Macbeth: Act One, Scene Four

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful JKRowling; Macbeth belongs to the incomparable Shakespeare. I wonder how Shakespeare would feel about this collision of the two? Then again, he's already spinning in his grave so fast from so many other mutilations of his works that it's a wonder he hasn't taken off into orbit like a helicopter yet.

Thanks for 104 reviews goes to: SycoCallie, ablakevh, midnight-blue, Storm079, draconas, Madam Midnight, RedWitch1, KrystyWroth, Stoneage Woman, innocentteen, MsLessa, Mjade-1, lazy, heavengurl899, Janie Granger, SPARKLING EYES, willowfairy, Rebecca15, Genevieve Jones, gummybear, NotYourAverageSchoolgirl, sugar n spice 522, Jeni, foxer, I-luv-Harry-Potter-Romance, brettley, mrazzle, Crystallized Snow, Sparkling Cherries, citcat299, FalconWing.

AN: I have to admit that I was rather amused to see how many of you quailed in horror at the thought of speaking in a Shakespearean style, while an equal amount of you were wishing there really were such a spell... And on the topic of doing silly speaking things, which some of you reminisced about: I once decided to use the word 'truffle' in ever sentence I said. This led to our ex-biology teacher being known as 'the disturbed truffle' because our class was waiting outside the lab and she came out and yelled at us, saying 'I am being disturbed! And I whispered to my friend, 'Yeah, mentally disturbed truffle.'

Anyway, staying on topic: Blaise. Yeah, I know JK said s/he's actually a boy, but I dislike the fact that she actually told us. It was one of the greatest and most fun mysteries of the HP world, and now it's gone. So this is partly in protest, and partly because I think a female Blaise would make a great First Witch.

And about Macbeth quotes: basically I'm using them where they fit. Which means there were a couple in the first two chapters, none in the last chapter (or this chapter). Next chapter will have one in, as will some other chapters. Some chapters will have multiple quotes. It all depends where they fit.

And that's enough rambling from me: onto the story. Enjoy!

The next day was one of those days where you get the feeling you should never have got out of bed in the morning; it would have been far easier to stay buried in the blankets and write the whole thing off as a cosmic mistake.

It started as soon as Hermione opened her eyes to the sound of Parvati sniffling and complaining quietly to Lavender that, 'I don't mean to be jealous of Hermione, really I don't, it's just that I really wanted to be Lady Macbeth...' She'd carried on for the whole day, glaring at Hermione in lessons, at meals and in the common room, before realising that she shouldn't be jealous and giving her a sickeningly guilty smile. Hermione would almost have preferred unequivocal, outright envy.

On top of that, the news circulating the breakfast tables was that there'd been another attack – two families, both with Muggleborn or half-blood parents, quite close to London. Seven people dead, two of them under the age of eight. The school was on edge, fearful whispers about it being passed in the corridors, the names of those dead passed from one to the other like a litany.

Harry was withdrawn and quiet – he always was when there was an attack – and Hermione knew from experience there was no point in trying to talk to him, though she worried about him as always.

And then, of course, seven o'clock rolled round and she had to go to the library to meet Malfoy.

She really and sincerely hoped that he was at least a good actor. If he was, then maybe they could just focus on the acting and forget their hatred of each other, at least for a while. If she could see him as Macbeth and not as Malfoy they'd manage.

It was only when she reached the library that she realised, in their haste to get away from each other, they hadn't specified where in the library they'd meet. It was a very large place, so big that first-years occasionally got lost in it. He could be anywhere, and to confound the problem she didn't know if he was here already or not. If they both came and started looking for each other they could wander round the bookshelves for hours. Equally, if she picked a table somewhere and sat down, he could do the same and they'd also never find each other. She considered waiting at the entrance, but if he was in there already, waiting for her...

