Dancing Queen

Author's Note: Yes, this is the next part in my series of insanity, 'Of Cabbages and Kings', which is a quote from Lewis Caroll's Alice in Wonderland. The Abba songs belong to Abba, strangely enough, and Karma Chameleon belongs to Culture Club, a fab 80's band. All HP related stuff sadly has nothing to do with me, but belongs to JK Rowling. (Although increasingly Warner Brothers too, grrr, bite) Don't take this too seriously, ok guys? It's just a bit of fun. All the same, I'll have my bumper bag of marshmallows ready, for all you flamers out there…

Filled with a mixture of trepidation and intrigue, Ginny followed Harry across the threshold. The flat was vaguely reminiscent of Pan's squat, from all those years ago, although it did not have the pervading smell of a mixture of incense sticks and hash smoke. The magnolia paint was chipping and flaking from the walls, revealing 1960's concrete walls. The old battered table looked as though it had survived at least two world wars, and the plain steel sink in the corner of the kitchen was piled high with dirty plates and cutlery. It was a very typical bachelor pad.

Strangely, Ginny felt tongue-tied. She hadn't seen Harry for years, and it felt like lifetimes. Everything had changed irreversibly, and it was as though she had become entrapped in a time-warp. Harry's features had changed a great deal. His chin was stronger, his eyes deeper, and he had an overall essence of manhood, that had been missing in his teenage years. Ginny felt long-hidden stirrings in her mind and heart. She had forgotten just how he made her feel.

"Nice cuppa Rosie?" Harry asked, an unmistakable East-end accent tinting in his voice. He stood up to make them a cup of tea each. Ginny watched him pour boiling water onto teabags from a cracked aubergine Bentalls kettle, and thought of her own sleek, silver Russell and Hobbs.

"Thanks," she said, cupping the mug with her freshly-manicured fingers. She noticed it had a chip in it, and there was a faded picture of Rupert the Bear on the side.

"How are you?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair to observe her. Ginny had to think for a second before she replied, careful not to sound boastful.

"Oh, well, you know. Can't complain."

Harry glanced up and down, taking in the Chanel suit, and the Rolex on her wrist. "It looks like you've done very well for yourself." He took a self-conscious swig of tea, and picked up his glasses from the table, and polished them on his sleeve. Ginny noted that he had swapped his owlish NHS monstrosities for an all-together more stylish pair of frames, although they looked suspiciously Dolland and Aitcheson. Ah well, she thought. You can't have everything.

"Nice suit," said Ginny, and immediately cringed, for as soon as she heard herself speak, she knew how naff the words sounded. Harry, of course, saw through it in an instant. He grinned boyishly.

"I know, it doesn't quite fit the image of this place, does it!" he said, sweeping an arm around, gesturing at the cramped, dirty flat. "I had a job interview today; I borrowed the suit off of Draco."

Ginny's brain didn't connect the name with the memories for a second. Then it hit her. "Draco!" she exclaimed. "You're still in contact with Draco Malfoy!"

Harry glanced down at his glasses, and polished them on his sleeve again. "Yeah," he said, a half-smile on his face. "Who would have thought it, hey?"

Ginny thought she noted something in Harry's voice that she could not quite pin down.

"So… did you get it?" she asked politely. Harry looked momentarily confused.

"Er… get it?" he asked, almost bashfully.

"The job? The one you went to the interview for?"

"Oh, right!" Harry looked relieved. "Nah, but then I didn't expect to. It was too posh for me."

It was then that Ginny became painfully conscious of her upper-class, BBC-newsreader English accent, in marked contrast to Harry's London speech. There's a turn-up for the books, she thought. At school, she had always been teased mercilessly for having a 'common' accent. She quickly downed the last of her tea, and toyed with the heavy china mug.

"How's Ron?" Harry asked, and Ginny's face clouded darkly.

"I… I haven't spoken to him for years. Or the rest of my brothers. I was ostracized from them, because of the Ministry regulations. How did you manage to keep in contact with Malf- Draco?"

Harry laughed. "You can call him Malfoy if it's easier," he said, shaking back his dark hair out of his eyes. "Well, like you, I lost contact with everyone after the war, something I always regretted. I've spent all these years in London; in the East-end, mainly… doing this and that. I met Draco by chance, in a club as it happens." He fished out a slightly bent cigarette from the pocket in his scuffed donkey jacket, and lit it with a smiley-face lighter. He seemed to remember himself suddenly, and asked; "Would you like one?"

"I've got my own, but thanks." Ginny fished in her Fiorelli handbag for her packet of Silk Cut. "Filthy habit," she muttered to herself.

"I know," said Harry, and Ginny was startled. She hadn't realised he had heard. Harry grinned at her, and Ginny felt the breath catch in her throat, watching him effortlessly blow out a couple of blue-grey smoke rings.

