Summary: It's an AU where magic does not exist, and Harry Potter is the lead singer in his self-formed band. Harry never planned on being famous. He never dreamed that his band would be anything other than a good time between friends. But when they'ree picked up by the biggest label in the UK, things suddenly start to rock out of control. This is their journey to stardom... one they may never return from.
Pairing: Has yet to be decided… I'm not even sure if it's going to be slash… So I'm open to your opinions! Tell me what you want, and I may just deliver! From here it will either be a Harry/Draco or a Harry/Ginny, depending on what you guys tell me!
Rating: Bad language is all, for now. Depending on the pairing it may get worse.
Warnings: I'm not in a band. I'm not (nor have ever been) a roadie/groupie/stalker. In fact, I'm not all the musical. Therefore my actual knowledge of tour life is very limited. But whatever. This is just for fun, less than accurate as it is. I've read a few books and biographies, so although some details may be lacking, what really matters will be there!
Notes: Hogwarts has been changed to Hogarth. There will be other changes as I mugglefy the wizarding world… but you'll have to take those as they come. That's the only warning you'll get out of me! ;3

Musings on the first

Chapter One

" – and then Susan, the girl they were fighting over, right? She runs out and slaps Thomas right across the face! And he's totally just won the whole fight with Garner, right? So I jump in and tell that it's O.K.! She can borrow my scooter! And then do you know what happened? But she actually tried to attack me!"

Harry stifled an exasperated sigh and switched the phone to his other hand. He reached up and smeared some dirt across his nose as he wiped his sweaty face, wondering if Blaise knew Harry had stopped listening to him several topics ago. Down the line, Blaise had moved onto talking about his shoelaces.

"Blaise, I'm trying to get some weeding done here!" He tried to interrupt. "Aunt Petunia will ground me for weeks if I don't get this done."

There was a pause from Blaise's end.

"Why don't you just employ a gardener, Haz? We've got three. I think Draco's got half a dozen! You can have one. I'll tell her to wear a bow and come round to your house Friday night…" Blaise trailed off at Harry's stony silence. "Or I'll let you finish what you're doing." He finished meekly.

"Thankyou, Blaise."

Harry juggled the phone so that it was held against his ear with a shoulder, and leant down to pull out a stringy looking weed. Blaise had either forgotten to hang up the phone, or was trying to remember something he had wanted to say.

"Oh yeah! That's right! Draco said that tomorrow arvo was free for practice! Just give the word, H-man, and we're ready to rock and roll! That's what I was calling you about originally, but you know me -"Blaise left it hanging, and with a fond smile, Harry finished the sentence.

"You get distracted. Yeah, I know." He paused to think about what Blaise had said. "Look, yeah, tomorrow's good for me. I get off early because Sprout's away for the week so my Bio class has been cancelled. Can you tell Draco that I'll get to his at about two thirty?"

Blaise hummed down the line, sounding as distracted as he ever did.

"You could tell him all this yourself, of course."

"Blaise. I understand that you have the mental age of a five year old, but even you should understand what's between Draco and me."

"Sexual tension?"

"Bad blood you nitwit. The only reason I let him in this bloody band is because he's your best buddy!" Harry had rocked back onto his heels and was talking down the phone furiously, red in the face. Blaise sounded as oblivious to Harry's temper tantrums as he usually did.

"Actually, Potter, it's because Draco is the best bloody bassist in England."

"Yeah, whatever, Blaise. Look I need to go. Should I give Charlie and Ginny a call or will you?"

"Harry… Harry! Oh my God! You won't believe who just texted me! I'm going to tell them to drown themselves in eggnog!"

The sound of Blaise squealing caused Harry to hold the cell phone away from his ear and squint. The sun was just setting and in the time he had been talking to Blaise had dipped just below the horizon. Harry dragged a sticky hand through his hair, thinking about the shower he was going to have once he finished the last garden bed.

"Tell me tomorrow, Blaise. I'll call the Weasley's. I'm going to go now."

"Oh Harry! No… Harry! Harry! God, I sound like I'm having an orgas – " Harry clicked the phone shut with a small shudder. He slid it into his pocket and sighed, reaching a hand behind his back to try and ease the knot that had formed from being slouched over the garden all afternoon.

Harry was reluctant to agree with Blaise in anything, but he really did wish that the Dursley's would get a gardener. He'd been pulling weeds out and trimming hedges since he was in his first year of primary school, and it was getting old. With another sigh he pulled out the last few offending plants and threw them onto the pile of leaves and dirt that was positioned next to him.

Harry stood up, dusting his dirty hands on the faded and baggy jeans that he was wearing. With one last weary sigh, he gathered the weeds he'd extracted from the garden into his arms and carried them over to the Dursley's rubbish dump. He could see the television blaring inside the living room and his relatives silhouettes sitting down to watch.

His pocket vibrated suddenly, letting out a trill of lyrical notes.

Harry finished clearing the weeds off the lawn and went inside to wash his hands. He wandered into the kitchen and grabbed the carton of milk that had 'POTTER'S' scrawled across it in blank permanent marker. Without even bothering to fetch himself a glass, he took a swig from the cardboard carton.

