Eight Days a Week
Larrythestapler
A/N: Randomness, this fanfic is coming to a cute close, but I kind of bsed this chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Eight Days a Week," Harry Potter, Axe, or the iPod brand. Come on. I'm not that great. The little song in the fanfic is from "Eight Days a Week." Which I do not own, once again.
What to do. What to do…Draco Malfoy finally acquired the ring from the depths of Crabbe's bowels to waters of the golden-plated toilet. Now that he had the ring where he wanted it, he had no idea what to do.
"Hermione? Dear. Would you marry me dear? Because you, dear, are the dearest dear I ever known….dear. Dammit, stop saying dear!" Draco watched the amazingly hot blonde in the bathroom mirror look back at him and he winked naughtily, though without no one to observe his self-arrogance, the whole process proved futile. He grabbed the bottle of Axe and squeezed the foamy substance in his hands. Of course he had to be perfect for Hermione-poo.
And then an obese young man approached behind Draco and interrupted his ego-boosting exercise. Draco frowned, but kept quiet.
"Hermione's here." Draco let out a groan. He couldn't propose to her tonight. Or tomorrow, unless struck by another idiosyncratic epiphany. Pulling on a pair of tight leather jeans and a green jersey, Draco ran out of the bathroom and grabbed a handful of fake flowers from his dorm room. He peeked out the small door hole and saw Hermione dressed in a sophisticated black halter dress, pumps near three inches. Her complexion was inexpressive, but he knew what his little angel had in store for him. He knew.
"Your dressed like a Christmas tree." Hermione's lips curled distastefully and Draco merely grinned stupidly, handing her a bouquet of fake sunflowers.
"You know you dig my sneakers." Hermione took the plastic flowers from Draco's grip and leaned in to smell them. Polyester. How fragrant.
"Uh, I would have preferred roses. Real ones. But your kindness is overwhelming." Hermione pointed out wryly. "You are allowed to touch my hand. I trust you."
"You kissed me six point five times the past four years," Draco claimed happily.
"You counted?"
"The half being that almost moment in the closet supply room."
"You know I was joking right?"
"Hermione, you know how I love you right?"
"I guess I do. "
"Well I need to," Draco pointed at his crotch, "you know."
"Ok, fine," she sighed. "Here's that half of a kiss." Hermione leaned towards Draco's cheeks and gave him a sharp peck, leaving his head buzzing with cartoon stars.
"Sweet." Draco latched his hand onto Hermione's freakishly soft hands and they walked to the small theater of the old, renowned school. He stared into her dark brown eyes. They were warm and sweet, like a pool of chocolate and candies. It made his heart melt, and at times he wished they were blocks of chocolate so that their heated love could melt them together as one. Sweet, but he knew Hermione had far more difficult expectations.
But at the stone witch statue, they departed. Draco walked silently to the bathroom stalls near the Great Hall. The night was warm and humid, providing the perfect ambiance for proposing to the love of his life. Yet he did not know how. Romantic dinner? They were going to a Veronica Witch concert, one of Hermione's favorite singers. Perhaps a little song? Hermione was never the artsy type. She hated his guitar class. With a definitive time limit, Draco still meandered.
He turned the pink bathroom handle and eyed himself again, but this time, a white glowing light caught his eyes. The little object was metallic green, palm-sized and extremely fragile. Blaise held the object in his palm carefully as he waited for the line of college boys to finish their business within the small stalls. Draco approached him, fascinated with the object with the delicate screen.
"What is this thing? It's so…amazing."
"This? Oh, I confiscated this from a Muggleborn freshman. I think it's called an Ip-Odd," Blaise replied with a chipper, hyper tone.
"An Ip-Odd? What does the Ip-Odd do?" Draco inquired.
"It lets you watch all these things and listen to this blasphemous music."
"Hot damn."
"Here, listen to this." Blaise put the small round object inside Draco's ear. To his surprise, it fit quite comfortably, and loud grunge music began to play in his ears.
"I think Hermione likes, what do you call them? The Beadles?"
"I don't know, but Merlin's pants, this stuff is amazing."
"Dang, this is ludicrous."
"Regard! Look at all these girls mooning over that guy with the caked face and purple eyeliner. They're obviously craving his love."
