Macbeth: Act One, Scene Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Macbeth. Macbeth belongs to JK Rowling, and Harry Potter belongs to William Shakespeare... no, that's wrong. Shakespeare belongs to JK Rowling, and Macbeth owns Harry Potter... or is it the other way round? At any rate, I don't own Macbeth, Harry Potter, William Shakespeare or JK Rowling.

Thanks for 37 reviews goes to: foxer, AbsnthLure, stars-n-moons91, Go10, emily, Ar-Zimraphel, Rebecca15, Kou Shun'u, Flexi Lexi, Genevieve Jones, RedWitch1, I-luv-Harry-Potter-Romance, dan4me, saj aneri, citcat299, Mjade-1, Saotoshi, sugar n spice 522, ablahkev, Sparkling Cherries, midnight-blue, Mother Zephyr, annikodomo, Saraiyu, MrsGabriellaMalfoy, SycoCallie, cherristiz, Storm079, Willowfairy, AerinBrown, gummybear, Chii, Stoneage Woman, brettley, draconas, Nikki, Francinator.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! It was a brilliant positive response – I'm getting quite excited about what you'll think of the rest of the story!

Currently, homework isn't too much of a strain (except for Biology homework, but that's only one subject; the others are good and even fun!) so I should be able to carry on Monday night updates.

And to people who noticed Draco's reference to the play when he was insulting them: well done! There's another quote like that in this chapter, actually – see if you can spot it!

Onto the chapter: enjoy!

'I can't believe they only gave us a week before the auditions,' moaned Hermione as they reached the Potions classroom. 'It's not nearly enough time... where's my copy of the play?' She swung her bag off her shoulder, dropped to her knees, and began a frantic search through her bag.

'Can't you leave that bloody play alone for one minute?' Ron protested wearily. 'I've had it up to here with daggers and prophecies and letters...'

Hermione paused in her frenzied search to look up at her friend in amazement. 'Ron,' she said, in what was almost a whimper, 'the auditions are tonight!'

'Yes, and you've already got it all perfect,' Ron pointed out. 'You've been going over it every spare minute; you're making my head hurt. Give it a rest.'

She finally located the book, but paused before she drew it out, brushing an errant strand of bushy hair out of her eyes and biting her lip. 'I know,' she said after a pause, 'and I know I've got it all memorised but I'm still terrified and-'

'And you know what Hermione's like,' interrupted Harry. 'Trying to stop her being nervous is like trying to stop the tide...'

'Water-freezing charm.' Ron muttered.

'... so you may as well let her be and stop trying to get her to be normal.' Harry finished. 'Besides, even if you do stop her, everyone else is practicing. You can't escape it.'

It was true. The corridor outside the Potions classroom was usually filled with gossip and conversation while the class awaited Snape's arrival; their collective tone light-hearted on normal days, fearful and timid before tests. Today most of the students were focused on their soliloquies: muttering or whispering the words under their breath, making vague motions that were pale shadows of the ones they intended to make, the ones that played so wonderfully in their minds. Some were reading from jealously snatched library copies of the play; others from their own editions, owled from home by excited parents; and a handful who were unable to get hold of a book were reading from sheets of parchment onto which their soliloquy had been copied by hand.

'Great,' Ron grumbled, leaning back against the wall as both his friends drew out their books, Hermione with a half-apologetic grin, and began reading. 'Just great.'

'Well, it was your choice not to audition...' Harry began, but the rest of his sentence trailed into nothingness as the other students fell silent. Snape was stalking down the corridor towards then, robes swirling around his feet, a dark look upon his face.

He drew up sharply and addressed the class. 'I do not wish to see,' he said in a low, clear voice, 'any poor players strutting and fretting their hour upon the stage in my Potions lesson. Anyone whom I find practicing their lines, or reading the play, or anything in any way connected to tonight's auditions, will lose twenty points for their house. As such, I recommend you put your scripts away now.'

He accompanied this command with a harsh glare, and the gathered students hastily slipped books and parchments into their bags. Malfoy, always defiant of Snape's commands – and always allowed to be, too – kept his copy out, swinging the slender black book carelessly in his fingers. Snape gave it a passing glance and no more.

'Biased git,' Ron whispered to Hermione as the students began to file into the classroom. 'If any of us had kept their book out we'd have lost those points. More, too. Bloody...'

