Macbeth: Act Two, Scene Three

Disclaimer: Is this a copyright I see before me, the signature towards me hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal document, sensible to feeling as to sight? Or art thou a possession of JKRowling?

Thanks for 236 reviews goes to: storm079, Rebecca15, samhaincat, JenCarpeDiem, Bella, SandryLark, Plaidly Lush (x2), Go10, Flexi Lexi, PhAnToM-ChiK, citcat299, ToOtHpIcK(x2), Chii, Madam Midnight, KawaiiRyu, darkcherry, Kou Shun'u, FalconWing, draconas, KrystyWroth, insanemaniac, stargazer starluver, Stoneage Woman, RedWitch1, A Genuine Freakshow, nikethana, Jaid Ziaen, Silvestria, Janie Granger, ablakevh, willowfairy, sugar n spice522, plumsy321, brettley, gummybear, Izadora, annikodomo, elysium, Sparkling Cherries, La Suede, V0xLoS, Nikki, Genevieve Jones.

AN: I had an immense amount of fun reading all your reviews, especially seeing which clues you picked up on and which you didn't! Your predictions ranged from eerily accurate to completely and totally wrong, which gave me a lot of amusement.

As to the Ramayana, I'm not entirely sure where I learned it. Most probably it's because I have a very close Hindu friend, Simrun, and because in my school on Thursdays we have various religious assemblies and there isn't one for people with no religion. So my friends and I go to the Hindu one with Simrun, which is about half Hindus and half non-Hindus at the moment. Though from next week on I'm doing voluntary work at a local primary school first thing on Thursday, so I have to skip the assemblies. I'm in two minds about that, since I really enjoy learning about Hinduism, but I also think the voluntary work's going to be really worthwhile...

And I should stop myself before I drag this whole AN completely off on a tangent. Without further ado, onto the chapter. Enjoy!

'Okay, from the beginning again,' Megan said, shuffling through her copy of the script. 'Zacharias? Are you ready?'

The Hufflepuff nodded, strolling to the left side of the stage and yawning. The rehearsal had been going for over an hour and a half, and the actors' energy was beginning to wane. It was, admittedly, a large scene which needed a lot of practice – there were nine of them in it, and not all of them were very good actors. Zacharias Smith, for example, was playing a comic role, but he kept reading it seriously and almost monotonously. He was getting better, of course, but he still needed practice.

Hermione leant against the wall and watched him cross the stage for the eighth or ninth time that day. 'Here's a knocking indeed!' he began, sounding better than last time. 'If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key.'

Ruth provided a knocking noise, and Zacharias carried on. Only the directors were really paying attention – with the exception of Adrian, who had come in complaining of a hangover and hadn't moved since. Harry was beside her, half-listening for his cue; Draco was on the other side of the stage talking quietly to Theodore Nott, who was playing Donalbain. The others were scattered around, leaning wearily against the walls or sitting on the floor.

'Anon, anon!' Zacharias cried, sounding annoyed. 'I pray you, remember the porter.'

He gave a slight bow in the direction of the audience, then went to the back of the stage to open the door – or at least mime doing so. Harry gave her a slight smile and got to his feet, along with Terry Boot.

'Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, that you do lie so late?' he asked, his voice an acceptable mixture of annoyance and amusement. The annoyance was becoming more prominent, Hermione realised, which probably had something to do with the fact that the rehearsal had been going on far too long.

'Faith sir, we were carousing till the second cock,' Zacharias replied, with slight emphasis on the last word – it was a comic scene, after all – and continued, 'and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.'

Moving slightly around the stage, Harry appeared amused. 'What three things does drink especially provoke?'

'Hangovers,' came the unexpected and rather piteous moan from Adrian, trying to re-bury his head even further into his arms. There was a short pause, then laughter from the cast. Megan gave him a severe look, but Hermione saw Olivia point her wand at him and whisper a kindly 'Non capitis dolor.'

Zacharias continued. 'Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep and urine,' he said with a distinctly evil grin, accompanying each one with a decidedly empathised mime of the corresponding action, before launching into his brief yet graphic monologue on lechery. Hermione had kept half an eye on Malfoy every time they went through this speech and had failed to catch him without an amused smirk on his face. Typical.

They reached the end of the Porter's speech, and after another brief and comic exchange the tone turned serious. 'Is thy master stirring?' Harry asked, which was Malfoy's cue; he walked onstage, smiling cordially. 'Our knocking has awakened him; here he comes,' Harry finished.

No matter how many times she watched this scene, Hermione didn't think she'd ever get used to seeing Malfoy and Harry greet each other amicably, even if she knew it was only acting. Malfoy, of course, concealed his dislike for Harry perfectly, while Harry had managed to hide it completely by the second run-through and was now the picture of courtesy and politeness. Almost.

