde gave him a condescending glance. "Oh…why should I tell you? Who is your family, little boy?"
Draco cocked a finely shaped, boy band caliber eyebrow, not quite knowing how to respond. "Yes well…I’m not the one hanging out with…green people. Good day." He turned to the dark-haired beauty. "And who are you, my pet?"
She ran her tongue along her teeth, and then extended a slender, pale hand for him to kiss. She spoke like Fleur did, and somehow it wasn’t so annoying. Maybe because this girl was prettier. "My name is Silvana de Loncres. I am ‘ere to be a groupie. I should very much like to be your groupie."
"I have no objections," Draco answered. The girl threw back her head and laughed, when Ginny Weasley walked up to the table.
"Hello, Draco, I used to be a gymnast. Do you want to see?" She proceeded to bend over backward until her hands were on the floor. "Isn’t it spectacular?"
Draco raised an eyebrow again and exchanged a glance with Silvana, who was hungrily eyeing the exposed flesh of the Weasley girl’s stomach. Draco turned to the camera, which was working despite all the magic in the air, and winked slyly.
Meanwhile, Hermione Granger came back to the hall, and her jaw dropped slightly at the numerous new arrivals. A tall blonde gentleman smiled at her, waved, and then made his way over to her. He took her hand and kissed it charmingly.
"Hello, my name is Raoul, I’m a student at the Opera Populaire. I’m an aspiring student under the tutelage of Madame Giry, she’s quite excellent you see, and I must say that I am as well. I’m not blowing smoke, of course. My, you’re beautiful, and I’m a count. Isn’t it weird how I’m from France and yet my English is perfect?"
"Oh." From afar, a pair of piercing dark eyes were glaring in their general direction. Severus Snape did not like this fancy little upstart. Someone came up behind him and whispered in his ear.
"He’s your problem now."
Severus turned around and directed his glare towards the half-masked smart-ass. "I haven’t the foggiest idea as to what you are talking about."
The man quirked an eyebrow and smirked. "I’ve been there." The man then turned, cape swooshing, and stalked off. Severus had the oddest feeling that he had seen it all before…strange.
Had Severus not been giving his undivided attention to the man in the half-mask, he would’ve noticed Hermione look beyond Raoul’s shoulder to give him a warm, inviting smile. Oh men.
At the other end of the Gryffindor table, Ronald Weasley was swiftly becoming interested in the burgeoning love triangle between three of the students at the Opera Populaire. He enjoyed the surreptitious glances the auburn-haired one was giving the tall guy, who was smitten with the brown-haired girl on his right. Ron decided to engage the girl in a conversation, as he too was familiar with unrequited love.
"You fancy that chap, don’t you?" he said bluntly.
"I do not," she replied, equally bluntly. "In fact, I hate him, as I hate you for asking. And I hate the world because the world is not my friend." She began to cry softly, reaching into her brown messenger bag to retrieve a Dashboard Confessional cd and drag it across her wrists.
Ron’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Why are you doing that?"
"It’s all part and parcel of being emo. Unrequited love and suicide attempts. It’s right here in the Official Emo Handbook. Here, I’ve already memorized it," she explained, passing Ron the thick tome that she had pulled out of her messenger bag.
Ron opened to a random page and read, "Your best friends will most likely hook up, and when they do, it is okay to have a one-night stand with someone you’ll never love. It will probably be the best song on your debut album - if you ever get discovered."
"It is true. That book has saved my life. I am Eponine, by the way." She extended a hand, and Ron took it.
"I think I’m going to give this book to my friend Harry. He’s more emo than I am." He stood up to find Harry chatting with Neville, a green-skinned girl, and what appeared to be a talking clock.
"What are you wearing on your feet, boy?" The green-skinned girl asked Neville.
"Oh…shoes."
"They appear to be cow leather. Are they made out of cows or Cows? Do you even know?"
"Is there even a difference?"
The green-skinned girl glared at Neville. "You’re despicable."
"You’re green."
"I can’t help that…you murderer."
"I didn’t kill the cows; I only put them on my feet."
The girl rolled her eyes and walked off. Harry watched her walk off, and then he rolled his eyes.
"Everyone is fighting! The world has gone insane…shut up Ron!" He stalks away, leaving Ron looking bewildered. Eponine takes after Harry crying, "Teach me!"
Meanwhile, on Hermione’s side of the world…
"I’m a count you know."
"Yes, you told me."
Raoul sighs and tosses his hair.
"I’m very sensitive." He leans in to kiss Hermione.
"I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME! THAT’S ALL I ASKED OF YOU, RAOUL! You jerk…" Raoul pulled away from Hermione and turned around to see a delicate, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl glaring at the two of them, small face red with rage.
"I thought she was you," Raoul explained lamely. The girl shook her head and walked away calling for someone named ‘Erik’.
"Oh bloody hell…Christine!" Raoul abandoned Hermione to run after his jilted lover.
Hermione gave a small shriek when a beast walked up to her.
"See…you see how it is?" He asked her sadly.
"Pardon?"
"I’m nothing but…a monster…" He sighed sadly, and once again, another man walked out of Hermione’s life.
"Goodness gracious." Hermione felt the need to go back to her room. On her way out, she ran into something tall, thin, and sneering.
"Oh! Professor Snape…I’m so sorry!" She was red-faced and quite close to stuttering.
"No matter. Are you quite alright Her-…Miss Granger?"
"Of course, I was just retiring to my room. I think a nice long, hot bath is in order."
