I ain't worried, about a goddamn thing.
I hear them talking; I ain't listening.
I take chances that most won't take – Right?
I get knocked down I won't break.
Get it clear and make no mistake; this town's filled with rattlesnakes.

- I Ain't Worried, Rancid

"Sir, it really was nothing"

"My boy, I know we've had a lack of, hmm, shall we say we've yet to get on, but please, you do not need to feel distanced from me; I am your head of house, I do care about my pupils."

Professor Slughorn is puzzled; not only am I, Draco Malfoy, a student who has craved attention more than anyone else he's probably ever seen at Hogwarts, covered in bruises and limping. But I won't say who caused me such injuries or what happened.

I know he's thinking that perhaps something potentially problematic was happening behind his back. If the king of dramatics lips are sealed, there must be something seriously wrong….

"It was just a…mishap, I'm sure it won't happen again," I lie. The chances of getting beaten up again are, ironically, pretty high if any teacher found out about what happened. Like I'm about to tell that to Slughorn.

It was a mistake to go to Madam Pomfrey; as soon as I walked into the Hospital Wing two days ago, she gasped and made me sit down immediately. After she examined me, she determined four broken ribs, and minor damage suffered to my lovely spleen. Thank Merlin for healing magic. Afterwards she ran out of the room and came back 10 minutes later with an outraged McGonagall, who interrogated me for at least half an hour. Yawn.

I'm not about go blabbing that easily. Finnigan and Thomas would've gotten into serious trouble, especially if she knew about how they'd shown everyone the mark. Makes my blood boil just thinking of it. Last year I would've taken the opportunity to screw my enemies over; but I can't risk the professors knowing about this, even though most of them probably know what I got myself into. I really have no clue how many people are aware of the Dumbledore incident. Keeping in the dark is the aim this year; just get by under the radar so all the shit from last two years can mull over.

So now I'm sitting in Slughorn's office, the second time today, in the same uncomfortable crickety chair, the old buffoon trying to wiggle the truth from me.

"But why will you not tell me? ! Surely, you might want some sort of justice served? Some retribution to be served onto your perpetrators."

"Well, sir. It's not exactly easy…nobody is really that – fond of me." I say simply.

Slughorn frowns. "True or not, how is that relevant?"

"I have a theory," I muse. "That if I say who was involved, more violence will come upon me. For that reason, I feel it's in my best interest to keep my mouth shut."

"This is a serious matter Draco!" Slughorn raises his voice, getting increasingly agitated. "If bad behaviour is going on in this school, we need to be able to cut it off."

"Well, if I say nothing, I'm sure I can just extend my power into blackmail."

"B-but, that isn't –Mr. Malfoy!"

I can see right through this man's game; he doesn't care I'm hurt, he simply wouldn't want trouble given to him from McGonagall; after all, I'm his student, his technical responsibility.
"Look sir, I appreciate your…'concern', but if you don't mind, I have auditions for Music Fundamentals in a few hours."

And before he can say anything more, I'm grabbing my Potions books (had the class previous to this lovely conversation), and walk out of the room. As I'm closing the thick wooden door behind me, Slughorn has his huge moustache in a twist on his finger, frustrated.

I stroll down the stone corridor, wincing at this stupid constant pain, making way to the Common Room to get dressed properly; McGonagall sent out a set of rules for the audition date about a week ago.

I take the crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket halfway down the hall, one that I've duplicated for personal use, and opened up to re-read it for the 100th time.

Rules and Regulations for the Auditions of Fundamentals and Composition of Music:

1) Only Classical music pieces may be used for the audition. (Compositions from the Medieval – Modern era are accepted)*

2) Dress for success!

3) If you attend the full auditions to watch your peers, good, polite behaviour is expected; any rude outburst and you will be removed immediately, your audition voided if you haven't given it already.

4) You are given permission to come and watch if you are not participating yourself. However, once you enter through the front entrance you may not leave, and you may not enter; the door will be sealed. Leaving privileges are only for those who chose to audition.

3) You may exit through the side corridor when you are finished your audition, you are not obligated to stay, but you must remain seated until your turn.

6) If the instrument you choose to play does not have many integral parts in orchestral or symphonic music, you are permitted to bewitch another to play on its own for accompaniment.(Note: Spells will be cast to check for tampering)

7) Auditions begin promptly at 5 PM after class in the Great Hall; dinner service will be delayed until 8 PM.