"I really should give up," he said, pensively, pondering the pale yellow stains on his fingers from the tobacco.

"It's always something to put off until next year," said Ginny. "I feel exactly the same." She lit a silk cut, but did not raise it to her lips. She glanced at her watch.

"Shit. Harry, I'm really sorry, I have to get back to work; I've got a meeting in quarter of an hour…" She trailed off, feeling overly self-important.

"No prob. Can I meet you sometime?" he asked. "We ought to stay in touch."

Ginny stuttered. "Harry, it's breaking Ministry rules; bad enough that you and Malfoy are in touch, let alone me as well…"

Harry stubbed out his Marlboro straight onto the table top. "Bollocks to the Ministry, Ginny. It's been seven years. And I doubt that one meeting between a witch and a wizard will single-handedly bring about world war three."

Ginny sighed. "Just once, Harry. Where and when? I know this nice little place-"

Harry cut her off. "Leicester Square station, seven PM, tonight."

"Okay, then." Ginny picked up her coat, and made for the door. As she put her hand on the latch, she felt Harry put his hand on her arm.

"See you tonight," he said.

Ginny walked home in a bit of a daze. On auto-pilot, she wandered to the nearest station, and fished out her weekly travel-card from her pocket.

Sitting on the train, she flicked through the Metro, but was not actually reading it. Harry had changed enormously. Not just his looks, but his whole demeanor. She wondered where he would take her tonight. One of her favourite clubs, the Red Cube, was in Leicester Square; Madonna and Guy had been spotted there the other week. But somehow, she didn't think that was Harry's scene. Ginny fretted over the problem of what to wear. It would be terrible to underdress - but a whole lot worse to overdress. Imagine turning up in a shot-silk sheath dress, to find Harry was taking her to a lorry-driver café. Surely not. Even Harry, in his ripped Ben Sherman shirt and battered old donkey jacket, would take her somewhere nice. Anyway, what was the problem? She could always tactfully suggest the Red Cube or similar, instead…

*

It was a light summer evening, and unusually even London had produced a few sun beams for once. Ginny had just slipped a denim jacket (Donna Karan) over a pale cream summer slip dress; strappy and filmy, just how Ginny liked her clothes.

It had a silk poppy image just below the left shoulder. Not quite dressy enough for Red Cube, but far too overdressed for a transport café. Ginny was fashionably fifteen minutes late, and was pleased to see Harry already loitering by the station's entrance. She smiled as she saw him look up at her; and he returned the smile. Harry was wearing quite a nice outfit, she decided. He had a petrol blue-green shirt on, over plain black jeans that looked washed and ironed.

"So," she said. "Where are we headed for?"

Harry smiled almost mischievously. "A club where Draco works," he said. "It's not far from here."

"Oh, Draco's a barman, is he?" asked Ginny conversationally. Harry chose not to make a reply, and Ginny felt slightly snubbed, and turned her attention to the places they were passing. They walked past the Hippodrome, a large Haigan Dazs café, many dodgy looking people selling cut price tickets to the biggest shows on in the West End.

"Mamma Mia!" shouted a man, who stepped right into her path. "Two ticket for Mamma Mia for you and your boyfriend? Twenty-five quid the pair! Go on, Miss, lovely night out!"

Ginny carefully side-stepped him.

"Don't worry," said Harry cryptically. "You'll get plenty of Abba tonight."

"What?" exclaimed Ginny, images of Abba kariokes swarming her vision. She started to feel a twinge of trepidation. What the hell was she letting herself in for?

They walked down Leicester Square, past the Trocadero, and into China town, the row of shops and restaurants all with the Asian theme.

"Harry? Where are we going? We've passed all the clubs in Leicester Square. Harry!"

Harry merely smiled obnoxiously, and carried on walking. Ginny suddenly realised with horror that they were heading for Soho.

"Here we are," said Harry, stopping eventually outside a building painted all in black. A pink neon sign proclaimed the name 'Fernando's'. Ginny racked her brain, but could not honestly say that she had ever heard of it. Harry chivalrously opened the door for Ginny, who walked timorously in.

She was immediately hit by a blast of 'Super Trouper'. Walking into the smoky club, she grabbed Harry's arm. This was almost frightening. She was used to light, airy clubs, with cocktail bars and fine company. This club was almost entirely populated by men, many large, burly types, drinking beer.

"Drink?" asked Harry.

"Vodka and coke, please," she muttered quietly. It was just as well that Harry was adept at lip-reading, as the booming music quashed her voice entirely. Ginny hurriedly followed him to the bar, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.