With those words, he too, stalked away. Hermione felt close to tears.
"What did I do!" Hermione shrugged her shoulders magnificently and started off to her room. Perhaps she would begin writing a song for the battle of the bands. No harm in starting early, she reasoned.
In the distance, Draco could be seen sweet-talking the blonde girl who hadn’t given the time of day, while Ginny pulled herself up out of her backbend, and started over toward the Ravenclaw table to sit down next to a depressed looking youth.
"What’s wrong with you?" she asked, bluntly. Perhaps it was a Weasley thing. The young man lifted his head and eyed her with sadness.
"I have lost my lady love and now I am forced to come here with these fools to perform like a monkey on stage. But you! I saw that whorish display you just put on. Get thee to a nunnery child!" The young man looked about ready to break off into a soliloquy, and Ginny found herself to be quite bored, unaware that he had insulted her.
"I’m going to find someone else to do," she said brightly and started to flounce off to her own House table again.
"You mean something else to do," the young man said before she got too far away.
"No, I meant what I said," Ginny said, cheekily. "You know, I used to be a gymnast."
Hamlet stood up and gripped her forearms. "You have no sense of subtlety! Sexual innuendo is much more effective when it is veiled. There is much I can teach you."
"Ooh, and I love to learn," Ginny replied. The two walked hand in hand out of the Great Hall, presumably to begin lessons on the subtle art of sexual innuendo…or just make out, whatever.
Dumbledore surveyed the madness before him with the other directors. "I do believe this will be quite a success!"
The enchantress stared him down evilly, ripping several more petals off the rose. Somewhere, the beast howled. The enchantress cackled, and Madam Giry pounded her dance stick to get their attention.
"I still do not understand zis experiment of yours. It is ridiculous. Just because most of zese people are musically inclined, it does not mean we can throw them together for our own sick enjoyment!"
Someone, possibly Dumbledore, Silenced her. That would be the end of that nonsense.
Draco Malfoy stood in front of his full-length mirror tweezing his eyebrows into flawlessness. Once he had achieved the most perfect arch, he stepped back to admire himself. He was an absolute marvel; quite possibly the most gorgeous creature to ever walk the planet.
Who else but him could make paleness and pointed features the epitome of beauty? No one, that’s who. Honestly, he could hardly imagine that one person would be able to match his obscene level of attraction, let alone four men. But, a boy band has a very specific formula; five guys who could sing and dance and look spiffing while doing it.
"Master Malfoy, is you nearly ready? The line is long in the Great Hall, sir," said a stereotypical House Elf, who was stereotypically shuddering in front of the formidable young man.
"Move peon, I’ll be there presently," Draco answered. He threw his scarf across his neck, gave himself one last dazzling smile, and then left his dormitory, leaving behind a wake of swooning females who have heretofore never been mentioned, and probably never will be again.
Draco stepped inside the Great Hall and was staggered by how many ugly people he could see in the lines. He groaned elegantly, as everything a Malfoy does is elegant, and sat down at a little table next to ex-professor and five time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Winning Smile award Gilderoy Lockhart. "What on earth are you doing here?" Draco asked. "You completely defy canon!"
"Since I am handsome and have business savvy, I am going to be your manager. I have managed such memorable boy bands as 2gether, 3 Guys Singing, 4 On the Floor, and 5ive. I specialize in numbered groups," he said proudly and handsomely as everything Gilderoy Lockhart did was handsome.
"Well, I suppose that will be all right," Draco said and then reached out to shake Lockhart’s handsome hand. "As long as I get to be the ‘bad boy’ though."
"I wouldn’t have it any other way," Lockhart answered and then stood up to address the applicants. "All right there gents, come up one at a time, sing your prepared song. We’ll let you know if you are good-looking enough, and if your voice is decent and then…yes, well we’ll take it from there."
The first person to walk up was a smallish, scared-looking Dennis Creevey. He opened his mouth, made a strange sort of ‘meep’ and then ran off out of the Hall.
"Well, that was sincerely ridiculous," Draco said loudly. "Is anyone else planning on wasting our time?"
Fifteen more people ran from the Hall and Draco raised an impatient, yet perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I’m surrounded by idiots," he said to himself.
"Actually you aren’t. The idiots already left," said Theo Nott, who was the new first person in line.
"Shut up Theo. I veto you already. You’re too stringy, and I’m going to be the ‘bad boy’ of the group. As a matter of fact," he turned to face the audience again, "if any of you wanted to be the ‘bad boy’ you are shit out of luck. Go on, go now."
Twenty-seven people left the hall, Tom Riddle among them. It’s not like he wanted to be in a stupid boy band anyway…jerks. In the good old days, if a detestable little shit like Malfoy even thought about not letting The Dark Lord into a boy band, he would be a dead little poofter with a mere wave of Tom’s hand. That’s how it would be.
Tom passed a nervous looking Blaise Zabini on his way out. The boy was just about to be called for his audition.
"Don’t even bother, non-descript boy." Blaise’s eyes widened, and then took on a wounded look. However, he said nothing, and made his way into the audition room.
Draco was scribbling fiercely into his little notepad, which happened to just be pictures of boobs, and other equally naughty body parts, instead of the usual comments and criticisms that would usually be written into a notepad during an important audition. The sounds of footsteps, made him lift his head slightly, his eyes not leaving his important note-taking duties.
"This had better be good." Blaise cleared his throat…causing Draco’s head to jerk up fully, eyes narrowed in anger at who was standing in front of him. He softened his glare, sighed, and brought his fingers together in a thoughtful steeple. Blaise waited with baited breath. "No Blaise. Don’t owl us…we won’t owl you either."