"Hmmm." Draco thought. Perhaps…perhaps this was what Hermione wanted. If she loved the music of the Beadles, she would love him. It felt right, and with curious eyes Draco observed the band's vocals person with great fondness. Leather jeans? Check. Eyeliner? He had a bottle of green sample ones, so check. Hot, charming personality? Psh, a surplus amount. Rockin' guitar skills? Somewhat. Fireworks? An added perk. "Can you help me with something, Blaise?"
Hermione raised her brow as she walked pass Ginny and Harry, both embracing one another in an odd manner. They stood there silently frozen, locked intensely for at least five minutes. Hermione could not imagine doing such a feat. For one, it was extremely embarrassing. Her dignity was ethical, but it also regarded pride. But more importantly, her squeamishness overruled everything in her life. After a summer of self-defense classes, Hermione did not stay the bookish weenie she was. No, she retaliated. She had been known not to be able to withstand warm temperatures and people breathing on her, either if done, resulting in a very violent and angry outcome.
She regarded the young couple. Harry kept his untidy raven hair, and wore a baggy, loose outfit of fishing pants and a robin blue dress shirt. Hermione raised her eyebrow when she saw Ginny's hot pink tube top, constantly pulled up every five minutes. But to her observation, a disgusting, filthy smirk danced on Harry's face as he purposely pulled the top down at a slow rate. And yet even when Hermione finished observing them, they remained in the same hugging position.
To her great surprise, flashes of red hair and cherry red lips under the moonlight fought passionately. Harry and Ginny devoured each other, giggling and caressing the other. Mascara and rouge smeared on Ginny's face as Harry kissed the stains off. She grabbed his hair and pulled it, quite frankly, painfully, as they engaged in their open display of outercourse. Hermione walked away with disgust, and Ginny ran to her.
"HOW COOL WAS THAT??" The two young ladies walked to the large amphitheatre, following groups of young college students. Hermione paused to think of an answer. Respond rudely, but honestly? Or kindly but falsely?
Hermione regarded her manners, however, and coolly replied, "I'm not a big fan of vehemently expressed sentiments." She gave Ginny one of her prized cupcake smiles, and entered the dimly lighted theater. A singly, shadowy figure climbed onto the stage and turned his back to the audience. Murmurs and light sounds filled the room, but quietness overcame the room when the lights turned off completely. "Geez, where the hell is Draco? I told him to try that new bran diet."
Little did she know, her entrance provided that smirk on Draco's face, and set off the giddy dominoes of Draco's emotions.
And everything became a catastrophe from that moment on.
Green eyeliner. On Draco. Face paint…on Draco.
Amplified electric guitars.
"Ooh I need your love babe,
Guess you know it's true.
Hope you need my love babe,
Just like I need you.
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me.
Ain't got nothin' but love babe,
Eight days a week.
HERMIONE JANE GRANGER. WILL YOU MARRY ME, YOUR HUMBLEST KNAVE OF OUR STELLAR LOVE?"
"Oh my God." Hermione's face failed to contort into anger, embarrassment, or happiness but left a glued expression of awe. Her mouth formed a little "o" as her ear suffered from a horrible combination of a screeching male voice and awful guitar skills. Complementing the awfulness, a bursting smell of firework smoke entered her nostrils, leading to multiple sneezes and wheezes. A bubbling feeling of embarrassment and insatiable anger reached Hermione's veins and her mouth slightly twitched.
"HERMIONE. GRANGER. WILL YOU. MARRY ME. YOU KNOW, YOU WANT ALL OF THIS HOT STUFF!!" In separated phrases, Draco managed to complete his thought and convey it to Hermione. After the grand finale of striking a last note, Draco pulled off his shades to exemplify coolness, and added an additional phrase, "SCREAM IN THE NAME OF LOVE PEOPLE!"
A roaring crowd did, indeed, scream. Hermione tried to hide her face with a hand and headed back to the dormitories in embarrassment.
Climbing to the enchanted P.A. system in the girl's dormitories, she flatly replied, "No."
A series of boos and awws followed as Draco sat subdued on the theater's empty stage. Sounds of amplified guitars and flashy lights were replaced by the familiar sounds of sniffles and rejection.
To be continued…