Author's Note: Written for Round 6 of the QLFC

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Beater 1

Captain Prompt: Cult Classics: Rocky Horror Picture Show

Prompts Used: 1 (word) token, 3 (quote) "For every problem, there is one solution which is simple, neat and wrong." – H.L. Mencken, 14 (object) mirror

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2181

He took one last look at himself in the mirror and glowered. Turning his head this way, then that, Draco carefully applied just a bit more of the glamour that had prematurely receded his hairline, moving it farther back just a hint.

"Perfect," he growled, trying hard to perfect his best Riff-Raff. He pouted and preened just a few seconds more before twirling once to get the full effect. Long, stringy locks replaced his usual head full of neat, white-blond hair, falling haphazardly into his darkly shadowed eyes. From his bloodless lips to his scuffed boots; and overly large tuxedo coat, his costume was complete. There would be no mistaking the role he played this night. His own natural smirk crept across his face and thoroughly finished his transformation.

There weren't many things about the Muggle world that the youngest Malfoy admired; but movies were the exception. Movies were as close as he had come in the incredibly dull world of the mundane that even hinted that Muggles knew anything at all about magic.

And he had to admit, if only secretly, that they far surpassed his expectations.

That being said, by this, his last year of study, he was something of a film connoisseur. He prided himself on having converted more than a few of his fellow Slytherins to the art form…and the less-than-artsy forms, as well. He wasn't exactly sure into which category The Rocky Horror Picture Show fell, and ultimately, he didn't care. It was raucous, sexy fun. And if the butterbeer flowed, he might even sing along.

This night was the culmination of weeks of campaigning on his part for a film-showing to coincide with All Hallow's Eve as a means of letting off some mid-semester steam for the upperclassman. Convincing Slughorn took some conniving, and, in the end, it was determined that this would be a gathering only for the "Eighth Year" students, but finally, the Slug agreed. A movie night with costumes and props - the whole kit and caboodle. Draco had to smile. Charm had not been his strongest suit prior to the war, but so many things had changed since then. So many people had changed, and he was no exception. He no longer needed to lean so heavily on his family name to make up for his own inadequacies. He was more than just pure blood. It made House rivalries look so trivial; life and death experiences had that effect on people, he supposed.

Deciding to return to Hogwarts had been hard. Many did not see the purpose. After all they had survived. There were more than a few who even now, less than a year after the Final Battle, were married and starting families of their own. After the war, it seemed like life was so fleeting and there was no time to wait. Certainly, Draco had felt it, too, but he had never been one to give in to impulse. He was thankful for that now; thankful to be a part of the small, but resilient group of students who had returned to finish their studies and to just try to reclaim a sense of normalcy in their lives. "The Eighth Years" – no one was sure where it started, but the nickname had struck early and stuck. They were different; they always would be. It came with growing up too fast.

Draco shook off the fleeting feeling of wistfulness had crept up on him.

'No time for that. Time to let loose and enjoy,' he thought as he grabbed his bag of props. A loaf of bread, several toilet rolls, an umbrella; he was going to show these blokes how to have a good time.

As he grabbed the doorknob, he hesitated. Something felt off. He turned back to look over his room. Did he leave something behind? Glancing quickly over his disheveled bed and cluttered dresser, he came up blank. He patted himself down. His wand was in a hidden jacket pocket. His trousers, slim and fitted, had no room for anything extra. His shirt sleeves turned up to fold over the ends of his sleeves in that sloppy way that was all Riff. Nothing seemed out of place. And maybe that's what bothered him most; the serenity of it all.

His eyes could not help but roam over the faded scar on his left forearm. It wasn't completely visible, but enough of the tender, overly smooth skin showed to remind him of his choices. A token of decisions past. Instinctively, his fingers grazed lightly over it.

"For every problem, there is one solution which is simple, neat and wrong," he whispered aloud to no one. It had made so much sense at the time.

He didn't feel wistful anymore.

He balled up his fist and tugged down his sleeve. This was no time for dwelling on the past. Now was most certainly time for celebrating the present. They had survived. Some days, it was all that mattered.

He stepped swiftly out into the dark corridor. No part of the castle was better than the Slytherin living quarters this time of year. Dark with shadows, the rock that was intrinsic to the makeup of the dungeon dwellings seemed to have a life of its own after dark. Brooding. Watching. Breathing. Draco had thought he loved the quiet before; the ease with which he slipped in and out of blackened corners to roam where he shouldn't after curfew.

Now, he loved it even more for its complexity. Every shade was a reflection of not only the dark, but the light it balanced out. Sophisticated and simple all at the same time. He embraced it in himself, and found comfort in it surrounding him here, as it always had.

The emptiness of the hall struck him, and he quickened his pace.

"Nothing like being fashionably late to your own soiree," he muttered to himself. He deliberately slowed down so as to ensure his entrance would be noticed. He was confident his costume would be the best; after all, he had watched the movie what? Five, six…maybe even seven times. And that wasn't even counting that live version done on American TV just a few years back. Absolute drivel.

He made his way down to the common room, lingering strains of a Neon Trees song stuck in his head. He would be grateful for the movie sing along, if only to get that stupid line dislodged from his brain.

'So sing it.

You are never gonna get

Everything you want in this world.

First things first

Get what you deserve.'

"Ugh," Draco grumbled, as he blindly turned a sharp corner.