What would Malfoy do? He certainly wouldn't wander round a library looking for a lowly Muggleborn: he was spoilt and arrogant, and he'd expect her to come to him. Also, he'd want to make it difficult for her: it would amuse him greatly if she turned up half-an-hour late, tired and hot from wandering fruitlessly round the library.

She mentally catalogued all the places Malfoy might choose to hide, and set off to search them all. To her great satisfaction, she managed to find him within five minutes at the back of the Arithmancy section, sitting in one of the plushest, softest leather armchairs, his feet elegantly resting on a low table, his pristine copy of Macbeth in one eerily slender hand.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. 'So, Granger,' he opened with no preamble whatsoever, 'how does it feel to be a Mudblood playing the part of nobility?'

'Much the same as I imagine it feels to be a Pureblood playing the part of nobility,' she said dryly, swinging herself into the seat furthest away from Malfoy.

'Except that I'm actually of a noble bloodline, and thus qualified to play the part of Macbeth, while you are a mere filthy Mudblood,' Draco said with a sneer. Hermione, already irritated and on edge from the stressful day, simply snapped.

'Oh, yes, I can see how your ancestry makes you perfect for the part, considering you're all a bunch of Dark wizards who go around murdering people, and that's exactly what Macbeth does!'

Malfoy froze, a red and angry flush spreading along the tips of his cheekbones, a sharp contrast to the almost-white skin that covered the rest of his face. His cheek twitched; he looked as though he were about to explode.

'You Mudbloods deserve everything you get,' he said, voice dangerously low and so icy that Hermione shivered, afraid. 'Everything. You deserve to be wiped off he face of the earth like vermin, that's all you are, vermin!'

He was shouting by the end, loud enough to cause Madam Pince to throw them both out if she were nearby. 'We're in the library!' Hermione said sharply. 'Don't shout!'

'I'll do whatever I want to, Granger,' Malfoy said, the red flush beginning to tinge his cheeks and his eyes flashing like poisonous mercury. He pushed himself roughly to his feet, grabbing his schoolbag from under the desk and opening it, throwing his copy of Macbeth into it. 'And I'm going, I'm not-'

'Stay,' Hermione commanded, quickly catching hold of his sleeve. Malfoy tried to tug away, but she held on fast. 'Look, I don't know what I said...'

'Really? I had no idea you were quite that stupid, Granger,' Malfoy spat.

'Okay, I do know what I said,' Hermione said, trying to keep herself calm. Inwardly she was frightened; she'd never seen Malfoy this angry, this enraged, and she didn't know what he was capable of. 'But I didn't mean it. I was angry and upset and I've had a stressful day, and I just snapped out the first thing that came to my head. I'm sorry, okay? Now will you sit down so we can talk about whatever it is we're meant to be talking about?'

'No,' Draco replied curtly, trying once again to tug away. 'I'm not staying...'

'Malfoy!' Hermione said, a sharp reprimand. 'We have to work together on this, you know, and it won't work if we can't be at least civil to each other...'

'You weren't being very civil when...'

'And you weren't being civil when you called me a Mudblood,' Hermione interrupted. 'Besides, I apologised. Now will you please sit down?'

Sullenly, he did so, glaring balefully at her. 'This is not going to work,' he pronounced simply.

'Yes, it will.' Hermione said firmly. 'I'm not going to let you ruin this for me, Malfoy...'

'Me ruin it for you?' he asked. 'What about me, having to have a filthy Mudblood as my partner?'

'Malfoy.' Hermione said warningly. 'Look, if we're going to do this without murdering each other, we have to be civil. That means you don't call me a Mudblood. And I won't insult your family. We'll leave bloodlines entirely out of the conversation, alright?'

He glared at her, looking as though he were seriously considering the murder option. 'Agreed,' he said eventually. 'And the less time I spend talking to you, the better.' His hand, which was lying on the table, gave a sudden twitch.

'Believe me, Malfoy, I feel exactly the same,' Hermione said. 'Shall we discuss Macbeth?'