8) Submit your audition form to Professor McGonagall immediately when you enter the Hall, and take your seat until you are called.

9) Any spells, potions, or supplements detected to enhance your performance and ability will result in an instant ban from the class and pending expulsion from Hogwarts.

10) If you require a borrowed instrument you must request it to the Headmistress at least 2 days prior to the day of.

* Note that in the duration of the class, you will be able to choose different pieces of music for performances, but for the audition, the assessment needs to include something of calibre and standard to what you will be playing on tests.

Good luck!

- Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress

So serious, McGoogles.
I'm folding it back up, but mutter 'Evanesco' to make it vanish before my eyes. Memorised it the third time I'd read it; now it's just making me nervous.

Rounding a corner towards the dungeons, nearing the destination, I hear little whispers from a secret conversation. Once they see me (A group of younger Ravenclaw girls) as I appear in the new passage, they freeze.

I'm raising an eyebrow at them surpassing them, pretending to ignore them, but really eavesdropping as they begin to whisper more violently.
This is getting bloody irritating, been happening a lot lately….

"…heard he was a Death eater.."
"…hasn't snitched though…"
"Dean…..Seamus….so uncharacteristically mean…"
"..Nott….so brave!"

I stop abruptly as I catch on to what they're saying and sigh. I don't turn around however, so as not to reveal the creeping. I'm right up to the wall where the entrance to the common room is.

"Salazar."
The password allows the large stone archway to appear out of nowhere and as I saunter into it, I address loudly to the cluster of Ravenclaw girls without looking back:

"Should you really be in this hallway?"

They gasp scrambling away frantically. Hmm, maybe that'll teach them.
Satisfied, I step onto the forest-coloured carpet, the door fading back behind me.

"I just can't believe that Nott would've defended him like that!"
"Well, I was there, and he definitely had the Dark Mark –"
"What!"
"I knowww! But Nott's parents were Death Eaters too right? Maybe he has one, and his actions were a sort of like a brotherhood thing…."

Lavender and Parvati will not stop conjuring up theories about the 'Draco Malfoy Incident". They aren't the only ones…all I've heard for the past 2 days are rumours and re-tellings about what happened after Defence class. Seamus and Dean are slumped in the corner, getting sick of questions, looking murderously at anyone who asks them any. In my opinion, they're paranoid. In Harry's, Malfoy deserved it.

Currently I'm sitting near the unlit fireplace in Gryffindor's common room, trying to memorize the composition to play it by heart; audition in an hour!
I am not prepared.
I must remember to detache in the eighth bar, and my tremolo in the middle is off, agh!

I'm being interrupted constantly, what with all these people caught up in drama and useless things like fights.

The Head of the Houses came in to interrogate several times the past couple days; it's the first time in quite a few years where a culprit hasn't been found for an 'attack' like this. Nobody said a thing about what happened to the professors faces, and yet that's all you can hear being discussed in the hallways; such dimwitted teachers. If caught, Dean and Seamus would probably be in an immense amount of trouble. Harry, Fred and George got banned from Quidditch beating up Draco in 5th year, what would be the consequence of an unprovoked tussle? Even if it was Umbridge, surely McGonagall wouldn't' be much more forgiving, regardless of what foul things Draco has done.

The hot topic that's come up the most (and the only interesting development to myself) I find is not the fact that Malfoy got the tar punched out of him, nor that he's given proof he was a Death Eater. It's that he hasn't told anyone about any of it. Malfoy not complaining about an injury? That's like a cat barking. Not in his nature.

I heard Dean talking to Seamus worriedly in the corridor the other day:

"I reckon it's so he makes us look like the villains…."
"No! He'll probably string us along for so long, driving us hysterical from fear of him fessing up…and then when we've just about gone mad he'll tell someone and we'll be kicked out."
"Bastard!…"

Maybe that's his play, yet a niggle part of me thinks that he won't say a word, and that's…odd.
It might be a good thing; this inter-house relationship starting. Yet whenever I mention it to Ron and Harry they assume that obviously the Slytherins just have a hidden agenda, causing me to wonder if they'd ever let this grudge go. After all, Malfoy, aside from his outburst on the train, seems to have sort of backed off.

"He's not exactly good looking, but he's…myetserious, an underdog, an ugly duckling."

Even more bizarre is how people are in awe of Theodore Nott; Draco's 'saviour'. Unheard of for not only a Slytherin to stand up for someone else, but to not even use threats or magic, simply command, is abnormal by any means. Lots of girls are flirting with him from other houses.

