- CHAPTER SEVEN -

GhostIdol Baby, Baby

Later that day, at 7:32 in the evening to be precise, everybody was in the Great Hall where a giant stage had been erected. There were rows and rows of uncomfortable plastic chairs and a long judges table in front of the stage, covered in a spangled silver tablecloth. Seated at this table were Ghost Dumbledore, the head of Ghost Functions Inc, Mr Dead McGhostington and a secret judge no one knew the identity of. Mostly because there was a similarly spangley red tablecloth over said judges head.

Ron was bouncing in his seat, on the verge of soiling himself with excitement as Harry gave him increasingly furious looks.

"Look mate!" Cried The-Boy-Who's-Essay-Was-Ruined as his elbow was knocked for the seventeenth time, further smudging his already abysmal essay. "That's like, the millionth time you've done that! If I don't get this done by tomorrow Snape will try and beat me up with a lead pipe." Ron stopped bouncing for a second and gave his friend a look that said, "I don't believe you one jot".

"Don't look at me like that." Said Harry. "He did it to Justin Finch-Fletchley last week, you know."

"Justin?" Ron replied. "How on earth did Snape manage to beat him up?"

Harry did some more nifty eyebrow raising. "Have you seen Justin? He's like a girl, honestly. I doubt he could even beat up the Creevey brothers." Harry sighed as two cameras inconspicuously slithered over his shoulders. "No! Not you!!" He yelled. The cameras slithered away, accompanied by two loud groans of disappointment.

"Oooh my god, I so can't believe you just SAID that." Ron squealed. "At least Justin's built stronger than that Ernie. Ohmigod he is like, the WEAKEST person EVER in the HISTORY of EVER!" Ron flipped his overly long fringe and crossed his arms and legs.

"Ron. Why do you even know how these people are built? Why??" Harry said, throwing his essay in the air. Ron opened his mouth. Harry interrupted. "No, actually please don't answer that. Please, please don't."

Ron closed his mouth and (thankfully) didn't finish his sentence. Harry spied his essay scattered all over the floor.

"Oh BIATCHES!" He yelled when some obnoxious-looking third years tromped all over it on the way to their seats. One of them, a small girl with alarmingly yellow hair, turned around and shook her fist at Harry. Ron sprung out of his chair and said loudly "Oh no she DIDN'T!"

"Ron! Please! Will you sit down!" Harry cried in expiration, returning with his mildly dirty essay. "My god, you're more of a bloody woman than Hermione. Its like SHE'S the boy, and YOU'RE the girl!" He continued, glancing around at all the people that were staring at them.

Ron looked rather offended by this statement. "How can you doubt my masculinity? How can you-"

"SPEAKING OF HERMIONE!" Harry said loudly as a rather effective form of changing the subject. "Isn't that her over there?" He and Ron squinted at the stage where Hermione's head was poking out of the side of the curtain. She seemed to be bouncing around with glee, clutching a sheet.

"Why is she holding a pink sheet?" Ron remarked. Harry just shrugged in reply. There were a few minutes of amiable silence.

Quite suddenly, Harry had the weird feeling that something was not as it should be. He glanced at Ron, but Ron was only drawing a puppet onto his own hand, which for Ron's standards wasn't particularly strange.

Harry pondered for a few moments more, then realised what was weird. His foot was cold. Which is perfectly peculiar since he was wearing shoes.

"WHERE'S MY SHOE??" He leapt up and looked around frantically, realising that one of the said shoes was missing. "WHERE'S MY BLOODY SHOE GONE YOU FIENDS??" Suddenly he spied a dark haired figure trying to slither down the aisle between the chairs undetected. The figure had his SHOE!

"Oi! Stop! Quit your movement!" The person turned around briefly to acknowledge they had been caught in the despicable act of thieving.

Harry recognised the bandit immediately. "Romilda Vane. I should have known." He remarked darkly. "RON! Help me, Romilda Vane has my shoe!" He yelled at his best friend.

"What was that?" Ron said, via his hand puppet.