Snape eyed him with a baleful look at this point, and Ron shut up immediately. The impending auditions and the fuss over the play seemed to have put the Potions professor in a terrible mood.

The class soon settled into the lesson, working quickly on their potions. Snape, in a vindictive mood, had set them one that caused the drinker to lose their voice if they made it incorrectly. Thankfully, everyone's concoctions looked fine. No one had tested Snape's temper by reading Macbeth, with the exception of Draco Malfoy, whose eyes were feverishly flicking over the lines as he stirred his cauldron.

Ron was not impressed. 'Snape's not even paying any attention to him,' he hissed to Hermione as she started to slice her boxwood leaves. 'I wish I didn't have to take Potions. Greasy git of a teacher. I wish I'd failed the OWL, then I would have an excuse not to take it...'

'And then you would have a huge range of jobs closed to you.' Hermione whispered back. 'Like being an Auror, or a Healer, or...'

'Alright, alright, I know,' Ron replied with a grimace. 'I just wish the Potions teacher wasn't an overgrown, greasy bat who's practically having an affair with Malfoy...'

'Mr Weasley,' came Snape's voice from behind them, silky-cold and filled with a bitter kind of annoyance. Ron jumped and looked round guiltily; Hermione assumed her firm you-deserve-what's-coming-to-you face, and carried on slicing the leaves. Harry caught Ron's eye with a sympathetic look, but knew better than to intervene.

'Yes, professor?' Ron asked nervously, crossing his fingers tightly.

'Twenty points from Gryffindor, and detention. Tonight, during the auditions.' Snape said swiftly, then turned and stalked away, leaving Ron to fidget nervously.

'That's really unfair,' Hermione whispered next time it was possible. 'I mean, stopping you going to the auditions!'

'I wasn't going to go anyway,' Ron pointed out. 'I don't want to be in the play...'

'Yeah, but he didn't know that. You might have done,' Harry said, before Snape cast one of his most malicious glares at them, and they carried on in silence for the rest of the lesson.

'Good evening, everyone, and thanks for coming to the auditions,' Megan began, the commanding tone in her voice causing a hush to fall over the nervously fidgeting students. 'Has everyone signed the attendance lists? Good. Could you pass it here, please?' Susan Bones, who was sitting nearest to it, hastily did so before sitting back down with a squeak.

To say that everyone was terrified would be an understatement in some cases; a complete lie in others. Slightly more than half the auditioning students were as pale as lilies in the flickering candlelight that lit the waiting room. Padma Patil looked close to hyperventilating; a trio of fifth-years were clinging far too tightly to each other's hands, and Ernie Macmillan was gripping a rather dog-eared copy of the play as though it were a lifeline.

The rest of the students were fairly calm, either through over-confidence or because they weren't really worried about whether they got a part or not. Malfoy, flanked by Blaise Zabini and Pansy – Crabbe and Goyle were not attending – seemed to fall into the first category; leaning back in his chair with his head tossed back arrogantly, surveying Megan and the other directors behind her with cool disinterest. His egotism made Hermione's hand twitch reflexively towards her wand in the same way that she would automatically scratch an itch; his attitude made her want to hex him until cauliflowers grew out of his ears...

Megan was speaking again.

'Before we begin the auditions,' she was saying, 'I thought I should introduce you to my co-directors and myself, as the five of us will be judging your performances jointly. My name is Megan Montgomery of Gryffindor house. This,' and she indicated a slightly rounded girl wearing a kindly smile who reminded Hermione of a younger, brunette Molly Weasley, 'is Ruth Fairbairn, who's in Hufflepuff.'

Ruth gave them all a wide and reassuring smile at this; some of the students found themselves smiling back automatically.

Megan moved on to indicate a wiry boy with loose auburn hair, who was wearing a rather fetching pastel yellow scarf – the room was a bit chilly – and a wide, genuine grin. 'And this is Stanislaus Flores, who prefers to be known as Stan, also a Hufflepuff.'

'Don't worry, petals,' Stan cut in, 'you're all going to be magnificent.'

Ginny and Luna, who were sitting a few seats away from Harry and Hermione, shared amused glances at this, but Megan had already moved on.

