Salsa, Storage Closets, and Something Else

"This has to be the most grotesque meal I've ever seen."

Joey Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Get over it, Potter. There is no way in hell that this can be any worse than the cafeteria's meatloaf." He slapped another forkful of mayonnaise on his hot dog.

"Would you cool it with the cafeteria jokes? They're completely overdone." Bobby Weasley added another handful of potato chips to his plate. "They've been in every single teen-centric movie, book, and television show ever made. It's not even remotely amusing anymore. Besides, I've got to agree with Linda on this one. Mayonnaise, relish, and tabasco sauce do not mix with frankfurters."

"Especially when combined with Bar-B-Q Pringles, spicy mustard, coleslaw, and carrot sticks." Linda Potter wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Can we even be sure that there's a hot dog under there?"

Joey stuck his tongue out. "So what if I have weird taste in food? I'm daring. That's something you two aren't. You need a sense of adventure."

"What you need is a Cuisinart," Linda muttered. "At least then everything would be a disgusting shade of puce, and we wouldn't have to observe the various particles of food as they oozed into each other, eventually disappearing into the dark, damp void of your-"

"Thanks, Lin. Thank you so very frickin' much. Now excuse me while I puke my guts out," Bobby interrupted, clutching his stomach.

"Shaddup, both of yas." Joey added an inch-thick layer of pepper to his already overflowing bun. "Just keep your traps closed."

"Dude, did you have to do that?" Bobby wheezed. "You know I'm a-a-a-ACHOO!"

Bobby's ill-timed sneeze, unfortunately, was centered in the direction of Joey's plate. Formerly covered with the most appalling hot dog known to the backyard of 27 Carlton Boulevard, the platter was bare. Its contents had relocated to Joey Malfoy's face.

"-allergic," Bobby finished. "Sorry, man."

"Oh, no. That's quite all right," Joey replied sarcastically, glaring at the convulsing Linda. "Shut up! It's not funny!"

Of course, Linda didn't stop laughing; indeed, it's often difficult to take seriously the threats of someone whose face is dripping with an odd concoction of condiments and side dishes.

"Dude!" Joey shook his head furiously, attempting to detach his picnic-style face mask. "Dude!"

"Joseph Lucius Malfoy, how many times have I told you that you're forbidden to watch those awful South Park reruns on Comedy Central?"

Joey groaned, as his mother strode across the yard. "Mom, how am I supposed to get this off? Which spell should I use?"

Ginny Malfoy rolled her eyes.

"It's called a paper towel, Joey. Learn to use it well. You used to, before you got that blasted magic wand," she replied dryly.

"Oh. Yeah." Sheepishly, Joey wiped off his face, and replaced his wand in his rather baggy back pants pocket. "Thanks for the reminder, Mom."

"Don't 'thank' me, Joseph," Ginny began haughtily, but stopped as she realized the ridiculity of her statement.

"What your mother means to say, kid, is that you aren't supposed to be watching that awful show." Draco Malfoy, followed by the other two sets of parents, walked over to the scene. "Isn't that the one that gave kids in Japan seizures back then?"

Bobby patted his arm. "That was Pokémon, Uncle Draco."

"Right," Draco responded, unfazed. "Anyway, you really shouldn't be watching that. It's going to give you ideas."

"Draco," Hermione Potter broke in, with a wink in Joey's direction, "you let him watch Scarface at the age of eight."

"Yeah, Dad," Joey said, shooting a grateful look at Hermione, "you let me watch Scarface at the age of eight."

"Don't act all superior or anything," Linda added. "You're not the only one that got to watch it."

"Yeah!" Bobby confirmed enthusiastically. "I remember that. We were all sitting on the couch, eating fruit snacks, and then Joey started getting all scared, and then Linda called him something that Robert De Niro said to-"

"So, how're the hot dogs?" Draco cut in nervously, clapping one hand over Bobby's mouth.

Lavender Weasley's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "I thought that Joey was the only one that saw that, Draco."

"He was," Draco said pointedly.

Harry Potter snickered. "And to think, Herm, all this time, we believed that Linda was getting her colorful vocabulary from you. We now know the truth."

Hermione sniffed.

Ron Weasley, noticing Draco's desperation, leapt into the conversation. "Hey, um, are you all done here? Because I think that we might be able to sit out here for a little while longer...."