I don't know, I don't get it, this whole thing.
I always thought I could calculate the likes of Malfoy well, why isn't he calling home, rounding up the troops? Why isn't he mad? The one time he actually has a right to be?

"Were you there Hermione?" Lavender questions me suddenly, popping the thought bubble.

"Huh?"

"At the fight, duh!" Lavender replies, batting her eyelashes obnoxiously quick and leaving her mouth open.

"No, I wanted to eat actually," I smile sweetly.

I hate to be bitchy, but I wish she would move her conversation elsewhere so I can stop thinking about the antics of Malfoy and focus on my stupid work.

"Oh. Well, you're no help." Lavender tuts, turning away.

I don't think she's ever quite 'forgiven' me after seeing Ron coming down the stairs with me when Harry was under the Invisibility Cloak. But seeing that she's been 'dumped' by Ron as well, I won't hold it against her, I do kind of feel bad, given how smug and satisfied I was when she was so upset.

"Hermione!"

Speak of the devil.

Ron is bounding from the entrance hole, waving somewhat awkwardly. I find myself smiling at him as he travels to sit down beside me on the couch; Lavender now glaring at the 2 of us.

"Are you ready for your audition then?" he asks.

"Oh god, I don't know. I never feel prepared enough," I admit, hands shaking with my open copy of Vivaldi's The Spring; Movement I

"You'll do brilliantly, I know you will, you always do," Ron exclaims, rubbing my arm soothingly.
I love that he cares enough to ask me about it, yet my mind still lingers to the conversation that happened a week ago…

Ron must sense what I'm thinking even if I'm gazing down at the pages of the book, for he says;
"Hermione, about what Harry and I said…about you not coming off as artistic, you know that we didn't mean it like that right? And that we do think you'll do well…we aren't just saying it"

I chuckle, an apology is all I need from him to make me melt. "I know Ron; it's just more difficult to take your words seriously because you haven't even heard me play yet."

"Well you'll be amazing, I'm sure. What're you playing again? Viveethoven or something?" he asks, snatching my composition.

"No, Ron –Viv-aldi. He was one of the first composers to incorporate textures that resembled real life sounds into his music; very famous."

"Oh, oh yeah…right." He opens up the book, wideneing his eyes at all the foreign notes, sharps, flats etc, and hands it back to me sheepishly.

"Looks complicated…but then, that's what you were going for, isn't it?" I grin, knowing he's trying to make it sound like a compliment.

"Yes, I am."

"I'll have you know," Lavender suddenly hisses form behind the couch, "That Parvati and I are both auditioning too. And both of us are going to do well!" She adds rather nastily at me.
"You'll love my singing voice Ron" she finishes sweetly, "So good luck!"

And then the two harrumph - though Parvati gives me a quick 'sorry got that' glance before she exits out of the common room. Closing the Fat Lady rather sharply behind her.

"What was that all about?" Ron asks me stupidly.

"You can be so daft Ron. Obviously she still likes you, she's going to try and win you over with her song," I giggle.

"Lavender singing….." he shudders. "I dunno if I want to go anymore…."
I throw the my at him.

'I was joking, joking! All right'" He yells, rubbing his head and laughing.

I smile checking the clock on the wall. Damn, so soon! Realizing what time it is, I get up.
'Okay Ron, auditions start in 45 minutes, I need to go get ready, meet me inside the Great Hall in half an hour? I'll be waiting directly on the inside. Is Harry coming too, wherever he is?"

He nods. "Yeah, sure. He's at a Quidditch meeting with all the Captains and Madam Hooch. They're trying to figure out if Slytherin will actually be a playable team this year or something stupid. He should be done soon, see you later!" I run up the stairs, giving him a curt nod before disappearing out of sight.

I need to look presentable.

"Okay, what am I going to wear?" I rifle through my drawers, trying to find something suitable. "Oh, and my hair! It's an absolute mess…should I wear make-up?" I wonder, examining my face in the vanity mirror. I rarely wear any of it, but a girls hould always be prepared. I have a some available in case special occasions arise. I must make the best impressions I can; this is the first time in a while I'll have all eyes on me. Oh god!

I scramble around the room, scouring through my suitcase through my possessions, glancing at my violin every few seconds just in case it gets enchanted and walks off. My stomach is bubbled with butterflies; only 40 minutes!

