The Final Battle
Chapter Six: The Depths of Poserdom, or Neville breaks in his Chucks
Disclaimer: We don't own them still. I mean, I know we rock and all, but yeah...we don't own any of it.
Author's Note: Betcha thought we were dead. No, we're just horrible, and we procrastinate, but we are still much more wonderful than most people. And did you notice? We're cooler than Lockhart too. So recap: Not Dead, Still Awesome
Neville Longbottom was a happy man. Currently, he was deeply involved with Luna Lovegood, whom he considered a living goddess and who also liked to knit thoughtful, but embarrassing gifts that he took upon himself to wear proudly, and he was about to start a band - a punk rock band.
He knew that the most important thing was the look. If he had learned anything from hardcore punk bands like Good Charlotte, Sum 41, and Creed, it was that nothing says punk like ridiculously overpriced clothing from a punk store that was owned by an infamously preppy one.
He laced up his black-flamed Chuck Taylors that had cost him sixty American dollars, because the authors are too lazy to convert to pound and Galleon amounts, spiked his brown locks, and straightened his tie with a purpose. It was time to stand up for anarchy, wristbands, and ties everywhere, proclaiming proudly:
"Ouch, these buggers hurt during the first go-round!" Neville exclaimed, as his high tops bit into his ankles. A light bulb then suddenly went off in his head. He had discovered the hardest part of being punk…at last.
Striding purposefully down the hallway that led to the Hufflepuff commons, for no other purpose, actually, than to provide a smooth transition, Neville passed a thoughtful-looking Susan Bones.
"Oi, Susan, s'wrong wif you?" asked Neville, practicing his soon-to-be patented angrybrit!punk accent.
Susan simply sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, nothing's wrong, Neville. It's just the whole battle of the bands thing…what does it all mean? It's turned the whole lot of us into something we're not, and…" she glanced down at the clothing her housemates had forced upon her that morning. "I mean," she continued, "I don't even know what 'get crunk' means!"
"Right-o, well, you're looking totally corporate, Susan. You aren't hardcore like me," answered Neville, staring at the skin-tight jeans, knee-high scrunchy boots, Baby Phat tank top, and obnoxious gold earrings that hung down almost to her shoulders…not to mention the scores of bling, and was that a grill in her teeth? Actually if Neville was honest with himself, Susan looked like a total honey, but she could never compare with his boo.
Susan just sighed again. "Oh, Neville, I miss the olden days. Things were so much simpler then, when Death Eaters were running around and people were dying left and right…those were the days Neville. Those were the days."
Her voice was sad, dripping with emo actually, but as it didn't fit her outfit, nor did it sound so totally punk rawk, Neville had stopped listening. He was concentrating once more on the pain in his ankles, and thinking about what words rhymed with ankles besides cankles and sprinkles if you weren't listening that closely.
"Yo! S.B. what you doing with this pseudo-punk loser?"
Both Susan and Neville turned around, Neville the very picture of punkish indignation and Susan looking as if she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. And no wonder…the Hufflepuff trio had just emerged from the portrait hole. It was Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Hannah Abbott, or as they were calling themselves these days, E-Mac, Fletch, and Fabbott.
"Girl, I think you are tripping. Playing about with this joke-ass fool," said Fletch, indicating Neville with an exaggerated jerk of his thumb.
Neville bristled, but Susan just put a hand on his arm. "It's all right, Neville…go play with your guitar or something. I will handle these three." She watched Neville walk off in the direction of Ravenclaw, gingerly as possible and hissing in pain every so often, before turning back to her friends. "Right, that wasn't a very nice thing to say."
"Can't help it if this shite is true, girl," said E-Mac, who then brushed his shoulders off. "Ladies is pimps too, Fabbott brush your shoulders off." Fabbott did so, and Susan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well," continued E-Mac, "S.B. are you down, or what?"
"I'm going to go find Anthony," she said, and rapidly spun on her heels, following after Neville towards Ravenclaw House.
Meanwhile, several meters ahead of her, Neville continued walking towards his goal with punkly ambitions. Suddenly, he felt something quite wet hit his cheek. He stopped and turned to see a tall, blond fellow. He looked quite a bit like Lockhart, only with chains, safety pins through his nose and eyebrows, and a Shakespearean ruffle.
"Feckin' poser," the man grumbled.
