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Keep It on the DL	By : meleighme Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > General - Misc Views: 1315 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Keep It on the DL
- 1
Added Disclaimer: As if JKR would use the characters to make them rockstars. It's a pity because she TOTALLY SHOULD.

Beta'd by Lei! *luffs Lei*
Warnings: It's a crossover. Actually, it's a HP/Crossover/Crossover/RPF. Seriously. (Also, there's hardly enough sex for it to be considered Adult Fan Fiction. But I don't have a website yet, so deal. :D)

A/N: Get it? Cause DL are the Dark Lord's initials? See, and you keep it on the Dark Lord? Because it's a fic about Volde--oh never mind.

****

For years now, the press had been hounding them to take off their masks. No, that was not correct. The press didn't much care about the Death Eaters--they were just a group of lucky men and women. What they wanted to know, what they wanted to find out, was what Lord Voldemort looked like.

The Dark Lord, Severus Snape mentally corrected. That self-absorbed prick.

Thing was, while the Death Eaters could take off their masks when not on stage and walk around freely, their leader could not. For the green skin that had been dubbed a "publicity gimmick"� and the red eyes that were "obscene and unnecessary"� were startling permanent and no longer a mask---if there had ever even been one in the first place.

The bus began to slow down and circle the parking lot, and everyone groaned tiredly. The tour was unexpectedly trying and no one particularly cared for the music any longer. Severus had never cared for it in the first place, but good spies were always able to fake enthusiasm no matter how amateurish and pedestrian the songs were.

"Bloody hell, Cleveland again?"� Lucius Malfoy sat next to him and began tapping his cane against the floor.

Severus glanced out the window. "Really, Lucius, it could be worse. It could be Detroit."�

Lucius made a rather undignified face. "What's the audience like this time? Young, impressionable men?"�

Severus shook his head slowly. "No. It looks like we have entered a part of the country where it's mostly"�"� He squinted his eyes and took in the people that surrounded the parking lot "Twelve to fifteen year old girls. And the occasional mother."�

"Women. My least favorite."� Sighing, Lucius sat back against the plush green, velour seat. "They don't put up a good fight and they don't even have the decency to get scared when I tell them that they are going to die."�

"Maybe if you weren't in the habit of seducing them first."� Severus shrugged. "They probably don't believe you."�

"This is what happens,"� Lucius threw his hands up in exasperation. "When you market songs like Death Kills with a Green Spark."�

"I kind of like that song,"� Macnair yelled out from the driver's seat. "It's got truth to it, you know."�

Lucius crossed his arms and frowned, looking more like Draco than the cool, quasi-mysterious, rock star adult he was supposed to be. Turning away from him, Severus glanced around the bus. Nott was chewing a piece of Muggle gum (green and minty, if the smell was any indication), Macnair was tapping out a redundant and monotonous beat on the steering wheel, and Bellatrix was painting her fingernails black and charming dark marks on the tip in bone-white. She'd sharpened them into points and Severus noticed that--because of her carelessness--she'd already poked holes in various places around her seat. Bellatrix also had scraped off quite a few sequins from his stage robe in a failed attempt to add glitter to her nails, and she'd yet to fix it.

This lifestyle, thought Severus. Has reduced us to children.

As if to underscore his point, Lucius chose that moment to start up his daily whine. "Why does Pettigrew get to ride with the Dark Lord? Have you been on that bus? It is so much nicer than our dismal and cheap accommodations."�

Because the filthy vermin is a simpering, sycophant who makes the Dark Lord feel better about the puerile and utterly nauseating music that he creates, Severus thought to himself.

"Ours is not to understand his ways."� Severus said aloud. Lucius huffed and Severus began to search the couch cushions. "Where is that blasted remote?"�

"You know,"� Lucius rapped his cane against the floor. "It does get old annoying you."�

"I can feel myself about to perish from the ennui."� Severus muttered; flicking away slightly damp crumbs that had fallen between the cracks and were sticking to his skin.