It's time.

I inhale a big breath standing atop the last set of stairs in the Entrance Hall. Clutching my now shrunken piano, my composition book and form hand, I walk down the steps towards the giant Great Hall doors, where a crowd of people stand talking loudly. I reach the throng, pushing past little triads and quartets of people, who begin to whisper again about him. And now I feel horrifically alone.

As I amble in the hall, I notice all the tables are gone, as are the ones for the professors on the raised platform. Replacing them are about 200 seats facing the 'stage', the Headmistress's huge chair set off to the side.

I'm not exactly sure where to go, but I catch a glimpse of Granger standing by her lonesome to the left, dressed in a dark purple dress that is quite tight-fitting for her, hair up in a loose bun. She's wearing light make-up around her eyes, they stand out more than normal.

I'm not sure why I notice these specific things. It must be because is the only other person like me, waiting all by herself like that. Since when did she ever make an effort to look decent?

She stares at me, apprehensive as she realizes I've stopped walking and probably look like I'm leering at her.

Suddenly I feel someone pushing past, knocking my shoulder forwards rather roughly. Twisting my head back in time I get to witness Weasley and Potter sidling up to Granger, Potter narrowing his eyes at me.

"H-Hermione –you look great!" Weasel practically drools, all googly, trying not to stare at her chest. Pitiful.

"Oh, thanks Ron…" she replies, still glancing at me.

"What are you looking at Malfoy?" Potter lashes, getting all up in my face.

I shake my head, getting back into focus of what I'm doing. "Nothing, Potter." I snap.

Sneering at him for good measure, I tread once again to the front where McGonagall remains patiently, collecting application forms.

I've decided on Chopin's Étude Opus No. 4. Probably the hardest piano piece I've heard that could I actually am able to play decently, obviously it's my first choice. Just because I want to back out of the negative spotlight a bit doesn't mean I can't show off when it's warranted.

He wait in the small line that has gathered to hand McGonagall our form.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall addresses me as the Gryffindor girl in front of me goes to sit down.

"Professor," I murmur. We've never got on, McGonagall and I; for some reason she always makes me feel ashamed every time she speaks to me.

I hand her the piece, watching her face as she scans it.

"Chopin, Mr. Malfoy?" she inquires, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." I reply a bit tersely.
I can fucking play it, why do people feel the need to constantly underestimate me?

"Good luck," she wishes me deadpan, giving a tight grin that's neither menacing nor approving.

"Yeah….thanks…" I spit quietly as I walk to the front.

Does she honestly think I'm not up to snuff? Ugh.
I thought music was the aristocrats muse?

The truth is that my piece is rather difficult, and have I memorized all of it yet? No. Maybe that's imperative if I want to do well….but I'll be much better than most of these chumps. I gotta tuck this insecurity in the back of my mind.

I nab a seat in the second to the front row,to my dismay, Graham finds his way over to me with a Slytherin friend unfamiliar to me, as well as a Ravenclaw girl who I believe is Orla Quirke.

"So whatcha playing Malfoy?" the unknown friend asks.
The nerve.

"And you would be?" I question, furrowing my brow.

"Heathcliff Smith, of course" The boy states like I give a shit. "I play guitar! And I've seen you practicing piano just last night, what piece are you playing?"

I sigh. What is it with people talking to me like they know who I am?
It makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

"It's none of your business. You'll find out when I play." I reply harshly, strengthening my grip on the composition book.

"Jeez, I was just asking a question…"

"It's okay, don't take it personally, he's always like that…" Graham whispers.

"Is it true you have the Dark Mark?" Orla suddenly questions me, rather boldly.

Are you fucking kidding me?

"What is she doing here?"

"Oh, well….we're playing a piece together – you know inter-house unity and all that!" Graham says flustered, fake-cheerily. He leans over more to me and continues. "To be honest, I have a class with her and I kind of, er, fancy her…I know, she's not a Slytherin, but she's so good-looking! When she told me she played violin and was auditioning I stupidly said 'let's play together', so I'm kind of stuck, you see?"

"Well, while I'm so happy about your stupid decision, tell your little girlfriend to shut the bloody hell up, before I hex you into the ground."
I tear away from Graham, what an idiot; he gulps and nods. I survey this mouth Orla girl; she is rather pretty with long curly brunette hair and a sweet smile, but why pick an intrusive bitch?