Blaise nodded, understandingly, and walked out of the hall, shoulders slumped dejectedly.
Blaise’s sad, slow walking would’ve had sad, slow walking piano music cued up to accompany him, had a dashingly handsome fellow not blown into the hall, sending Blaise off to the side and on to the floor with the sheer magnitude of the entrance. It was Raoul. The Count. Draco smirked.
"All right…you’re pretty, but not prettier than me. Let’s hear you sing."
Raoul delighted Draco with a little ballad he "wrote himself" entitled ‘Music of the Night’. As he was singing, the half-masked gentleman was walking past the entrance with a bag of Doritos in his hand. Upon hearing his song, he paused, turned to the oblivious Raoul, and glared daggers. Shaking his head, he continued on his journey, licking the cheesy goodness off of his fingers, and trying hard not to think of the plagiarizing little bastard that was the Vicomte de Chagny.
At the end of his song, Draco stood up clapping.
"That was magnificent, my friend. You have a beautifully tortured soul, undoubtedly stemming from some sort of disfigurement that I am not aware of."
"It was my face…I got better."
"Very nice."
There was an audible crash from beyond the room, followed by a string of curse words. Both Raoul and Draco cocked their heads thoughtfully in the direction, shrugged, and then shook hands.
"Welcome to the band, my friend." Lockhart offered a small golf clap in agreement, followed by a grin that forced Draco and Raoul to shield their eyes, due to its blinding nature.
"Can I be the sensitive one? I’m very sensitive."
"Of course," replied Lockhart.
"As long as you don’t step on my bad boy duties," Draco warned with a glare.
"Of course not. I am sensitive to your needs to be a bad boy." Draco grinned.
"You are sensitive!"
Raoul nodded, and then spotted Hermione going about her regular routine. He ran out of the hall, after her.
"Hermione, my love, come to the Count who adores you!" He called after her. The sound of someone’s steady footsteps breaking into a frantic run could be heard by Draco and Lockhart, who shrugged, and went back to their auditioning duties.
"Budge up there, you lot, go on, make way, make way," said a pretentious looking man. Draco frowned, became aware that frowning gave you wrinkles, and then stopped frowning.
"You aren’t very pretty," he said. It was true; he wasn’t very pretty.
"I know, but I’m burly and brawny. As you see I’ve got biceps to spare," said Gaston, flexing his formidable muscles.
"I suppose he could always be ‘the ugly one,’" Lockhart said showing a rare insight.
"That was impressive, Lockhart. I didn’t know you could think."
"I usually can’t!"
"Well, back to your audition. Sing something." Gaston sang a long song about how great he was. Draco cut him off with a look.
"Well, you have just the right amount of arrogance. That settles it, you’re the ugly one."
"Excellent," Gaston said, and sauntered away from the table.
The tall brown-haired man from the previous chapter, the one that Eponine was pining away for, was next in line, and he walked up to stand in front of the table.
"Wow, you’re hot," Draco said. He then cocked his head, as if to realize that he was talking about a guy. That would not do - this isn’t one of those stories. Draco coughed in a manly sort of way, and spoke in a deep voice. "Uh, go ahead, off you go."
"Wait, I don’t get to try out?"
"Of course you do, I’m secure enough in my manhood," Draco said deeply, averting his beautiful grey eyes.
"All right then," the brown-haired man said. He sang a melancholy tune about chairs or something…Draco wasn’t really listening; he was busy thinking about other things, or trying to think about that strange Silvana girl who kept coming on to him. Yes, that would do nicely.
"Good show, old chap, good show. What’s your name?" Lockhart asked.
"My name is Marius Pontmercy," he sang. A pretty waiflike girl popped her head into the Great Hall and sang, "And mine’s Cosette!"
"Cosette, I’m busy, darling," Marius called out to her. Somewhere in the corner, Eponine grinned, a feeling of hope settling somewhere inside her. However, she remembered that Rule #284 in the Emo Handbook was to get your hopes up so high that they were immediately going to come crashing down. In fact, while she was getting her hopes up, Cosette had run into the room and started madly snogging Marius.
Eponine sighed and left the Great Hall, presumably to find Harry Potter and resume her lessons.
"Right, well, I guess you can be in the boy band," Draco muttered, ignoring the blush on his cheeks that he had never blushed before. "You can be the older brother figure."
"Sounds fine by me," Marius said and then returned to kissing Cosette. He picked her up and took her from the room. Draco narrowed his eyes, but then stopped doing that because not only did it cause wrinkles, this is still not one of those stories.
"Well, we only need one more to fulfill the boy band quota!" Lockhart exclaimed giddily. "We need the pretty one - the heartthrob if you will."
"I wonder how we can find someone so pretty in this sea of ugliness," Draco said, glancing over the hordes that had died down considerably since the band was mostly fulfilled.
Suddenly, a blinding beacon of golden light accompanied by the most beautiful music that anyone had ever heard before filled the room. Out of a gaping hole in the plot, a tall blond beautiful creature descended from on high. He was quite possibly the most beautiful person in the entire world.
Draco looked skeptically at this new person, raising his eyebrow in the manner that most skeptical people tend to do.
"Name?"
Legolas looked around, wide eyed and confused. "Where am I? Have you seen my boyfriend? He’s short…red hair…kinda burly…did I mention he was short?"
Draco cast a glance at Lockhart. "Do we have room for a flamboyantly gay one?"