'This is Olivia Voss, who's in Ravenclaw,' she announced, putting a hand on the shoulder of a girl who looked like nothing so much as a blonde, blue-eyed porcelain doll; she had been standing to the rear of the group, but gave everyone a smile.

'And over there,' Megan continued with a note of distaste, making a vague gesture in the direction of the fifth director, 'is Adrian Blackwood. Slytherin.'

Adrian, who was slouching against the doorframe with a look of sullen boredom on his face, raised a lazy hand as a general acknowledgement of the introduction. Megan's features darkened briefly, before returning to the auditioning students with her previous smile restored.

'Now that the introductions are done, we can start the auditions. You will each be called, one by one, into the classroom next door, where all five of us will watch and make notes on your performance. We'll do the boys first, alphabetically, and then the girls. When you've finished your audition, please return immediately to your house common room, because we're borrowing these rooms from Professor McGonagall and she doesn't want anyone spending longer in them than they need to.'

Harry and Hermione shared a disappointed glance; Hermione had hoped to be able to ask Harry how his audition had been while she was waiting for her own.

'Okay, I think that's everything. Stan will call you one by one into the audition room. Good luck, everyone!'

She handed the attendance list to Stan and headed for the door, followed by Olivia, Ruth and the surly Adrian. Stan drew his wand and cast 'Ordino Litterarum' with an extra flourish of his wand, putting the names on the parchment into alphabetical order, before addressing the students with a wide grin.

'Okay, now I don't want any of you being nervous, because you're going to do absolutely brilliantly. You've nothing to be scared about, sweethearts,' he told them with a beaming smile, before glancing at the list. 'Terry Boot? You're first!'

Terry got to his feet slowly and nervously, with nervous good-luck wishes from his friends, before following Stan out of the room. 'So you're in Ravenclaw? Fabulous hou-' they heard Stan begin to say, before the door closed and they could hear no more.

The atmosphere became increasingly uncomfortable after that, as people sat and fidgeted beneath a tense silence. Sporadically, someone would attempt to start a conversation, or recite their soliloquy quietly to themselves; but the conversations dwindled like a dying fire and when the soliloquies ended, no one tried to start again. Even the over-confident and the people who didn't care much were subdued and silent. Harry kept twisting his hands together, one over the other, his gaze focused on them alone. Only Malfoy made any pretence at being unruffled, leaning back in his armchair with an insolent expression, but the twitch of a muscle or the tic of an eyelid would periodically give him away.

The tense silence was only broken by Stan, who appeared every few minutes to fetch the next person to audition. He seemed infallibly chatty and friendly, which at the very least prevented the atmosphere from falling into irretrievable nervousness. And every time he returned, another nervous, clammy-palmed boy hurried off to his audition with edgy 'Good luck! Break a leg!' wishes from his friends.

Malfoy, of course, swaggered off like he owned the world. Or, at the very least, attempted to swagger; he didn't quite manage it. Then the list went through the N's, the O's, and finally into the P's.

'Harry Potter?' Stan called, with the customary quick glance at Harry's scar and a wide, beaming smile. 'Your turn, flower,' and then Harry was gone, so Hermione went to sit with Luna and Ginny. Luna was unaffected by the atmosphere of fear; the look in her eyes as she gazed languidly at the nervous students was much like that of someone musing on a favourite piece of art, or a beautiful poem. Ginny was acting more normally, giving Hermione a nervous grin as she took a seat.

The remaining boys dwindled until there were only girls remaining, and then the girls began to dwindle too. The D's passed by, then the E's, then the F's, and finally...

'Hermione Granger?'

She stood up, received Ginny's 'Good luck!' and Luna's 'Break an arm', and headed to the auditions feeling as though her heart was going to crack through her ribcage at any second. There was a curse to make that happen, she remembered, outlawed and classed as Dark Arts in 1767...

The door closed behind her.

'Don't panic, you'll be just fine,' Stan was saying with a reassuring smile. 'Oh, and don't pay any attention to Adrian, all right darling? He's been in a bad mood all evening, one of the fifth-years was in tears because he started glaring at her, poor darling...'

And with that, he opened the door.

It was quite a large room, though bare and unfurnished apart from the bare necessities for the auditions. Directly in front of Hermione were four large tables, pushed together to make a makeshift stage; the directors were sitting at her left around a fifth table, facing the stage, with reams of parchment stacked in piles and rows across the desk.

