Ginny and Draco Do America, or, Dude, Where's My Eye?

Chapter Four: On Leaving L.A.

Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls, it's a
mixed-up, muddled-up, shook-up world.

-- Kinks, Lola

Everywhere I went in California, people were so
pretentious and phony. And it was so expensive. Hey!
This coffee's awful! And there's not enough of it!

--overheard at Bongo Java, a Nashville coffeehouse

A/N: Okay, I deserve fifty lashes with a wet noodle
for taking so long to get this chapter out. They WON'T
take this long from now on. But I have a GOOD EXCUSE!
There was... a.) life (a lame one, I know) b.) My
angsty epic, Jewel of the Harem and c.) The first
motion graphics HP fanfilm. Find it at:

http://www.nashvilleinsanity.com/myfilms/joththemovieindex.htm

Four and a half minutes. 130 hours to make.

Oh, and 10 points to anyone who can find the two Bugs
Bunny quotes... These points can be redeemed for
valuable prizes in the 63rd dimension.

Thanks to all the reviewers. Named by name and very extensively in the next chapter. I promise. If I delay getting this chapter out another MINUTE,I'm afraid it'll NEVER get out.

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"I wonder how much further we'll have to go," sighed
Hermione as Todd showed her a selection of nail
polish.

"Thousands and thousands of kilometres, I hope." said
Ginny. "Ooh, I like those six-inch nails with the
little golden bells at the ends, could I have those?"

"Sweetheart, do you really want the twenty dollar
hooker look? I don't think so," said Chique, filing
her nails busily.

"But I want to change my image," protested Ginny. "I
feel so different, so-- it's the strangest thing,
really, I can't understand it, it's like a spell's
being lifted."

Clique and Todd exchanged glances. "Is that your
brother's face pressed up against the window?"

Ginny glanced over at him. "Yes. He can just wait.
C'mon. Six inch nails. And I saw somebody in the hall
with stiletto heels; can I have those, too?"

Chique patted her shoulder. "You've got to walk before
you can run, baby. Let's start small, okay?"

"I think six inch nails are a brilliant idea," said
Hermione. "I mean, we're stuck in a Honda Civic with a
monster, after all, and we're all going to have to go
to sleep sometime. Ginny needs all the defense
mechanisms she can get."

"I think monsters must lead such interesting lives,"
said Chique, applying a clear top coat to Ginny's
nails. "The places they must go, and the people they
must see... I was just saying to my friend Miss Bianca
the other day, I wish I could go on a cross-country
trip with a hunky blond monster... now let's put our
nails under the dryer..."

"I don't know if Malfoy's really a monster," admitted
Hermione. "But one does hear rumors about those
unspeakable orgies in his private suite of rooms,
after all."

"Do tell," said Todd. "What's involved?"

Hermione shrugged. "Handcuffs... whips...or maybe it
was gallons of Cool Whip. That's what Ron told me the
other night in the Gryffindor common room, anyway."

"Well, how did he know?" demanded Ginny.

"I'm not sure, but he rabbited on about it for hours.
That's all I know. Oh, and he kept licking his lips
the entire time he was talking to me. D'you think

they need a Humidifying charm up there?"

"Baby," Chique began, "there's probably something you
should know about your friend Ron--"

"I'd be grateful for any insight you could give me,"
Hermione sighed. "Honestly, sometimes I don't
understand him at all."

Her words were greeted by an awkward silence, broken
only by the grating noise of Ginny's nails being
filed, the decibel-breaking sounds of several drag
queens clattering past the door in size-twelve heels,
the incredibly annoying whir of dozens of hair dryers
all over the building, and the cacophony of hundreds
of honking horns from traffic trapped in rush hour
outside. And Ron's strangled screeches as image
consultants Rique and Slique nabbed him during his
single-minded flight down the hall and dragged him
into a day spa for a makeover, but those were rather
drowned out.

"Is he shy?" she continued.

"Um--" said Todd.

"Is he confused?"

"You might be getting warmer--" began Chique.

"Is he just dead clueless?"

"Well, that could be it," admitted Todd. "But I don't
really think--"

Hermione looked woefully at the two hairdressers.
"Can't you help me out at all? You're the experts in
what men want!"

"Oh, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear," sighed
Chique. "Sweetie. Honey. Sugarplum. There comes a time
in every girl's life when she has to face facts..."