Lockhart shrugged. "Hell, let’s make him the mysterious one."
"Gotcha," Draco replied, scratching a note into his notepad.
Legolas cocked his head to one side. "Pardon?"
"Sing for me, princess," Draco commanded.
"Very well, good sir." Legolas sang a beautiful song in a language that Draco and Lockhart did not know…and frankly, they did not want to know, because it required extensive thought. That, like frowning, tended to cause wrinkles, and the name of the band was definitely not 5wrinkly Bitches.
"You’re hired…erm…I didn’t quite catch your name."
"It is Legolas, and although I am not altogether sure what I am being hired for, I am honored to be of service."
"I bet you are," Draco replied cheekily.
"Perhaps we should bring the others in now," Lockhart whispered.
Draco nodded eagerly. "Right…Everyone who was selected, please make your way to the front!"
The lucky four stood anxiously in front of Lockhart and Draco, ready to start their wonderful career in boy bandage.
"All right bitches, since sickness sells, is any one of you lot deathly ill?"
The sound of feet shuffling and a chorus of vacant hums filled the room. Finally Raoul raised his hand.
"Yes, we know you used to be ugly, Raoul!" He put his hand down.
Gaston raised his hand.
"Yes, oh hideous one?"
"I’m hairy."
Draco shook his head.
"As scary as that is, a good wax charm will heal you right up, Hasselhoff."
Gaston looked confused. Suddenly a cloud of emo fell over his features and tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Draco sighed impatiently.
"What is it?"
"I don’t want to say."
Draco slapped his palms down on the table. "Goddamn it! If you are holding something terminal or devastating from us, so help me…"
"I NEVER LEARNED TO READ!"
Silence followed this. It was a dreadful silence that was only broken by the sound of someone biting into a Dorito. All eyes went to the entry way, where Erik was standing. Upon being noticed, he straightened up, glared, and pointed at Raoul accusingly.
"Hand at the level of your eyes, bitch." With a swoosh of his cape, he was gone, leaving crumbs scattered about.
Draco shook his head.
"He’s just jealous, Raoul. It’s not everyday that someone makes the cut for 2sexy. Don’t let him bring you down."
Raoul shook his head, and then flipped his hair for good measure. "He keeps trying to copy me, you know."
"The jealous ones will do that, luv."
"Well, congratulations all of you. I daresay that we are going to win this Battle of the Bands," Lockhart said, smiling brightly.
"How could we not?" Draco said, "I mean, I am in the band. What more do we really need?"
"Right on, mates," Legolas said, shaking out his mane of exquisite blond hair.
"That reminds me…you’re going to have to change your hair color. Only I can be blond," Draco said, arrogantly. "I’m the prettiest, after all."
"I think I’m a might prettier than you, good sir, but if you insist," Legolas answered, putting on a pout that made all women within a three mile radius faint.
"Fine, fine, stay a blond. See if I care." Draco did care; he cared very much in fact. He cared so much that he decided that Legolas was going to get a hair cut, one way or the other.
"I’ll change my hair, sheesh," Legolas said.
"What?"
"I can read thoughts."
"Oh." Damn, Draco thought.
"And by the way, Marius over there is totally straight."
"SO AM I!"
"If you say so."
"This isn’t one of those stories. I MEAN IT!"
"Whatever."
"That is nothing, ‘Ponine," Harry said, sighing dramatically. "When I was twelve-years-old, I had to kill a giant snake and save Ginny Weasley from Tom Riddle."
"Ginny Weasley? Who is that?"
Harry started to explain about the love of his life, who would never be the love of his life because she was a stone-cold skank, and how he loved Ginny with every ounce of his being, but they could never be because she would always be out of reach -- and if he got her, he would totally stop being a tragic figure. But, Ginny chose that moment to flounce by.
"Hello, Harry. Have you seen that Christian anywhere?"
"Who’s Christian, my goddess of all things holy - I mean, Ginny?"
"Oh, you know, Christian? Gorgeous brown hair, slight Scottish accent even though he’s supposed to be English, whining something awful about some bint named Satine?"
"No."
Ginny sighed. "I’m so bloody bored! I need someone to make out with before I’m forced to do something terrible."
"Like what?" Eponine asked, eyeing the red-haired girl warily. Eponine hated girls like Ginny -- pretty and always stealing the guy away from her.
"Like make out with Harry or something," she answered airily. "Oh well, I’ll just keep looking." Ginny flounced off, leaving Harry alone with Eponine again.
"I love Ginny, and she will never love me," he said sadly. Eponine grinned and moved to sit closer to Harry.
"I’ll make out with you, Harry," she offered.
"No, no that’s okay. If you want to be totally emo, you always have to be inundated with heartbreak. If you and I make out, I might fall in love with you."
"Yeah, and then Ginny’ll want you more, and then you’ll break up with me, leaving me to wallow in my own self-pity."
"Right, and then Ginny’ll find someone else and dump me, but you’ll be so heartbroken that you won’t take me back."
They regarded each other carefully. Then, they swiftly began to mack like there was no tomorrow.
Their little session was sadly disrupted, as Marius was strolling by them casually. Eponine noticed at once, broke away from Harry, and wiped the spit from her mouth with a dopey grin.
"Marius!" The young man regarded her with an arched brow.
"Umm…"
"Eponine."
Recognition finally lit up his face.
"Right! Erm…" Suddenly Cossette appeared at Marius’s side, grabbing his rear playfully before running off with a girlish giggle. He chuckled and started after her. Harry whistled low.
