"The Jivin' Wizard MagiClub" by Quidditch, Anyone?
Albus Dumbledore: Disco King
"What a dump," Ron exclaimed while trodding through a carpet of butterbeer bottles, crumpled papers, and old confetti.
"Yeah... why couldn't Fred and George clean up the old set themselves? I mean, this was their idea," Hary agreed.
"Hey, Harry," Ron said brightly as he bent over. "Five Sickles says this is a deformed rat. Care to place a bet?"
Harry examined the creature at a safe distance (no one but Ron would even go near something so gross) as it dangled from Ron's two fingers. "No bet," Harry shook his head as though saying 'freak'.
"Harry! Ron! You won't believe what I've got!" Hermione squealed as she ran into the dusty chamber with a large box.
"What?" Ron asked as he and Harry started sweeping piles of rubbish into large trashcans.
"This," she opened the box and revealed a large, silvery, shining, disco ball. It was in fairly good condition, judging by the approximate 3/5 of shiny squares it still had on.
"Er, exactly what are we going to do with that, Hermione?" Ron asked, unimpressed.
"What do you mean?" She looked hurt.
"I mean, what does it do?"
"Well, it, erm..." She realized, for the first time, she didn't know. What was the point of a disco ball, besides hanging above dance floors and occasionally knocking out swing dancers when it fell?
"You tell him, Harry."
"Well," Harry was lost for words. "It, er..."
"Look, the point is we have one." Hermione put her prized possession back in its box.
"Where did you get it, by the way?" Harry asked as he began to sweep again.
"My parents used to be hip dancers as well as drug-dealers in the 60's," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "I sent them an owl and they found it in our basement."
"Well, good... I guess," Ron said.
"Oh, by the way, George wants you back in the castle so you can start contructing the dancers' stage."
"But he just told us to clean out this place!" Ron whined.
"You mean you're not done?" Hermione was shocked. "Here!" With a simple wave of her wand, the trash was cleared, the floor clean, and the spiderwebs gone.
"Well, that was easy," Harry said simply.
·~··~··~·
By following weekend, the old Who Wants To Be A Millionaire set was transformed into a happenin' new magic nightclub, and all was going honky-dorey. Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender put on quite a show in tiny leopard-skin dance outfits, Ron was doing a fine job of DJ (that is, after he found out CD's were not supposed to be put on a record player, or played with a guitar pick), Harry did his best at trying to make Cosmopolitans and Jack-and-Cokes, Gin-Gin was prancing around the sick male customers okay, but with the occasional tushy grab, and Neville did his best to keep out village squares and Slytherins. All in all, the club was a hit.
"Great... turn-out... guys," gasped a very sweaty and jive-happy Katie Bell.
"Thanks, Katie!" George called from across the dance floor. He then turned back to dance wildly with Alicia.
"Yeah, at first I thought you guys were loony, but this is awsome!" agreed some Ravenclaw who was dancing horribly, yet convinced he was just 'getting jiggy'.
The dancers' current number stopped and they got off stage to take a break (with many groans from pathetic wizards without girlfriends). Hermione took a drink from a passing tray and went over to Ron.
"You figured out how everything works yet?" she screamed over the music.
"What? Oh, yes, you looked very hot up there!" Ron replied. He turned back to spin a few records.
Meanwhile...
"Sir, have you yet found out where all the students have gone?" Professor McGonagall asked severely.
"No, Minerva, but I think I have some idea," Dumbledore replied.
"What?" she asked, her eyes large and illuminated.
"Well, I have been gathering clues- flyers, drink lists, bags of clothing from skanky stores- this could only mean one thing."
"You mean-"
"Yes, Minerva, Hogwarts now has its own official hip dance club."
Professor McGonagall's hand covered her gaping mouth as Dumbledore stormed out of his office.
Back at the MagiClub...
"Whoa," Ginny said as she sat on a bar stool. "I never knew being a waitress meant being groped every other minute!"
Harry said nothing, but blushed. Ginny being there seemed to have distracted him from the drink he was pouring, and vodka was flowing freely on the countertop.
Ginny giggled. "I like the blue hair thing. I think it suites you well."
"Oh, yeah... just thought I could look a little, er, 'hipper'," Harry ran his hair through his spiky new blue hair.
Quite suddenly, the door burst open, the music stopped, the wizards stopped gettin' down on the dance floor, and in walked none other than- you guessed it- Albus Dumbledore, the coolist bar-hopper in town.
I suppose that last line should have been Voldemort and not Dumbledore, but for now I'll make him work. It seems the more I read this fic, the more I cringe at the thought of how many flames I'll get. But I don't care! I'm taking a break from being sensible, so if you don't like it, I'll go and read YOUR most pathetic story and tell YOU exactly what I think of it! Every writer is entitled to at least one rotten fanfic, so go nuts.
Special thanks my only lovely reviewer who bothered to say nice things, 'Nobody in Particular'. May Santa bring you many good presents this year.