Or maybe I'm just feeling invaded and bitter, but I certainly don't want any more public embarrassment.

"Ready for this, Drakes? " Nott's distinctive voice is behind me, breaking the slight tension that hangs in the air.

"Nott, you truly are an inch away from me punching you for calling me stupid names, you know that right?" I announce without turning around.

Nott swings into the seat next to me. He puts a hand on my right shoulder and leans over-top to look at Graham.

"Such a lovely guy this bloke, huh?" he chuckles. Graham smirks, I roll the eyes to the back of my skull. "And I'd like to see you try."

No comeback is had from me, I'm interrupted.

"Your attention, please!" McGonagall cries. She stands on the raised platform now, her wand raised to her throat.

"Seeing as it is now 4:06 PM, I believe it is time to start; take your seats please!" She raises her hand, giving a great flourish. The enormous Great Hall doors slam shut, causing multiple students to jump.

Murmurs from people scurrying to find seats carry through in all directions, noises from shuffled chair legs. There has to be at least 300 people in here, although I'm sure only half (maybe less) are here to audition.

I sit still, waiting for our Headmistress to say more, arms folded and legs sprawled in front of as I lean back.

A pair of bare shoulder blades and a messy bun appear in front of my eyes.
Her back is kind of sexy.

'What!"
Fuck, I said that aloud.

As several people turned to gawp at me, I'm quickly staring at my shirt, embarrassed.
Why the hell does my brain pick these inopportune times to let my libido take the reigns.
Maybe I need to get laid, if I was thinking about Granger that way.

"Settle down now. We will begin now with the first years, and follow in ascending year order. Any volunteers?"

The room is deadly silent as none of the nervous pupils raise their hands.

"All right then, I will pick a student to begin at random." She flicks her wand at a small pile of forms, and swished it back quickly. A piece of paper floats to her hands.

"Ah yes, the first performer will be: Barnaby Mullins!"
A rather fat little boy with a clarinet squeaks in anxiety, and wobbles up onto the stage.

"What are you playing my dear? Deprehensio," she adds casually as he jumps. A wave of blue light cascades around the boy's entire body, then turning a pleasant white and vanishes into the air.

"I will be using a detection spell on all of you. If you have altered your skill abilities in some way; I shall know. The light turns red before it fades if you've been tampering," she addresses everyone. And then to the kid, "Mr. Mullins, if you will."

She sits down in her chair to the left of the stage, muttering an incantation. An upholstered chair with a floral pattern pop out of nowhere, as well as a simple music stand, right in the middle of the stage.

Barnaby swallows hard and eases onto the chair, clutching his uncased clarinet and fumbles to put his pages on the rack.

"And you are playing today, so everyone knows?"

"Uhm, er, a piece by Bach for solo clarinet."

"All right, you may begin now." She directs pleasantly.

Barnaby is a deer in the headlights (a rather portly one at that), and places his mouth on the reed.

A deep breath, a red hue on his face, he blows quickly.

"Eeeerrrrrrrrriiiieeeeeeeaaaa a!"

The sound that emits this disaster is horrible and screechy. I scrunch my face and put my hands casually on his ears, many others doing the same thank god.
Good lord, I hope this is over soon.

The auditions for the younger years pass by in an abysmal drag – most of them not very good. Everyone claps politely (Yes, even the Slytherins) for each performer though; they do not need to face any more humiliation. Every so often there is a gem of good music-playing, but I still maintain that none of them do their original composer justice.
In fact, this train wreck of events is very tiring, and I want to get on with this, I haven't had time to let anxiety set in. I think it's best if you pretend you know you'll be amazing.

Suddenly a thump, and a gasp: A particularly bad Hufflepuff 3rd year faints halfway through playing the piano she is so panicky. Needless to say she has done terribly.

"I'll bet poor old Stravinsky is rolling around in his grave after that pathetic disaster," I whisper rather loudly, after the girl has been revived and exits through the back red-faced.

Nott chokes out a laugh, trying to contain himself, and to my pleasure, a few other snickers resonate from around me.

Granger however, decides to shoot around and give a dirty look. But I'm ready; I stare her down, and lift an eyebrow, challenging her to say something.

She narrows her eyes at me, not having the nerve and turns around. Weasley grabs her upper arm trying to settle her down. Before the next audition he says, quite eloquently: "Shove off Malfoy."

"Pathetic," is all I reply. A growl, no more responses however.
Potter and Weaselette are ignoring me, no doubt trying to avoid a ruckus.