The meaning of his words, while seemingly simple, was not lost on the three teenagers.

"Ooh! More history! Yeah!" Linda said excitedly, and began clearing off platters, with the eager help of Bobby and Joey.

Ever since the truth had come out about the trio's parents, they'd been scrambling to know more. Visiting their parents' alma mater, meeting their extended families, and being accepted into the world of wizardry wasn't enough; finding out every last detail that was unknown to them now seemed vital.

Several failed attempts to sneak around attics and basements later, Bobby had conceived an idea. They had been in the Malfoys' cellar, and the dust and complete lack of sunlight was unnerving.

"Guys," Joey had said, throwing aside several of his father's old calculus books, "we're never going to find anything in here." He had wiped his hand across his forehead, leaving a grime mark.

Linda readjusted her baseball cap for the umpteenth time, and pulled a Sani-Wipe out of her pocket. "Just keep looking. You never know when something'll turn up. By the way, use this. You look like you've got warpaint on your head." She tossed the Sani-Wipe to Joey. Looking at some of the contents of the closet she had been rummaging through, she rolled her eyes. "Geez, Joey, what was your mom thinking when she wore some of this stuff?"

Bobby pushed his crimson bangs off his forehead. "Hey, it was the '90s. What exactly were you expecting?"

"Not a lot, honestly. I know that most of it's come back since then, but some of this stuff is just outrageous. Look!" Linda pulled something resembling a mutant pencil out from the bottom. "Look at this!"

Joey walked over, and squinted for a closer look. "What the hell is that, a murder weapon?"

"No," Linda replied with relish. "It's a stiletto pump."

Bobby looked confused. "For what? Like gas or something?"

Linda choked back a laugh. "No, it's a shoe." She slipped off one of her ubiquitous Birkenstocks, and strapped on the dangerous footwear. "Whaddaya think?"

Joey rolled his eyes. "I'm thinking that my mother must have been crazy to wear some of this- well, crazier than she is now. The odds of you making it down a flight of stairs in those are slim to none."

"Why, you doubt my balance or something?" Linda pulled on the other shoe. "I could get used to this. I feel tall."

Bobby looked at Linda's hat, down at her shoes, and back at her face again. "Aunt Ginny might be short, but she's not that short. She must have been over six feet tall in those, 'cause you're as tall as me."

Linda smiled. "See! I knew there was hope!" She took one small step, and promptly fell into the closet.

Joey started laughing. "I think you've got a bit of practice to do, kid."

Linda looked up at him darkly. "I don't care what you think, just get me out of here."

Bobby chuckled. "Let me get the camera. Linda Potter, in nine-inch stiletto heels, is sprawled amongst a pile of-"

"Flared pleather capri pants and sequined halter tops," Linda supplied caustically.

"Right. It's a Kodak moment," Bobby finished, laughing.

Linda sighed. "Never mind, I'll get myself out." She grabbed hold of a feather boa hanging by the doorframe, and pulled herself up.

Joey surveyed the contents of the closet with interest. "Platform shoes, sneakers that resemble space-age rockets, athletic wear that doesn't look as if it went through any sort of athletic training....."

"What were they thinking?" Linda finished, pulling off the shoes. "I bet these clothes could tell us some interesting things."

That's when it hit Bobby:

"Guys, why don't we just ask our parents what was going on?"

Linda looked at him as if he had gone crazy. "Why? Because we won't find out any of the good information, that's why. And Minerva and Remus have gone back to England already."

"Yeah. I mean, what are the chances of getting any of the juicy stuff?" Joey agreed. "They won't tell us."

Bobby had smiled. "Wanna make a bet?"

Much to the surprise of Linda and Joey, Bobby had been right. Their parents had been all too happy to talk about the past- the happier points of it. The telling of the tale must heal, Linda had surmised.

Of course, the three teenagers weren't privy to all the details. The pain, suffering, and fear that were common threads weren't transmittable through mere vocalization, and for this, they were all glad. The adults didn't want to relive the bad, and the teenagers wanted to, in some small way, keep their semi-optimistic world intact.

On the other hand, some of the information they had learned had come quite easily. For example, no one had been expecting Ginny to recount that fateful night when a slightly tipsy Draco had accidentally walked into an 'alternative lifestyles' bar and spent half the night being propositioned by a large German man named Schlott, but she had. Whether or not the illegally inebriated twenty-year-old had accepted was still a mystery, as Draco had done nothing but put his head in his hands and mutter about how some things are best forgotten.

