by Topaz
A/N: First of all, this fic includes a lot of what some people call OOC and what I call Creative Characterization, so be forewarned. Second of all, don't expect much of a plot. Third, thank you to lyricserver.com for supplying me with the lyrics to these songs, and blame them if some of the words are wrong.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter & Company belong to J. K. Rowling or WB, whichever, this fic belongs to me, and "Basket Case" belongs to Green Day.
It was a dark and stormy night. Rain poured outside the windows, the wind thrashed wildly through the trees, and the moon hung like a silver beacon above the dark trees and the lake, whose smooth reflection was marred by the wind.
Dumbledore beamed at the students assembled in the Great Hall. "It appears to be raining out," he announced.
"No shit, Sherlock," Draco Malfoy muttered sullenly.
Dumbledore's eyes stopped twinkling and he pinned a sharp glare on Malfoy. "Thank you for volunteering, Mister Malfoy."
Draco looked around nervously. "For what?"
"Our sing-a-long," Dumbledore replied, smiling sweetly. "Whenever it's raining at Hogwarts we gather in the Great Hall and sing songs until the sun comes out."
Draco went white. "I don't sing."
Dumbledore smiled cheerily. "Don't be silly, Malfoy, everyone sings! Just have confidence in yourself. You can go first."
"No, please--" Draco looked wildly around at the other students, but none made any move to help him. His face still as pale as the moon outside, Draco stood up and stumbled toward the front of the hall, looking as though he were going to be sick. The whites of his eyes were showing as he stopped in front of everyone, face shiny with sweat.
"What should I sing?" he squeaked.
"Anything you want," Dumbledore replied, smiling broadly. "The microphone is enchanted, so you don't really have a choice. It makes you sing the song that best...suits you."
To his complete and utter (not udder, utter) horror, Draco felt his mouth open and his voice box begin to vibrate entirely against his will. Words were coming from his throat. A song. He listened.
"Do you have the time to listen to me whine? About nothing and everything all at once..." Hm, Draco thought, I have a damn good voice. I should sign up for Chorus next year. But I certainly don't whine...
"I am one of those melodramatic fools..." I am not a fool! Draco thought furiously, but his mouth was beyond his control. "Neurotic to the bone..."
"That's for sure," Harry Potter said loudly, grinning. Draco snarled at him.
"...no doubt about it..." His face was bright red now instead of white. I am NOT neurotic, Draco told himself fiercely. I'm just misunderstood.
"Sometimes I give myself the creeps."
"You give us the creeps, too," Ron Weasley replied, snorting with laughter.
Crimson, Draco struggled to stop the words flowing from his mouth. "Sometimes my mind plays trick on me. It all keeps adding up...I think I'm cracking up. Am I just paranoid?"
"No, you're definitely cracking up," Hermione Granger said thoughtfully.
"Or am I just stoned?" Draco sang, wishing that there were a rock nearby. Preferably one large enough to crawl under. Suicide was starting to sound wonderful.
"That's certainly possible," Hermione agreed.
"I went to a shrink..."
"About time, too," Ron remarked.
"...to analyze my dreams. She said it's lack of sex that's bringing me down." Draco groaned silently. Things could not get worse.
"Don't worry, Malfoy...someday you'll find a girlfriend," Harry said, fighting back snickers. "I'm sure there are some very lonely slugs and hippopotamuses out there."
Shut up Potter, Draco said mentally. We'll just see what you sing when it's your turn. His face still flaming, he sang on. "I went to a whore..." Wow, Draco thought, it could get worse. Amazing.
"He said my life's a bore..." I wouldn't go to a whore! Draco shrieked mentally. Stupid, stupid microphone. Besides, my life isn't boring. And I'm certainly not gay.
"And quit my whining cause it's bringing him down." Draco scowled at the imaginary whore. No mere prostitute should address him like that. "Grasping to control...so you better hold on..."
"Sometimes I give myself the creeps. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. It all keeps adding up...I think I'm cracking up. Am I just paranoid or am I just stoned?"
Silence fell, then people began to applaud.
"Hm," said Hermione. "I don't know if we'll ever know the answer to that last one."
Draco glared at her. "Shut up." He was delighted to learn that he could now control his voice box.
"Thank you for that lovely rendition of Basket Case, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You ought to try out for the Magical Chorus."
"Not if it has microphones like that," Draco muttered, slinking back to his seat. He had just learned the true meaning of the phrase "Utterly humiliated" and he didn't like it.
Dumbledore looked around at the audience, still whispering and giggling in delight at Draco's solo. "Who would like to go next?"
Silence fell. No one uttered a peep (I've used the word 'utter' a lot in this, haven't I) for fear of attracting attention. Most stared at the floor. A few stared at Draco, shaking with silent laughter. He glared back, his face an interesting shade of magenta.
Dumbledore continued to beam brighter than a lighthouse. "Anyone?"
Suddenly a dark figure burst into the hall.
"I am Lord Voldemort," said Lord Voldemort.
(To be continued, of course...)