not your typical annihilatrix (furiosity) wrote,
not your typical annihilatrix
furiosity

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Fic: My Big Phat Hogwarts [crackfic, Harry/Draco, PG-13] - 02

Ms Robin Hobb? Eat me, bitch. No love, f.

On that cheery note: crackfic, part the second!

Title: My Big Phat Hogwarts [2 of 3]
Author: furiosity
Genre: Crackfic/Parody/AU
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning(s): Shamelessly steals from all kinds of pop culture. Any resemblance to Harry Potter canon is purely coincidental.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Length: 11K words
Summary: Because Dumbledore is an evil old coot, it's the Dark Side versus the Wildcats, the ultimate showdown. Featuring Rastafarian Hufflepuffs, a deranged chihuahua, public snogging, a disillusioned Snape, junior Death Eaters and crack. Lots of crack.
Beta: None.
Note: Thank you to ldymusyc for certain clothing choices and tangleofthorns for Snape's rap.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.

My Big Phat Hogwarts [2]


TEN MONTHS LATER

"Draco, it's almost time."

Draco looked up from where he was sitting on his bed. He squinted at Blaise, who was looking down at him with something akin to pity. He held out his arm to Draco, who grabbed onto it and pulled himself up. He nudged Blaise in the chest with his shoulder. "Thanks, my man. You really needn't worry. Potter's arse is so mine in this battle."

Blaise folded his arms and pursed his lips. "If you say so." He turned around and looked at Crabbe and Goyle, who were tying their bandannas around their shaved heads. "Yo, Kon Man, SneakEZ, my homies. Time to jet," he said. Crabbe and Goyle straightened up, awaiting further instructions. Blaise turned back to Draco and rubbed the back of his massive neck. "You comin' with us or what?"

Draco shook his head. "I gotta spend some time in the little boys' room. You know, make sure I look presentable and shit."

"Aight, dawg," said Blaise. "Make sure you're ready in fifteen."

Draco nodded and watched them leave the dormitory, feeling as though several million cats had taken up residence in his stomach and were using the lining for a scratching post. Figuratively speaking. After he could no longer hear their voices from the hallway, he walked to the bathroom and shut the door tightly behind himself. He couldn't believe the day had come at last.

Draco studied himself ever so critically in the bathroom mirror. Turning a bit, he lifted up his wife beater and made sure that the waistband of his underpants (proclaiming "Bob Joxer") stuck out just so above his belt. He ran his hands through his blond hair and cocked an eyebrow at his reflection. Perfect. He turned on his heel and left the bathroom. He paused in front of the cloak rack and briefly debated wearing his faux dragonskin jacket, but decided against it. When Draco left the Slytherin dungeon, he was startled by Snape, who stood just outside the door, looking menacing.

"Good evening, Professor," said Draco cordially.

Just then, there was an ear-splitting shriek of "I AM THE GREAT CORNHOLIO!" and Neville sped past them. He was wearing a turban of some sort.

"Scary-ass motherfucker's been smokin' somethin' funny again," remarked Snape. He began to walk alongside Draco as they headed towards the stairwell that led to the entrance hall. "I don't understand, Draco. You haven't done anything asinine this week. Are you not feeling well?"

Draco shook his head. "It's just pre-battle nerves, Professor. Millicent's been teaching me breathing exercises, too."

Snape let out a horrified little gasp, which was really quite subtle because come on, this is Snape we're talking about. "Millicent? As in Bulstrode? For the love of Merlin and all the monthly wizards, stay away from her. If you two ever decided to breed, evil would truly walk the earth."

With a smirk, Draco looked sideways at Snape. "Don't worry, sir. Breeding is not on my list of life's ambitions."

Snape looked shocked for a moment as he processed this new data. "I need a vacation," he said rather abruptly. He turned around and headed the other way.

Shrugging, Draco hurried up the stairs. The entrance hall was deserted; there was a low hum coming from the Great Hall. Draco flung open the doors and stood in the entryway, glaring around. The conversation and clink of Butterbeer bottles seemed to dull a bit as people started to turn around to look at him. Draco stepped across the threshold and made his way towards the Slytherins, who were gathered near the left side of the stage that had been set up for the occasion. The Great Hall was decorated in Slytherin and Gryffindor colours; the head table had been moved off to the side to make room for the stage. The student tables were nowhere to be seen.