Only when he'd stolen an Anzac cookie from Aunt Petunia's jar and retreated back to his room did he look at the text that had come in for him.

With his feet propped up against the cupboard door, Harry scrolled through the phone, muttering under his breathe. "Messages… Oh, it's from you, Hermione… Oh God, not if that prick Ron's going to be there, honey… My God, did I just call Hermione 'honey'? Oh for – " the mobile buzzed again, the screen lighting up as the same jingle played.

Harry blinked when he realised that the newest text was from Charlie.

"You're not going to believe this," Harry recited dubiously, "but I think we might have landed ourselves a gig… Oh dear." Harry shook his head slowly.

His fingers darted across the keypad startlingly fast as he replied. "If… this gig… was… organised… when you'd… consumed… more than… six beers… I don't want… to know… about it."

Charlie was a good bloke, really. He was a tall and athletic Hogarth graduate and by far the oldest in their band. He was notorious for his drinking habits – which was to say that he seemed to like the taste of alcohol, judging purely by the amount of it he consumed. As a result of this excessive drinking, Charlie was often in situations that common and rational people usually were not.

Harry would only be half surprised if it turned out that the outgoing red-head had booked them in to play at a strip club in London… it seemed the kind of thing that he would do.

Charlie's reply was instant, although it brought a frown to Harry's face.

"Draco organised it, did he?" Harry muttered. "Well that was unexpected."

Harry was certain that he would never understand Draco Malfoy. The teenager was six months older than Harry (and a good six inches taller, too) although you'd never know it. His parents were insanely rich. The amount of money they possessed fell in with movie stars and software developers. It was old money, and Harry knew that it had been in the Malfoy family for generation upon generation.

Draco and Harry had met under unfortunate circumstances.

They had both agreed that if the situation had been different, it was likely that the two of them could have been quite good friends. As it was, they could barely stand to be in the same room with one another for more than five minutes. It was much less if they were alone.

Harry punched in a querying text to Charlie, aware that the older man knew of the animosity that lay between the two teens.

Dco h8s us performin. wth?

Which was true. Of the band, Draco was the most nervous when it came to playing their music in front of an audience. The blonde didn't have much to be nervous about: he was by far the best musician among them – classically trained. He played bass guitar, viola and had even been trained in the flute for several years. He had porcelain skin which meant he looked as though he'd never had to deal with a zit in his life and a bone structure that made him one of the most popular boys at his school.

Of course that didn't matter to Harry: Draco attended the Hogarth Academy. It was lucky that Harry didn't have to deal with him on a daily basis.

Charlie's reply text jingled him out of his thoughts. "Draco knows what's good for him?" Harry read the reply in a whisper, looking caught between horror and amusement at Charlie's carefree answer. It seemed as though Charlie was happy with the news that they'd scored a gig. Harry silently thanked whatever God was listening for the red-heads enthusiasm and dedication to the band.

Harry had first met Charlie two years ago through Ginny Weasley. She was the year below Harry at Stonewall High and unlike her brother, had not been able to make the cut for the Hogarth scholarship. Harry and Ginny had become friends in their year seven/eight combined music class. Looking back, it had been prophetic.

Harry quickly texted both Ginny and Charlie the details for the next days practice before changing into his boxers and reaching up to turn off his lamp. He lay in the dark for a few minutes, mentally reviewing the songs that they would practice tomorrow.

He poked the glowing lights at the end of his bed with a disappointed toe. He needed to write some more music. If there was one thing about the band that Harry hated… it was having to write the songs.

He hummed to himself softly as he lay on his bed, facing the sloping roof of his room, his forehead crinkled in concentration. It was all dark apart from the glowing light-bulbs at the foot of his bed – suffusing the room with a rainbow of colours. The Dursley's had all made their way up to bed almost two hours ago.

"I wanna be in a rock and role band, up on stage famous enough, I'm gonna shake the Queen's hand. Aww, shit."

More beeping from above his head had interrupted him, and he sat up with a sigh. Anyone would think he was positively popular with the number of texts he'd been getting lately.

Pulling his phone out of the bag dangling over him, Harry flipped it open and read the glowing LCD screen in the dark.

It was from Blaise: 'OmFg Haz! DR says e gt us a gig! Im gnna fckin rape im 4 joy! Gigigig! Snds lyk ur fckd lol!'

Or, in something closer to Enlish, Harry thought wryly: 'Oh my fucking God! Draco says he's gotten us a gig! I'm going to fucking rape him for joy! –Exclamations of joy- Sounds like you're fucked hahaha'

Well at least Blaise was happy about it. Although he was right about Harry being fucked – if they really did have a gig (even if it wasn't very serious) then Harry was going to have to come up with a new song pronto. He'd been promising them all one for weeks now, but his muses had deserted him.

He didn't bother texting the hyperactive teenager back.

After fifteen more minutes of running in hopeless circles of musical thought, Harry gave up.