Chapter Five

The Tin Man

"Will you marry me?"

"Erm, sure!"

At moments like these, when your knickers are riding so far up your backside you'd need a four man excursion team, sniffer dogs and a four leaf clover to find them, and when you're in the serious risk of losing both a job, sanity and your dinner, there is only one thing to do…

"Jesus, is she, like, having a fit or something?"

"No!" I spluttered; laughing so hard that I had to grab on to what I hoped was Colin's arm for support.

"This is just priceless!"

Malfoy, dumbstruck and as drunk as a thirsty ant doing the breaststroke in a bottle of tequila, blearily closed his eyes, opened them, blinked and then promptly collapsed in a graceful heap on the floor.

"Nice to see you too," Colin commented, a huge grin beaming on his features. He sprung forward and waved his hand in front of Draco's intoxicated face.

"This is like a dream," he breathed, far too gleefully. "Anyone got a pen? It's about time Malfoy had a devilish moustache to twirl! Oh and a dastardly goatee! Quick, before he wakes up!"

Stepping slowly away from Colin (who knew what any sudden movements might trigger?) I gazed around the dressing room, taking everything in as quickly as possible. I mentally tallied up the amount of empty beer bottles (Which on my count was enough to keep a small country's AA meetings in full attendance) and with amazement, found there to be at least six pairs of girly knickers hanging carelessly on the chairs and lampshades. Either the band had experienced one hell of a good morning or their stage costumes were in serious need of a rethink.

Lounged on the floor, cigarette in one hand and palm-sized guitar in the other was the bassist Rench. Through a mop of shaggy brown hair, he winked and said lazily, "Hallo darling, nice to meet you!"

Realising that my cover, thanks to the man (in kickable distance from my spiked heels), had already been blown to pebble-sized lumps of 'Bugger!' I decided to drop the 'I-want-to-have-your-babies-and-cut-your-toenails-with-my-teeth' mantra and instead slip into something more comfortable. That being the role of intelligent and poised under pressure wonder gal, who, with fantastic hair and a winning smile, is able to chat with rock stars like a pro (as in professional! Not the other kind of pro- despite current appearance)

"Greetings," I nodded, sounding like my mother. Oh dear…scary thought. "You must be Mr. Rench. I like your…hair. Very rad!"

Good one Weasley. Nice use of the cool 'tude…

"Thanks, I grew it myself." Rench peeled himself off the floor and nudged a still-zonked out Malfoy with his booted foot. "Out for the count. Shame, he's normally a big hit with you ladies," noticing Colin and his flamboyant outfit for the first time, he added, "-and you dudes of course."

Colin pulled a face of horror and jumped back to my side.

Rench, who I realised with sudden shock, was one pair of pants away from showing me him whole birthday suit, moved to the corner of the room and pulled away a large afghan coat away, exposing a skinny young man. I guessed him to be Paddy – lead guitarist and award-winning flower arranger. He had a fluffy pink afro and was playing with a flashing yo-yo, while humming the national anthem and spelling a bottle of nail varnish to polish his feet (the whole things) purple.

Weird didn't even begin to cover it.

"So this is, like, the band," Rench explained, "Well, nearly. Our drummer disappeared an hour ago to locate a clean bog. He's got a thing about having a fresh bowl. Freak. Anyway, I'll get the tape. Prepare yourself for the magic of the Balls!"

Colin gave me an encouraging nudge, "We might get away with it after all, sugar lump."

Huh, it could be our lucky day. As long as Malfoy, who I hadn't even begun to digest the madness of, stayed catatonic and the drummer remained on his hunt for the perfect flush, then we might just scrape an ok slice of showbiz reporting. I could even wheedle a few exclusives out of Rench – he seemed the kind to fall for a flash of flesh, however lumpy it might be.

The door creaked open. Spinning around, my ambitious little heart sank quicker than Hagrid on a surf board.

"Gin! Col! Bloody fantastic to see you!" Neville 'figment-of-my -imagination' Longbottom beamed, standing in front of us, all six-foot of tall, tanned and tattooed.

"Alternate-reality- right?" I muttered hopefully to Colin, while fake-smiling and shaking Neville's hand.

Colin shook his head and whispered back, "Afraid not darling."

"You look…" I began, staring transfixed at Neville's shaven head and lip piercing (Holy mother of all things sacred, I was beginning to fancy Neville!) " I eventually settled on

"…different."

Neville's smile grew larger. "Yeah? Good! My grandmother still wants me to wear shorts and a bow tie. I try telling her that Rock Gods do not look good in tweed but does she listen?"