"That is one guy who knows little and cares little." Eponine burst into tears.
"That’s my line, you jerk! You just changed it up a little so no one but the elitist Mizzies would know what you’re talking about!" With a despairing shriek, she covered her face with her hands and started to cry softly.
"You…you want to make out some more?’
She sniffled a bit, and dried her eyes.
"Sure."
It was quite some time before they were approached by the half-masked man, whose name was apparently Erik. He cleared his throat and the couple broke apart.
"I was to understand that an Eponine Thenardier was starting a French emo band. Have you seen her?" He sipped his Big Gulp pensively, awaiting an answer.
"Emo? I love emo!" Harry exclaimed. He grinned at Eponine.
"Can I join your band too?"
Eponine gave him a sympathetic look.
"I’m awfully sorry, really I am. You’re just not French enough you see…hence the title, French emo band." Harry nodded, eyes cast to the floor.
"Yeah…yeah I get it."
"Besides,’ came a decidedly bossy voice from behind, "You’re ALREADY in my band." Harry groaned in disbelief. It was Hermione…
"Hey Hermione."
"Don’t ‘Hey Hermione’ me…we had an agreement Harry." Erik’s back was towards Hermione, and she looked at him curiously, diverted for a moment.
"Hello, Professor Snape!" She said cheerily, if not a bit flustered. Erik turned around and she gasped.
"Oh…I’m dreadfully sorry…oh dear…" She grabbed Harry’s hand and they hurried out of the hall.
"What was that all about?" Eponine inquired. Erik shrugged, and licked his cherry slurpee coated lips in thought.
"Well, I am indeed starting up a French emo band. I'm going to be the singer and write the lyrics to our songs. I've even got one already. It's called "On My Own" and --"
"I've already heard that bleeding song a million and a half times, each more overdone than the next. Maybe I can write something dark and sensual and melodramatic and --"
"Quit channeling Andy Lloyd Webber," Eponine said angrily. "Besides, it's MY emo band, and I get to say what's what."
Erik took a long slurp of his Big Gulp, but remained silent. Oh, he would have SO much to bitch about in his LiveJournal tonight. The two were about to start conferring about who was more emo than who, when the earlier object of Ginny's desire walked up to them, whining pathetically.
"Is one of you Eponine?" Christian asked, inwardly thinking that Eponine rhymed with Satine a little bit. Ouch, that hurt.
Eponine grinned; so many men were taking an interest in her today. It was the perfect way to get arsehole Marius to finally notice her for longer than three seconds. "Yeah, she's me. What's it to you?"
Christian sighed dramatically and then threw himself to the floor sobbing over-dramatically and screaming for Satine. Erik looked down with an eerily familiar smirk on his lips and said, "Yeah, he does that sometimes. Technically he's English, but he lived in France with the hookers and absinthe-addicts for so long that I think it would be okay he joined our French emo band. Plus, he's pretty wicked hardcore with the song-writing. Hey! I bet HE could write something dark and sensual and melodramatic and -- "
"No dice. But, I rather like him. So, I guess he can play guitar or something. You'll want keyboards, I expect?"
"Yeah, that'll be good," Erik replied. "Well, I'm out like Raoul on Gay Pride Day." With that pronouncement, he swept away robes billowing behind him. I mean cape, cape billowing behind him. Eponine carefully stepped over the sobbing Christian and started to return to her dorm in the tower. Maybe she could find Harry and make out some more. That had been a nice diversion from the searing torture that was her life.
"Eponine! EPONINE!" She turned to see Marius jogging up to her. She jutted out her chest and put on her best Cosette-like smile, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted. "Do you think you could get this letter to Cosette? Whenever I try to get up the stairs they turn into a slide. Great thanks, doll." He turned away again, and Eponine briefly saw Ginny sidle up to the handsome youth and drag him into a dark corner before the tears started to fall like rain. To wash away what's past.
"WOMEN ARE SO EVIL!" A hunchback lurched out of the corner and rounded on Eponine. "You save their damn worthless Gypsy lives and then they run off with Mr. PrettyPants, look at me, my name means "Sun God"."
Eponine looked him up and down. "You wanna be in my band?"
The hunchback gave Eponine a skeptical once-over.
"Why? Are you doing this to torment me? Are you not horrified by my monstrous face and body?"
"No, I'm not shallow, unlike some people who will remain nameless...Cosette."
The hunchback rolled his eyes.
"Oh, you're Eponine I take it?"
"Yes...how did you know?"
"EVERYONE knows about you."
"Even Marius?"
"...no."
Eponine's face fell dramatically.
"I'm Quasimodo," he offered her his hand.
"Eponine." They shook. After an awkward pause, Quasimodo cleared his throat.
"So...you want to join my band?"
"Why not? I have a song about how I like to watch people for hours in my lonely tower that I think is really-..."
"No. My band. My song."
Quasimodo snorted.
"It's probably "On My Own" or some crap."
Eponine's eyes flashed angrily.
"As a matter of fact, it will NOT be "On My Own"!"
"Oh yeah, then what will it be?"
"Something wonderful!" She turned on her heel and walked away in a huff. Some people were so rude, and didn't deserve to be in her band. She was just too damn nice...nicer than Cosette. That's right, nicer than Cosette! What did she have that Eponine didn't besides nice clothes, hair, and a dental plan...a father that wasn't crazier than a shit house rat...a home...Marius.
"Oh god, I'm so ALONE!"
Yet another lightbulb went off within her clever head, and she fished into her pockets until she found Cosette's letter.
