Title: Just One Song, Draco

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters you see here. That belongs to JK Rowling and other wonderful people that are not me.

Warning: Un-beta'd, Slash, Vulgar language, Mentions of sex, drugs, and alcohol, and bovine flatulation. Crack!Fic (as are most of my fics...), somewhat OOC, and possibly an over-rating rating.

Pairing: H/D

Summary: Draco wants to be in a band. Nonsense ensues.

Author's Notes: This story was not supposed to be as long as it is, but there's not much I can do about that now.

Just One Song, Draco


Harry Potter didn't bother to look up from the post when he replied, "Yes. What is it?"

"I want to be in a band." That made Harry look up. His reward for his effort was to see his current lover, Draco Malfoy, decked out in an outfit that would have done Bruce Springsteen proud. A red bandana was tied around his forehead, forcing the normally tame blonde hair to tuft out a bit above it. He was wearing a white t-shirt and ripped denims with tatty trainers. The shirt was tucked in to reveal a worn brown belt holding up his dungarees. Considering that Draco was far surpassing the age that such an outfit would be appropriate, Harry worried slightly for his boyfriend's sanity. Then, of course, he noticed how deliciously tight the pants were around Draco's bottom and across his bits and worried slightly for his own sanity.

"Draco, what are you wearing?" he asked.

"Oh, this? This is just a bunch of stuff I dug up, you like it?" Draco asked, turning around a full circle, giving a full view of the tightly clothed arse of Harry's desires. He suppressed his whimper with a firm grip.

"Draco," Harry said, doing his best to sound reasonable to the other. "You don't own a pair of dungarees."

"Oh, well, no I didn't," Draco agreed. "But I can hardly be in a band without a few pairs." Were there more of these pants? Harry felt himself salivating as his oblivious boyfriend turned about again.

"Wait, you want to be in a band?" Harry asked. He hadn't really acknowledged that fact once he saw the pants.

"That's what I've been telling you, idiot," Draco replied, crossing his arms and posing in a way that made Harry's gut tingle. "Have you not been listening?"

"Of course I have," Harry replied, shaking his head of the denim distraction. He forced his vision to focus on the post instead. "Do you play any instruments?" he asked. A bark of laughter nearly rattled him into looking up again but he stubbornly kept his gaze averted.

"Instrument? Why the hell would I need one of them?" Harry looked up in surprise.

"You need an instrument in order to-," Draco was lounging against the counter, practically burning in aloofness. The blonde was practically ripped out of the movie Rebel without a Cause and shoved into their kitchenette. Harry swallowed audibly before glancing back down to regain his thoughts. "In order to be in a band, you need to play an instrument."

"But can't I just be lead singer?" Draco asked.

"Can you sing?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. The silence answered his question for him. "Then I think you should probably pick up an instrument as well."

"Fine, fine, I suppose my ingenious scheme needs a bit of revision."

When Harry looked up again, Draco was gone, along with his pants. Harry sagged into his chair, whether out of relief or disappointment, he didn't know. He decided it was best, however, to take a shower, and most possibly a very necessary wank.


One week later, Harry was sitting in front of the television, watching something about bovine flatulation on BBC when he heard Draco call his name. "In here!" he shouted. He didn't have long to wait before he heard Draco come through the hallway to stand behind the couch. He stayed quiet a moment, during which Harry guessed Draco was being sucked into the television program by the drawling sounds of scientists discussing the impact of cow farts to global warming. Harry muted the television and turned to face Draco and was floored again for the second time in a week.

Once again, Draco was wearing an outfit that Harry was very unaccustomed to. This time, he was sporting a baseball cap that had the bill pointing backwards. He wore a baseball shirt that had the U.S. baseball team The New York Yankees™ branded across his chest. Harry had a feeling that Draco didn't even know what a Yankee was, but that was not what made his parts twitch. Held up by a studded belt was another pair of jeans and they were, if possible, tighter than the last pair Harry had caught the blonde in. Suddenly, his mouth was dry. "What're you dressed up for?" he asked, once managing the art of speaking again.

"Vince liked my idea of starting a band," Draco said. It was as if influenced by the outfit, he was lounging again, and his tone a bit rougher than his usual high-class way. "So we will be convening in his garage."

"Just you two?" Harry asked. That didn't sound like much of a band.

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "Vince said he knows people."

"Knows people?" Harry asked, confused.

"Yeah, you know, connections," Draco said brightly, saying the word 'connections' as if it meant something much more than Harry could understand. "Anyway, I've got to go." Harry watched as the tightly clad arse walked out the front door before sighing and turning the volume back up on the television.