Now, the group walked over to the circle of lawn chairs that they always sat in at this time of night; same seating order, never changed except for when Linda became agitated with either Bobby or Joey. In those cases, which happened almost nightly, she would switch around and sit with the other.

"So," started Harry, "what is it that the Terrible Trio wants to hear about tonight?"

Linda, Bobby, and Joey exchanged a look. So far, they'd heard about almost everything: college, adjusting to Muggle life, even their own births. In Linda's mind, there was only one subject that had gone untouched, and it was the one that she was most curious about.

"Tell us about how you- well, not met, but about how you fell in love. How you knew that you'd found The One," Linda instructed eagerly.

Good-natured groans rose from Bobby and Joey. "Here we go again," Bobby moaned.

"Linda's inner chick-flick lover is coming out to play," Joey replied. "Get the tissues."

Lavender laughed. "Are you kidding? When it comes to our stories, you don't need tissues."

Ginny looked at the other two women. "Well, it's an interesting point. If either of you can think of that one point where you just.... knew, I'm almost positive that it's the same one that I have in mind."

All six adults glanced at each other knowingly. "I think I know exactly what you're talking about," Harry agreed.

"All right, then!" Linda exclaimed. "Let's get this party started!"

Hermione laughed. "It almost was, Linda. It almost was. Well, I guess I'll start.....

"It was a warm June evening....."

*

"That is it! That is absolutely it! I have had it up to here!"

Twenty-year-old Hermione Granger didn't even take her eyes off the laptop computer's monitor. "Hi, Lavender."

Lavender Brown kicked off her purple faux-fur sandals, and slammed her purse on the table. "And a bloody good greeting to you too. Do you know what kind of a day I've had?"

Clack, clack, clickety-clack. "I can only surmise."

Lavender sighed, and collapsed onto the couch where Hermione was typing. "You are never going to guess what I happened to witness on my lunch break today."

Currently, Lavender was on summer leave from her second term at Johnson and Wales University in Rhode Island, and had occupying her time as an entertainment consultant at Briggs & Meyers, a local public relations firm. "I specialize in the gastronomical element," was how she had described her job. "They plan the receptions, I plan the food."

Since arriving in the States almost two years before, the troupe had finally found a suitable place to live- a modestly large, three-bedroom apartment in the North End. Of course, it was a rare occasion that all six housemates were occupying the space at the same time- Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Draco were the perennials attending local schools, with Lavender down at cooking school and Ginny off doing God-knows-what.

Now, Hermione broke away from her computer screen, and looked straight at Lavender. "I'm assuming that it has something to do with Darryl, correct?"

"You assume right." Lavender propped her feet up next to her purse on the coffee table. "As I was walking through the Beacon Hill area, I noticed a nice little café..... thought it would be nice to stop in for a bite. I had just ordered my croissant and tea, when what do I see at the next table over? Darryl. Of course, he didn't notice me, as he was too busy extricating some blonde waif's tonsils with his tongue."

Hermione stifled a giggle at her friend's analogy. "Well, you didn't stay still, did you?"

"You'd have been proud of me- I tried to stay prudent. However, my resolve failed after about five minutes, until I took my tea, stormed over to his table, and dumped it down the back of his shirt." Lavender was obviously satisfied. "I do hope it trickled into his knickers."

Hermione snickered, tucking a runaway lock of curly auburn hair behind her ear. "All for the best, really. He was completely wrong for you."

Lavender looked thoughtful. "I suppose you're right, Hermione. I don't really get along well with that type. The whole blue-blazer, Brooks Brothers string tie, Daddy's-on-Capitol-Hill thing doesn't work for me. He had to call me Cassandra Bartholemew, for God's sake. Of course, saying the surname with disgust, as I'm not one of the old money society families. Couldn't even call me Cassie. It was always Cassandra this, Cassandra that, Cassandra everything! Far too formal."

"Besides, Ron's going out of his mind with jealousy," Hermione reminded her.

"Oh, sod Ron!" Lavender replied wearily. "If the bloody man can't make up his mind about whether or not he wants to marry me, then maybe I'll consider him as a candidate. But he hasn't. It's been two years, and he's the one that broke the relationship off. You either shit or get off the pot, is what I say."

