AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following drabble is not my fault. Sarah wished for me to continue my 'Draco Bieber' lunatic early morning musical!Drabble. Since I lack the inspiration to think of something better, here you are:

Scream your heads off!


Spilt Milk

Oooh, Oooh, Oooh

So the milk was spilled, it's a disaster

You feel like crying, you need a plaster

But baby remember that the Milk is already spilled

Your worst nightmare is fulfilled.

As the male's voice faded, the frown on the younger woman's forehead increased. She sighed before looking at him sceptically. "Seriously?" she asked.

Yesterday he thought cats were going to make him rich (the zillion of galleons in his Gringott's account weren't enough), today it was milk.

"Yes."

She rubbed her face. This was becoming a ritual.

Many were jealous of her job. Not only did she travel all over the world, but she also got to do it with the Draco Malfoy - the new hit singer who, besides being hot, managed to create lyrics that rivalled the ones of Celestina Warbeck's step-daughter.

Everyone forgot she also had to clean up his messes, make sure his endorsers still loved him, and endure his ridiculous inspiration sprouts.

According to the Prophet, his number-one hits (five so far) had a deepness modern music lacked. However, in between those brain farts he wrote a lot of crap that she had to stop from being published.

Which could be hard when working with someone who thought everything he wrote was brilliant and blessed by Merlin.

"So," she started, "your new single, the one that is supposed to rival Henrietta Bloom's 'Shake it with the Moon' may I add, is about the tragedy of spilling one's milk?"

"It's more the idea that you shouldn't cry over spilt milk," he corrected, smiling at his own brilliance. "It comes from the Muggle saying, you know?"

"No," she answered, trying to find a way to explain to him that pre-pubescent girls who thought their love lives were over every second month, would not appreciate his metaphor.

Draco's laughter made it even harder for her to think. "And you call yourself a Muggle-lover."

"I never said that!" she snapped. "I just wish you'd understand that those lyrics are stupid!"

As usual, he didn't take offence. Instead, he leaned over, whispering suggestively in her ear, "Maybe you can find a way to make me agree with you."

"Urgh!" she screamed, leaving him alone in the lounge, yelling as she went, "Have it your way! But don't come crying to me over crappy records or spilt milk!"

Draco grinned. She'd be back, they both knew it. No way in hell would she let him publish that. Maybe he'd give her a break tomorrow, but then there was something about Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans that deeply inspired him.


Words: 397