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CHAPTER FOUR

"Hitch it up a bit more!"

"Colin, if it goes up anymore I'll be arrested!" I growled out.

Colin was happily walking by my side, heading towards Pegasus Palace; I meanwhile was hopping up and down, trying desperately to retrieve the skirt which seemed to have disappeared twenty minutes ago. We could have apparated but Colin, the sadistic sod that he is, had insisted on us both stretching our legs.

"God! How much do I hate this job!" I asked out loud while rooting in my bag for my wand. Perhaps if I could just make it a couple of inches (try twenty) longer then I wouldn't feel so ridiculous.

Reluctantly I had agreed to let Lavender Brown get her manicured hands on me for the full 'makeover experience'. It should have been like a fairytale where the ugly duckling gets transformed into the beautiful princess but as it was, I spent ten minutes in a crummy bathroom getting plucked, prodded and pulled in while Lavender further filled me in on the Boss's stamina and skill ("he's quite the little goer, well, he is Ginny! There's no need to look like that! What? No, I won't put a memory charm on you, honestly! It's only sex…") Not having time to change, I was forced to swap clothes with Lavender which meant I squeezed into her range of hooker wear while she begrudgingly put on my dreary grey ensemble.

Needless to say, Hermione's dress now had a few alterations – it no longer had a back, very little front and had been shrunk so small that even Crookshanks would have a hard time putting it on. Later on I'd tell Hermione that it had all been in a good cause. She'd tell me that my nose was growing.

"I don't know what you're moaning about," Colin commented wisely. "This is a fantastic opportunity."

I gave him an 'are-you-serious?' glare but refrained from answering back. Looking at Colin in his tight, fashionably ripped jeans and 'Poison Balls' t-shirt, I don't think even a sudden hurricane could dampen his freakish excitement. His blond hair, which could be called 'dirty blond' if not for the supreme weirdness that comes with connecting 'dirty' within a five mile radius of Colin, was spiked up and the tips tinted green.

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"Oh yes," he had smiled when I had spotted him strutting out of the men's bathroom earlier in the day. "I know what you're thinking! Isn't it illegal to look this good? Well, darling it may well be but who am I to deprive the world of a crime so gorgeous."

"Don't you think you're a trifle…over the top?" I had asked, giggling as he pouted and posed. Colin was, without doubt, the gayest straight man I had ever met (that's including Professor 'dodgy-memory-but-fabulous-hair' Lockhart)

"One must make an effort!" he had flourished, giving my own 'outfit' the Creevy Eyes of Appraisal. "Nice touch with the fishnets; very 'not a Lady but a Tramp'."

"Glad my humiliation pleases you Col," I had replied, laughing at myself a little. "Next step – streaking up Diagon Alley… Watch out pedestrians, naked lady on the loose!"

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"So, what is this band like then?" I asked Colin as we neared the Pegasus Palace, which loomed shabbily chic in the distance. I found that if I said 'the band' and not their actual name then not every shred of my dignity would disappear into the black hole of LoserVille (I already owned a holiday home –visits were becoming so frequent that very soon I'd have to invest in a plant pot, coat rack and curtains.)

"Poison Balls?" bye, bye… "Not a clue. They're supposed to be very big in America though," Colin said with a grin. Now where have I heard that before?

"Well, why have you got the obsessive fan look going on? Please don't say you had that ensemble hanging up in your wardrobe. I'm still recovering from the feather boa and g-string incident." (Don't ask)

"We're undercover agents Ginny. Set the challenge of a lifetime…" Colin answered dramatically, gripping my shoulders." We are the chosen two who will delve through the hype, heave through the demonic fans and gather the nitty gritty on the great, legendary Poison Balls! "

Yeah right…

Colin, who had of course been doing his sarcastic-'I'm-inviting-death-by-bat-bogey-hex' voice, shook his head despairingly and added, "Humour Ginny! Has the concept escaped you entirely?"

"No!" I replied, my voice dangerous high. (At this point I was either having a mild panic attack or Lavender's microscopic boob tube was cutting of much needed circulation to the brain)

"But they could be anything!" My arms swung around me, fingers waggling with a life of their own. "Gothic vampires or Danish clog dancers for all we know! And, and, they could all have weird hairy chins, I'm not talking sexy stubble, oh no, I mean, thick hairs protruding out, like the kind old women have and you just know that those hairs are going to be living on your chin in thirty years time!" I turned and glared at a distracted Colin.

"Are you listening Col?" I demanded, "This is really bloody serious!"