"Dear Cosette, I love you, love your loving boyfriend; Marius." Eponine scoffed at this, and then looked around. The bushy haired girl named Hermione was approaching her.
"Excuse me, Miss...could you help me please?" Hermione flashed Eponine a friendly smile and nodded, approaching her with impressive speed, considering the metric ton bookbag she was hefting over a delicate shoulder.
"I'm Hermione Granger, who're you?"
"Eponine Thenardier, and I need your help, if you please."
Several moments later, Eponine was heading to Cosette's dorm with a newly altered love letter.
"More like hate letter," she said nastily.
"Wait, Eponine!"
"Oh what the hell is it!" she shouted. She was supposed to be on a mission to bring down the epic love story between Marius and Cosette. "What, what, what?"
A beast was standing there looking, if it was possible, sheepish. "Can I be in your band?"
"Are you French?"
"Yeah."
"Emo?"
"Look at me."
"All right, you're in. Now scram! I'm trying to scheme here." She started walking toward the girls' dorm again. Man, I am going to have the ugliest band ever. Well, at least Christian is
good-looking. Oh right, and me. Can't forget me.
She walked into the girls' dorm to see Cosette sitting with Ginny Weasley, braiding her hair. "He's just so handsome and dreamy and nice. And he lets me make out with him whenever I feel like it." Ginny sighed. "I think I might be in love with him."
"Are you talking about Christian?" Eponine inquired.
Ginny looked up at her and smiled. "No, I'm totally over him. I'm talking about Marius. So incredibly dreamy."
Cosette yanked on Ginny's hair. "What! Marius is my boyfriend you slut!"
Ginny spun around and shoved Cosette. "Relax, I didn't do anything yet."
"You just told me that you made out with him a bunch of times."
"Well, that doesn't count, obviously."
Eponine smiled. Hi-freaking-larious this was. "Before you start cat-fighting, I have a message for you, Cosette. It's from Marius."
Ginny's face fell, and Cosette smiled brilliantly. "Thanks, 'Ponine, you really are a great friend. Unlike some redheads." She stuck her tongue out at Ginny, who shrugged and started thinking about who else she could mack on. Maybe she could rekindle that whole Tom Riddle thing...now that he wasn't bent on world-domination anymore.
Cosette took the letter from Eponine and opened it eagerly.
"Eponine, since you and I are the best of friends, I think that you can stay and read the letter with me. I'd like that ever so much...and I can do your hair." She glared at Ginny. "You should leave."
Ginny rolled her eyes and left the two girls alone, noting that Eponine looked very smug.
Eponine sat closely to Cosette, face brightened by the prospect of the train-wreck that would undoubtedly occur.
"Dear Cosette, it has come to my attention that your ass has doubled in size. If you would like to remain my girlfriend and make-out partner, I would suggest getting the assistance of a very expensive personal trainer...or drop the fork. Whatever. Love, Marius." Cosette's hands were shaking by time she finished reading the letter out loud. Her pretty eyes were shining ever so brightly with tears, and she looked to Eponine with a look that screamed 'deer in the headlights'. Eponine trained her features to look sympathetic.
"I'm sorry Cosette..."
With a stifled sob, Cosette sprang for her seat and ran dramatically out the door. Eponine giggled, stood up, and skipped to her sleeping area, flouncing down on her soft bed.
It was a beautiful day for emo-kids everywhere, yes indeed.
Hermione Granger was not a woman to be trifled with. Especially not when her band was at stake…Harry Potter was about to find this out.
"Why were you asking the girl with the funny hat if you could be in her band, Harry?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying hard to pretend that the little vein in Hermione’s forehead wasn’t throbbing quite visibly. It was easy if he didn’t look at it. "I don’t know, Hermione…"
"Oh, ho! That’s rich, Harry, real rich! Would you rather be in her band?" Hermione presented her question without a hint of sarcasm, and just a touch of melancholy.
Harry looked up into her liquid brown eyes, and saw that they were wide and pleading, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. Good gods, it was like kicking a bossy, overbearing and egotistical puppy! "No, Hermione. I would DEFINITELY prefer it if I could be in your band."
Hermione’s face brightened up as if an invisible cord had plugged her into the wall, initiating a 1000-watt smile available at only certain department stores, but mostly Ebay. "I love you Harry!" She embraced him tightly, and he could’ve sworn that he heard several of his ribs cracking. He would know…it had happened on several occasions, this being the worse.
Hermione walked away with a smug grin. It was so easy to control those little puppets…I mean boys, boys.
Now that business was over, it was time to do the one thing she enjoyed most in the world, and it was all available with the locking of her door, and the playing of some soft mood music, and a talented hand.
Yes, indeed. Hermione was going to write a song.
Hermione had written dozens of songs with such memorable titles as "Dark and Cavernous", "Velvet Blackness", "Bubbling Love Cauldron", and "Billowing Curtains of Darkness". No one had ever read them of course, but they were bound to make her famous someday with their obvious beauty and subtlety. None of those would do for the Battle of the Bands. This song would have to be special…But what would it be about?
Meanwhile over in Snape’s dungeon, the Potions Master was just lacing his arse-kicking boots up over his black crushed-velvet, obscenely tight pants. He ran his hands down his pasty chest. He was sex walking, or so he told himself. Probably only Hermione Granger -- and legions of fan girls -- would agree with him. With a wave of his wand, the CD player that totally worked, despite the fact that it would never ever work, began to play something dark and decadent. Grooving to HIM, Snape writhed and gyrated around his dungeon bedroom, singing in his coarse "I am sex" voice.