"Whatever you say, Lav." Hermione sounded unconvinced, as she went back to her typing. "That still doesn't explain that little romantic tryst you two had last month in Providence."

Lavender groaned. "Don't remind me of that. It was utter desperation, for lack of a better phrase. It meant absolutely nothing to me."

"Uh-huh," Hermione responded. "Well, then, how about that ski trip back in February? The one where you went up to Vermont and didn't come back for a week?"

"Pure hormonal adrenaline," Lavender corrected.

Hermione wasn't dissuaded in the least. "Well, that New Year's Party by the bay, or the Thanksgiving disappearance, or the October 'leaf-peeking' trip-"

"All right, all right, I get the point." Lavender yawned. "Perhaps I should give Ron another chance, after all. He's just being juvenile beyond all comprehension about our relationship. One month it's on, the next it's off..... but he is damn good in the sack, I must admit. Better than those society boys. You've got to have a man who knows what he's doing."

"Mm-hmm." Hermione was suddenly immersed in her typing again.

"Wouldn't you agree?" Lavender pressed.

Hermione took off her petite reading glasses. "Lavender, I honestly wouldn't know."

Lavender's jaw dropped. "Do you mean-"

"Whatever it is you're thinking, Lav, the answer is no," Hermione interrupted in a businesslike manner.

"You're telling me that after two years, you and Harry haven't....." Lavender stopped herself this time.

Hermione looked Lavender straight in the eye. "For the umpteenth time, no."

"You've got to be kidding me. Two years' worth of voracious innuendoes..... and the way you two carry on in public....." Lavender was speechless. "Why the bloody hell not?"

"Not that it's really any of your business, but we just..... haven't felt ready yet," Hermione explained quickly. "Now, can we drop the subject?"

"Drop what subject?" Harry Potter inquired, as he strode into the room, accompanied by Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

Hermione snapped her laptop shut. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. How was your day, sweetie?"

Harry plopped down on the couch next to her. "Long, dear. Let's put it that way," he replied, as they proceeded to engage each other in a kiss that would have made Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet blush.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "She's got to be pulling my leg," she muttered, as she stood up.

"A-hem!" Draco coughed loudly, startling the two occupants of the couch. "What?" he whispered to Lavender.

Lavender glanced at the couch, and entered into a series of slightly risqué hand signals that more than conveyed her message.

Ron clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh."

"So, Lav," Draco began, "how'd it go today?"

Lavender crossed her arms. "Well, I spent my lunch hour witnessing my so-called paramour perform a tonsillectomy on my replacement, if that's what you're asking."

"Ouch. Sorry," Ron said blandly, though the immediate sparkle in his eyes was unmistakable.

"That's bad, Lavender," Draco reassured her, patting her on the back. "I guess we've just got to do something to cheer you up."

"She's already cheered up, she soaked his knickers in tea," Hermione started to say, but was interrupted by the slamming of a door.

Draco moaned in terror. "Here comes Miss Congeniality."

Ginny Weasley entered the room, and smacked him on the side of the head. "I heard that, Soup-for-Brains. Thanks for the compliment."

"You're welcome," Draco sneered, rubbing his temple. "And what exactly is it that has graced us with your splendid presence? I thought you had a date with some scruffy aspiring filmmaker this afternoon."

Ginny sniffed haughtily, and adjusted the tie of her Indian-print halter top. "For your information, as if you'd care, he had a previous engagement."

"With who?" Ron asked his little sister in suspicion.

"His wife." Ignoring her brother's look of horror, Ginny sighed, and collapsed into an armchair, throwing off her macrame platforms. "So, what do you have to entertain me? It's five o' clock, I just got off shift at the tea shop, and I've nothing to do except hang around here and do whatever it is that you people do on Friday nights."

"Well," Harry explained, "from my understanding, Lavender had a nasty break-up today."

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," Ginny empathized, wrapping her in a hug. "I guess that solves our entertainment dilemma, then."

Hermione looked puzzled. "How does that do anything?"

Ginny smiled. "Simple. You know what we must do? We've got to take this brokenhearted girl out, and show her a good time!"

"I'm not brokenhearted," Lavender pointed out.