People were milling about, talking in low voices and drinking Butterbeer and possibly stronger beverages, though there was no way to tell. A group of dejected-looking Hufflepuffs sat on the floor near the head table as McGonagall lectured them about fire safety in the Great Hall. Even McGonagall had swapped her usual witch's hat for a bandanna, Draco noticed. Behind them and off to the side, a gaggle of junior Death Eaters were marching around with a sign that proclaimed, "WON'T THE REAL LORD VOLDY PLEASE STAND UP?" As Draco passed the head table, he could have sworn he saw Dumbledore rub his hands together while saying, "Mwee hee hee!" though he couldn't be sure that was it.

Draco ran into something solid and looked up. It was Stanley Shunpike. "'Ello there, Malfoy," he said, a wide grin splitting his pockmarked, spotty face.

"Uh, hi, Mr Shunpike. Once again, I'm very sorry about your sister--"

Shunpike waved him off. "Don' worry 'bout it. I ne'er liked her much anyhow. Good luck up there." With that, he disappeared into the crowd. Draco shrugged and kept walking.

He reached his crew and slapped hands with everybody. Pansy and the other girls were in full battle gear: skimpy tops that concealed almost nothing and low-rider trousers with sayings like "SNAKE IT", "BITCHIWITCH" and "PLAYA 69" across the back. Their outfits were complemented by thick silver hoop earrings and chain-link necklaces that glittered in the blazing candlelight. Pansy and Blaise were flirting, if one could call it that. To Draco, it looked more like Blaise was getting mauled by Pansy, but that in itself was no surprise. To Draco.

"If you want me - where's my dough? Give me money, buy me clothes. No need for talkin', have my dough. Where's my money? Where's my clothes?" sang Pansy, her arm loose around Blaise, her hand on his shoulder. She was pressing herself to his side, moving to an imaginary beat. Blaise looked like he was having trouble breathing.

"You wearin' your Brunhilda's Secrets and your Gladrags," rapped Blaise, his voice an octave lower than usual, "wanted to wander 'round the shop, instead I took you to Three Broomsticks - to entertain you, to DO YOU TO THE G, and never claim you--"

Pansy leant closer to Blaise and nuzzled his ear. "Why you all in my grill?" She ran her finger down the side of his face. "Can you pay my bills?" She grabbed his arse and licked his ear. Blaise looked like he was witnessing the Second Coming, or some shit. "Lemme know if you will." Pansy hopped up and wrapped her legs around Blaise's waist. Blaise held her up with an expression of pure bliss on his face. Pansy's low-riders slid down slightly, exposing a bit of arse just above the silver "SNAKE IT" on the tight green fabric. "'Cause a chick gotta live," murmured Pansy, resting her head on her own arm, which was now hooked firmly around Blaise's neck.

"Unh, unh, unh," said Daphne, poking Blaise experimentally with her spork. He jumped and dropped Pansy to the floor.

"So you finally bagged him," said Draco to Pansy when she was done glaring at Daphne and dusting herself off.

"Finally-- what?" said Blaise, looking like Goyle did while working on Arithmancy homework.

Pansy and Draco exchanged looks and both rolled their eyes. "Really, Bizzy," said Draco, clapping him on the shoulder. "Keep up, man."

The little spectacle had taken his mind off the main event and he was grateful for it, but now the scratching cats from before were back in his belly. Shifty Baddock sat off to one side, fiddling with a wizarding boom box that looked suspiciously like Pince's. Just as Draco started to turn towards him to ask the time, the Great Hall went very quiet. Draco looked up and saw Hermione "Missy" Granger silhouetted in the doorway, looking cocky as ever. She was flanked by a group of Gryffindor girls Draco didn't know and didn't care about.

Behind him, the wizarding boom box roared to life and an ear-pounding beat split the air. Pansy and the Slytherin girls began to dance, chanting, "Who let the dogs out? Who, who, who, who? Who let the dogs out?" over and over again. The Gryffindor girls made their way towards the other end of the stage, moving to the beat but sneering at the Slytherins. Draco looked to his right and saw that the other Gryffindors were huddled together, watching the girls approach. The music stopped just as they reached the stage and Granger made a rude gesture in Pansy's direction.

"Can you believe it?" fumed Pansy. "They totally stole our idea for clothes!"

Draco glanced at Granger and noticed that indeed, she was wearing a pair of low-rider red trousers with "MISS PERFECT" in large gold letters across the arse. Gold hoop earrings glittered in her ears; the other Gryffindor girls were outfitted similarly.