Neville's jaw dropped. "P-pardon me…I mean, oi! What's your problem, eh?" he said, trying to resume his overblown Cockney accent.
"You are, you feckin' poser, now feck off before I stab you like I did my wife!"
Neville choked in astonishment. "You what? And how dare you call me a poser! What have you done that is so punk!?"
The blond man stepped forward menacingly. "I stabbed my wife…don't you know that's what anyone who is anyone in the punk world does? Oh, and I poisoned the mind of me best mate into thinking that his wife was a slut, so he killed her…he's in my band."
Neville responded the best way he could -- by backing away slowly, before breaking out into a full-on jog.
He came to a screeching halt to avoid slamming into a dejected-looking munchkin. "What's wrong mate?" Neville asked, once more forgetting about his accent of punkification.
The boy sniffed. "Nothing it's just that…" He mumbled something that sound like 'Galinda.'
"What?"
"She won't form a band with me! It was going to be just the two of us collaborating together…tall woman, short but cute man in a duo without the aid of our own instruments. It was supposed to be comical!" he wailed.
"There is an emo band for this, you know," Neville offered.
The munchkin shook his head. "I can't stand the lead singer, she's such a whiner." He heaved a mighty sigh. "Why doesn't she love me?"
"The whiner?"
"No! Miss Galinda!"
Neville was known to be offensively bad at these situations, but then he noticed that the munchkin's hair was sort of spiky, and spiky hair was SO anti-establishment…therefore:
"Wanna be in my band?"
The munchkin dried his eyes with his hand and then offered it to Neville. "I'd love to be in your band, mate. I'm Boq."
Neville almost reached out to shake Boq's hand, but then he realized that that wouldn't be a very punk thing to do. Boy, did this Boq need to be schooled in the ways of punk, or what? So, instead of shaking his hand, Neville punched Boq in the arm, which caused the munchkin to fall over onto the floor. However, Neville was distracted from helping Boq stand up again, when a loud crash sounded just to the right of him. An armor suit had just fallen over, and a squat, fat little Frenchman came tumbling out.
"How long have you been behind there?" asked Neville curiously.
"Since Gaston told me to twelve days ago, right after he joined that boy band. Didn't want me 'cramping his style' he said. And he said I was supposed to keep an eye on his girlfriend…did you know that right behind here is a peephole into the girls dorm?"
Neville's eyes widened. "Whoooooooooooa, that is so PUNK!" It obviously hadn't occurred to him that Lefou could have been spying on Luna. "Do you wanna be in my band too?"
Lefou just shrugged. He'd grown really tired of not showering and watching a bunch of seventh year Ravenclaw girls compare notes. (Apparently, he always fell asleep just before the good parts started.) And besides, Gaston wasn't the only one with musical talent. Stupid Gaston and his burliness… "What the hell, I'd love to be in your band."
"Great!" exclaimed Neville. He then realized that the sounded much too eager. "I mean, that's cool, you know, whatever." Much better…decidedly more punk. He then turned around again to see Susan helping Boq off the floor. "Oi! Bonesy, don't get your corporate-ness on my bandmate!" he called, forgetting about Lefou.
Susan just sighed again. She waved a farewell to Boq and Neville, straightened her blinged-out necklaces, and then walked dejectedly, which here means 'with utter, utter emo-ness', up the stairs to seek out her boyfriend. On her way up, she passed Ginny Weasley, who was smirking like that cat that just had sex.
Ginny swiftly made her way down the stairs, nearly knocking Boq over again, as she swept through the punks with her aura of supreme slutitude. "Oh Neville," she said, as if she had suddenly noticed him, "have you seen Blaise? I've been looking everywhere for him all day."
Neville just stammered for several moments, so Ginny shrugged and flounced off toward Slytherin to find the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Hot-Black-Man.
Ginny merely had to follow the excited whispers of young girls, and soon she found herself in the Slytherin common room. She was on VERY good terms with their obligatory bouncers, Crabbe and Goyle, so naturally she was allowed without any fuss…just a wink and a promising gesture to the two boys. They both adjusted their crotches in unison.
Sitting on a stairway, surrounded by giggling young ladies, Blaise was soulfully tuning his guitar that was electric and functional even though it totally never would be in Hogwarts if this was canon. He plucked out the beginnings of a very familiar tune, overplayed originally by a band named for a huge floating balloon. That was when all hell broke loose.
