Bonjour!!

Everything I say about T.S. Eliot and his book in the chapter are true.

And I know it's true because I have the said book sitting right next to me.

I love that book. So cute.

MOVING ON.

It was January. The students of Hogwarts had just returned from their cozy homes from over their Christmas holidays. Returned happy, satisfied, and content with the visitation of family and friends. A sense of relaxation seemed to take over most of the student body, the usual sentiment that comes with the end of Christmas, and the slow introduction back into everyday life. And, as a result, many of the teachers, as teachers are wont to do, decided that it was almost obligatory to assign as much homework as they possibly could, as if the students had to make up what their brains clearly lost over their break.

It was late; several hours past dinnertime. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, hardly noticing the snowy frost outside their window, but busy at work with the usual overhaul of homework that they received as their late Christmas present from their beloved teachers.

Harry was sitting in the corner of the couch parallel to the fireplace, quill in hand, book in lap, and parchment on top of the said book for him to write his most recent essay given to him by Professor McGonagall. Only seven words had been written on the yellowed parchment, and he highly doubted that 'The Topic that Bores Me to Death' wasn't going to exactly be the title to entice his Transfigurations teacher into giving him that 'O' on his paper. He contemplated scribbling it out, knowing too well she wouldn't be too pleased with his cheek.

Ron was in the chair perpendicular to the fire, with his potions book wide open, and many random papers littering the floor around him. He too had a paper to write, and was viciously scribbling on his parchment he had plastered over his rotting potions book. His face screwed up in concentration, only to scratch out the previous two sentences he had just taken a half hour to compose.

Hermione looked at him with a weak smile. She was cuddled on the couch with Harry, leaning against his upright arm while she sprawled out her limbs on the rest of the furniture. She had been serenely reading a book, having her assignments finished an hour before dinner. She looked out the window; the sleety snow fell like powder onto the frozen windowpanes, blowing about as easily as it had fallen.

She snapped her book shut, propped her elbows upon Harry's knee, and held her chin in her palms, looking up at him. She moved his arm so that he'd notice her stare.

"I said no, Hermione." Harry said stubbornly.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Hermione pleaded, "It's not that bad, you know--"

"Well, I'm not trying out." Ron said, wanting to use Harry's defiance as a common ground for his own.

"Yes, you are!" Hermione snapped, her head whizzing from its fixation on persuading Harry to glare at him. Ron widened his eyes with worry and stared futilely at his potions book for a better distraction from the conversation.

"You're both trying out. You've just got to."

Ron gave an indignant huff, furiously flipping the pages of the book, still pretending not to hear.

"I'm going to help you, of course." She said reassuringly, looking back at Harry, who was clearly losing his poker face as she continued to prod him.

"Look at me, Harry"

"Nuh-huh," Harry said, holding his parchment closer to his face.

"Come on, I'll help you," she looked more innocent by the second, eyes getting bigger and droopier, lips getting smaller.

"N-no, Hermione…"

"Ron will do it if you will."

That was all she needed to say.

"…He will…?" Harry looked at Ron, not sure what to believe. If his best friend would go through this humiliation with him, it was almost worth it.

"Won't you, Ron?" Hermione asked loudly, madly.

"Hey now…"

"Ron…" Hermione glowered, "you know you'd try out if Harry did--"

"Well yeah, but he's not going to--"

"Yes he is!" Hermione hissed.

"He is?" Harry put his paper down, looking back at Hermione.

"You are?" Ron asked with honest interest.

Harry looked at Hermione. She was too persistent for his own good. The things he did to make her happy…

"I will if you will, mate," Harry said with an exasperated sigh.

Ron, not wanting to openly agree to the project, gave an affirmative clearing of his throat.

"So you'll audition, Ron?" Hermione cooed.

Ron looked away, mumbling something along the lines of "Harry…losing your dignity…fine."

"Fine?" She called.

"Fine." He repeated.

She popped up from Harry's knee, sitting up straight, eyes wide with obvious excitement.

"Well, I have so much to explain to you before we start." She said avidly.

"Wha…why?" Ron spluttered.

"You need to be prepared, don't you?" she said. When neither interrupted her, she began.

"I read up on the entire thing."

"The whole musical?" Harry gaped, "No one could have done that, Hermione! Those types of things have so many--"

"Well, not the whole thing," she said with a roll of her eyes, "just the plotline, character development, and the style of the singing and dancing."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. This was either going to be a very good thing or a very bad thing. The obsessive-compulsive Hermione that they knew and loved was going to go through the same cycle she did with everything else that caught her fancy; she would read and read until all information on the topic had been drained from existence.

A tinge of nervousness etched Harry's gaze as his knowing look reached Ron's.

"But do you know the music?" Ron asked, trying to be a little more interested. After all, they were stuck in it now; she wouldn't let them turn back. If they had to go through with this, they had to at least know what they're doing.

"Well, no," Hermione said, "but I found books that describe the play and how it's done, made, and prepared for." She looked from one boy to the other, glad to know that they were at least somewhat interested.