Todd seemed to come to a sudden decision. He marched
across the room, briskly took a florescent pink bag
from a drawer, and handed it to Hermione. "A beta
copy, just for you, of Todd Gramolini's How to Land
Any Man in 4 and 1/2 Minutes Kit (Unless, Of Course,
He's Hopelessly and Thoroughly Gay.) Flash cards...
pickup line lists... euphemisms for 'let's have
sex'... anatomically correct hand puppets... and, if
all else fails..." He leaned and whispered in
Hermione's ear. Her eyes widened.

"But what if the car doesn't have a--"

"Oh, it will." He kissed her on both cheeks, stopping
an inch short so as not to ruin her makeup. "Because I
love you and I want to set you straight. If you must
go that way, that is."

"Guess it doesn't hurt to try," said Chique. "Now
let's pick out some clothes, hon. Hermione's easy. The
dressed-down Vogue cover Christy Turlington-doing yoga
look, don't you agree?"

"Yeah..." pondered Todd. "But redheads are always
trickier..." He snapped his fingers. "I have just the
thing for Ginny. Victoria's Secret, here we come."

"What's the secret?" Ginny wondered.

"There's no Victoria. It's run by elves who fled the
North Pole after Santa let them go in a wave of
layoffs and corporate downsizing. Now, I think the
look for you is lacy... white... innocent, yet..."
Chique waved his hand vaguely in the air.

"Slutty," said Todd.

"Exactly!" Chique exclaimed delightedly, snapping his
fingers.

Ginny grinned widely.

Out in the parking lot, Ron slouched against the Honda
Civic, taking deep drags of his Camel. The pack was
rolled up in the sleeve of his tight white T-shirt,
and the matches were in the pocket of his distressed
Levi's. He leaned one foot (clad in pre-scuffed,
iron-toed work boots) up against the back door of the
little car, and ran a hand through his newly
Brylcreamed hair.

"It's the cut-rate Guess? jeans model look," Rique had
trilled after the makeover.

"Crossed with the I've-killed-before-and-will-again,
I've-done-time-in-the-big-house-but-escaped-by-digging-through-the-wall-with-a-plastic-
spoon look," agreed Slique.

"But it's a good look. It works for him."

"I totally agree. This is a boy you want to find on
one of those slidy things under your car at Pep
Boys... changing the oil... checking the fluids...
until he looks up at you with those big brown eyes and
says--"

"Need any lube?" leered Slique.

"No!" exclaimed Ron.

"Hear that, Slique? He recommends letting the engine
run... a little rough," purred Rique.

"NO! Get me out of here right now or I'm going to
become a serial killer and start with the pair of
you!'" snarled Ron.

The image consultants swooned against each other,
rather neatly. "That rebel-without-a-cause thing...
it's just the luscious shit," Rique said dreamily.

But the time for reverie had passed; Ron saw his
quarry sauntering out of the building in tennis
whites. The surly redhead's eyes narrowed. He dug his
heel viciously intl the asphalt, stubbing out the butt
of his cigarette. And he pounced.

Draco Malfoy had been a decent enough Seeker. Although
all those close-up glimpses the opposing team's
players were constantly sneaking at the strategically
located rips in the leather breeches of his Quidditch
uniform probably had more to do with his captures of
the Snitch than any amount of skill on the part of
anybody on the Slytherin team. Whatever. The point is,
his reflexes were quite good. Under normal
circumstances, he doubtless would have had no trouble
avoiding the pair of hands that clamped around his
neck from behind. But Draco paused to scan the parking
lot for Ginny, and that extra second was his undoing.

"Wait! Stop! It wasn't me!" he choked, struggling to
loosen the fingers crushing his windpipe. "I was
elsewhere at the time... I have an iron-clad alibi...
My father's quite rich, you know... " The hands
loosened and then threw him against the hood of the
car. "Oh," said Draco. "It's you, Weasley. Miss me?"

"YOU!" Ron spat, holding Draco up against the
windshield with one hand.

"Don't wrinkle the material, if you don't mind." The
blond boy brushed lazily at the white button-down with
his fingernails, then flipped one lock of silvery hair
from over one grey eye with an insouciant air.

"That's not going to work this time! I know you for
what you are, Malfoy!"