She took a huge gulp of her drinking, feeling the need for Dutch courage. Harry sipped his Boddingtons, and regarded her silently. Ginny turned to where the music was coming from. At the back of the club was a rickety stage. Two tall girls were dancing on it to the Abba music. One, a particularly striking girl, was dressed in blue satin flares, knee-high silver boots, and a little blue beaded hat. The other was wearing a frizzy brunette wig, and a white shirt and peasant red skirt, and a red scarf was tied around her neck. They were both milking it for all it was worth, gyrating hips and pouty lips akimbo. Ginny turned to look at Harry, who was just lifting his arm to wave at the stage. The blonde girl waved back, and blew a kiss. Ginny felt a strange twist in her heart.

"Do you know her? The one pretending to be the blonde from Abba?"

"She was called Agnetha," said Harry distractedly. He laughed suddenly, and looked at Ginny, grinning. "You're more gullible than you look!" he said, and Ginny fumed.

"What on earth do you mean?" she ranted.

"There aren't that many girls that tall, darling," he said, and led her into the middle of the room, where many people were dancing. Ginny suddenly realised, and blushed vermilion.

As 'Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Man After Midnight' ended, to rapturous applause, the Agnetha look-a-like leapt off the stage athletically, and bounded up to Harry and Ginny.

"Hello darling," she said in a deep voice, and kissed Harry on both cheeks. "Glad you could make it." Agnetha took off her blonde wig, to reveal short blonde hair, with a green streak in it. Ginny stared at her for several seconds.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. "What the hell?"

Draco swept down and planted a kiss on Ginny's cheek, leaving a scarlet lipstick-print on her skin. "Well, if it isn't young Ron Weasley's little sis!" he exclaimed, and howled with laughter. "How are you these days? Got yourself a fella?" He laughed uproariously. "Love the dress! Where's it from? I could do with a new summer outfit, as it happens…"

"It was a one-off from a little Parisian designer," said Ginny faintly, and she gripped Harry's arm to steady herself.

"Ahh. That is a shame. That colour would have suited me, what do you reckon?" He gave a petulant twirl. "Anyway." He placed a manicured hand on Harry's sleeve. "I must dash darlings, I'm on again in five. Toodle-pip!"

Ginny dragged Harry over to a table at the corner of the room, where she slumped shakily into a chair. "Harry!" she shrieked under her breath. "Why in the name of arse did you not tell me before hand? That was monumentally embarrassing!"

Harry laughed throatily. "I thought I'd surprise you," he said, and chuckled.

Ginny looked at her lap, willing the lingering blush to dissolve from her cheeks. She breathed out heavily. "So… is he… is Draco…?"

"A transvestite?" Harry finished for her. "Transvestite - no. Gay - yes. He just dresses like that for performances in clubs. That's how he ekes out a living."

Ginny looked hard at Harry. "You two look very close," she said carefully. Harry, of course, saw what she was getting at instantly.

"No, I'm not gay, or bisexual. But I am bi-curious."

Ginny felt the words tumble out of mouth before she could stop them. "Sada - Big Brother. Right?"

"You were a closet fan too?" Harry laughed. "I think Anna should have won…"

Suddenly, a familiar guitar twang because audible, which was then added to by a harmonica.

"Ahh," grinned Harry. "Draco's swan song."

Ginny looked eagerly towards the stage; and was not disappointed. Draco burst onto the stage, dressed as Boy George, with multi-coloured Bo Derek braids, a Tinky Winky-esq top hat, and a ruffled white shirt. He was coated in jewelllery and make-up. A roar of applause came up from the crowd. Draco grabbed the mike.

"Desert loving in your eyes, all the way," he sang heartily. Ginny got a fit of giggles.

"I'm a man without conviction. I'm a man who doesn't know. How to sell a contradiction. You come and go. You come and go…"

Harry laughed. "He always does this one last," he shouted to Ginny over the blasting music. Ginny watched Draco prance about on stage, obviously loving every minute.

"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon! You come and go, you come and go. Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dreams… Red gold and green…"

Draco pulled the mike out of its stand, and he screwed up his face in a look of acute pain. "Every day is like suuur-vival," he belted out soulfully. "You're my lover, not my riiiii-val…"

Everyone got on their feet for the chorus, and Harry grabbed Ginny around the waist, and pushed her onto the dance-floor.

"I so glad I found you, Gin," he slurred.

"You've had a few too many, Harry!" she shouted back. Harry merely smiled and danced her up and down, treading on her toes. They turned to look at the stage as the song ended. Draco let out a whoop, and jumped in the air to do the splits.

"Ouch!" said Ginny. 'That must have hurt…"

Draco bounded over to them, bursting through the adoring audience who were trying to hold him back. "What did ya think?" he asked.

"Fantassic!" bubbled Ginny enthusiastically, who had had one too many herself.

"Why thank you, darling! I was think of doing 'It's Raining Men', next time, though. What do you reckon?"

To be continued…