Ginny sighed. "You're only in denial, m'dear. Tsk, tsk- too many dates with my brother, and you forget what an actual relationship is like. No matter- we're all going out tonight, and we are going to par-tay!"

"And what, pray tell, does 'par-tay' mean?" Draco inquired sarcastically.

"It means, Mister Big Stuff, that we're going out to a club, and you, as usual, are going to end up hitting on every girl in the place. While we laugh as you get shot down," Ginny responded icily.

Draco started to say something, but Ron interrupted him. "All right, Gin. You make the plans, we'll follow."

Ginny grinned widely. "Sounds about right to me."

*

"Dude, we've got to find this place soon, or else my feet are going to fall off," Alicia Spinnet moaned in pain.

Matthew Zimmerman rolled his eyes. "That's what you get for wearing those shoes when you knew that we'd be walking." He switched his trumpet case from one hand to the other. "Those things are more suitable for the Prom than anything else."

Alicia glanced down at her feet, which were clad in black toe-loop sandals with six-inch platforms. "I don't care. They make my legs look damn good, if I say so myself."

"And you do." Zeke Tartropolis tossed one of his drumsticks in the air. "So who's playing what tonight?"

Jeff Kowalzek pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "I've got you on drums, Teej on tenor sax, Andy on bass, Jon on lead, Ally on trombone, Matty on trumpet, and myself on alto sax."

T.J. Martinez chewed on his lower lip. "You know, this band would be an awful lot better if the damn brass section would just pick an instrument and stick with it."

Alicia tossed him an evil look. "You know, you don't have to be in this band. We were perfectly fine with four of us."

"No, we weren't," Andy Campanara reminded her. "We sucked ass."

Jon deCaro nodded in agreement. "You guys were really, really bad before I came back and Teej and Jeff joined. At least now we can have lyrics to our songs."

"But you and Andy can't sing worth jackshit," Alicia countered, setting down her trombone case.

Matt pulled on the back of her hair. "Well, if you'd just play lead, we could put Jon on trombone and not have to worry about it."

Alicia shook her head, and continued walking. "Not a chance. When I sing, I sound like a cross between Kathie Lee Gifford and Donald Duck. But if you want another instrument, I could always bring the piccolo."

"NO!" was the resounding response from the six boys.

"That thing sounds like a dying cat," Jeff complained.

Alicia stuck her tongue out. "Hey, deal with it. I certainly didn't complain when you decided to be cool and 'borrow' your dad's truck to drive us nine exits down the Pike to a gig that no one knew about, at a club that I don't think we can get into. Almost getting us caught for the underage driving restrictions, I might add."

"It got us here, didn't it?" Zeke stepped in. "Besides, they wouldn't have gotten anything on Jeff-boy here. We all look over 18."

"Andy doesn't. He has a baby face," Jon pointed out. "Hey! Watch the hair!"

"There's nothing to watch," Andy retorted, smoothing down his own gelled locks.

Alicia cleared her throat. "The point is, I don't exactly know if this is such a good idea."

"Oh, please. You're the one with Bosstones aspirations," Matt replied. "Is this the place?"

The seven teenagers looked up at the neon sign. "Francesca's Place," T.J. read. "Is this it, Mr. Manager?"

Jeff checked the list. "Yup. And look- our name's on a sign inside!"

The rest peered inside to look at a white markerboard. It read-Victims of the American Dream, featuring master saxophonist Jeff Kowalzek.

Alicia, Matt, T.J., Jon, Zeke, and Andy turned and glared at their saxophone player, who was in charge of booking the gigs.

Jeff laughed nervously. "Heh, heh, well, um, let's go inside, shall we?" He bolted through the doors.

And with that, the six 'supporting' members chased after him.

*

"Well, this is it," Ginny declared proudly. "This is the place." She pointed up at the marquee sign, boasting Francesca's Place in large neon letters.

"Are you sure about this, Gin?" Hermione asked nervously. "It doesn't exactly look..... reputable."

"Of course I'm sure! It's an all-ages club," Ginny replied breezily, ignoring the looks of confusion on her mates' faces. "I've been here before, you know. It's a great place. Especially for my crowd."

Ron uneasily surveyed his sister's attire. "Ginny, we aren't exactly the type of people that wear reflective pants."

"Or dye our hair colors not found in nature," Harry added.

"Or wear shirts with less than a square foot of material in them," Lavender chimed in.