'I suppose we'd better get it over with,' he grumbled, pulling his book back out of his bag and opening it. 'What exactly are we meant to discuss?'

'Just the play in general,' Hermione said. 'What we think about our characters and their relationship to each other.'

Malfoy leant back in his chair, tipped his face slightly upwards and sighed. 'Very well. Describe what you think, and kindly be quick about it. I don't wish to spend any more time in your... presence... than is strictly necessary.'

Hermione frowned, bit her lip, and began. 'Well, I see Macbeth as being the victim of the play, really, he's completely controlled by his evil wife and, to a lesser extent, the witches...'

Malfoy interrupted. 'Granger, could you be any more of a stereotypical Gryffindor? Poor, innocent Macbeth, seduced into doing wrong by his evil wife...' He gave her a sarcastic sneer.

'I didn't say that,' Hermione cut in, annoyed. 'I never said he was innocent, he's guilty of murdering Duncan as well. But he only did it because of Lady Macbeth.'

'Do you see everything in black and white?' Malfoy asked. 'Macbeth thinks of murdering Duncan ages before Lady Macbeth even mentions it to him, right after the witches made their prophecy.'

'But not seriously,' Hermione protested, 'he thinks of it for a moment and then rejects it. The thought of it even scares him; if it hadn't been for Lady Macbeth he'd never have thought of it again.'

Malfoy answered her with a quote. 'Stars, hide thy fires; let not light see my black and deep desires,' he said. 'That's before he first spoke to his wife: he keeps thinking about it. How can we say he wouldn't have killed Duncan without her?'

Hermione noted, almost subconsciously, that the line Malfoy had quoted wasn't in the audition soliloquy; that meant he'd read the play before, and well enough to quote it at will. Which meant he was at least somewhat serious about this play: that relieved her slightly. 'Because he always sounds afraid of carrying the act through,' she pointed out. 'Hence telling the stars to shed no light so that his desire to kill Duncan isn't seen. He wants to keep it hidden; it's not likely he'd ever carry it through.'

'But he keeps thinking about it,' Malfoy persisted. 'The idea keeps wearing at him, like an itch that won't go away. After a few weeks of that he'd be ready to murder,' he said, glancing at the table.

'Perhaps,' Hermione admitted, 'But I still think he wouldn't. It's a passing fancy, nothing more.'

Malfoy shook his head. 'The point I am trying to make,' he said, 'is that he's not all goodness and light. He may not have the... nerve to kill someone, at least initially, but that doesn't make him good. He's weak-minded and easily swayed by his wife.' He paused for a moment in thought. 'She isn't evil either.'

'What?' Hermione asked incredulously. 'Of course she's evil; she's the one who persuades Macbeth to kill Duncan! You can't get much more evil than killing an old man just to take his throne.'

'And yet,' Malfoy mused, 'she can't kill Duncan with her own hands, and she goes mad from the guilt of the various murders. Someone who is truly evil doesn't feel for their victims, doesn't go mad thinking over what they've done.' For a moment his eyes glazed over, oddly distant, then he came back to himself. 'Look, he said,' we've discussed it. Let's agree to disagree, and then we can get out of this accursed library and I can get away from your Mudblood presence.'

'I thought I said not to call me that name,' Hermione said, glaring at him across the table. He ignored her, getting to his feet and swinging his bag onto his shoulder.

'True evil also never keeps its promises,' he said dryly, before turning his back on her and walking away.

Hermione frowned after him, sighed and rested her head on the table, in her arms. This was going to be difficult.

For the next three days Hermione tried to avoid Malfoy, on the basis that the less time she spent near him, the less he could annoy her, and the more chance they'd have of getting along civilly. It worked fairly well; they never saw each other, except in the classes they shared and one accidental encounter in the library.

When they had bumped into each other, Malfoy had generally thrown her a sarcastic comment, which she'd replied to, and then they'd both got on with what they were doing. It was all slightly awkward: they could no longer be outright enemies, but neither were they willing to be anything more than vaguely civil to each other.