"You’re my poison girl," he sang. Suddenly, he heard a loud pounding on his bedroom door. Needless to say, he was quite put out at having been distracted from his nightly unwinding technique. With a wave of his wand, the wards disabled and the door swung open to reveal the green-skinned girl from chapter two who had been fighting with Neville over the leather in his shoes.
"Clock of the Time Dragon, you’re sexy," she said, by way of greeting.
Snape’s mouth dropped open, only briefly of course, and then he folded his arms across his chest. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?"
The green-skinned girl tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and faced him with equal severity. "My name is Elphaba…not-so-wicked witch of the west. And you," she said before he could speak, "are Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts."
"That I am, Miss Elphaba."
"That’s EL-phaba. Say it wrong again and I’ll hex you into the next century."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "All right, so what do you want, EL-phaba?"
Elphaba glanced around the room, eyes finally alighting on the CD player. She grinned. "I discovered that you liked goth rock...I, too, love goth rock. Do you know where I'm headed with this?"
Snape smirked. "So you think you can be in my band, is that it?"
"Yes," answered Elphaba. "I play the guitar, and from what I heard, you'll be singing."
"How did you hear me singing?" he shrieked, and then coughed in a very manly way to cover it up.
"I'm cool like that," replied Elphaba. "Look, can I be in your stupid band or what?"
"Okay," said Snape. "But, I'm writing the songs. I was thinking something along the lines of "Oh Hermione, why won't you look past my loathsome exterior and mould yourself into my black heart."
Elphaba closed the distance between them and slapped him good and hard across the face. "That's stupid. If you're going to write the songs, at least write something good."
"You -- you -- you slapped me!"
"Damn straight, bitch."
Snape regarded her carefully for a moment and then pounced on her. A closet in his bedroom opened, and Snape summoned whips, chains, and various naughty things before tying Elphie to the bed, where they proceeded to have wild kinky sex before a noise at the door they had left open interrupted them.
"Maybe you should lock a door," said the man. He had long brown hair, a very pale complexion, longish fingernails and was not Lestat, thank you very much.
Severus Snape gracefully raised an eyebrow and sneered at the intruder. "Hey, aren't you..."
"No, Definitely not. I'm not Lestat. In fact, I shouldn't even be saying the name of who I am not, we live in dangerous times you know, and the authors are more broke than the hearts of Snape fangirls after a one-sitting reading of Half Blood Prince."
"Beg your pardon?"
"Never mind, it's not important to this piece, because they wrote this one first."
"Alright. I'm jiggy with the concept."
"Good."
Elpahaba and Snape disentangled their limbs, got dressed, and with a quick cleansing spell, Snape was ready to do business with this young man who had nothing to do with Anne Rice.
"What do you want, sir?" Snape inquired nastily. Coitus Interruptus will definitely do that to a man.
"I'd like to join the band you are starting. I must say I am very model of goth rock...I even had a band once. Not the one you are thinking of, because I am so totally NOT Les--"
"Don't say it!" Elphaba and Snape pleaded in frightened voices.
"Whoops! Thanks, that was a close one."
"No problem," Elphaba replied with a small smile. He was dead sexy too.
Their reverie was interrupted by Albus Dumbledore, who wandered into the room with a strange expression on his face. "Do I smell astro-glide?" he asked faintly. The three occupants shrugged, two of which looked quite embarrassed, a definite pink tinge crossing Elphaba's green features. "Ah, well, no matter. Severus, I assume you've decided to refrain from entering the Battle?"
"No sir, I am entering with bells on."
"Oh, indeed, won't that be something to see..."
"A goth band."
A bright grin appeared on the Headmaster's face. "Well, Avada me and throw me off of a lightening struck tower, that's the best news I've heard ALL day!" Severus looked bewildered at Dumbledore's choice of wording, though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-For-Fear-Of-Wrath-Of-Egotistical-Evil-Mainstream-Author just smirked as if he had heard it all before.
"Yes, well..." Severus muttered.
"I must be going though, just popping in for a hello. I've a band to put together as well. It's just a little entertainment I have planned for the upcoming ball. I say, it will be quite a diversion. It's great to be alive!" With that, he was gone.
Snape, Elphie, and not!Lestat eyed each other as the white-haired old man left the room with a jaunty spring in his step singing something that sounded like "he’s a lumberjack and he’s okay." Snape then turned to not!Lestat.
"Elphie is going to play guitar and I’ll be singing, so I suppose you can play drums, which just leaves us in need of a keyboardist."
"What about that fellow who keeps sweeping about the castle muttering about some poof who keeps trying to steal his girlfriend or something?" offered Elphaba.
"No, he’s with that Eponine Thenardier in that French emo band," said the one whose name shall not be spoken. "I already asked, but she told me that I wasn’t French enough for her, even though I totally most certainly am French. My mum was a Marquise and all that, I mean…no, yeah, not French enough…"
"I should be outraged that you didn’t want to join my band first, but I suppose I can overlook it for now. Now," said Snape, looking thoughtfully at Elphie, "since we can’t call him by his name--"
"--because I am so totally NOT him anyway," interrupted you-know-who.
"Right, right," continued Snape, "so Miss Elphie, what shall we call him?"
"What the hell do I care? Call him R.A.B. or something," she replied, looking at her nails.
"NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT!" Snape yelled. "Um, we’re going to call you Rodolphus Lestrange…yes," he added quietly to himself, "that will do nicely."