"Oh whatever. What I meant was that I need other stimulus. This bus is boring."� Lucius threw him an evil grin. "Sevvie."�

Growling, Severus abruptly stopped his search and lunged towards Lucius, pressing the tip of his wand underneath Lucius's chin. "Do. Not. Call me that. If you value your"�throat."� Lucius batted the wand away and Severus clenched his fists. "If I find the reporter who printed that horrid, completely false interview and that bloody nickname--"�

"You'll torture, maim, and test your most vile potions on her, yes, yes. We know. Let's see what's on the telly, shall we?"� Lucius reached behind him and brought out the remote.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Has that been there the entire time?"�

Without answering, Lucius pointed towards the screen. A familiar vision of three irritating hairstyles flickered on: garishly bright red, gigantic brown shrubbery, and horribly messy, black hair. Macnair stopped drumming his fingers and groaned out, "Interviews again?"�

Lucius turned up the volume and Potter's friend could be heard throughout the bus.

"He's scared, that's why."�

"Weasley."� Lucius spat out.

The boy kept speaking. "Pretentious enough to quote poetry--Poe--before every show, but he doesn't have the balls--"�

"Ron!"� Granger interrupted him and glanced with wide eyes at the reporter. "Can he say"�that on TV?"�

The interviewer waved her hand and motioned for Weasley to continue.

"As I was saying,"� Weasley glared at Granger. "DL and the DE don't have the--"�

Granger elbowed him again. "Wherewithal."�

He paused. "Right. They won't agree to meet us at a proper battle. Er, of the bands."�

The interviewer perked up at that news and leaned forward. "So the challenge has been set out? A final battle?"�

"Oh for god's sake,"� Lucius threw the remote across the room. "A battle? I have more musical talent just sitting here than all three of them put together."�

"If one were relying on the sheen of your hair to distract the audience from the pathetic screeching you achieve as accompaniment, then I agree."� Severus rubbed his temple and ignored the glare that Lucius shot him. "Now do be quiet, I'm trying to listen."�

"Be that as it may,"� The interviewer was saying. "The Dark Lord--"�

Potter interrupted the interviewer, but the response was bleeped out.

The interviewer's eyes widened. "We can't print that; it's under contract. We'll face lawsuits--"�

"Fine."� Potter said.

After a few seconds of nervous shifting, the interviewer continued. "They say that The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters and their newest album Horcruxes Make Me Hot are going to kill you in record sales; that your music has too much of a message and that mainstream audiences are looking for harmless pop songs. What do you say to the people that think your record's going to die on the shelves?"�

"Well, I'd say,"� There was a slight pause and then Potter turned to look directly at the camera, and seemingly right at Severus. "Just call me the Boy Who Lived."� Potter was beginning to lift his hand to make the familiar rock-out sign, but a bolt of green light flew into the TV and obliterated the image.

Everyone was suddenly thrown forward and jerked to the left as the bus violently swerved and pulled into an impromptu parking spot.

"Tell me,"� Macnair yelled from the front seat. "You did not just Avada Kedavra the telly."�

Rolling his eyes, Severus blocked out Lucius's reply and the ensuing argument, and rested his forehead against the window. A brightly lit sign outside of the stadium proclaimed:

DL AND THE DE'S PLAYING TONIGHT!!

And in smaller, scrolling letters beneath it:

GOOD GUY'S CHALLENGE FOR BATTLE STILL UNMET.

Albus had better have a better plan than "Spy harder"� next time I see him. I don't know how much more I can take.

***

Severus was watching the stage crew set the drums up for the show when an unfamiliar British voice rose above the din. Looking out of the corner of his eyes to try and gauge the identity of the man, Severus tuned into the conversation.

"I don't understand."� The man said. He had a garish two-toned blonde dye job and chipped black nail polish. There were bands around both of his arms, and while his pants were two sizes too big, the green shirt he was wearing was rather snug. The man rubbed his fingers against his chin. "Why are we not the headlining band? We're twice as popular as the Eaters."�

Severus winced and glanced around. If any of the other members had heard that remark, the opening band might have had to cancel because of a mysterious disappearance. The Eaters. Honestly. Turning completely toward the man, Severus glared.