'Is the king stirring, worthy thane?' he asked, and you could only have heard the note of distaste on 'worthy' if you'd been listening hard and knew Harry well

Malfoy shrugged. 'Not yet,' he replied, the innocence in his tone making it all the more malicious.

The small talk went on, as Malfoy showed Harry to the door – or rather, the section of stage marked be a thick line of chalk – to King Duncan's room; Harry slipped out, grinned at her, and watched while Terry Boot told Malfoy all about the eerie portents and 'strange screams of death' which had happened while Duncan was being murdered, and Malfoy went paler and paler, appearing quite frightened.

''Twas a rough night,' he said eventually, looking quite shaken.

'My young remembrance cannot parallel a fellow to it,' Terry agreed, and that was Harry's cue. Taking a deep breath, he burst onto the stage, half-staggering backwards from the door.

'O horror, horror, horror!' he cried, the tips of his cheeks turning red. This part was quite hard to do without being overdramatic, and it always managed to embarrass Harry. 'It makes me feel like a complete idiot,' he'd told her once, when she'd been helping him practice his lines.

After a good few practices he was getting better at it, though; he managed to sound less melodramatic and more horrified, though Hermione thought he could still use more work as she watched him rush around the stage and pausing where the doors would be, calling for the others.

'Ring the bell!' he called at last, and that was Hermione's cue. Feigning a yawn, she stepped on to the narrow square that defined the stage.

'What's the business, that such a hideous trumpet calls to parley the sleepers of the house?' she asked, attempting to sound both alarmed and annoyed at being woken up – Lady Macbeth had never been to sleep, of course, but Macduff and the others weren't to know that. 'Speak, speak!'

Harry caught her by the wrists, giving her an earnest look. 'O gentle lady,' he began, ''Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: the repetition, in a woman's ear, would murder as it fell.'

Which was, of course, completely ironic, considering she had been the one to plan the murder. Hermione loved these little parts – the seemingly innocent lines which contained so much more when you took the time to really look at them.

Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was playing Banquo, entered at that point, looking just as sleepy and vaguely irritated as Hermione had. 'O Banquo, Banquo!' Harry cried, leaving Hermione instantly and crossing to Justin's side. 'Our royal master's murdered.'

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth. 'Woe, alas!' she said – that was another one of those lines that was impossible to say without sounding ridiculous. 'What, in our house?'

'Too cruel anywhere.' Justin said, sounding shocked. 'Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, and say it is not so.'

Malfoy re-entered at this point, looking solemn and miserable, along with Terry Boot and one of the fifth-year Ravenclaws, who was playing Ross.

Hermione didn't have much to do after this point – she wished, briefly, that she had a larger part in this scene, but then chided herself for being greedy. She had, after all, an excellent character to play. For the rest of this scene, all she really had to do was stand, looking horrified, and react in-character to what everyone else was saying.

When Macbeth entered they shared a desperate and conspiratorial glance; then he came over to stand beside her, touch her shoulder and see that she was alright, while mourning the passage of the man he'd murdered – all an act – and then leave her and cross the room when the king's sons entered. She showed shock when he said he'd killed the guards who they'd pinned the blame on, with another conspiratorial glance. While he explained why he'd killed them, talking about 'gash'd stabs' and 'breech'd with gore', she tried -very hard – to go pale, weak and shaky.

After the explanation came the part she hated. 'Help me hence, ho!' she cried, and – rather nervously – toppled over backwards. Whether she hit the floor or not depended on whether Terry Boot was paying attention and ready to catch her. On the second run-through he'd been too busy figuring out where they were on the script to remember that he had to catch her, and she'd hit her head rather hard on the floor. That had amused the others – particularly Malfoy – but she'd failed to see the funny side herself.

Thankfully, this time he did catch her; Justin cried 'Look to the lady!' giving the assembled actors a reason to crowd around her, worried and sympathetic, while the king's sons had a quiet discussion at the front of the stage. When all that was one, she was carried off by Terry Boot and the Ravenclaw playing Ross; they'd already managed to hit her against the wall once and the desk-stage twice. All in all, it was a painful scene.

The rest of the action wound itself up; they all decided to meet again in a short while when they'd composed themselves, leaving the king's sons to decide that it was far too dangerous to stay in Scotland and to decide where to run to. And then it was over.

'Excellent, that was much better,' Megan said when they last line had been delivered. 'You've made a lot of progress, all of you. Now...' She glanced at her watch. 'Is that the time? I suppose that'll be the end of it, then, unless anyone wants to go through it again?'