"Or look more suitable for an adult entertainment establishment rather than a night on the town," Draco put in disgustedly.

Ginny smacked him with her sequined handbag. "Get over it. Besides, isn't this where your type of girls hang out?"

"And since when have I dated adult film stars?" Draco retorted. "God, Ginny, have a little more discretion."

This time, Ron was the one who hit Draco. "Hey, she may have horrible fashion sense and no feeling of modesty, pal, but she is my little sister."

"All right, all right. Hermione, do you have any Advil buried in that mutant purse of yours?" Draco asked, rubbing his head.

"Somewhere." Hermione disentangled herself from Harry, and rummaged through her handbag. "Well, I have Midol, but I don't think that's going to help one bit."

"You never know," Ginny muttered nastily.

"Why you little-" Draco broke off. "Never mind. Forget about it. Arguing is pointless, and I always end up getting some sort of bloody head injury."

"Precisely, Draco," Lavender agreed. "You're finally starting to get it."

"Thank you, thank you." Draco took a bow. Not a smart move, as Ginny landed a well-placed kick to his rear.

"That's it! I'm going to kill you, you tawdry little snot!" Draco cried, chasing the laughing Ginny into the building.

Harry sighed. "You do realize that they're going to murder each other eventually."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "One's a Weasley, the other's a Malfoy. It's inevitable."

Ron coughed. "Well, I have to admit that Malfoy can be an obnoxious little prig half the time, but I manage to get along with him."

"Barely," Harry reminded him. "Today, I thought you were going to do away with him once and for all."

Lavender stopped chipping off her purple nail polish, and looked up in interest. "What happened?"

"First-" Harry started, but Ron interrupted him.

"You know how Harry said he'd had a long day? Right before you two launched into that positively X-rated kiss?" Ron paused, enjoying the looks of embarrassment on the faces of Harry and Hermione, "Well, he'd spent the entire afternoon recataloguing the entire inventory, thanks to Malfoy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Who knew that working at a computer supply store could be that exhausting? Somehow, Malfoy got the brilliant idea that alphabetically arranging everything in the inventory catalogue would be more efficient than setting everything up by type of merchandise."

"As usual, we took the brunt of the blame," Ron continued. "Whereas Malfoy weaseled his way out of cleaning up by getting a stern 'talking-to' in the manager's office, we spent four hours setting everything back up correctly."

As the two computer-store employees complained about Malfoy's ineptness, neither seemed to notice that Hermione had fallen asleep, standing up.

Lavender giggled. "Hey, disgruntled roomie, I think your girlfriend's dropped off for a nap."

Harry looked down at Hermione, up at Lavender and Ron in bewilderment, and back down at Hermione again.

"You know, Harry," Ron prompted, "when someone's fallen asleep on your right arm, the proper thing to do is wake them up to save them a great deal of embarrassment."

Harry coughed. "Yes. Right. Ah, Hermione....."

"Yes?" Hermione was jolted out of her reverie. "Oh, of course, I was listening to every word you said. That Malfoy really is a bugger, isn't he?"

"All right, dear," Harry said in amusement. "Come on, let's go in and make sure that he and Ginny haven't killed each other."

"What is so funny?" Hermione demanded, as they stepped through the double doors.

This action left Ron and Lavender alone outside, in the uncomfortable silence characteristic of not-quite-ex-lovers.

"Well." Lavender tapped a shoe on the asphalt, trying desperately to make small talk. "I can't believe this. I break up with a boyfriend, and Ginny sees it as an excuse to go clubbing."

"My sister sees anything as an excuse to go clubbing," Ron reminded her, eager to reciprocate. "Friday nights, because she gets off work. Saturdays, because 'there's no other chance'. Weddings, funerals, breakups, mortgages, new floor lamps-"

"She's a party animal, no doubt about that." Lavender glanced at the building. "What do you say we, ah, go in?"

"Well, yes, I guess so," Ron replied awkwardly.

"Good, then." Lavender stepped into the club, with Ron following closely behind her.

The atmosphere inside of the club was one expected of a flashy new hangout for the young: a slick, opalescent floor, practically unmarked by scuffing; flashing neon strobe lights adorning the walls; and the long bar, complimented by the large sign expressing that I.D. was needed, and the two large bald men on either side. The only thing that could have added to the classic air would have been a thumping bass and screaming music..... but, as seen by the recent entries, this wasn't the case.