Of course, they'd have to meet again for rehearsals at some point, and then she wouldn't be able to avoid him. She didn't know quite how they'd manage then – either they'd be able to work together or they'd end up degenerating into utter hatred of each other. While she couldn't see them ever getting on, she was equally determined not to let their disagreements and the fact that they hated each other get in the way of their acting. Perhaps they'd manage some kind of median, some situation where they weren't at peace but weren't at war either. An uneasy kind of truce, with the occasional insult or mockery being exchanged. It was something realistic to hope for.

And so, when the word came around that the directors had called a meeting to discuss the play and rehearsal schedules, she found herself faintly optimistic.

'After all,' she told Harry as they made their way to the meeting, 'it can't be too bad. If we just keep the insults and arguments down to a manageable level – we won't be able to stop them completely – I think we can handle it. I mean, we're both adults now. We can handle working together on a play.'

'Hope you're right,' Harry said with a dubious look on his face as he pushed the door to the meeting room open. 'I don't know, he's never been reasonable in the past...'

'Harry, Hermione,' Megan greeted them both with a smile. 'Come and sit down, we're just waiting for the last few people...'

The meeting was in the Muggle Studies classroom, which looked eerily similar to a Muggle classroom: the walls had been plastered and painted in a shade of white, and what looked like Muggle electric lights hung from the ceiling. There was a shelf of books, a few prints of famous Muggle artwork, and a flashy poster describing Wizarding Law as it related to Muggles. Other things included an actual television set and a half-built radio languishing on the windowsill. Obviously none of the electricity worked in such a high magical field: Hermione wondered how they made the lights work or how the television was operated. Some tricky and advanced magic, no doubt – she made a mental note to look it up in the library.

The desks had been arranged in a rough horseshoe, and they quickly took a place next to Ginny, who had been chatting with her friends from other houses and thus had come down to the meeting on her own. Malfoy, Hermione was pleased to note, was on the opposite side of the room, lounging in his chair and looking bored.

Finally, the last few stragglers hurried in apologetically, and the meeting began.

'Thanks for coming, everyone, and well done again for getting your parts,' Megan said, rising to her feet. 'We've got copies of the scripts for everyone, to ensure we're all using the same version. Olivia, if you'd like to give them out?'

Olivia did so, handing the crisp, clean copies of the scripts around the cast. Crackles of parchment and whispers slowly filled the room as people began to look through their scripts: Hermione watched the approaching pile of scripts hungrily, and when someone passed her a script she fairly fell upon it and began reading through it insatiably.

'I thought so,' she whispered to Harry, 'they've taken the Hecate scenes out.'

'Hecate?' Harry asked, before remembering. 'Oh, that witch who someone else added in...'

'Whom some critics think was added in,' Hermione corrected, still browsing her copy. 'We can't be certain, but as she serves no real purpose and some critics consider the style in which her parts are written to be quite different to the style of the rest of the play, it's often thought they were added in. Oh, good, the Porter's speech is still there...'

Hermione got quite absorbed in the script after that: apart from the text of the play, they also contained a cast list, a schedule planner for rehearsals and a few useful footnotes to the text, among other things.

'Has everyone got a script?' Megan asked, rousing Hermione from her thoughts. 'Good. Moving on: we wanted to talk about rehearsals and rehearsal times. For the first week or two we're going to go through each scene, making sure everyone has the right idea and getting some basic thoughts about how you're going to be acting your roles. After that, we're going to have as many practices as we can, but which scenes get practiced most will obviously depend on which scenes we need to improve most. We also recommend that you get together with those people you have scenes with and practice on your own. Obviously, that'll be easier for the smaller scenes with fewer people in, but I'm sure you can manage to practice some of the larger scenes too. The first rehearsal is tomorrow evening for the three witches at seven o'clock, if that's alright with you?'