"Never mind!" Harry shouted back. 'If I want my shoe back I'll have to get some better allies.' He thought, stroking an imaginary beard. 'Some smarter people on my side' He cackled quietly to himself.

Several people were staring at Harry like he had grown an extra head. "What in the name of arse is he doing?" One girl remarked to her boyfriend. But neither of them really cared so they just went back to feeling each other up.

Harry spied reinforcements on the horizon in the form of Ernie McMillan and Gryf. Gryf is friends with almost everyone because he is an expendable character, whatever the task, whoever the person he'll be there. Everyone except the Slytherins, because it's just not the done thing to be friends with Slytherins. Anyway.

"Gryf! Stop her!" Harry yelled, waving his arms around. Gryf pointed at Romilda, in a questioning sort of way. Harry nodded and smiled encouragingly (scarily). Gryf proceed to perform the most fantastic rugby tackle, which ended in Romilda being squashed under him, screaming like a Banshee. He took Harry's shoe from her and began thwacking her with it whilst Ernie looked on in shock, squealing, "Do be careful! Oh please do be careful!!"

Harry bounded down the aisle with triumph on his face. "FOILED AGAIN I SEE!!" He said to Romilda who stopped hissing when she realised it was Harry.

"Oh, hi Harry. What's up?" She said in a way that might have passed for casual if A) Gryf weren't sitting on her and B) He wasn't hitting her with a shoe.

"I'll take that thank you!" Harry swiped the shoe and rammed it on his foot.

That's when he realised it wasn't his shoe at all.

Maybe the fact that it was four sizes too small and had a three-inch heel that gave it away, we'll never know.

"Oh. Erm… This… Isn't mine?" Harry said uncertainly, inspecting the shoe.

"No, it's my friend Gwen's. I was fetching it for her you see." Romilda replied standing up and flicking her hair around. "She placed it there so that I would have a reason to be near enough to get a lock of your hair- Oh, arse. I mean... er, um… I LOVE YOU!!" She shrieked, running off into the distance.

Harry was crestfallen. "So where's my shoe?" He asked. Gryf shrugged and ate a ham sandwich whilst Ernie passed out from squealing so much during the scuffle. He turned rather blue in the face and his leg started to twitch eerily. And then he died. Nobody really minded.

Except Hannah Abbot who went into mourning for the next thirty-seven years of her life, whereupon she would fall in love with a short squat man, bearing a striking resemblance to a goblin. They would go on to have six goblin children, four of which Hannah would name Ernie in tribute to her long-lost love.

Back in the present, Harry looked like he was about to cry over his lost shoe when Ron stood up on his chair and started yelling "YOO HOO!! HARREEY!! I FOUND YOUR SHOE IN MY POCKEEET!!"

Harry squealed with delight and ran (in slow motion mind you; the boy knows how to make a dramatic effect) towards Ron and his beloved shoe. They would never be parted again! Well until bedtime at least. Ron was thoroughly relieved that Harry was too busy being thrilled to ask any awkward questions such as "Why was my shoe in your pocket?" Harry was being far too critical these days, Ron thought.

As Ron thought this, strobe lights and a smoke machine started up at the front of the stage, along with some overly loud dramatic music that was blatantly a rip-off of the Pop Idol/American Idol theme tune. Several people were blinded, choked and deafened. The very dead were thrown into a pit along with Ernie.

Mr Dead McGhostington floated up onto stage and began to speak in a monotonous drone that echoed all over the hall. Everybody ran to their seats immediately and sat down expectantly at the beginning of the speech.

"Hello. Welcome to this years Annual GhostIdol tournament. Let me hear your approval." The ghost droned. The hall erupted into eardrum shattering screams, yells and cheers. This went on for several moments in which Mr McGhostington actually appeared to be amused. For about three seconds.

"Alright that's enough." He said in a disgruntled manner and the noise immediately ceased. "Let me thank you all for attending tonight's performance." He continued. "I would also like to thank Dumbledore for allowing us the use of his great hall as our other stage collapsed." There was a wail from backstage that obviously came from Moaning Myrtle.