"Deeply sorry dear," he began in mock-apology, "But when you mentioned dancing I couldn't help but remember your very enticing offer a few nights ago…"

Will I ever live that night down? Alcohol, especially free alcohol should carry a huge, flashing warning or better still emit tiny electric shocks whenever thirsty redheads with very little common sense decide that 'Mmm, I bet a tipple of Firewhiskey will free those pesky inhibitions' and grab a bottle(s)

"Do we need to go over the rules again, young Creevy?" I asked disapprovingly, hands firmly on hips. "If you value your manhood, never ever mention the party or any ill-advised drunken offer I might have extended."

Laughing, he retorted cheekily, "In that dress lots of offers were extended, if you catch my drift..."

Flesh crawling now…

"Gross, Colin!" my voice said with disgust. "How about you try not speaking for a while?"

"Suits me, dear."

"Fine."

"Good!"

"You're still talking!"

"So are you."

"I'm allowed!"

There's something about being round Creevy that always brings out the child in me. Perhaps it because he reminds me of a dog we once had, Figolo. Now old Fig was as cute as could be with his great doe eyes and cheeky doggy grin; he liked nothing better than having a pat on the head and a belly rub. The only problem was that he had a slight tendency to hump (or 'make friends' as Mum delicately put it) with anything that moved – including Percy's first girlfriend Penelope; I don't know who was more embarrassed Penelope or my brother, who had to wrench Fig off only to have him make friends with his leg instead.

There are many advantages of acting like a child – giving killer Chinese burns being just one…

"Ow!" Colin cried girlishly, "Get off me, you mad woman!"

My devilish laughter was soon dampened by the fluttery, nervous feeling which crept over me. We were mere meters away from the Pegasus Palace; I had passed the black, poster covered building a million times before but never with the 'mission' of dishing the dirt on one of its leading acts.

"Popular aren't they?" I said deadpan, looking up at the empty street. Typical of the Boss to set us an assignment which nobody will even read! I may as well have stuck with designing the 'Tricky Toad' crossword like I did last week – at least then I had some appreciation! Granted it was only a nitpicking old bag writing in to say that a tomato, despite what I claimed in the clue for 9 across, is a fruit and not a vegetable, but still, it was something.

"It's still early," commented the green-spiked one, "The gig doesn't start till seven. By then, I'm sure the streets will be as full as they would be for a 'trade in your old husbands for a fit toy boy' day."

"Seven?" I said, panicking, "I won't have to stay until then, surely?"

There was Harry to consider…

Colin pretended to appear hurt. "Oh yes!" he said tetchily, "Now that our old idol has returned, poor Colin, the dependable yet dashingly handsome photographer, gets cast aside. Was I only ever a body to you Ginny? A mere sex object used solely for your insatiable, animalistic urges?"

"How did you know we had a date?" I asked, bypassing the playful banter, before quickly answering myself, "Stupid question." Colin, the self-titled Gossip King, knew who was doing it, what colour knickers they were wearing and how many sugars they took in their recovery cup of tea. Weirdo.

"Very big news in the office," Colin began in a sulky voice. "Our new celebrity writer/war hero freshly returned from the wilderness to reunite the Golden Couple. It could be a film, a crappy one, but still a PG rated smash. And of course every rom-com heroine needs a plucky sidekick…I wonder who shall play me? Macaulay Culkin?"

"Who?"

"Never mind," Colin sighed, "I'll contact my replacement and warn him that you might be a little late. Don't worry, I won't fill him in on our torrid romance – a black eye just wouldn't go with this outfit."

He grabbed my hand and led me to the entrance.

"Off you go ducks!" Colin spoke with a cruel amount of glee as he smacked me on the backside and urged me through the door. "I'll be just a minute."

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Right, this is fine…not at all like the first day of (tramp) school. I am super, professional journalist, dedicated to providing cutting edge topics to my wide readership. I am –

"The lucky girl? Hello! Anybody in?" a sharp, posh voice demanded impatiently. I looked up from my position just inside the door, to find a tall, black-haired man staring down at me, foot tapping on the floor and arms crossed.

"Oh hello," I replied, surprised. "Yes, I am the lucky winner. I'm here to see, ahem, Poison Balls…I just love them." (Note to self- must learn how to speak when under pressure)

The man sniffed dismissively and replied, "Doesn't everybody? I expect there is more of your type clamouring to get in, yes? Well, they will have to wait. I can't have them disturbing the band's preparation period."

I nodded and smiled politely. Even though he was staring me as if I were a particularly gruesome flubberworm/niffler hybrid, I didn't have the heart to tell him that Poison Ball's current bevy of adoring fans consisted of a squinty-eyed pigeon and a crisp bag.