No one did; there was a general cheer as everyone headed for the doors.

''Tis safer to be that which we destroy then by destruction dwell in doubtful joy,' Hermione said, paused a second for the Enter Macbeth, and then carried one. 'How now-'

'No, it's safer to dwell in doubtful joy,' Malfoy interrupted thoughtfully. 'Because if you're destroyed, then you're dead.'

Hermione frowned. 'There's nothing safer than death: you can't be hurt any more if you're dead,' she remarked, before attempting to continue. 'How now, my lord! Why do-'

'But you're dead,' Malfoy said firmly, glancing up at her with an unreadable expression in cold grey eyes. 'Which suggests that something very dangerous must have happened to you. Plus your body rots, which doesn't sound very safe to me...'

'I think it means in terms of your mind,' Hermione replied. 'Why do you keep alone, of sorriest fancies-'

'I suppose it depends on your definition of safe,' Malfoy interrupted again, examining a knothole on the table, and Hermione snapped.

'Look, Malfoy, will you let me finish this line?'

He glanced up, amusement twisting the corners of his mouth. 'No,' he said, with a tone of sullied innocence, an odd light in his eyes. 'I won't.'

Disgusted, she threw the script down. 'We are meant to be practicing, Malfoy...'

'Well I say we're meant to be taking a break,' he replied decisively, leaning back in his chair. 'Unless Miss Know-it-All hasn't heard of breaks? It's quite an easy concept, my lady, you simply...'

'I know what a break is,' Hermione replied sharply. 'I don't understand why you'd want one. Isn't your sole aim in life to get through these practices and away from me as fast as possible?'

'Away from you? When I could be making your life a misery?' Malfoy asked, putting an elegant hand to his chest as though offended. 'Never.'

Hermione groaned, slumping forwards to put her head on the table. 'Why did they choose you to play Macbeth?' she asked.

'My wit, charm, acting ability and incredible good looks?' Malfoy asked, smirking.

'Someone told me you got it because you were friends with Megan,' she accused, not mentioning that she didn't believe that at all.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Megan Montgomery? The Gryffindor?'

'Is there another Megan?' she asked. 'I heard you kept visiting each other in the summer after first year.' That was true. Lavender had told her, and while Lavender would pass anything on regardless of whether it was true or not, she wouldn't say it was definitely true, definitely reliable, unless she knew it was true.

Malfoy looked at her blankly for a moment. She saw a brief flicker of realisation flash over his face before he broke into laughter; genuine laughter. That startled her; she hadn't seen him laugh before.

'Granger, the last time I saw Megan, she punched me in the face and broke my jaw,' he informed her when he'd regained control of himself. 'There are no feelings of friendship there, I assure you.'

'She broke...?' Hermione asked incredulously. 'Why?'

Malfoy shrugged. 'Because she was annoyed at me, I assume. I think I was provoking her.' He paused a moment, considering. 'I was probably provoking her. We weren't friends, certainly.'

'Why was she at your house, then?' Hermione asked, curious.

'Her parents thought she was becoming too... liberal,' he said, with a note of distaste. 'Obviously once she was sorted into Gryffindor there was no hope for her, but they thought someone such as I might have a good influence on her.' He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. 'Didn't you know? That's why she's taking Muggle Studies, of course. Rebellion.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I never knew that,' she replied.

His eyes widened. 'The Almighty Granger didn't know something?' he asked in mock disbelief. 'Is the world drawing to an end?'

She glared at him. 'Oh, find something more original to insult.'

'Why change a winning formula?'

'Malfoy...' She sighed. 'Let's just get back to the practice. Shall we?'

Malfoy glanced at his watch. 'No, I don't feel like it yet.'

'Well I do,' Hermione replied, stubbornly, picking up her script. She took a breath to calm herself, to get back into character. 'How now, my lord!'

'Quite well, thank you,' Malfoy replied flippantly, inspecting his fingernails. Hermione glared at him and carried on.

'Why do you keep alone, of sorriest fancies your companions making...'

'Sorriest fancies?' Malfoy asked, with a smirk. 'None of my fancies are ever very sorry...'

'Malfoy!' she snapped again. 'Can't you be serious for one minute?'

'Only when I want to be, and I don't much feel like being serious now,' he replied, grinning at her. She had to restrain herself from throwing her script at him.

'Very well, then, tell me when you do feel like being serious,' she replied. 'Accio book.'

She pointed her wand randomly at the bookshelf; a book came flying towards her, which she opened up and began to read.

Malfoy craned to read the title. 'Difficulties in the Legal, Moral and Ethical Aspect of Transfiguring Animals,' he read. 'That sounds absolutely fascinating, Granger.'