"Yes, Dr. Randolph it's quite interesting what can happen when you cross a cow at just the right moment and…"


Harry hadn't understood the impact Draco's band making would have on their lifestyle at the time. Ever since that afternoon, Draco wore jeans practically every day, each pair tighter than the last. He gave up his styled hair for a far looser, wild look and took to wearing sunglasses even indoors. Also his vocabulary became far more enriched by such words as "Righteous", "Dude", and "Man." He gave up other things as well. It was common now to see a bit of facial hair on the once perfectly smooth chin and upper lip. His reason was that he was being "Overpowered by the music" and therefore didn't have time for such menial chores as shaving. Draco had decided to play the guitar, which was the only reasonable instrument he could move from his apartment to Crabbe's garage without damage. He practiced everywhere, all the time. If he'd had this much determination to win at quittich, Harry reckoned, then he would have been a far more formidable opponent during their school years.

And what was Harry doing during all of this? He was watching, and making sure that the other didn't tip too far over the edge. He didn't really love the changes that Draco was going through-sparing the jeans of course- but he could handle them. All that Harry cared about was that Draco was happy doing what he was doing and keeping himself busy while Harry was working. When Draco had come home reeking of sweat and alcohol, Harry would force the other into the shower until he no longer smelled. When he'd decided that the beard and mustache would be a permanent accessory, Harry got used to being bristled by the harsh hairs against his lips.

One thing Harry refused to deal with was the drugs. Working as an Auror meant that he could get in trouble if he were affiliated with anything on this side of being illegal. Draco tried to convince him after Harry saw the needle tracks in his arm that it wasn't as bad as all that. In fact, he told him, it felt fucking awesome. After Draco got kicked out of the house and was forced to stay on Pansy's couch for a week, he saw differently and Harry allowed the up and coming rock star back into their home.

Not all was bad about the transformation, however. For one thing, Draco had become rather touchy-feely as he became more of a "sensitive, tortured soul." Harry didn't give two fucks what that meant other than the fact that now they could cuddle after sex, which had been something he'd craved since they first began sleeping together. He also tended to spout random poetic lines at Harry while they made love which, given at the right points, could send Harry right over the edge. It was also a miraculous day when Draco had decided to get an ear piercing.

If Harry had thought the jeans were hot- which they were, both on and when Harry was ripping them off- then he had no idea how to describe the fire in his belly when Draco came home with a glinting silver hoop hanging off his ear. Neither had expected the reaction from him at the small earring, but when it was discovered, it was often played with and fondled by one Harry Potter.

It was about three months after the idea for a band had come up that Draco told Harry that his band-which had gone through the band names Draco and the Others, A Blonde, A Couple Of Brunettes and a Bald Guy, and The Butterscotch Krumpets (apparently Crabbe had been really hungry in contributing the name) and finally chose the name Your Royal Sons- was playing their first gig that Friday.

"It's gonna be righteous, Hare", Draco said in the strange lovechild dialect of Bronx and Surrey. Harry wasn't really sure when his name had gotten shortened throughout this whole ordeal or when Draco had adapted this very, very weird accent, but it was all past now. "You're gonna come right?"

"Of course I'm coming," Harry replied with a sigh, once again watching the television. Having gotten used to Draco walking around in jeans all the time, he managed to keep his eyes to the screen without too much of a hassle. That was, of course, until he felt two hands rest on his shoulders and run up and down his arms. The prickly lips that descended unto his neck massaged it with his lips, tongue, and a bit of teeth. Harry shivered.

"And then, after the show, we can celebrate," Draco murmured into his ear. Harry shut his eyes and leaned back against the couch. He felt as Draco climbed over the back of the couch and straddled his legs. His mouth had unlatched from his neck by this point and now he had his arms wrapped around Harry's torso and his lips firmly attached to the other's lips. As Harry whimpered, a hot tongue burst into his mouth, eager to touch every bit of Harry's mouth with its lavish heat. Harry felt his chest press up into Draco's. Arms unwrapped from his back and now pushed down against Harry. They continued to push against the couch until it fell over, pitching Draco forward and unhooking his mouth from Harry's. Harry's head hit the floor with a smack and he groaned at the headache that already was beginning from the harsh awakening. "You're all right?" Draco asked, cupping the other's head. Harry winced.

"Fine," he replied. It was only a few moments before they found themselves laughing at the stupid predicament they'd gotten themselves into before they began to kiss again. Then Draco got up and got ready for band practice and Harry got up and got ready for work.