"Anyway, I think now would be an appropriate time for us to unveil the secret judge. Dumbledore, if you please." Mr McGhostington nodded to Dumbledore who turned to the congregation.

"Students, teachers, ghosts and tree frogs." He smiled. The students, teachers, ghosts and small colony of frogs smiled back. "I am delighted to reveal to you the special guest judge." He whipped the spangled cloth off the person's head, to reveal a somewhat familiar face (to some). "Mr Simon Cowell!"

The muggle-born and half blood witches and wizards in the room cheered at one of televisions favourite personas. Those who did not know who Simon Cowell was smiled and nodded as if they did, presumably so they wouldn't look stupid. Naturally, as with most occasions of smiling and nodding, it made them look even more idiotic.

Simon looked decidedly bored and slightly disgruntled at having a sheet on his head for three hours. He said to the screaming crowd "Delighted, I'm sure" in an uninterested voice.

One overexcited witch broke free of the crowd and ran through the barrier of surly looking security guards that had popped up around the judge's table. "OHMIGODILOVEYOUSOMUCHCANIHAVEYOURAUTOGRAPH??" She screamed before breaking down in tears. She was then carried off, still sobbing and screaming, by two of the security guards.

"Well, erm… anyway. Shall we get on with it then?" Dumbledore said brightly. "Take it away, ominous voice!" He sat back in his chair, reclining pleasantly, whilst the audience continued to ogle Simon Cowell.

An ominous gameshow voice began to talk as most tried to fix their attentions to the stage, where more blinding strobe lights were flashing along with the ripped-off theme tune. These people began to look distinctly cross-eyed as they were trying to watch two things at once (Simon and the show).

"And now, for your personal viewing pleasure I'm delighted to announce… Arrrrrrrrmless Jooooohn!!" Said the gameshow voice as the ghost of Armless John floated on stage. The audience clapped politely and settled down to watch.

After four acts in which three had gone off in tears thanks to Simon ("I can honestly say that's the worst performance I've ever seen" "The song, zero. The voice, zero. The performance, zero. The look? Don't even go there."), the voice was ready to announce the fifth act.

"Aaaaand noooow. Laaaadies aaaand Gentlemen. Pleease put your haaaaands togetheeerr forrrrrr… Moooaning Myrrrrtle!" The voice said as the first strains of Myrtles song choice commenced.

"When I waaas youunnGGee…" Myrtle began, shrieking in a heartfelt manner into the magical microphone (the Sonorous charm doesn't work on ghosts as they are in fact, not solid). "I never neeeEEdeeD annyOOoone…"

By this point in the song (yes, the second line) Simon was actually sitting with his hands over his ears, as were most others in the hall, and by the time she got to "AAALLLL BYYYY MYYYYYSEEEeeeEEEeeeeEelllf! DON'T WAAaAANNA BEEeE!" people had actually begun rolling in he aisles, screaming in pain.

"Okay, stop stop stop!" Simon Cowell said, making slashing motions with his hands. Myrtle stopped and blinked owlishly at him from behind her huge pearly spectacles. "What on EARTH was that?" Simon continued, looking at Myrtle almost as if he didn't believe it. "That has got to be the WORST singing I've ever heard-" Myrtle wailed loudly.

"-I can honestly say you sound like a dying cat-"

"DEATH!"

"You should be fed to bears. And die-"

"DEATH! SO INSESITIVE!"

"-and when the bears have eaten you, catch pneumonia from the coldness of the bears stomach-"

"DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATH!"

"-and the bear would probably STILL sound better than you did."

With that final word from Simon Cowell, Moaning Myrtle buried her head in her hands and ran sobbing for the toilets. Many people rejoiced. Mr Dead McGhostington cleared his throat nervously after ten seconds of silence and said "Well. Um, I suppose the next act will be-"

"THERE WILL BE NO NEED. I CAN INTRODUCE MYSELF…" A booming voice said, cutting of McGhostington. A seemingly solid sheet flew down from the rafters of the stage.

Ron looked at Harry in a bewildered fashion. Harry, being the only person who knew what was going on, gasped in horror. "Oh… no…"