"I also found the book the whole play's based upon." She launched herself from her perch on the couch and disappeared as she spun about the girl's dormitory steps. Within the minute she was back downstairs with the little book.

"The whole plotline's based on that little thing?" Harry pointed.

"Yes. Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, by T.S. Eliot," she trilled.

"Who's he?" Ron asked quizzically.

"He was a muggle writer during the early 1900's," Hermione said, as she started to sit down with the book, "If you took muggle studies, you'd know that he was one of the many 'fireside poets' who were famous authors during that time."

"Poet?" Harry asked.

"Well, of course!" Hermione said, eyes wide, "This book is only poems. He created all of these characters, and they're all cats. And they each have a poem about themselves. That's where the musical got their lyrics."

"Hermione, I thought muggle musicals used current-day songwriters to write their lyrics." Harry said, taking the book from her. He flipped through the pages, letting the old papers flap from up to down in perfect unison.

"Well, usually they do. But this one was pretty much written for them, so why not take advantage of it?"

"I guess…" Harry trailed off, reading the lines of the first poem in the book, called The Naming of Cats. He read the first few lines, scanning its arrangement.

"He's pretty good," Harry mused.

"Of course he is," Hermione rolled her eyes, "he's kindof known for that."

"Lemme see," Ron was out of his chair, across the rug, and at Harry's arm before he knew it, snatching the book out of his hand before being able to read the tenth line.

"Hey!" he said, "I was reading that!"

Ron ignored him, and Harry saw his friend's light-colored eyes dart to and fro across the page. He flipped it. Scanned the next.

"It sounds a bit snooty."

"Not snooty," Harry said with a shrug, ignoring Hermione's indignant form, which he knew would pounce on the subject within the second, "It just looks kindof…proper."

"You're right, Harry," Hermione said, recovering from her restrained retort.

"Very proper…" Ron was still on The Old Gumbie Cat when Hermione took the book back.

"Oye!" He said irritably.

Harry snickered.

"It's in that style, Ron, because of the timeframe in which it was written."

"People actually talked like that back then?"

"Well, muggles did at least." Hermione shrugged, "some people can't even understand some of the literature that was written back then."

"I find that hard to believe."

Hermione smiled, looking over to Harry.

"He wouldn't get past the page two if someone told him to read something like Pride and Prejudice".

"Say what?" Ron said.

"Hey, don't look at me," Harry threw up his hands in defense, "I don't read anything from the ancient times."

Hermione rolled her eyes. They were only boys, after all. It isn't like they'd know.

"Anyway," she continued, "reading this book should help you for the audition."

"Hey," Ron said hopefully, "maybe if we really really suck, they won't let us into it!"

Harry's eyes lit up.

"Do you think that'd work?"

"Oh don't be stupid." Hermione said, leaning her weight on her elbow as she rested it on the arm of the garnet couch, "you'd still have to work with those ruddy skrewts if you don't participate."

"Damnit." Ron muttered, wrinkling his nose.

"So…we don't have any choice, do we?" Harry said dully to Ron.

"We already established that, Harry," Hermione said with a giggle.

The boys' misery clearly didn't phase her at all.

She gave them a few moments of silence to muse over other alternatives that she knew wouldn't work; loopholes that she knew had no use. She bit her lip, trying to refrain from laughing at their persistence.

"I guess that means…" Harry said with a sigh, "that we're going to have to…"

"Sing." Ron said, staring fearfully into the fire.

"And dance." Harry finished for him.

"Oh come on!" Hermione smiled, "It's not going to be that bad!"

"I can't keep a tune to save my life!" Ron said, clenching his teeth.

"Wait…neither can I…" Harry said.

"And I'm awful at dancing…" Ron's eyes were cross. "I'm going to have to practice day in and day out…"

"IT'S GOING TO BE THE YULE BALL ALL OVER AGAIN!!" Harry screeched.

Hermione whacked him upside the head with the book, shaking him from his crazed stupor.

"You two are going to be fine!" she said with an unrestrained toss of the book onto the floor. "You two are acting like a couple of children!"

"Oh easy for you to say, Hermione," Ron replied, "you can actually sing…"

"It doesn't matter how well you do…not with singing, at least," she said, starting to laugh, "if you aren't as good of a singer, they'll give you a part that doesn't have any solos."

That seemed to calm them down a bit, before she muttered a soft, "but that means you'll probably get a bigger dancing part…"

The boys' jaws dropped in fear. Ron let out a stifled gasp.

"Hermione…" he began, "when are auditions again?"

"Monday." She said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"And today's…"

"Wednesday. Don't worry. I'll teach you everything I know."

Harry took off his glasses to rub his nose. He took his fingers through his messy hair and groaned miserably.

"This is gonna be hell…"

What'd you think? I already know who I'm casting, but it's still funny to see who you think will end up as which character. And you might be right. :D

Review for meeeee!!!