"Well, you were here first," said Draco in a tone he hoped was consoling. Pansy sniffed, indignation marring her cute pug-nosed face.

"What the fuck is she doing? Performing the Spank Me and Fuck Me Like a Whore dance?" she said, rolling her eyes at Granger.

Blaise was staring at Granger with an expression of great distaste. "I could have her under the table at the Three Broomsticks sucking me off before Rosmerta arrived to take our drink orders."

The Slytherins laughed derisively, as only Slytherins can, immediately drawing all sorts of dirty looks from the Gryffindors.

Draco walked across the floor that separated the two sections of stage, his posse following in his wake. The Gryffindors were fawning over Potter, who was looking resplendent in snug black jeans and a black tank top that was tight enough to reveal his Quidditch-toned abdominals. Draco watched with no small amount of fascination as Potter yanked a water bottle from Weasley's hands, unscrewed the cap and poured the water all over himself. Draco started to drool, but caught himself just in time.

Potter turned to Granger. "I am the ultimate badass. State of the badass art," he said in smug tones. Granger gazed up at him adoringly and gave his water-stained glasses a tap of her wand, clearing the water off them.

Draco scoffed loudly, and several of the Gryffindors turned to stare at him. Just then, a loud voice came from the faceless mass of spectators; Draco knew it could belong to none other than Colin Creevey.

"Yo! Harry! Kick ass!" shouted Creevey.

Potter preened a bit. "Anytime. Anywhere," he said, smirking at Draco.

"Ponce," said Draco loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Fuck you," said Potter, his pretty green eyes flashing dangerously in a way that always made Draco's heartbeat speed up just a little.

"Anytime. Anywhere," said Draco, leering.

Potter's expression changed to one of mild panic. "What the fuck are you saying, man? I'm not a homo. I'll kick your arse, Buttercup."

Draco felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He mustered up enough energy to sneer, trying to ignore the wretched feeling that was tightening his chest. "He who laughs last, laughs best, Potter," he said. With that, he turned around and led his Slytherins back to their corner. The Gryffindors catcalled after them.

Once they were back, Theodore assumed a position of great importance. "Hear me, my brothers. Prior to this day, we've postured. We've procrastinated. We've pretended. We've -- well I can't think of other p-words, but we've probably done them too. The only thing we haven't done is help Draco practise."

Draco gave him a sceptical look. "Isn't it a bit late in the game to be practising? Besides, I could do this blindfolded with both hands tied behind my back."

"We need puns. Lots of puns," said Shifty sagely, completely ignoring Draco.

Theodore rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "How's this?" He drew himself up to full height, and recited, "'Cause you don't know me, I don't know you--"

"So don't approach me, I won't approach you--" Crabbe continued.

Goyle picked it up. "And don't insult me, I won't insult you--"

Draco quickly racked his brain for a suitable line. "'Cause you don't know what I will or I won't do," he finished, grinning.

The boys began to high-five each other as the girls squealed excitedly. The tension that had been building in the Great Hall for quite some time was working itself into a kind of dull frenzy. Blaise cuffed the back of Draco's head lightly and pointed at the head table. Dumbledore had risen.

The headmaster cleared his throat, wheezed a bit, and adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "There is a time for speech making but that time is not now. Entertain us!"

"Heh. He said 'anus'," muttered Shifty as he and Draco climbed up onto the makeshift stage. It wobbled a bit, but held.

Draco clapped Shifty on the shoulder and stood there, facing Potter as he had far too many times in the past seven years. This was it: the final showdown, the big opportunity for Draco to finally put the bastard in his place. Potter looked supremely cocky and entirely unconcerned with what was going on. Shifty stepped between them and looked from one boy to the other. The crowd below was eerily silent, with the occasional hysterical "mwee hee hee" drifting through the air from the direction of the staff table.

"All right, sweethearts, you know the drill," said Shifty. "Pick a side, flip a coin, fuck a chicken, lick a chicken, suck a chicken, beat a chicken, eat a chicken like it's a big cock-- oops. Yeah, well, you know what to do." He hoisted himself up onto the desk where he'd previously deposited the wizarding boom box and stared at the both of them expectantly.

Potter fished a Galleon out of his pocket and handed it to Draco. "Ladies first," he said in a low purr.