"Oh?" Draco raised one perfect ash-blond eyebrow. "The
Sultan of Sin? His Evilkins? The Fun-Sized Prince of
Darkness?"

Ron stared at him. "You mean the size of fun really is
two inches square?"

"No, no," said Draco. "It's a good deal larger than
that... Weasley, if you don't stop drooling all over
the bonnet of this car, it'll ruin the finish."

"Stop it! Stop it. I know the truth!" Ron's voice
became crazed. "You're... NOT GAY!"

"Not you, too," Draco groaned. "Whatever sick little
fantasies you weave in your twisted mind, Weasley, I
do wish you'd leave me out of them-- Wait, wait." A
malicious gleam came into his eye. "Are you dreadfully
disappointed?"

Ron's face swiftly turned a brick red to rival his
hair. "Don't say one more word or I'll--"

Draco advanced on him, crawling slowly and seductively
across the hood of the Honda Civic. "Do you dream of
long walks by the lake?" he asked. ""Intimate dinners
for two? Long star-watching sessions in the Astronomy
Tower? Mushing up your bananas for dubious purposes?"
Ron stood as if paralyzed by a stun gun, watching
Draco's lips coming closer and closer until they were
millimetres from his.

"Well, unfortunately, Weasley," he continued, "even if
I did swing that way-- which I don't, and I'm not sure
how much clearer I'll have to make it; perhaps
full-page ads in the New York Post will be necessary--
you would simply never do. I only shag life forms much
further up the evolutionary scale than you." He
paused. "Ginny's adopted, isn't she?"

"One more word about my sister," Ron spluttered, "just
one-- more-- word-- if I ever hear her name come out
of your mouth again-- in fact, from now on, Malfoy,
you're strictly forbidden to use the letters 'G,' 'I,'
'N,' and 'Y' in any context whatsoever! Wait! Her full
name's Gwenhyfar, so you also can't use 'W'... 'E'...
oh, bother, 'F'..."

His alphabetical musings were interrupted by the
distinct sound of Draco Malfoy's jaw hitting the
ground. The 'clunk!' noise rather attracted Ron's
attention, and the fact that it was precipitated by
Ginny Weasley normally would have produced at least a
mild homicidal rage. However, he was distracted, as
well.

Ginny and Hermione were walking out of Sister
Innocenza's House of Style arm in arm, laughing, their
heads thrown back and their bright curls catching the
California sun. When she saw Ron, Hermione waved and
grinned, detaching herself from the other girl to walk
towards him. Ginny certainly wished her friend luck in
her quixotic endeavor, but she was rather distracted
herself once she caught sight of Draco's face. She'd
been given a new kitten for Christmas last year, a
fuzzy white feline she'd named Prince. And while the
little cat was precious and adorable and always looked
up at her and mewed piteously as she was filling his
food bowl, he did have an undeniable way of stalking
birds with a certain predatory look in his eyes. She
was strongly reminded of that _expression when she saw
how Draco Malfoy was looking at her.

"Well," he purred as she approached the car. "What
have we here?"

"Chique did it," Ginny said awkwardly. "I wouldn't
have picked white. Black is more practical-- it
doesn't show dirt-- that's what Mum always said,
anyway--"

Her words faltered as his eyes devoured her with all
the assiduity of her cat going after a can of freshly
opened albacore tuna. Draco took in Ginny's low rise
flared-leg beige lace pants, strappy white sandals,
and halter-top lycra lace sweater as if he'd been
crawling through the Mojave desert for several months
subsisting on rattlesnakes and had just sighted a
Ponderosa steak buffet, unlimited free drink refills
and sundae bar included.

"Little Ginny Weasley. All grown up," he softly said.

The forces of evil held their collective breaths,
dreading an avalanche of fluff to come. If Infernal
Muzak Service, Ltd. (tm) began playing anything by the
Carpenters, thought Beelzebub, wincing, that was it.
He was definitely quitting. Satan could take this
Malfoy job and shove it. However, Draco's thoughts
revolved entirely around such subjects as leaving Ron
and Hermione in the parking lot, throwing Ginny in the
back seat of the Honda by main force, and keeping her
as his personal sex slave at a private seaside villa,
among various other nefarious deeds, certainly dirty
but not done dirt cheap. So they needn't have worried.