In a flash of green robes and 'Dapper Dan,' Draco was storming up the stairs, and ruthlessly snatching the guitar from Blaise's hands. With a grunt, he smashed it repeatedly against the wall, causing pieces to fly everywhere, and the girls to run screaming, heads ducked.
"No Blaise! I don't care if you are easily-recognizable now…no singing, and NO FUCKING 'STAIRWAY'." Draco dropped the remains of the guitar, brushed himself off, and walked away, singing cheerfully under his breath. "As long as you love me baby…"
Blaise looked at the ground with a sad sigh. Ginny saw this as an opportunity and walked over to him, her top already discarded.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore was in the process of ushering in a very unexpected guest, who was dressed in a very unexpected way. This distressed Draco Malfoy very muchly.
"Father, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Azkaban, not at a Ziggy Marley concert!" Draco was trying very hard to not give himself wrinkles, but a scathing glare was inevitable, and it ravaged his fine features like an ugly plague.
Lucius Malfoy's glorious blonde hair had been styled into dreadlocks and he was wearing a hemp woven poncho of yellow, green and black, and very baggy, very tattered forest green cargo pants. He grinned an uncharacteristically slow and dopey grin.
"My son, I have returned an enlightened and better man…mon." Lucius spoke in a heavy dialect that was mostly Jamaican, with occasional forays into Australian. Lucius was still working on the accent.
"But what are you doing here?" Dumbledore took this moment to intervene.
"Draco, as per your father's rehabilitation, he is required by law to perform a community service. I thought, after observing his remarkable progress, that his service to said community should be performing in the battle of the bands."
"I don't understand that statement, and I won't respond to it." With that, Draco spun dramatically on his heel and stormed off to find Marius to not make out with him. At all. If you want stories like that, go to Pureblood.
Marius was currently fighting over the bathroom mirror with his roommate Raoul. Although there were enough guest suites for practically every guest to have their own room, Dumbledore liked engaging in social experiments, in which he would observe the interactions through an enchanted mirror. Marius and Raoul were by far his most boring experiment. They would mostly fight over stupid things like hairbrushes, and who was the prettiest. Despite the fact Marius was a struggling revolutionist and Raoul was a privileged member of the peerage, Dumbledore was starting to believe that a Frenchman was a Frenchman.
They also liked pretending that the bathroom mirror was a confessional room, which baffled Dumbledore who never let any of the students know that they were under constant surveillance for his own entertainment purposes. Nothing funny, he just liked reality TV.
"Sometimes I feel Draco Malfoy's penetrating gaze when he thinks I'm not looking. It gives me feelings that I never experience with Cosette," Marius confessed, having ushered Raoul out of the bathroom, finally. Draco happened to walk in at this very moment, eyes wide and interest piqued. He coughed, alerting his presence to a blushing Marius.
"How long were you listening?" Marius asked, nervously.
"Long enough."
"Oh."
Draco smirked at Marius. "So…"
"What?"
"Do you want to make it one of those stories?"
Marius's eyes went wide, and he clutched nervously at the hem of his shirt. "I, uh, I, well, I have to go!" He then ran out of the bathroom past Draco, off down the hallway, and smack into the arms of a waiting Eponine.
"MARIUS!" she cried happily, hugging him tightly.
"Erica?"
"…Eponine," she corrected, trying not to show her disappointment, not as long as he was actually there in her arms, not having to pretend that he was beside her.
"Right, Eponine. You're a girl."
"Last I checked, yes," she replied, with a dazzling grin.
"Yes." He then swiftly bent her backwards in his best impression of Fred Astaire, whom he'd never heard of since movies didn't exactly exist at the time, and kissed her with a passion he normally reserved for brushing his hair. After several moments of this, he pulled her back up. "Let's make some babies," he added, in what he hoped was the burliest, manliest way of talking.
"Am I dead?" Eponine asked, wildly looking around.
"No, of course not."
"Well YE GODS!" she shrieked and did an uncharacteristic spin of delight. This was it! She was not going to be emo anymore! MARIUS WAS HERS!
And suddenly, a shot rang through the halls of Hogwarts and pierced her right in the stomach.
2nd Note: Hee hee, cliffhanger of doom.