"Fuck you," said Draco in a dignified tone. It was all he could do not to tackle Potter to the ground just then. Feeling a bit wobbly in the knees, he took the Galleon. "Heads," he said, and tossed the coin into the air. It flipped over several times, and a bell on the soundtrack indicated that this was a very dramatic moment for all involved. The Galleon landed on Draco's outstretched palm. Tails.

"Once a loser, always a loser," remarked Potter. "You can keep that as a consolation prize," he added, nodding at the Galleon.

Draco's eyes narrowed. He closed his palm around the coin, then slapped it flat against Potter's chest. "I don't do charity," he growled, his hand still on Potter's chest. He could feel Potter's heartbeat like this, and that was not good at all. "Maybe Weasley will want it, though," Draco finished, pushing Potter a little and backing away. The Galleon slid down Potter's body and clattered to the floor.

"Suit yourself," said Potter. He picked up the wizarding mic proffered by Shifty and blew into it. "Yo, it's time to get rid of this coward once and for all. I'm sick of the pointy git. Check this shit out." He lowered the mic and turned towards the crowd.

"Sixty seconds, Potter," warned Shifty, and flipped the switch on the boom box. A generic beat filled the air and Potter raised a hand into the air as he raised the mic to his lips again.

I'll spit a racial slur, pure-blood, sue me.
This shit is a horror flick,
but the half-blood doesn't die in this movie!

The Gryffindors hooted and hollered appreciatively. Draco frowned. What the hell was a "horror flick" or a "movie"? He didn't have time to dwell on it, because Potter kept going.

Fuckin' wit' the Potter, dawg, you gotta be kiddin'!
Makes me believe you really don't have an interest in livin'!
You think these wizards gonna feel the shit you wheeze?
I got a better chance of joining the Death Eaters.

The junior Death Eaters in the crowd made loud jeering noises. "Fuck you too!" yelled one of them. Potter whirled around, flipped them the "v" and went on.

On some real shit, though, I like you

What? Draco attempted to keep his eyes in their sockets.

I didn't wanna be the one you commit suicide to.
But oh well, if you gotta go, then you gotta go!
I hate to do this, I would love for this shit to last
So I'll take pictures of my rear end so you won't forget my arse

With a vicious smirk, Potter turned around and pulled his jeans down. With a mixture of growing alarm and inexplicable glee, Draco noted that Potter wasn't wearing underpants. Potter pulled his trousers back up and turned to Draco, gesturing with his elbow.

And all's well that ends well, ok?
So I'll end this shit with a "FUCK YOU, BUT HAVE A NICE DAY!"

Potter raised his arms above his head. The crowd went wild. The Gryffindor girls produced cratefuls of women's undergarments from somewhere and began tossing the knickers at Potter with cries of "pwnz0r, yo!" Potter folded his arms across his chest and leant slightly backwards, smirking at Draco. Draco's lower lip shook involuntarily. Potter had somehow found out about his crush, there was no other explanation for the tack he'd taken in his freestyle. Potter dangled the mic in front of Draco, then let it drop when Draco made no move to take it.

"Choke! Choke! Choke! Choke! Choke!" chanted the crowd.

Fucking sheep. How Draco hated them. He bent down to pick up the mic, which was slightly clammy to the touch -- had Potter's palms been sweating? Draco smiled suddenly, grasped the mic and straightened up.

"Hit it, Shifty," he barked. "You're going down, four-eyes," he said to Potter.

"Sixty seconds!" yelled Shifty. The beat started.

Draco flexed his arms and stalked up to Potter, who looked taken aback. Somewhere in Draco's brain, a synapse fired and words flooded his mind. He raised the mic to his mouth and began to rhyme.

This guy keeps screamin', he's paranoid!
Too bad his arse is the one gonna get destroyed.

Draco slapped Potter's arse as he strode past him on the stage, bobbing his head in tune with the beat. Potter's face went a brilliant shade of pink.

"Blabbity bloo blah blah blabbity blooh blah!"
I ain't hear a word you said, "hippidy-hooblah!"
Is that a tank top, or a new bra?

Draco reached out with his hand, pulled on Potter's tank top and released it, relishing the satisfying snapping sound it made. Potter flinched and backed off a step, looking puzzled.

Matter of fact, dawg, here's a pencil
Go home, write some shit, make it suspenseful,
And don't come back until something dope hits you
Tank top screamin', "Potter, I don't fit you!"

Draco snapped Potter's tank top again, feeling the words overwhelm him. There was nothing Potter could say or do now; Draco was in his element, bitches.

