Chapter 3: So it begins…
The headmaster of Hogwarts, a school of witchcraft and wizardry, was feeling inordinately proud of himself. Here he was, in a position of power and authority, having all these little children and teachers to answer at his every beck and call; why his every whim or wish could be granted. How utterly exciting!
And now there were all these same students looking up at him, imploring with their eyes for him to make as quick a speech as possible so that they might be fed. Well, it made no sense to keep them waiting; too long.
"And we are gathered together again for another meal," he then looked down at them with a great twinkle in his eye (it's amazing what a good glamour could do), "and I shall announce the Slytherin Band members. Messirs. Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. I'm sure you shall all join me in applauding them for joining this voluntary competition!" And with that last word, Albus Dumbledore sat down and silence reigned.
"This sucks," Blaise mumbled under his breath until a pretty Slytherin in the year under tapped him on the shoulder.
"I think it's so good of you to represent our house in front of all those unworthy little mongrels. You are so nice." She fluttered her eyelashes at him and walked away. Blaise followed her with his eyes and finally grinned.
"Girls always love the bassist."
The 7th years surrounding him laughed; all excepting Pansy who just smiled in a saccharinely sweet way. The Italian pureblood gulped.
Pansy had forgiven them. Well, that's what she said, but she only let them live because she was to choose the songs they had to sing. Draco liked to live in denial and pretend that leaving Pansy in charge of the musical division would not come back and bludgeon him in the balls.
Denial was a nice place to live.
A WEEK HAS PASSED AND THE BANDS MUST…wait for it… keep waiting… PRACTICE!
They had put all the band leaders in one room. Alone. Unsupervised.
Draco sometimes wondered if the professors actually wanted the students to graduate or if they were organizing a mass genocide.
Potter was sitting on his stool looking dark and brooding; ever since his godfather had died there was just no stopping. Draco had started to refer to him as 'tall, dark and forehead'. He sniggered; Merlin, he was a good laugh!
As if on cue, the Boy Who Wouldn't Die swerved and pierced the blond Slytherin with a hard and certainly harsh glare. "You want to say something, Malfoy?" And thus Draco Malfoy was now the focus point of the room. How grand!
That my dear readers, was sarcasm.
"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head with Potter. Now, why don't we get to the point?" The ferret boy lifted arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the other four band leaders, Potter (obviously), Lovegood (Merlin knows why) and Smith (what an annoying little ponce!).
"You're absolutely right, Malfoy. Why should we all be subjected to each other's company any longer than necessary?" Zacharias Smith added. That little Hufflepuff really was useless.
Malfoy and Potter both snorted and then glared at one another for having the same reaction. A brawl seemed imminent and therefore Luna Lovegood took it upon herself to interject.
"The shmiggles might prey upon us at any instant now. It would be best if we could all just agree to a definitive timetable, then there'd be no squabbling to attract those treacherous creatures. They're quite adorable really but people do get rather frightened by their unique physical appearance."
It was Smith's turn to snort and Potter seemed to relax at the melodious if not completely 'there' voice of Lovegood. All confrontational emotions were diffused and were instead replaced with sympathy, incredulity or downright suspicion.
"Right, well, we'll take the two hours on Friday. And that's definitive, Loony." Malfoy stated and then left the room, robes swirling behind him.
"I really hate him…" Potter grunted and then turned to make rehearsal arrangements and negotiate with the other two.
FRIDAY, THE TWO AFOREMENTIONED HOURS
The room wasn't exactly clean, neat or appealing but nothing that a little efficient magic couldn't arrange. Crabbe and Goyle were bringing the equipment, it really had been divine intervention to add them to the band, and Pansy was looking disdainfully around herself while Blaise was slowly edging away from her and discreetly, or well his own definition of discretion, making towards Malfoy.
"What do you think, Pans?" the Ice Prince asked the dark haired girl, not even turning from his contemplation of a rather suspicious stain on that rag that was probably a carpet and lay neglected on the floor.
"It's… interesting to say the least," Pansy scrunched her nose and asked, "What is that foulstench? Honestly, Draco. Do you think the Gryffindors did something… unsanitary when in this room?" Pansy carefully stepped out of the room. She looked about ready to burn her new pair of, what she proclaimed were her favorite, shoes. Previously she had stated something along the lines of 'They're Italian leather, made in Paris. What girl wouldn't call them divine?' Only Paris had been pronounced along the lines of 'Paree'.
"Really Pansy, no need to subject yourself to such strenuous circumstances, we'll understand perfectly well if you decided to remain in the Common Room or join whichever boy-toy it is this week." Draco continued to investigate that blood-like stain. It was just morbidly fascinating.
Blaise looked down to see what exactly the blond was observing. "What exactly are you looking at?" the Italian asked.
"That stain. Don't you think it looks an awful lot like… blood?" The other Slytherin replied.
"Now that you mention it…" Blaise started to respond when they were both ear-boxed by the ferocious brunet who stood glaring at them arms akimbo, her apparent distaste for the place vanished, replaced by an inordinate amount of anger at these two fools that were considered the crème de la crème of the Slytherin House.
The world of today was just depressing.
"Shut up and get to work. We've got to find out everything about muggle music and get you started. Our house will not look like a bunch of unprepared and tasteless fools because you GITS can't keep your mind on the target. We are Slytherins, what do we want?" Pansy pointed a sharply filled nail at them.
"To win," they answered, looking distinctly uncomfortable to be in such close proximity to her.
That's when the two goons walked in. "We've got all the material!" announced Crabbe and Goyle came in bearing amplifiers and speakers, many wires that seemed to be tangled with other wires and left them staring at an unending mass.
"Swell," sighed Draco.
AN UNTANGLED MASS LATER… MUCH LATER
"So, muggle music…" Blaise started. And they all looked at each other and frowned.
Silence reigned.
20 MINUTES LATER
"Muggle music, huh?" Blaise contributed to the ongoing thought process that was occurring in each of the band members and manager (Pansy wanted a title thank you very much) heads.
3 MINUTES LATER
"I got it!" Draco exclaimed.
The others all sighed in relief; they knew there was a reason he had been nominated chief thinker.