"My name is Lorna Lavgood," I said randomly, filling the awkward silence. Good God this man was creepy! I was supposed to be the lucky prize-winner, chosen out of thousands to meet and question the band. I had slogged my guts out answering that all-important question in Witch Weekly magazine – 'Q. What is Rench, the bass player's favourite song? A. 'Rock Hard' by Poison Balls out on the 1st January – do buy!'

Or at least I should have done if the Boss hadn't already rigged the competition in my favour. Apparently Poison Balls were one of those bands not big with selling themselves to the media (hence the Boss's splendid idea of an undercover spy); for them it was all about the music dude…

"Right," he stated in an indifferent tone. "I am the band's manger – although I feel like their mother most of the time. V is the name."

Fandabulous! Pretentious showbiz types – just what I need.

"Having fun?" Colin said, reappearing from nowhere. Yikes! That man really does go above and beyond the call of duty. A spangling bandanna is tied around his neck and yet more band badges are clipped proudly on his t-shirt. He looks like he's raided the souvenir cart, married the shop assistant and moved on to have twins called 'Poison' and 'Balls'.

I quickly latched myself to Colin's side, hoping that some of his all-too convincing fan-love would rub off on me. "This is my friend Colin," I said, "A fellow lover of the Balls."

V's thin lips twitched slightly into a smile. "Charmed." His piercing blue eyes settled on my face. "The band should be ready for you now. Remember you get five questions, a quick photograph and then a song. The boys need to preserve their voices so you'll be hearing it on a tape."

Wow. I feel all special inside.

"That sounds delightful," Colin responded perkily, nudging me discreetly.

"Sure does!" I chimed in. "Can we see them now? I just can't stand the excitement any longer!" I added a girlish squeal for good measure.

"Fine," drawled V, in a long suffering tone. He turned away and pointed. "Be a good girl, walk along that corridor and knock on the door. Don't be fooled by that cunning 'Fire Exit' sign – the lad's dressing room is the one with the great whacking star on it. You simply can't miss it. Do you follow or should I organise a guided tour?

Here's a little life tip – Arrogance, a trait most comfortable in men, should ideally be punished by a nice zap of an electric cattle-prodder, it's quick, painful and when done in the right place, will emit a satisfying scream from the offender. But if no weapons are handy, sarcasm can be the next best defence.

"Actually, my thick floozy non-brain has trouble with anything longer than, say, one syllable. How about you tell me again, slowly, and this time with cute hand puppets? And perhaps with a musical accompaniment – I suggest bongos!"

V let out a cackle (which he probably learnt at a 'how-to-be-like-an-underworld-ass' class – I hear they're very popular)

"Sassy, isn't she?" he said to Colin, 'man' to man. "Do me a favour Clive-"

"Colin-"

"Clive, keep her on a leash when she's with the lads. They aren't used to birds that bite."

Bugger! What have I been pushed into? Are 'the lads' cryogenically frozen from the prehistoric times or something? Me strong man – you weedy woman- cook my walrus - me man will be doing yoga with busty cave neighbour… (Maybe not)

Colin and I made to walk towards our doom when V's piercing voice called us back.

"Remember, smiley-smiley, listen to the song but no touching! We've had problems with that before." His voice dropped to a bitter snipe, "These girls selling their stories to the press, ridiculous, 'oh he used handcuffs, bla bla'…attention seekers, every one!"

I put on my brightest smile. Ouch, it hurt. "Well, I'll make sure to keep my arms and legs in the cart at all times!"

V, seeming quite bewildered, shook his head and took a folded photograph of his sleek black suit. With a tap of his wand, it zipped over and hit me directly in the eyes.

Bloody wanker!

Colin quickly took it off me, saying in a strange, distant voice that it was of the band. Thinking nothing of it, I began walking towards the corridor, steering defiantly past the fire exit and towards the dressing room.

"You better take a look at this!" Colin said, now laughing loudly. "Its priceless!"

I took it off him, expecting to see Danish clog-dancers with hairy chins staring up at me.

"No way!" I muttered out loud. "That can't be him…and there's not a chance that he's…him!"

With a bright smile, Colin knocked on the door. "This day just got very interesting."

It swung open. Drunken laughter was heard.

"Will you marry me?" asked Draco Malfoy, lead singer of Poison Balls.

I need a drink. A very large, alcoholic drink.

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Note – at this point Mr. Malfoy only has a cameo appearance. I think Ginny (despite having a big arse – so she thinks) is the kind of girl with several admires – perhaps Slughorn is her ideal man…I strongly (beg) you to review and tell me if it sucks or not!