It was Friday. Harry was able to tell because he was in a low-lit bar, amidst loud drunkards, and a stench of alcohol that was winding throughout the entire establishment. Feeling slightly out of place in the midst of black clothed, face painted muggles, Harry was dressed in a green jumper-which he thanked Merlin was not argyle- and khakis. His excuse could be, of course, that he had come home from work and had barely any time to pick out his outfit. However, he knew that his wardrobe didn't have much else than jumpers and khakis. There were a few pairs of jeans, but all of them were at the bottom of his lowest drawer. He'd grown into this style after Draco had condemned him for his t-shirt-with-loose-jean wearing ways. Of course, Draco had changed his own style into a rougher, less meticulous one, but Harry had become content with this wardrobe and kept it throughout the style upheaval that his lover went through.

That didn't make him feel any more comfortable in this crowd though. He suddenly began feeling his age as he looked at the younger faces around him. Of course, being thirty-some-odd years wasn't really that old. Still, he felt like he stood out amongst the group of young twenty-some-odds that were probably fresh out of university or less.

His discomfort was forgotten when Draco's band was announced. He watched as his lover and four other band members came unto the stage. The other band members were all from Harry's years at Hogwarts: Crabbe, the drummer, Seamus, the bassist, Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff as the lead guitarist, and most surprisingly there was Colin Creevey who was the lead singer. Even though it went against protocol for the lead singer not to announce each song, Harry wasn't surprised when Draco stepped forward to be the back up guitarist/ vocalist and MC.

"Good Evening, ladies and gents, we're Your Royal Sons." There was a very excited holler towards the back which was accompanied by a few more excited screams. Harry had to hide a smile as he watched Draco's chest lift just a little higher as his confidence-and most likely his ego- grew. He introduced the first song and after the count-off the band began to play.

The first song started out a little shaky, and Harry could see the nerves rankling through the group as the audience watched them. However, once Colin began to sing the lyrics to the song- Harry was pretty positive it was a cover of some famous rock band- with a confidence that Harry had never seen in him at Hogwarts, he rallied the morale of the other members. By the time the second chorus came around, the audience was singing along with Colin and the rest of the band with equal amounts of enthusiasm as they'd had during the previous band. Harry looked on proudly as he drank his beer and he clapped enthusiastically at the end of the number.

Harry managed to catch Draco's eye during the applause, and saw the blonde's lips turn up in a small smile. With a wink that made Harry's heart leap, Draco turned to look at the band and then announced the next song and they were playing again.

By the end of the night, the band had gotten a rather warm and welcoming round of applause and screams from the crows as they walked off the stage in their sweaty glory. Harry was genuinely surprised with the group of talented men. Even Draco who was very new to the game had done pretty damned well too. Harry managed to get backstage after telling the security his name and followed them to the band's dressing room. He stood outside the door and even from where he stood he could hear the hollers of the band members inside. Opening the door, the men whipped their heads around and Draco ran towards him and enveloped him in a tight, wet hug.

"You guys were great!" Harry said after Draco managed to un-slick himself from Harry's front. "The crowd loved you!"

"They did! It was so radical," Colin said with a spark of life in his eyes that Harry had remembered seeing when he'd gotten a particularly good picture during Hogwarts. Harry grinned at him and then at the others as they jumped around in excitement.

Harry was talking to Ernie when all of them turned around to see Draco outside of the room talking to another man. They went quiet for a moment, but it was only a few more seconds before Draco nodded and re-entered the room. "Dude what's going on?" Seamus asked. The others murmured the same question as they waited for the quiet blonde to reply. He did.

"It was a scout. Apparently, he liked our playing," he said.

"What's that mean?" Crabbe asked.

"Well it means," Ernie cut in, "that he thought we were good."

"Not quite," Draco said. "He said he needed to hear more of our own stuff before he can really decide that."

"We've got our own stuff, Draco!" Seamus exclaimed. "Did you tell him that? Maybe we can play it for him later or something?"

Draco shook his head. "Our stuff isn't that great yet, guys," he reminded them

"So what?! He just wants to hear it. He thinks we're good, man!" Seamus said, pumping his fists.

"So what?" Draco asked. "What do you mean, 'so what?'? I don't want to show people music that isn't ready for the public to hear yet."

"But we can make it big, Draco," Seamus said eagerly. "Come on, this never happens, Draco. Never. Most bands have to play a million gigs before they get a chance like this, and we got it our first try."

"We can't play something that we don't have," Draco replied shaking his head.

"We do have something, though," Seamus said, getting frustrated at Draco.

"No, we're not playing that yet," Draco snapped.

"Not playing what?" Harry asked, following the conversation but just barely. Crabbe filled him in.