"It would be wise,"� He absently flexed his right hand; his fingers twitching to reach out for his wand. "If you kept your voice down. Surely the rumors of violence and intolerance would have preceded our arrival."�

The man shook one of his brassy highlights out of his eyes, and Severus felt a jolt of desire shoot through him as he noticed that the man had smudged black make-up around his eyes. "Look at that, a minion speaks."� The man's gaze darted to Severus's covered arms. "I wonder"�where did the violent tendencies originate? Too much fun, perhaps?"�

Severus restrained himself from covering his left arm, and instead straightened to his full height, which admittedly wasn't the greatest but it still seemed considerable next to this man--who rather reminded him of an annoying Russian Dwarf. "I find that there are other, more pleasant ways of enduring the tour than by chemical enhancement."�

"Is that so?"� The man asked, raking his eyes over Severus.

"Indeed."�

****

In retrospect, Severus thought. It's a bit depressing that eyeliner is where my standards for attractiveness have fallen. Eyeliner and men who look as though they belong in a reform school for juveniles.

"Be gentle, I have to play tonight. Can't have injured hands."� The man held up his fingers and waggled them and Severus had to bite the inside of his cheek in order to keep from tying the man down right there and whipping him until they both came.

"I promise to be as gentle as the situation permits."� Severus raised an eyebrow as the man practically bounded onto the bed like an overeager puppy and flopped on his back; grinning above a three-day stubble. "Do be still. Otherwise this might not go well."�

The man stretched out over the top of the bedcovers and reached out both arms over his head. "I swear I shall not move or may I disappear off the face of the earth into anonymity."�

"Clothed, then."� And really, clothes didn't matter. They served to maintain the illusion that, perhaps there were people out there that only needed music to play; that only wanted to hear their name shouted out above the crowds and to hear words sung out by the thousands. Pushing the shirt only slightly above a navel that was lightly colored with hair, revealed a smooth, unscarred stomach before Severus--which made it possible to believe that this was all there was in the world . No prying reporters; no demanding Dark Lord asking him to kill some poor, obsessive-if-misguided Muggle fan. The breath the man suddenly sucked in and the barely stifled moan made Severus clench his jaw and restrain himself from covering the man with his body. Instead, he lifted his arm away and ghosted over the stomach that was quivering from the effort of not moving. It was a nice dream, to wish naively for fame and fortune and not have to worry about the bad men offstage.

"What do you want, boy?"� Severus asked and the man arched up off of the bed, trying to get closer to the hovering hand.

"I'd say for you to call me by name, if that boy thing wasn't so hot."�

Severus dipped his head, black hair brushing the man's collar bone as his tongue trailed from the hollow of the man's throat to the bottom line of his jaw, stopping right before the scruff of the new beard started.

Pressing his mouth close to the man's ear, Severus hissed out, "I don't know your name."�

The man stopped mid-groan and twisted his head around to glare at him. "How do you not know my name? I'm in the band before yours. The guitarist for Drive--oh."� He ended in a moan as a long, bony hand found his prick, straining underneath his jeans, and began to stroke up and down. The man let his head hit the back of the pillow. "Nevermind."�

The black eyeliner had smudged even more, making the man look like a failed drag queen then anything else, and Severus lifted his free hand to rub against the smears that were disappearing into dark eyebrows. The man opened his eyes and offered up a lopsided grin. "I know I promised not to move, but I don't think I can keep still."�

Oh, and he was delicious with that uncertain grin and the uneasiness visible just beneath the mask of pride, all from lying still and being looked at.

"If you can't keep your promise,"� Severus smiled. "Don't expect me to keep mine."�

***

The problem with innocence was that it always died, and though sticking around to watch the death of it was ridiculously enticing, in Severus's experience it usually led to obsession and torture.

So when the man was lying with a dopey half-smile on his face and absently stroking the Dark Mark with reverence and maybe a little jealousy--that's when Severus knew that it was probably time to get back to work.

"I thought about getting a tattoo."� The man tilted his head and smiled so widely that Severus could count his perfectly straight teeth.