A tendril of panic uncoiled in her stomach as he slid
closer to her with an overabundance of sinuous
pantherlike grace. She backed up against the car.
Those lips of his are so pink that they oughtn't to be
allowed, she thought crazily, and then they were
coming down upon hers, and there was no more room for
thinking anything. All rational capacities seemed to
have flown clean out of her head, as well as her
command of most of the English language. A few words
and phrases came to mind as he pushed her against the
back window and she entwined her fingers in his silky
weighty hair, "yes, God yes," "please, baby baby,
please, baby baby, please," and "take me now, my
insatiable studmuffin of evil," among them, as well
as, for some inexplicable reason, "duck season! rabbit
season! duck season! rabbit season!" But then, the
human mind is never a very logical thing at the best
of times. Mantovani's Thousand-String Orchestra
swelled up around them, and Ginny gave herself up for
lost.

Normally, Ron would have been pounding Draco's head
into the pavement several minutes prior to this.
However, he was still transfixed by the vision of
Hermione Granger sans hair demons. Glossy, smooth, and
thick, her chestnut brown locks were pulled back from
her head, showing her delicate features, big brown
eyes, and slender body, all of which had been rather
hidden before. She wore a cool, crisp cotton blouse
over yoga pants; her slim feet were shod in white
leather sandals, and big gold hoop earrings bobbed in
her ears. The memories of repeatedly spying on the
Slytherin team in the boys' shower room from the broom
shed after Quidditch games were as shamefully enticing
as ever, but Ron was having a very hard time catching
his breath as he gazed at the madeover Hermione, as
well. This sort of thing isn't supposed to happen! he
thought frantically. I don't like complexities. I've
always been in favor of the simple pleasures in life,
like Quidditch, boys' locker rooms, manly cameraderie,
and surreptitiously staring at Draco Malfoy's bum. Now
what? Too late, he realized that he'd spoken the last
two words aloud.

"Well,: Hermione said hopefully, "you might..." Her
words trailed off as she closed her eyes and leaned in
for a kiss. Unfortunately,as she moved forward, the
pair behind her became visible. Ron could actually
feel the permanent psychological scars forming when he
saw his sister unbuttoning the top buttons of Draco
Malfoy's shirt and running her tongue along his
collarbone.

"You've put some sort of spell on her!" He pulled
Draco off Ginny with one hand, buoyed by a rather
alarming rush of adrenalin.

"I assure you," the other boy drawled, "I haven't.
Vast personal charm, Weasley. Some of us have it, and,
alas, some of us don't--"

"Oh! That's it." He turned to Hermione. "Hurry up and
get in this car. We're leaving Malfoy here. He can
walk back to Scotland!"

"No." Hermione seemed to come to a sudden decision.
"Come on, Malfoy. Get in. You can sit next to Ginny."

"He can't be on the same continent as Ginny!"
spluttered Ron. But it was too late; Draco had already
claimed the spot next to the trembling redhead, and
was running a soothing hand through her hair while she
cried on his shoulder. The forces of evil knew it to
be a definite danger signal that he didn't even warn
her not to get mascara all over his shirt, but the
Thousand-String Orchestra had begun playing "Cherish,"
very quietly, and the thought didn't even cross
Draco's mind.

"Now get in this car, sit down, and shut up," said
Hermione. "Talk to your sister like that again and
you're riding in the glovebox."

Hermione was very sexy when she was bossy, Ron
thought. But-- wait-- he wasn't supposed to be
thinking along those lines! He was supposed to be
reluctantly admitting that he was gay! How much more
complicated could life become? With a stifled groan,
he got into the front seat of the car, and they swung
out onto Santa Monica Boulevard on their way to the
interstate. Between Hermione's frustrated fury,
Draco's conflicting wishes to devote himself to the
service of ultimate evil and spend the next six hours
sucking on Ginny Weasley's toes, Ginny's awakening
desires, one of which was undeniably to lock her
brother in the boot of the car and never let him out
again, and Ron's hopeless confusion about his sexual
preferences, none of them noticed the little red
convertible that pulled smoothly onto Highway 15,
tracking their every move.

A/N: Next chapter coming soon! Chapter Five: First
Prize, One Week's All-Expenses Paid Vacation in Death
Valley! (Second Prize, Two Weeks.)