He almost ran face-first into one scantily clad Neville Longbottom, hand clutching tightly that of an almost equally naked Luna Lovegood. It was only when he stopped that he heard the apoplectic yelling from Professor Slughorn as he chased the two out of the Slytherin common rooms.

"…and make sure you don't come back until you are more appropriately dressed!" he finished, shaking a fist after the two before startling at the unexpected presence of Draco. The Potions Professor looked the young Malfoy up and down twice, his face contorting even further, before he swept up his robes in a huff and marched back into the party without further comment.

Draco smiled. He had not expected that much bravado, especially not from Neville. But, truthfully, he wasn't sure why not. Longbottom had given up his exterior of defenseless blunderer in favor of someone far more confident and carefree. Destroying a horcrux and defeating the Dark Lord can do that; make a man of a boy.

"Brad. Janet;" Draco smiled at the couple. Luna, still managing to be the guileless creature she always was, didn't even have it in her to blush as she stood around in a bra, knickers and half-slip. She held Neville's hand firmly and the boys exchanged a handshake.

"Riff," he replied. "That's quite good, Malfoy. Quite good."

Draco gave an embellished bow of thanks and nodded toward the common room.

"Trouble with the Slug?;" he asked the couple.

"Evidently, Horace didn't bother to watch the movie prior to this evening's festivities," Neville replied. "He's in for a treat." A smile broke out across the young man's face that Draco could not help but mirror.

"Will you be back?" he asked.

"We hadn't planned out alternate costuming," Luna added, candidly.

Neville just smiled and gripped her hand a bit tighter.

"My quarters will be empty for a while," Draco said with a wink. Without further ado, he made his way toward the revelry.

Inside was chaos. Laughter filled the air as the soundtrack played and people warmed up their dance moves. Slughorn was green with disgust as he trailed off around the edge of the commons, his robes askew as he gripped a large brandy in his hand. Draco made his way over to the older professor, receiving greetings along the way.

"Professor?" he asked, politely.

Slughorn didn't even look over.

"This is absolute debauchery, Malfoy," was his only response, his eyes firmly staring out over the raucous teens.

"It's not all that bad, Professor," Draco replied. "We're adults, essentially. We're self-contained and we're enjoying ourselves. It's pretty tame, considering."

Slughorn had to admit, if only to himself, that the boy was right. Strike that; the man.

He peered over at Draco taking in the detailing he'd put into his costume, his glamour. There was an undeniable glee written on the young man's face.

Draco leaned in a bit closer. "We'll be fine," he said, confidentially. "Go on. You can leave us on our own."

He paused, considering his phrasing carefully. "Unless you'd like to get up on stage," he added after a moment. "All virgins have to perform for the crowd…"

He pulled back to stand against the wall, side-by-side with Slughorn while the older Wizard considered the offer. Then, without another word, Slughorn tugged at his robes and headed for the door, never to return. Moments later, Draco peeled himself off the wall to join the crowd.

XXX

As midnight approached, the crowd began to settle in for the main event. Much as Draco had expected, there were a myriad of RH Party Go-ers in their tuxes and paper hats, but not too many main characters. Surely he was looking forward to a few more pair of gold hotpants on a handful of Columbia's, but, alas, he was left hanging. And, shockingly, no Dr. Frank N. Furter! Draco realized early on he didn't really have the look for it himself, but he had hoped someone might like to try it out – or at least be bold enough to rock a set of heels and some fishnets.

He slid into the corner of a deep green velvet sofa toward the back of the room, only to find his personal space invaded by a riot of fuchsia hair and an extremely short hemline. Based on the legs alone, he was clueless as to their owner, but when she pushed her hair aside, you could've knocked Draco down with a feather.

"Whoa," was all he managed as he tried to figure out where the rest of his vocabulary had gone.

"I believe this was your suggestion, Malfoy," she replied, tartly. "Let me see if I can recall exactly how you put it…" She pulled back just enough to mimic his mannerisms with her hands and give him a healthy dose of her open blouse…

""I can't think of anyone in the Wizarding World more naturally prepared to play Magenta than you, Granger. You merely require color change and you'll be off and running!"", she smirked, her eyes clearly alighting on the fact that his were not on her face.

"I didn't think you'd take me seriously," he finally managed as he took in her transformation, his head swimming. Kohl smudged eyes, blood red lips and that ridiculous little maid's cap not so much sitting upon her head as clinging on for dear life to her explosive coif. She was every inch wild.

"Why not? Am I too boring and bookish to have a little fun?" she groused, resuming her up-close-and-personal proximity pressed up against his side. "I thought we'd gotten over our little penchants to judgement, Malfoy?" she said, inching in even closer. It wasn't anything like he expected, but he damned sure wasn't unhappy about it.

"Besides," she whispered when she got closer, "I'm not the only surprise here."

She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows and then, slowly moved her eyes toward the wall just behind them. He followed her eyes, and, for a moment, he didn't see a thing.

Then, the shadows moved, and he caught the faintest outline of a shape. Tall and dark; cloaked head-to-foot.

"Is it?" he gasped softly.

"I think so," she replied so faintly, she could barely be heard. "I think he's a fan," she added.

And Draco's eyes trailed down to the floor, only then to notice the sky high pair of platform heels.

And in the shadows, Snape smirked.