He closed his eyes and tried not to imagine the man in a mask, on stage next to Lucius, wailing into a microphone. "They tend to sensitize skin. It still burns, every once in a while."�

"Nah, s'not so bad."� The bed dipped as the man turned. "I'm hardcore. Supposed to be twice as hardcore as Liam, anyway. Guitarist's duty, you know."�

"Liam?"�

The man sat up abruptly and twisted away from Severus. "I should get back."�

"Yes."� Severus looked down at the floor. There was a magazine on the floor and Harry Potter was staring vacantly up at him, unmoving. The headline read, DOES HUNK-WHO-LIVED MAKE IT INTO THE TOP TEN DELICIOUS HOTTIES? THOUSANDS OF READERS RESPOND.

"Charlie. My name is Charlie."�

Severus glanced up. The man was standing there with one arm awkwardly holding his shoulder, as if bracing himself against something horrid. Children, children everywhere. He sighed. "Death Eater Number Four, Stage Position Left of the Drums."�

Charlie's lips twitched and he ducked his head. "Right then. I've got to get ready for the show."� He stood in the doorway, waiting silently for a few seconds before turning and leaving the room.

The door swung shut softly, and the only thing left of Charlie was a lingering smell of rancid sweat and marijuana. Potter stared resolutely at the ceiling until Severus couldn't stand it any longer and he picked up the magazine, flipping through it until full-page, glossy pictures were revealed.

The Dark Lord did not place in the list. Lucius, however, did (#7) as the mysterious bad boy who had hair everyone envied. Severus snorted and then frowned as he turned the page. The rest of the magazine was devoted to The Good Guys who were, incidentally, the top three.

There was another interview printed beneath a picture of all three of them together, and Severus scanned through it.

Potter: None of us wanted to give up being the guitar player.

Weasley: Right, and none of us could admit who played it better--

Granger: So we all decided to play it.

Weasley: And now we can do a kick-ass three guitar attack. (Interviewer would like to note that Ron made the most adorable air-guitar movement that had her almost melting in her seat.)

DeliciousHottieWatch: Is that how you're going to win the big Battle of the Bands?

Weasley: Ah, I'm not worried about that. Harry, here, could defeat the DL even if he were one year old and lying helpless in a crib.

Granger: Ron!

Weasley: Well, it's true.

Potter: [The Dark Lord] doesn't have anything on me. By the way, did you know his real name's Tom?

Severus put the magazine back and inhaled deeply, coughing a bit as the sour smell of unwashed laundry overtook him. He might as well get prepared for the show, no use lounging about and reading trash.

As he opened the door to the room, a body went flying by and landed next to his feet. He looked down. A man with white-blonde hair shook his head and grit his teeth; he got up after a few seconds, giving Severus a cursory glance before glaring back down the hall.

"You got it out of your system?"� The Other Man with a Bad Dye Job and a British Accent said.

A new voice--American, Severus thought--answered. "Just checking for corporeality. And when, exactly, did you come back to life? Man, I'm going to kill Andrew."�

Severus looked over his shoulder and saw a man, with dark hair and a very large axe slung over one shoulder, walking towards them. Stepping backwards, Severus reached into his robe and pulled out his wand.

Bad Dye Job was rolling his eyes and standing up when the man with an axe said, "You get word of an apocalypse? "�Cause we got news of the magic-y kind."�

"Oh why don't you say that a little louder, eh, Harris? Don't think the innocent bystander heard you."�

The man with an axe--Harris--shrugged and looked at Severus. "What's that you got in your hand? A pointy stick? Conductor's wand? Stake?"�

Severus shook himself out of his daze and raised his hand. "Stupefy."� Light shot from his wand and hit Harris square in the chest, but instead of knocking him out, the light bounced off and hit the wall on his right. Harris raised his eyebrows and glanced at Bad Dye Job before adjusting his grip on the axe.

"So, I'm gonna go with wand. How about you, Spike?"�

Severus blinked. "Spike?"�

Bad Dye Job answered. "Me."� The hallway spun around and Severus found himself pressed against a wall and facing a grotesque figure with fangs and yellow eyes.