She ignored him, focusing on the introduction to the book. The Wizarding community has been debating the question of the transfiguration of animals – the transformation of intelligent and sentient beings...

'I wonder if Longbottom counts as an animal', Malfoy mused.

...of intelligent and sentient beings into...

'The Weasleys would be, obviously, you only have to look at that hovel they live in.'

...sentient beings into other forms, often...

'Hey, you could transfigure the Mudbloods into...'

He never got to finish the sentence. One second the book was in her hand; the next it has flown across the table and hit the bookcase behind him; Malfoy having ducked quickly out of the way. Hermione was on her feet.

'You absolute...' she hissed, incapable of finishing the sentence: there were no words in existence to describe him. 'Can't you be polite and friendly for once in you miserable selfish life?'

'I can when I'm not being completely ignored,' he replied rudely, folding his arms and glaring up at her.

'And I wouldn't have been ignoring you if you were being sensible!' she shrieked back, becoming acutely conscious that she was in a library. She took a deep breath, concentrating on controlling herself, on calming down. 'Look are you going to cooperate or not?'

He stared at her for a moment, his gaze surly and unreadable. 'Fine.'

She sat down, picked up her script, and continued. 'How now, my lord! Why do you keep alone, of sorriest fancies your companions making...'

They continued on rather stiffly for a few exchanges, before Hermione got back into the right frame of mind. We have to put up with each other, she reminded herself firmly. They could not fight. Even if he was being a cruel, insulting, vicious pig; she had to really try to get on with him.

She managed it for the rest of the scene. 'Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill: so, prithee, go with me,' Malfoy finished, looking up at her, his eyes as unreadable as mercury.

After a short but tense silence, Hermione spoke. 'Again?'

'I don't want to,' was the immediate answer. 'And before you say anything, there is such a concept as compromise, you know. I let you have your practice, so you should let me have my break.'

'Fine,' Hermione replied, and immediately began reading through her script silently. After staring at her for a few seconds, Malfoy did the same.

After half a minute, he spoke. 'Do you think Macbeth and his wife love each other?'

'Are you just trying to make me talk?' she demanded, glancing up.

He was toying with the knothole on the tabletop again. 'No. I'm interested.'

'In that case, I don't know. Probably not,' she replied, returning to the script.

Malfoy's voice was completely innocent. 'Why not?'

Calm and polite, she reminded herself. 'They're the villains,' she explained. 'The evil ones. Love and evil don't usually go together well.'

'It depends how you define love, I suppose,' Malfoy replied, totally absorbed in the knothole. 'Or evil.' He looked up then, laughed a little, eyes shining. 'Or do you think that anyone who does evil isn't human? Do you think they lack the ability to love because they're cruel to people?'

'Since you ask, yes.' Hermione replied. 'And if you try to convince me that your father is a kind and loving man...'

'I wouldn't,' Malfoy replied sharply. 'He isn't. But that doesn't mean a Death Eater can't... can't do evil things and still be human.'

'I don't think they're human,' Hermione said, surprising even herself with the conviction in her voice. Malfoy's head snapped up. 'I mean, you've read the reports in the Daily Prophet...'

Malfoy gave a funny little laugh. 'Reports! And newspapers,' he said viciously. His fingernails dug in around the knothole as though trying to prise it out. 'And of course anyone with a Dark Mark on their arm isn't human...'

'It depends...' Hermione began, but Malfoy didn't let her finish; the tips of his cheekbones were turning pink.

'That's so typical of you. Your side. All those Death Eaters, nothing but vermin and evil inhuman murderers, and you don't-'

'That's exactly what they think of us!' Hermione cried. 'That's what they think about the Muggleborns, and they're the evil ones, the inhuman ones, because we haven't done anything! They're the murderers!'

'Typical Mudblood,' Malfoy spat, eyes filled with venom, and got to his feet., shoving his script into his bag. 'I'm going...'

'Running away because you know you're losing the argument?' Hermione asked, more nastily than she'd meant to. 'The day you convince me that Death Eaters have feelings too... Listen to me!'

She grabbed hold of his sleeve as he turned to go, pulling it down to his elbow in the process. He pulled back as if stung, eyes wide, snatching his arm up to his chest, but there was no denying what she'd seen on his arm, even if only for a split second.

The Dark Mark.

AN: And on that extremely cruel cliffhanger, I shall leave you. Congratulations to everyone who figured out the clues!

Non capitis dolor, translated roughly, means 'no headache'.

As you can probably guess, you're in for a fun time next chapter. In the meantime, all reviewers get an hour with dearest Draco to do whatever you desire, whether it be intensive questioning, disbelieving screaming, hugging, kissing or... ahem.

Review!