That curse – the one that made your heart break your ribcage, the one that Hermione would be completely certain was being used on her now unless she knew that Hogwarts was filled with Dark Arts detectors. What was it called?

'Hermione,' Megan smiled reassuringly, 'thanks for coming. Would you like to step up onto the stage and do your piece? Oh, Stan, pass her that piece of parchment for the letter, would you?'

Stan handed her the parchment and gave her a cheery thumbs-up as he sidled into his seat. Hermione fixed her eyes on the stage She could do this. She'd practiced it plenty of times; she had it all word perfect.

The Déchirant Curse, that was it; déchirant being French for heart-breaking, as it was invented by an unknown French wizard. Perhaps an ancestor of Malfoy's, even: Malfoy was a French name after all, so his family must have originated in France. And his family did have quite a history of Dark Arts, from what Hermione had heard, and why on earth was she thinking about Dark curses and Malfoy's ancestors?

It was some kind of response to anxiety, Hermione realised; she did the same thing all the time in frightening situations; ran over useless information and facts and knowledge in her mind, and she supposed it helped, because knowledge always reassured her.

She took a deep breath and climbed up onto the stage – there were no steps, but a handily-placed chair served the same purpose. Picking up the parchment, she assumed her starting place on the stage – far left, just walking onto the scene – closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

In her head, the scene unravelled before her as clear and sharp as a Potions lesson. Emphasise this, pause here, speed up there, slow down at this part. Sound incredulous, excited, thoughtful, pleased; this gesture and that movement and these expressions. What does Lady Macbeth think, and feel, and want...?

Unconsciously Hermione's posture changed; her eyes took on a different sheen, and when she opened her mouth to speak her words came easily, naturally, fluently.

'They met me in the day of success...'

Half an hour later, she was sitting in the common room with Harry – Ron wasn't back from detention yet – sipping a mug of hot chocolate and nervously going over her audition in her head.

'I didn't sound power-hungry enough,' she fretted. 'I should have played that aspect up more, and I didn't manage to...'

'Hermione,' Harry said patiently, 'ten minutes ago you were worrying that you'd been too power-hungry. You said you hadn't focused enough on the other parts of the speech...'

'Well, I didn't focus enough on them...' Hermione protested quietly, before Harry gave her an incredulous look and she realised she was being nonsensical. 'Okay, okay. I'll stop going over it. But I still don't think I did well.'

'You were amazing,' Harry said firmly. 'You were amazing when you were practicing and I don't see any reason why you wouldn't have been just as amazing in the audition. End of story.'

Hermione didn't agree – she hadn't thought she'd been more than acceptable when practicing, and she'd probably been even worse in the audition out of nerves. But she didn't argue; it would only annoy Harry.

'What time's Ron supposed to be coming back from detention?' she asked, changing the subject. Harry frowned and glanced at his watch.

'Well, he's been down there for about two hours... depends what kind of a mood Snape's in, I suppose.' Harry said. 'He could keep him ages...'

He was cut off by the sudden opening of the portrait and the rather dramatic entrance of Parvati; biting her lip, her arms defensively folded, chin raised and looking for all the world as though she was going to burst into tears at any moment. Not meeting anyone's gaze, she headed swiftly across the common room towards the staircase to the girls' dorms.

'Parvati!' Lavender shouted, struggling her way out of a tight knot of people and hurrying over to cut her off at the bottom of the stairs. 'Parvati, calm down, please...'

'It was awful,' Parvati said, her voice a few octaves higher than usual, and stared determinedly at the place where the wall of the room met the ceiling, over Lavender's head. 'I forgot my lines, and my voice was shaking, and...'

She started shaking then; Lavender pulled her in for a tight hug and gave a desperate glance around the common room. Her eyes fell on Hermione with a pleading expression, a wordless please come and help me! Hermione sighed.

'I'd better go see if she's okay,' she said to Harry, giving Lavender a nod and getting to her feet. 'If she doesn't calm down she'll be in floods all night...'

Harry nodded his understanding, and Hermione headed over to where Lavender was attempting to soothe her friend. 'And then that Slytherin boy, you know, one of the directors, he was sneering at me and looking so horrible and it was awful, Lavender, I'm never going to get a part...'