The newly-christened Rodolphus shrugged. "Whatever," he replied. "All right, I’ve got some blood to drink…I mean, no, not that…I mean, uh, gotta go bitches!" With that, he dashed from Snape’s room, nearly bumping into a curly-haired blonde who had been searching for Elphaba.
"Elphie!" squealed Glinda, "do you remember when I told you that you were my greatest creation?" Elphaba looked mortified, but nodded. "Well, I’ve just done something SO MUCH BETTER! Come and see, come and see!"
Glinda turned and ran out of the room, followed more slowly by Elphaba and Snape, who were NOT holding hands, thank you very much. The joined a large crowd of people who were moving towards the Great Hall.
When the hall was filled to capacity, Glinda climbed up onto the Head Table and stood next to Dumbledore. She smiled winningly at the old man, who returned her grin with a wink. Then she addressed the crowd. "My fellow Hogwartians, let us rejoicify because goodness has subdued the wicked workings of You-Know-Who!"
All heads whipped around to look at Tom Riddle who was leaning on an elbow, talking smoothly into Ginny Weasley’s ear. Tom noticed that he was the object of many withering looks so he put up his middle finger.
"I wasn’t talking about him, my silly lovely monkeys," Glinda called out. "I was talking about the horrors of the nondescript! Look! Look what I’ve done!"
Just then, a blinding beacon of golden light (much like the one from which Legolas appeared) shined down in the doorway to the Great Hall. The doors swung open and in walked Blaise Zabini, his dark skin glowing in the light, his slanted eyes shining with tears of joy. "Look everyone," he said, smiling brightly, "I’m Sicilian!"
A hush had fallen over the room when Ginny stood up, making Tom Riddle slip onto the floor as he’d been leaning forward to try to kiss her, and walked over to Blaise. "Oh Blaise, look at you," she said breathlessly. "You’re beautiful."
Blaise grinned widely. "Thanks, Ginny! You wanna get out of here?"
"YEAH!" she squealed, allowed Blaise to sweep her up into his arms, and they left the hall to the sudden playing of "Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong" and the cheers of everyone, except Tom Riddle, Ron, Harry, Dean Thomas, Hamlet, Christian, Marius, Draco, the combined male population of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses, and Millicent Bulstrode. Ginny was very popular.
Dumbledore turned to Madam Giry. "And you thought this was going to turn out badly, m’dear."
"That leetle girl is an ‘or, and it seekens me to see zat you allow zeese sings to ‘appen under your overlarge nose."
"I have absolutely no idea what you just said, madam."
Madam Giry huffed impatiently, and Dumbledore Silenced her again. He then got up and walked out amongst the students, motioning for Harry, Hermione, and Ron to follow him into the hallway, where they bypassed a feverishly snogging Blaise and Ginny. Harry stared longingly at the girl he’d let get away for a moment, and then turned his attention back to Dumbledore.
"All right, listen you three. I’ve got it on good authority that you are entering this contest as a Brit Pop band, right?"
"That’s right, sir," said Hermione, with tears in her eyes. "And can I just say that it’s absolutely brilliant to see you?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied airily, "lovely to see you as well. Now, I’m not going to tell you that I’m really wanting you to win…and I’m willing to do WHATEVER it takes to see that you succeed. I’m not…not going to say that. You get me?"
Hermione appeared horrified. "You’d be willing to cheat for us?
"Hold on ‘mione, hear the man out," said Ron.
"Actually that was pretty much it, Ron," said Dumbledore. "This was basically just to get the focus of the chapter back to you three. Ta, then!" He whistled jauntily as he walked away, pausing to study the way the snogging of Blaise and Ginny had turned into something quite different.
Harry was staring quite obviously at the two of them, as was Ron, though Ron was trying to learn something whereas Harry was just very jealous. Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them and then slapped them both on the cheeks. "Let’s talk about the band, you tossers, stop looking at Ginny."
Harry glared at Hermione. "I was not staring at Ginny! Goddamn it, what is everyone’s problem? Why can I not be just left alone? Shut up Ron!" Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry stomped away dramatically. Ron just looked bewildered.
"Damn it! A whole day of practice ruined just because Harry thinks he’s sodding Robert Smith, just great…Ron why are you still staring at Ginny?"
"Eh? She’s really good at that, isn’t she…"
"Sick!" Hermione stormed off, leaving Ron feeling slightly wrong inside. Much like climbing the rope in gym class. Ginny transcends taboo.
Hermione reached the exit to the Great Hall, when something in a far right-hand corner caught her eye…and her ears. Curiously she approached a tall, willowy couple that appeared to be engaged in a session of heavy petting. Her heart sank when she saw black robes, and long black hair that belonged to someone very familiar to her.
"Umm…Erik?" She spoke softly, hoping fervently that it was Erik. It totally wasn’t.
"Her…Miss Granger?" Severus Snape felt a touch guilty as he was caught snogging the local green girl by the very secret object of his affections. Elphaba gave the girl a sympathetic glance.
"I…I’m sorry!" Hermione cried, tears shining in her large brown eyes. Turning on her heels, she ran as fast as she possibly could, catching up with Harry.
"Hermione what’s wrong?"
She sniffled, and then sobbed, and then grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him down for a long, passionate kiss.
"I’m emo now, I think," she whispered.
Unbeknownst to them, this little interlude was being witnessed by a weeping, tragically beautiful girl in peasant clothing, and a Potions Master who had felt compelled to explain himself. Oh what a world.