I guess you don't.

"So, you know these guys?" Rench asked with good humoured suspicion. "Coincidence. Red and Spike here are the competition winners. You haven't been using your rock star status for Evil again, have you Boulder?"

Colin chortled and blurted out, "Boulder?"

"It's a nickname," Neville countered without a dash of blushing shame. He turned to me. "Not that it isn't great to see you guys again, but why are you here? Are you a fan of the music?" He looked slightly hopeful. "You'll be staying for the concert, won't you?"

"Erm…" I always had been a terrible liar. "I, or we, are actually not here for that…as such." I turned expectantly to Colin. He was smiling angelically and twiddling his thumbs.

"Why doesn't Creevy continue?" I said, smirking as Colin coughed a very indiscreet 'Shut-up!'

"He's so much more articulate than I am."

Another cough. 'Cow!'

"Right," Colin sighed, "Might as well come clean. My assistant and I-"

"Assistant?"

"-were sent here, posing as winners, to trick you guys into answering our cunningly clever questions and probably raiding your mini-fridge well we're at it. George Skeeter, our boss, well he's really just the guy who lurks around the office checking out the cleavage and nicking all the good biscuits, anyway he was told how notorious you guys were about not talking to the press so here we are, suited, booted and spiked up." He inclined his head my way and added with a sly snigger, "You didn't seriously think that was for real, did you?"

Meow! Note to self must replace Creevy's toothpaste with bleach.

"We're really sorry," I started lamely. "But you will still answer some questions? Please?"

Rench, Neville and Colin laughed indulgently as if to say, aw women! Give her a pat on the head and a biscuit. Even Paddy let out a high-pitched giggle. Draco continued to snore softly.

"No can do," Paddy spoke for the first time. Hs accent was a strange mix of Scottish and Cockney. "Everything has to be passed by old Draco. He'd have our bloody heads if we spoke to paparazzi without his say so."

I looked despairingly at Draco's slumbering form.

Exasperated, I urged, "Well, wake him up then!"

Rench, Neville and Paddy all shook their heads. "Not a good idea. He'll be right pissed off."

Oh good lord…I bet Ruthena Blackheart (world-renowned writer and inspiration) never had this trouble.

"Fine," I said, getting out my wand and pointing it at the Sleeping Beauty. "I'll do it myself. Wak-"

"Stop!" shouted three voices at once. "He hates people doing spells on him."

Scowling a scowl that could sink a thousand ships, I hastily picked up a vase of flowers (Paddy's latest creation) and slung the purple blossoms on the floor.

"I'll do it the old fashioned way, then."

Splash!

"What the hell!" shouted a very wet, very annoyed, Draco Malfoy. Well, at least he was awake.

Colin laughed and stated the obvious, "That worked."

Now that he was stood in front of me, quietly seething, I took the time to look him over (For professional reasons obviously) His blond hair fell in messy layers around his shoulders and he too was head to foot in black leather. Didn't these people have body temperatures? I was baking in my outfit and I was hardly wearing anything!

Draco, with a killer sneer, cast dismissive eyes over me and Colin. I dryly concluded that his marriage proposal might not be too binding right now…

"Band. Over here," Draco commanded, walking to the corner of the room. Neville, Rench and finally Paddy, after picking up his beloved flowers, followed like naughty schoolboys.

Colin sniffed in mock-anger. "I see Blondie is still as polite as ever. You'd think a return trip to the Dark side and back again might improve his people skills somewhat. Mind you, I bet old reptile-face didn't host too many dinner parties, slaughter showers maybe…are you even listening? "

"Huh?" I tore my eyes and eavesdropping ears away from the band's secret rendezvous. "Did you say something?"

"Just that I'm thinking of killing you, dying my hair red and taking your identity."

"Oh that's nice," I mumbled, "Me too." I sneaked a peak behind me. "Quick act natural, they're coming back!"

"Miss. Weasley," Draco began, his polite tone failing to hide the mock underneath. "And Colin Creepy… how divine to see you again. Last time I saw you, your voice still resembled a seven-year old girl. Tell me, have you finally hit puberty?"

"Don't listen to him," I advised a red-faced Colin. I smiled sweetly at Malfoy. There was no option but to kiss some serious arse (Not literally). "You look well, Draco."

"Yes, I know," came the smug reply. Men! "Anyway, enough of the compliments, I hear you're in quite the predicament. Lying, cheating, near-prostitution…you've been a busy girl. If I had known that you wanted to see me so bad then I would have had my secretary make you an appointment," Draco paused to gauge my reaction. It wasn't best pleased.