Hermione stepped up and put a kindly hand on Parvati's shoulder. 'Come on now, don't get upset. Stan told me Adrian was like that with everyone. He even made one of the fifth-years cry.'

'I nearly cried,' Parvati said, but it was muffled by Lavender's shoulder. 'It was dreadful.'

'I'm sure you weren't as bad as you think you were,' Hermione assured her, though privately she thought that anyone who forgot their lines and almost burst into tears onstage had no chance. 'Shall we go up to the dorm? We can talk about it there.'

Fifteen minutes later, when she'd left an extremely thankful Lavender and a calmer Parvati drinking hot chocolate together over the latest issue of Witch Weekly (distraction tactics: always worked) Hermione returned to the common room to find Harry deep in discussion with Ginny, Dean and Seamus.

'The thing it, it's very hard to know when you're acting right,' Ginny was saying. 'It might feel like you're acting it right, but you can't see yourself, so you don't know. I suppose you could get someone else to watch you, put the memory in a Pensieve and let you watch it, but it'd be hard to get hold of a Pensieve... or you could get one of those Muggle things, what are they called...' She mimed holding something up to her eye and filming Dean. 'Dad had one a few years ago, never figured out how it worked...'

'A video camera?' Dean asked, and Ginny nodded.

'That's the one. But it wouldn't work around Hogwarts, of course, so it's pretty pointless thinking about it,' Ginny sighed. 'I did try using a mirror, but it doesn't work because you have to keep looking at yourself all the time, and you can't act while constantly looking in one direction.'

'You could come up with some kind of recording charm,' Hermione mused thoughtfully, 'I'm sure there must be something in the library if you looked...'

'I might do, if I get a part...' Ginny said thoughtfully. 'It would be useful... anyway, Hermione, how was your audition?'

'Well, I think I messed it up,' Hermione began, 'but Harry's been saying-'

'That you were brilliant before the audition and I don't see any reason to think you weren't brilliant in the audition,' Harry interrupted firmly. 'Besides, you kept contradicting yourself...'

'Only once,' Hermione said firmly. 'Besides, I didn't sound power-hungry enough...'

Dean sighed, leaning back in his seat. 'Honestly, Hermione, you do this every time something important happens.'

'Do what?'

'Go on about how awfully you did, and then find out a week later you got three-hundred percent and the best mark of all time,' Dean said with a raised eyebrow, and was met with appreciative laughter from the others. Hermione frowned.

'I don't always,' she said, instantly regretting it – she sounded rather whiny and childish. 'Okay, I suppose I do. But I get nervous, and then I start worrying, because I could do really badly one day and then...'

'Pigs would sprout wings and the Daily Prophet's headline story would be that Lucius Malfoy had opened a foster home for sick puppies,' Harry cut in, one eyebrow raised, not noticing Seamus and Dean's reflexive twitches. Lucius Malfoy, along with a group of other well-known Death Eaters, had broken out of Azkaban a few weeks before the start of term and presumably rejoined their master. With Voldemort's return now believed and recognised by the Ministry, the Death Eaters had begun openly attacking Muggle or Muggleborn families; the attacks were approximately every fortnight, in varying sizes. There hadn't been a major attack for well over two months, but there had been minor ones with single families victimised.

Harry's attitude to this seemed to be to ignore it, talking about Voldemort and his followers just as he always had; Hermione often wondered whether this was from a true lack of fear, (doubtful), an attempt to sound brave and unconcerned to the others in an attempt to raise their morale (possible) or an attempt to make himself feel less afraid (also possible). 'I'm certain you were brilliant, and don't you dare deny it,' Harry continued firmly.

'Alright,' Hermione said reluctantly. She didn't believe him, but arguing further would be pointless; it was best to let it lie.

'Excellent,' Dean said with a grin. 'Now, Seamus – I'll give you a Chocolate Frog if you do that impression of the dagger scene with a Scottish accent. I've been in stitches all day remembering that...'

With the promise of chocolate, Seamus got to his feet, and the Gryffindors spent the rest of the evening as they usually did – joking, laughing and enjoying themselves.

AN: And that concludes another week's chapter. Next week comes what you may or may not have all been waiting for: the casting is announced!

Do you know what I'm going to ask you to do now? Review! Or I'll make you do my Biology homework (monosaccharides, anyone?)

Review!