You see how far those pure-blood jokes get you?
Can't see how Draco Malfoy's gonna diss you?"
My motto: Fuck Potter!

He caught a breath, half-expecting the beat to stop, but it was still going. Draco turned to face the crowd and lifted his mic-less arm.

Now everybody who's a true emcee
Put your motherfucking hands up and follow me.

Many people in the crowd raised their hands and began to cheer. In the Slytherin section, Pansy and Daphne had the floor, doing one-handed two-foot applejacks to rhythmic applause from everyone around them. The Gryffindors looked like they were going to charge the stage any minute now. Draco pointed the mic at Potter, then put it back to his mouth.

Now while he stands tough,
Notice that this man does not have his hands up!

There was a roar of laughter from the crowd. Potter backed up a little, bumping the desk which held the wizarding boom box. Draco grinned and shook his hair out of his face.

These Wildcats got you gassed up,
Now who's afraid of the big bad cat?
This boy aint no motherfuckin' emcee,
I know everything he's got to say against me!

Draco walked close to Potter and stared him down, the mic clutched tightly in his hand. Potter's eyes weren't flashing prettily this time, they were impossibly wide and round behind his spectacles. Draco couldn't blame him -- they'd never battled before; Potter probably had no clue what he was getting into.

I am a pure-blood, I am fuckin' poor, my dad does drive the Knight Bus,
My friends are all Slytherins, but this shit - it don't reach us.
It's been seven years, we've had hundreds of spats,
I'm still standin' here screamin' "FUCK THE WILDCATS!"

Potter was blinking rapidly and leaning backwards, because Draco was now flush against him, pressing him into the desk. Was that an unusually thick wand in Potter's pocket or was he...

The beat stopped. Draco took in a huge breath and tightened his fingers around the mic, ignoring Shifty's frown.

Fuck the beat, I go a capella.
Fuck a Potter, fuck a clock, fuck a pure-blood, fuck everybody
Fuck y'all if you doubt me,
I'm a piece of fucking white trash, I say it proudly.
And fuck this battle, I don't wanna win, I'm outty,
Here, tell these people something they dont know about me.

He shoved the mic at Potter's chest and the Great Hall was filled with the thundering sound of Potter's heartbeat. Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump. Like a rap beat, only Draco was having trouble coming up with any words all of a sudden. He stared at Potter's face -- his hair, still wet from his earlier performance with the water bottle, framed it with inky black strands -- and found he couldn't look away. Draco knew he'd won the battle -- the cheers from the crowd were positively deafening, far louder than what Potter's pitiful performance had garnered. And that was no wand in Potter's pocket, either. Here was Draco's chance to take what he'd wanted for so long and damned if he was going to pass it up.

Draco leant forward and kissed Potter, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Potter's tank top, around the mic he still held. Potter gave a little whimper that was lost in the quickened heartbeat that filled the Great Hall then -- ka-thump-ka-thump-ka-thump -- like somewhere someone was knocking insistently on a door. Draco pushed his tongue against Potter's lips, which parted, and there it was: Draco Malfoy was French-kissing Harry Potter in the middle of the Great Hall, with the whole school watching. Draco found that he was rather uninterested in who was watching. The most interesting thing was that Harry Potter was kissing him back.

Draco shifted his hips and deepened the kiss. Potter's mouth was sinfully hot and Draco thought he should stop, but instead he put his mic-free hand on Potter's arse, because hello, hormones? Like lightning, Potter pushed him away forcefully, upending the desk and sending both Shifty and boom box to the floor with it. Potter backed away a little more, then spat violently on the ground with an expression of supreme disgust on his face.

"You're a fag," he said with an unfocused look in his eyes. "A fucking faggot."

"And you're a fucking coward," said Draco. That fucking hurt, but Draco wasn't about to show it.

He released the mic and it dropped to the floor at Potter's feet with a dull thud that echoed all around the Great Hall. Draco hopped off the stage and stomped towards the doors, shoving stunned-looking students out of his way.

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With love and kisses to Eminem, Missy Elliot and the film 8 Mile, from which lyrics were shamelessly stolen and bastardised for the purposes of this production. And an uncountable number of Hollywood movies (among them Aliens, Rush Hour 2, Next Friday, Ten Things I Hate About You, She's All That, American Pie, Fallen, etc). *facepalm* Yeah, if you recognised something, it's most likely been expropriated. See the disclaimer for further clarification.
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