Big Havoc, Little China
Lestat was cool. He sashayed through the dark, abandoned building in downtown China wearing a fluro sports suit tailor made by his employer, one Draco Luicius Abraxtan Malfoy. Who tittered behind him boringly.
"Do we really need to be here so early?" He complained, pocketing his hands and glaring. He seemed to have a permanently sour expression stuck on his face. Had the wind changed at the wrong time and got him?
Lestat shrugged. "Irrelevant. We're VAMPIRES, honey. And this is like, the biggest thing since I was attacked by a proletarian on the way to the golden globes."
"You really shouldn't call them that," Malfoy rebuked, unsouring his face for a moment to facepalm. Pedestrian really was fine.
"Well, I have and will. And did. Also, am." Lestat flipped his bright yellow hair and grinned. "Ready for the show to start, Voldemort?"
The wiry figure emerged from the hollow of a scrap metal crane, his eyes glittering fiercely. "The battle for immortality begins," he preluded.
What followed could only be described as pure awesome. From the realms of the deep, dark underworld a rock guitar appeared in each players's hands. "The face off begins!" Voldemort cried, but his manic laughter was overshadowed by the world-rocking thrums of Lestat's electric guitar. Voldemort cackled, and concentrated. His dark, bloodshot eyes unscrewed: and into his hands fell a maddenlingly shiny delicate chinese bass guitar.
The dark mark was touched by one Draco Malfoy, scrambling over to the dark lord's side post haste. "Hey, I dibsed you!" protested Lestat. "Figures." He had an awful habit of befriending obnoxiously handsome tratourious bastards.
At the call, one hundred million Death Eaters swarmed central Bangkok, China. "Am I late?" Said Harry Potter, popping into existence beside Lestat.
"Not anymore," on cue, the death eaters leaned down and strummed the strings of their a hundred million strats, expressly made for maximum loudness. For Voldemort knew that only the sound of a perfect chord, in tune, magnified into his very soul, could tame the vampire Lestat.
But this time, Lestat had a killer advantage... Invisible earmuffs.
"Now!" Lestat yelled, and at once he and Harry began deflecting Death Eaters with their specialized rock guitars. Death Eater after Death Eater fell to the mighty blows, lost in the sound of their earbuds popping. Shattered glass shattered into even tinier pieces, evidence of the power chord that had rocked China through.
"Death befor dishon-" really, Lestat thought, those police guys ought to have been buying vintage guitars for bludgeoning instead of tasers.
Voldemort saw, and with an angry caw, flew into the demolition crane, beeping backwords, smashing the one hundred tonne ball into a curious stone apparatus.
"He's mad!" Cried Draco Malfoy, who had long gone deaf from the noise. It didn't make difference however, as he'd always been tone deaf.
"Three o'clock!" Yelled Lestat Le something something. "No, ten! Eight! Twelve fifteen!"
"Can you be any more precise?" said Harry Potter, not at all hard of hearing. His hearing aid had been magically tampared, that was, his ears were fancy. With plugs. And other things. Pretty much, he could read lips well and that was it.
The giant metal demolition ball smacked into the cement where he had a second before stood, leaving a cracked hole and a giant dip on the road. "You'll have to do better than that!" Voldemort was trying, and so were his Death Eaters. Snapped from their sound-induced trance, they lunged from all sides, clinging to his undershirt and snapping off his glasses.
"Hey, I was using that!" No matter. Harry held a certain nostalgia for his visionary enhancers, but they were more for show than anything else. He had a vampire's night vision. And what was sentimentality when you were not wanted as a obsenely desireable wizarding hero but an insufferably annoying threat to the good of all pureblood society?
Harry climbed what was left of the half-demolished sky scraper, trusting China's dramatic smog pollution to keep him obscured. From next to him there came a most crash that Harry didn't hear: but he felt the tilt of the building bringing him too quickly to the hard black road that sided the construction site.
"No!" yelled Lestat, turning from the once-park he'd piss bolted to in the wake of the hundred million Death Eaters.
It was too late. Harry had been crushed by the force of the metal ball, and Lestat was alone. He fell to his knees, strumming out the few cords of an old funeral march remembered sparsely. The Death Eaters advanced, guitars righted. It had been since the disintegration of all magic that the dark masters had fallen to music as the source of all mystery: the war between the muggles and the newfound wizarding world had hit the purebloods close to heart. Now, they were a mockery of all they once were, brandishing plastic muggle contraptions and harking on the values of a society that no longer existed in order to appease their master.
Lestat was a mockery too. His dyed dark hair, his acrylic fingernails, his malleable rockstar persona... Alluding to things that would no longer be. The war on humanity, and magic had won. It would shift the standards of music into a corrosive brand of autotune that would eradicate all earned perfection from their good world.
The note ended, and Lestat laid down his guitar in surrender. Through the silence and the stillness and the masses of bodies circled around Lestat came the stunned cry of "what?"
It couldn't be. Before him stood Harry Potter, bloodied, hopeless, sans one earplug but very thoroughly alive.
"I'll have to thank you for missing the first time, Tom!" cried Potter. "The indent you laid out protected me from the press of the fallen building."
Gasps sounded through the colony of humans. Laughter, too. "You think you can beat me with only that? Luck will not precede you from here on, Chosen-"
But it did. As Harry stood, through the masses of Death Eater scum he caught Draco Malfoy's eye. As Lestat watched on in amazement they approached one another in swordfi—a guitar fight. Or an exchange? Oh, it was a tune up.