She glanced at Ginny and Luna, then across the room to Blaise: all three nodded. 'Good. Rehearsals will take place in here until we get closer to the first night and start getting the stage set up in the Great Hall, which brings me nicely onto my next point: the stage design. We're still discussing this, so we want your input as well.' Megan twisted round in her seat. 'Olivia? Do you want to tell them about the stage?'

Olivia looked up, appearing slightly startled, before nodding and folding her hands in her lap. 'We were originally thinking of having a basic stage, as it would be a lot easier to build, but after discussions in class we decided we preferred the idea of having a type of balcony,' she said in her quiet voice. 'It would run around the back and both sides of the stage, and there'd be access from both backstage and the stage itself. It'd be used for some of the witches' scenes, as well as a few other occasions. We haven't decided about entrances to and from the stage or balcony itself yet, other than that we'd like some entrances to both the right and left, and one entrance at the very back of the stage.'

There were some whisperings among the cast as Olivia finished speaking. The idea of a balcony level sounded fascinating to Hermione: she wondered what scenes they would use it for. She could picture the witches prowling around on it. Perhaps Lady Macbeth could sleepwalk along it, or the doctor and gentlewoman could stand there and watch as she made her way across the stage...

'Does anyone have anything to say about that idea?' Megan asked, and the room fell slowly silent with the same kind of edginess you get in a classroom when a teacher asks a question that no one wants to answer.

'Come on, we don't bite,' Stan said with a grin, which made a few people laugh, and then a couple of hands went up.

People said pretty positive things, although there was some debate about where entrance doors should be. They liked the balcony, and by the time they finished discussing it practically every scene in the play must have been nominated to take place on the balcony – though of course, only some suggestions were thought merit-worthy. Hermione had offered her thought about the sleepwalking scene, which the directors had seemed to approve of.

'Is that all about the stage?' Megan asked eventually, when the constant stream of comments had tailed off. 'Alright, that's all-'

'Finally,' muttered Adrian, who'd been sitting in the corner looking surly. Megan threw a dark glare at him and continued.

'Unless there's anything else anyone wants to bring up?'

There was a moment's pause, then Malfoy slowly raised his hand. 'I've always felt that the death of Macbeth was a little unfulfilling for the audience,' he began in his accustomed drawl. 'We never get to see his death: only to see Macduff walk on with his head. I watched a production a few years ago which altered this very slightly so that Macbeth died onstage, which improved the ending considerably. I'd suggest we do the same thing here – if you approve, of course.'

Hermione was surprised, considering who was talking, to find herself nodding in agreement. She'd never thought in great detail about Macbeth's death, but now that Malfoy – of all people! – mentioned it, she realised he was right. It wasn't necessarily unfulfilling as it was currently, but seeing Macbeth die on stage would be an improvement, certainly...

The directors seemed to be reaching the same decision. Megan glanced at her fellows, who all nodded, apart from Adrian who yawned. 'Do other people agree, or would you rather it stayed the same?' she asked.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy and decided to make a strategic move: if the two of them were to get on... 'I agree,' she said, raising her hand slightly. A few others did the same, following her lead, and no one was against it.

'We'll look into doing that, then,' Megan said with a smile for Malfoy. 'Anything else?'

No one volunteered anything. 'Okay, that's that, then. Witches, remember to be back here at seven o'clock tomorrow; everyone else, we'll get details of rehearsals to you. Anyone in the cast who wants to come and watch the rehearsals can do so. Goodnight and thank you for your time.'

AN: That's that chapter done: and next time, we begin Act Two. There will be five 'acts', just like in Macbeth, but they won't necessarily be the same length or contain the same general story arc. Just to warn you.

Now then, I'm sure you all know the drill by now. Review, or face a horrible consequence. I believe the threat for this chapter will be... let me consult my Sadist's Guide. Having the sound of nails scraping across a blackboard played to you continuously until you review. I think that should be sufficient.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Review!