"Ah."� Severus said. "You see, it's part of the stage show. Pyro-testits or something. I'm not familiar with the technical terms--"�

Spike shook him, and Severus felt something cold pool in his gut. "Try again."�

Harris stepped closer to Spike and reached for Severus's wand. "What happens if we break it?"�

"No!"� Severus yanked himself out of this Spike creature's grip and stepped backwards. "You will not! I am part of the show."�

"Yeah? Well I think you have some apocalpyse-y things going on, and I'm not leaving till I get to the bottom of it."� Harris paused. "Hey, are those costumes comfortable? I've been thinking about getting one, but you know. Might get caught on something when you're running away from imminent danger."�

Spike grabbed hold of his robe. "Doesn't feel too comfortable."�

"And hey!"� Harris wheeled around and shoved Spike. "Don't think I'm letting you off the hook. I still want to know how you un-burnt and re-vamped."�

"Later."� Spike rolled his eyes and pulled Severus closer. "You're coming with me."�

The Dark Mark began to burn. "I rather think not."�

"Right."� Harris grabbed Severus's other shoulder. "He has to come with me."�

"You want to deal with Angel, fine. Take him."�

Harris narrowed his eyes. "There's big mojo going on that Angel can't do anything about. Wand-Boy is going with me."�

Wand-Boy? "Allow me to clear things up for you."� Severus lowered his hand without easing his hold on the wand. He glared at both of them. "The Dark Lord is actually evil, I am a lowly henchman, The Good Guys are our sworn enemies, there will be a battle sometime soon, and you cannot do anything about it."�

Spike let go of him. "Well, that about does it for our side."�

Harris's hand tightened on Severus's arm. "Not so much for ours."�

"Hello, Severus."� A familiar and very irritating voice said behind him. "Lemon Drop?"�

***

After an ensuing argument, Albus managed to convince Harris and Spike (with words like "watchers"� and "destiny"�) that Severus was no threat and they reluctantly left, leaving no doubt that they were both going to stay and join in the fight despite Albus's repeated warnings.

The band before DL and the DE performed marvelously, with Charlie giving him a sad smile as Severus walked by to take his place next to the drums. About halfway through their set, the Good Guys floated from above the stage and landed right in the middle of Nott's steel guitar solo and they performed a stunning four-guitar battle.

Then there had been a fight, right on stage, in front of everyone and Severus's mask had caught fire.

It was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice as a rush of teenaged girls hit the stage and began punching holes in everything. Some of the men were thrown back at least twenty feet from the force of the blows, but that was all moot compared to the grand finale of the battle.

Weasley's guitar had been magically altered, though no one besides Severus knew that, and when he played an F# minor chord it triggered the enchantment that Severus had helped put inside the drums.

The drums exploded in a shower of green and gold sparks, and a giant roaring lion appeared above all of their heads and Voldemort had been sucked into his microphone because he had refused to stop singing his song.

As his body slowly dissolved and his essence was transferred into the wires, he could be heard screaming, "Horcruxes was my greatest accomplishment! I will return!"�

In a giant blast of smoke, the entire stage was cleared. No musical instruments were left, and the microphone containing the Dark Lord's body was missing completely. It was true, he would return in time. However, his latest setback gave Severus a much needed break from all the touring and mucking about with Muggle children.

He was leaving the World of Rock for good.

***

A year later, on the anniversary of the Greatest Publicity Gimmick of All-Time, the world was normal and DL and the DEs had all but faded into a footnote in pop culture history.

No one remembered the songs unless a station played them out of a twisted sense of instant nostalgia so prevalent nowadays and no one much cared for the robes that had almost come into fashion world-wide. And no one understood why a man dressed as a lizard-snake-ugly-thing became so popular in the first place.

No one, that is, except a man walking hurriedly down a damp alley in the middle of London. The black t-shirt clung to him like a second skin and the brisk air chilled him as he held a package close to his chest. He had searched for it for months after the big disappearance of his idol. He had studied and known what it was when he'd seen it. There was already an inordinate amount of legend surrounding the man who would be the Dark Lord, and he'd only been gone for a year.

This last remnant would be his good luck charm, his way to power. His everything.

He deserved it.

Simon Cowell clutched the microphone with both hands. He was going places.
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Keep It on the DL