"They look awfully young, don't they?" Lavender asked the group, pointing at the seven musicians on the platform. "A little too young, if you ask me."

"They must be," Ginny responded. "All the good bands know that you're supposed to have people to set up for you."

Indeed, the six boys in the band were running around frantically, plugging in amps and setting up stands. Pointing and shouting orders was the lone female.

"What's their name, again?" Draco inquired to no one in particular.

Harry turned to read a sign. "They're called 'Victims of the American Dream'."

"Sounds like one of those whiny wannabe-punk bands from the annals of suburbia," Ron commented. "Have any of you ever heard of a Jeff Kowalzek?"

Hermione peered at the wording, then shook her head. "Never heard the name before, and the music majors on campus are always talking about the up-and-comers."

Ginny groaned. "Absolutely bloody fabulous. I try to get a decent club, and what do we get for a band? A bunch of pretentious aspiring teenagers."

"Give them a chance, Ginny," Draco replied coolly. "They can't possibly be any more annoying than the sound of your voice."

"What was that?" Ginny remarked to the air. "I thought I heard someone say my name. I guess it was the wind."

"Could you be any more juvenile?"

"I don't know, could you be any more of a giant prick?"

"You might want to consider retracting that statement, Little Miss Eurotrash."

"What are you going to do, Malfoy, hit on me?"

"In your dreams. That's about the last thing I'd ever consider doing. No offense, kid, but you just aren't my type."

"Sorry if I'm not a large German male. You aren't mine, either."

"My apologies for not being married!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Lavender stepped in between the two. "Even for people that despise each other as much as you two do, this is going a little too far. Malfoy, you stay on that side of the room-" she pointed to one side of the bar- "and Ginny, you stay on the other."

"We don't need to be dragging any dead bodies out of here tonight," Harry added. "Although Hermione might fall asleep again....."

"Is it my fault that the topic of conversation wasn't that interesting?" Hermione retorted.

Ron cleared his throat. "Ah, let's get a table, shall we?"

Ginny nodded. "Good idea. Let's find a place for five, and we can all get some grub."

"Why five?" Lavender asked.

"You're the one that made the rule," Ginny replied, shrugging. "I guess Ice Boy has to go and sit all by himself."

Draco started to retort, but he was cut off by Ron.

"Kid, now you really are just being juvenile." He ruffled his sister's hair, causing her to scowl. "You sit at one end of the table, he sits at the other. Understood?"

Both Ginny and Draco nodded, glaring at each other. "I'll get the table," Ginny informed everyone, and stalked off.

"Good riddance," Draco muttered.

Lavender and Ron were staring at their shoes in silence, neither willing to say a word to the other.

Hermione and Harry shared a glance, indicating the same thing: It's gonna be a long evening.

*

"Are we almost ready?"

"Where's my mute?"

"How come Jon gets the best amp?"

"Are you sure that the lights aren't going to wash me out? I'm not wearing any makeup."

"When are we going on?"

Jeff Kowalzek sighed. "Zeke, we're going on in five minutes. Matt, the last time I saw your mute, it was in your trumpet case. Andy, Jon's playing lead tonight, and he needs the amp so that everyone can hear over you. God knows you play loud enough. Ally, no one's going to be looking at you anyways. And if they do, it'll be to gawk at your shoes. Those things are freakishly tall. T.J., if you'd stop hitting on that blonde chick for a second, you'd have heard me say that we're going on in five- wait, now three- minutes."

"Ain't it fun being the manager, Jeff-boy?" Jon deCaro clapped him on the back.

"It sucks." Jeff looked at the rest of the band in disgust. "We consist of T.J. "The Ladies' Man" Martinez, Andrew "How's My Hair?" Campanara, Zeke "Cloud Nine Plus" Tartropolis, Matthew "The Air's Getting Thin Up Here" Zimmerman, and Alicia "Prima Donna" Spinnet. Oh, and us."

"Thanks, man." Jon nodded sagely. "You know, if we make it through this show without Andy's hair getting mussed, Zeke forgetting his part, Matt banging his head on everything in sight, having bras thrown at T.J., and Alicia tripping over her own shoes-"

"It'll be a miracle," Jeff finished. "An absolute freaking miracle."