The pair, with superhuman speed, crowdsurfed the Death Eaters, running off of their masks with unnatural ease. "Who are you, people?" Lestat said, grabbing the closest, removing its mask. Behind it, the ashen face of a tired professor lurked. "Are you Death Eaters? Or are you men? Do you stand for the green skinned snakeface, with his alien principles and values? Do you have pure blood coursing through your veins, or do you have humanity? Here, you attack one of your own; Draco Malfoy! He is as human as you. Just as individual as the person behind the mask here. And still you do not rebel! Are you English or aren't you?"
It was doubtlessly a rousing speech. Especially as most of the Death Eaters gathered in the small space of the construction site and its roads were in fact, Asian, and did not understand the half of it. Thus, Lestat's political manuavre succeeded.
The leading Death Eaters rushed against their leader, flown down from his expanse of machine. Currently, Harry, Draco and Voldemort were engaged in a smash off. Lestat rushed over to join in.
In seconds, his guitar was obliterated. Tiny pieces littered the construction site, more debree to add to the unending pool around them. And that was the way Lestat liked it. He pranced around like the amazing acrobat he was, metal strings tensed like whips.
Then he got an idea. Gripping the strings, Lestat circled the guitar around his head like a lasso. At Draco's prompt (Voldemort was held against a steel pillar, Harry holding him back with his own strings) Lestat unleashed the guitar, and it went soaring through the air to hit the Dark Lord Voldemort right on the noggin.
Much to the displeasure of his captors, Voldemort did not die. His neck swung back, set limply against the cast of the steel, but Harry could still see the pulse of life through his ungainly green scales.
"He's concussed," said Potter.
"Oh, bother," Malfoy harrumphed.
Somehow, Lestat found the glint of those green scales somewhat appealing, and bit into the Dark Lord's neck, drinking sweet blood.
"That jaywalking pillok's trying to gain immortality!" cried Malfoy, seething. "Stop him!"
Stop him they tried. Harry grabbed Lord Voldemort at one end and an anonymous Death Eater grabbed Lestat at the other and they pulled strongly. Try as they might, neither could undo Lestat's death grip on the dark lord who died.
"There's only one thing you can do in this situation," Draco decided. He burst into the nearest China building relic and salvaged a karaoke machine, cackling as 'Wild Wild West' pumped through the outdated speakers.
The Death Eaters organized a singing competition between themselves, bored with their incompetent leader's trouble.
This was how it came to be that Aiko Misukami was announced as the next Death Eater Idol, tears streaming down her face, cheered on by thousands of uproarious fans. "Thankyou," she screamed to the audience. "I couldn't have done it without the help of my lauded ghost companion, Mona Myrtle." Of course Draco didn't understand any of this, and sighed at the incomprehensible slur of language that befouled him.
Finally, Lestat had drunk the dark lord dry. "Now!" he declared, wiping his mouth and stepping forward. "This pitiful dark once-wizard has been rightly vanquished, we can once again celebrate the wonders of I, Lestat, the fiercest and more sensational rock vampire of all time! Nominated twice for Witch Weekley's most charming smile award! From this specimen I have gained more immortality than has ever been contained by a being of this world."
"Well, it can't be very good immortality if the lord went and died of it," Draco pointed out reasonably. Potter had fallen to his knees, shaken by the nameless good Lestat had done to him.
"How can I ever thank you?" Potter said. "I've been envying Voldemort's way with the ladies for years. Now I can fufill my dream of wooing Death Eater Ron Weasley's bountiful sister."
Lestat gasped. "Competition you say? But Harry... I thought we were companions."
"No longer," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry Lestat. But I just can't put up with good looking people anymore."
"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Draco sniped.
"What? Someone as good looking enough to serve competition to Lestat or myself? On this very construction site? Right in front of me? Hmm, no. I can't think of anyone like that," replied Harry.
"Voldeconsort!" Draco accused.
"Now, Harry," said Lestat. "Let us dance."
Oh, they danced. And fought. Mostly fought, really. They each stood on the top of elongated poles remarkably similar to the ones from Jushenkyou doing all sorts of feats of artistic gymnastics. Fireworks crackled overhead, and the brush of cool night wind felt against their burling robes. Harry's eyes shone a deep green, navigating the night air with a prowess honed by years of vigorous training.
Just when Draco thought he couldn't have been more underappreciated, a Death Eater flew from out of the crowd to face him, posture perfect, stance critical. "Dad?" Draco asked in a small voice, disbelieving.
"Yes, son. I have returned," said the figure dropping its mask, embracing the aged teenager.
Draco pushed him away. "You're lying. What, do you think this is some bad idea of a joke? My father is dead. You're just some lowlife reporter on ployjuice. But if you thought I'd buy it, then you're a fool. Anyone would know that I would never forgive anyone for robbing his grave for genetic material like that."
"Not even your own cousin?" said Bellatrix. "Bitch, it's on."
The communication dissolved into punches and kicks, after that. Potter, cunning like the house he should have been in, vaulted off one of the long poles from behind, latching onto Lestat as would a leech. Potter drained his hybrid mortality through his blood, until both remained immortal, long after the rest of the world exploded, sending the two unkillables floating through space together, stuck to the remains of an abandoned construction site.