"Draco wrote a song that we've been working on. It's pretty good, considering that he's new. Plus, the rest of us sort of tweaked and refined the tunes a bit, but the lyrics are good."

"We're not playing that song," Draco said, adamantly.

"But that's the only one we've got so far," Seamus complained.

"Exactly," Draco replied, "Which means that we're not going to play it yet. We have to write more."

"He's just asking for one song," Seamus persisted.

"Why is it so important that we talk to this guy, Seamus?" Colin asked. "I thought we were just doing this for fun."

"We are," Seamus assured. "But we can also do it for more than just fun if Draco just tells the damned guy that we can play something for him."

"I'd be lying," Draco replied. Harry shifted back as he saw the rose of Draco's cheeks brighten in his underlying irritation. "Seamus, just stop," Draco said in a sigh. "That's not what this is all about, anyway."

"Then what is it about?" Seamus snapped. "'Cause I don't want to waste my time if we're not doing this band thing for a reason." The silence in the room absorbed the celebration right out of the room like a vacuum.

"We play," Draco replied, coldly, "because of the music." Seamus looked shocked at the answer. "We don't play for the money. We don't play for the fame, the celebrity, the status. We don't play for the audience, the scouts, even for ourselves. We play for the music and if that's not what you're playing for then find a new band." The silence still was deafening. However, instead of leaving, Seamus slowly deflated and sat on the couch.

"I need a beer," he muttered. And that was the end of that. It wasn't long before everyone was laughing again and they all decided it was time to head for home. Harry and Draco floo'd to their living room and crashed on the couch, both smelling of alcohol, smoke, and rock and roll.

"Tonight was good," Draco sighed, sounding content. Harry grinned, wrapping an arm around Draco as the other leaned his head against his shoulder.

"You know," Harry said. "I liked what you said earlier about why you play." He grinned. "Who knew you were hiding a philosopher under your bratty exterior." Draco weakly smacked a pillow into Harry's head with a laugh.

"Yeah, well, who knew you were hiding an old man under your knitted jumpers. Honestly, Harry, you dress like a forty year old virgin." Draco replied.

"Oh," Harry said, blinking. He didn't know his dress sense now was bothering Draco. "You know, you used to like how I dress."

Probably hearing the underlying hurt in Harry's voice, Draco glanced at him. "I'm sorry," Draco replied. "You're right. I do like how you dress. It's very sophisticated." Then he grinned a little. "It's also unbelievably entertaining to watch you rip off your khakis in a mad dash to get to my arse." Harry shoved him as he laughed. "But, I think I'm going to put away my jeans and go back to my old clothes," Draco announced off hand.

Harry blinked in surprise. "You mean you're giving up this band stuff?" he asked. Draco shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "I'm just tired of this whole 'Rocker' look. It's so boring. Plus the 'stache and the beard are driving me bonkers," Draco confided. It was silent for a moment.

"You're really not going to wear your jeans anymore?"

"Nope," more silence, "Why?"

"Nothing, it just-er-can I help you take them off for the last time?"

"What? Why?"

"No, no reason really. I just want to help and,"

"You want to help me take off my pants?"


"You know you've been doing this a lot lately."

"I know,"

"And it's all because you wish to 'help' me?"


Draco looked at Harry slyly.

"You think I look hot in denims, don't you?"

"Yes" Draco blinked. "I find no reason to deny it."

"Well then, it'd be cruel to deny you the privilege then."

"That would be cruel, yes." Draco leaned in to kiss Harry on the lips. They were kissing for a while before Draco pulled away.

"Wait," he said abruptly. "I am cruel," he continued in realization. With a glint in his eye, he hurried off of Harry's lap and bolted away. It only took a few seconds, and the threat of missing out on Draco's denim clad arse, for Harry to get up and pursue his prey-er-lover.

When the pants were off and the couple lay side by side on their bed, Harry turned to face Draco.


"Yes. What is it?"

"If you get famous and all that rubbish, you're probably going to travel a lot."

"Yeah, that's very likely."

"And if you do that, that means you're going to be away…a lot."

"That's also true."

"And you might start wearing jeans again while you're traveling."

"Is there a point to this Harry?"

"Well, it's just…what if someone tries to take your pants?"

"My pants?"

"Yes, possibly with you inside them?"

"Wait, what are you asking?"

"What would you do if, while you're away, you start wearing jeans and someone wants to take you and your pants?"

And somehow, for reasons unknown to mankind, Draco understood.



"You're the only person that will ever touch my trousers."

Harry grinned. "Promise?"



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