Jon whistled. "Wow. Look at that." He pointed at a redheaded girl walking by. "Now that is what I call 'something to do on Friday night'."

Jeff laughed. "She's gotta be twenty, deCaro. Keep dreaming."

"Oh, believe me, I will." Jon's eyes followed the girl across the room. "Sometimes I think I'm losing the ol' touch with the chicas. I haven't had a decent date in months."

"I hate to say it, boy, but not many girls are interested in dating a guy that spends the majority of his time hanging out with Alicia Spinnet." Jeff snorted. "Scares them off, really."

Jon glanced across the platform, where the aforementioned trombonist was warming up. "Perfectly understandable. If I were a girl, which I'm not, I wouldn't feel too safe if my boyfriend spent all his time hanging out with another chick."

"Which is probably precisely why the poor kid hasn't had a date since Harvey Kempleton." Jeff, too, looked over at Alicia. "I wouldn't be thrilled if my girlfriend- which I don't have one- spent all her time with a bunch of hormonal teenage boys."

"Right." Jon glanced at his watch. "Aren't we going on?"

Jeff ran a hand through his hair frantically. "You're right! Places, everyone! We're on in five, four, three, two, one-"

*

"You know, they aren't half bad," Lavender remarked, watching the band perform. "They could be a lot worse."

Draco, who was sitting to her left, wrinkled his nose. "Yes, but they could also be a lot better. Can anyone tell me what the bloody hell that kid is saying?"

"I don't know, but his hair looks like it's plastic," Ron replied wonderingly. "Oh, look, here comes Ginny with the drinks."

A clatter could be heard as Ginny slammed the self-serve tray on the table. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day where I was almost hit on by a sixteen-year-old. The other singer over there was practically undressing me with his eyes."

Draco mumbled something inaudible.

"What was that?" Ron asked sharply, leaning around Lavender.

Draco scowled. "Nothing."

"Well, guys, I've got some bad news," Ginny announced, as she squeezed past Harry and Hermione. "They haven't got any decent food, besides peanuts if you want 'em."

Harry groaned. "Bloody fantastic. I'm starving, and all there is to eat are a bunch of Planters?"

Ginny nodded, sipping her diet Sprite. "You got it."

The sextet sat in relative peace for a spell, making small talk. Surprisingly, Ginny and Draco were able to ignore each other fairly well, limiting their distaste for the other to nasty glances and the occasional wisecrack.

Of course, there were the token disparaging remarks about the live entertainment.

"You know, it surprises me that these kids could write lyrics this trite," Ron commented.

Hermione shook her head. "It's not even theirs. They ran out of original material fifteen minutes ago."

Ginny agreed. "They've just been doing bad covers of Blink-182. And the two boys singing up there don't even seem to know the correct words....."

It was true. Jon deCaro and Andy Campanara were struggling through a particularly difficult rendition of "The Party Song".

"Do you want to go toe apparty, my friends picked me up and a bup at eleven dirty, distings at a bratowse but pee pole are wheelbarrow....." Andy was crooning into the microphone, frantically glancing at Alicia for prompts.

Harry grimaced. "This is absolutely horrible."

"You're right. And I plan on doing something about it. Pardonnez-moi." Ginny stood up, fought her way across the table, and started pushing past the crowd on the dance floor.

"Where the hell is she going?" Lavender wondered.

Draco sniffed. "Do we want to know? The possibilities are seemingly endless."

That was the last straw for Ron, apparently.

"You know what, Draco?" he inquired harshly. "Since you seem to be putting a damper on the festivities this evening, here's an idea. How about you go follow her, and find out what she's doing?"

"And why on Earth would I want to do that?" Draco asked in horror.

Hermione snickered. "He has a point, Malfoy. And while you're at it, why don't you try apologizing to her?"

"What's the good in that?" Draco threw his hands in the air.

Harry crossed his arms. "Draco, I trust you remember how much of the rent you pay, compared to the total that we pay. Five to one is a significant majority."

Draco grudgingly got up from the table. "Fine, fine. I'll go get the amazing British bimbo, and I'll return with her alive. But that's all I'm doing, comprehend?"

He was met by four sets of eyes, icily glaring at him.

"I get the point." Brushing off his trousers, Draco walked off in the direction Ginny had disappeared.

*Finis Part 1*