"So, here's my offer – you need an exclusive interview with the band and I'm willing to offer it. But I want one favour in exchange. I'm a reasonable man, just one little favour…"

My stomach flipped over with an unhealthy squelch. This was Draco 'Brat King' Malfoy; with him anything was possible…

Draco's face lit up with a feral smile, which exposed a set of white teeth. "I want you to be the band's backing singer."

"What!" I hissed. He must still be drunk. Surely, he must be…

"Just for tonight's show," he elaborated slyly, "It'll be fun."

Fun? Ha! Try humiliating, horrendous, soul crushing, please-kill-me-now awful!

I shook my head so hard my looped earrings left red marks on my cheeks. "No bloody way! A dying duck with no vocal cords and stage fright could hold a tune better than me."

Obviously expecting this reaction, Draco moved lazily to the chair and put up his feet. "Your choice," he spoke neutrally, silver eyes laughing. "But remember no stage boogie then no interview. I'm sure your boss will be very pleased to know how you failed to gain the only interview that my fantastic-soon-to-be-world-famous band, will give."

Hmm, the bastard had a point. I may well be sitting at the bottom of a very large career barrel but it was at least, better than nothing. If I didn't get the interview then The Boss was sure to give me the proverbial sack. Then what would I do? I'd have to eat beans on stale toast every day, hang around hospitals to scrounge clothes off dead bodies, and, oh God, move back home!

"Ok. I'll do it."

"Bleeding excellent!" Paddy said, rubbing his skinny fingers through his candyfloss hair.

If I was to resort to therapy-needing embarrassment, I damn well wasn't doing it alone. "What about Colin?"

Cough. Evil-Cow

Draco threw a look of utter indifference towards Colin and replied coolly, "I don't think he'd have quite the same effect somehow."

I nodded, not really listening. In fact my body was beginning to shake so hard that my ears could only hear the queasy sound of my knees banging together. Public displays of anything, never mind singing, were so far from up my street, that they'd need a passport to come anywhere near. Even the thought of carol singing brought me out in a cold sweat.

But perhaps it wouldn't come to that… (My streak of sneakiness was beginning to kick in) I could ask my questions first and then, due to some unfortunate incident – perhaps news of a dead great aunt or burglary where only that hideous jumper Ron gave me gets stolen, I could rush off and slink into the sunset. Over the rainbow and far, far away.

"Right, I'll get started." I quickly fished in my bag for my Nifty Notes quill. "First question-"

"I don't think so," Draco interrupted. "As an act of good faith and so I don't inform our manger of your deception, you will go first. Sing your little heart out, Miss Weasley and then we'll answer your stupid questions."

Ah…plan A not exactly successful. Must figure out plan B…

A sudden sound of a heated scuffle could be clearly heard through the closed door.

"Quick, let me through!" shouted a high, girly voice. "It's urgent."

All went quiet before a pair of rounded boobs, followed several seconds later by a slim body, came bursting through the door. Unmistakably Lola.

"Lola!" I exclaimed, walking quickly towards her and blocking her view of the band. "What's going on?" Her face, though covered in five inches of make-up, carried a new addition in the form of a shiny black eye. Her head of blonde hair also had a suspicious bald spot at the back.

"Ginner," she breathed, "its Hermione…she's in hospital. Ron sent me to fetch you."

No, no, no…Please let her be ok. I'll dance naked on the top of Big Ben, I'll bear Malfoy's bratty children…I'll, I'll spend an afternoon listening to Percy, just let her be ok.

My voice shook as I demanded, "What happened?"

"Hi boys!" Lola cooed, winking past my shoulder.

"Lola!"

Still gazing unashamedly at the bare torso of Rench, she said, "Sorry. It's nothing serious. They are just keeping her in to monitor her mental state. About time if you ask me! Anyway you should get going."

Hermione was far more important than a stupid interview with the Brat King, a nearly-naked guy, a flower arranger and Neville. I grabbed my bag off the floor and turned to the Band or more accurately, Draco.

"I have to go." I really do have a flair for the obvious. "It looks like I'll be sacked after all."

Draco, still slouched lazily down, let out a considering hum. "No you won't," he said evenly. "You'll go to see Granger in her belated straightjacket. Creepy here will do the interview and you my dear; will owe me a very big favour."

Not knowing whether to thank him or hit him, I attempted to smile, muttered a curt goodbye and walked through the door, leaving Lola behind.

As I headed for the nearest floo stop, I was left wondering just what his favour might be.