I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed. I'm so bored.
After another excruciating half hour, it's the 5th years turns.

"Any volunteers? Anyone?" McGonagall asks wearily, clearly sick of having to pick people at random.

"We'll go!"

Everyone turns to see who yelled it; Orla. Graham is frightened, the magnitude of what is about to happen sinking in. That's what he gets for picking big mouthed ladies to be his companions.

"Come on, Graham!" Orla urges, grabbing his hand. The touching of fingers seem to do the trick, hormones raging. and Graham intakes a deep breath.

"A duet?" McGonagall confirms.

Graham nods as they step up onto the platform. "Pachebeezle's canon," he strangles out hoarsely.

I laugh quite loudly, along with several people; one of which is Granger. As soon as I hear each other sharing the joke, I force myself to stop hastily. Potter decides to face me now, with an expression I couldn't read if I tried, and whips around once again, my face pink.

"I m-mean, um – "

"Pachel-bel's canon," Orla corrects, now looking regretful that she's picked Graham as her partner.

I didn't only chuckle because Graham messed up Pachelbel's name, it's also because I don't know what Graham is even worrying about. All he has to play is the basso continuo section – the continuous bass-line. Orla has the much harder task of playing the entire melody herself.

McGonagall summons a second chair and motions for the pair to begin. Nervously, the two sit down, counted in Graham to start that familiar intro.

As the meat of the song comes in, where the music gets far more interesting, I can assess that they actually are doing a decent job. Graham hasn't fucked up once, Orla has a few slips ups, but they were minor.

When they finish everyone claps; they looked quite pleased with themselves. Orla hugs Graham right then and there, and I feel the need to vomit. How lame. He's blushing during the obligatory bow and return to us fellow Slytherins.

Nobody wants to go after those two so, again, McGonagall must play roulette with pieces of parchment.

Although the first 4 years of students auditions seemed to drag on, the fifth and sixth years pace speed up rapidly. My nerves prick at my skin, surfacing to mingle with fear, bubbling in my chest.

What if I mess up? What if I am really terrible? What if I end up fainting like that silly girl? What if nobody claps!

My palms now shake violently as Ginny Weasley, the last audition in Year 6, finishes up her cello concerto by Elgar.

Potter is wild and Weasel yells 'Yay Ginny!' at his sister. She's very pleased with herself that she has done well. When she gets down, she jumps very nauseatingly on Potter's lap, granting him a big kiss, and he deepens it by grabbing onto her back and waist.

"That turned you on, eh Potter?" I try maliciously to get my mind off of worry. I can't damn well help it, pot stirring is what I do best. And I love it. "Bet you'd like to see what else she can do with those hands, huh?"

"OI!" Balled fists, and heavy heads and Weasel bores his ugly face at me, taking me aback just a bit.

I unfurl arms and legs in apprehension. I'm not ready for a fight, I just wanted to quell my worries. Pass some insults for old times sake. Before he can do anything however, his freckly sister mutters, "Ron, it's not worth it. Really."
She emphasizes that last word, staring coldly at me. Potter dons the exact same expressing, although it is 100X dirtier.

Guess he does want to know what she can do with those didn't deny it.

Weasley sits down, fists still curled. 'You're disgusting," is my reward, swishing her rather long red hair dramatically over her shoulder as she spins around to face the front.

Lame.

"Are you done then, you 5?" McGonagall bites, and the four of them and me sheepishly nod at the questioning headmistress whose hands rest on her hips.

We're pretty weak, aren't we?
One question and we're silenced like good little students.,

"Good. Seventh years, it's your turn."

A buzz runs along the Hall; apparently this is the most exciting year to watch having the most participants and auditions.

"Should I even ask?" The hushed room gives her her answer and she flicks her wand lazily; a form flies into her hands.

"The first performer for the seventh years is: Seamus Finnigan!" Everyone scans the room for this idiot, who gets up defiantly.

Before he decided to use me for sparring practice, this git has always rubbed me the wrong way. He is rather good at the fiddle, from what I gather, but no, I refuse to believe that such a dumbass could be talented at anything. And the fiddle? Really? How stereotypical could you get?

"I'll be playin' a Celtic piece from the 1800's. Don't know what it's called but me Dad gave it to me, he's a Muggle you see," Seamus states, taking a stand rather than sitting. How brave.

Without waiting for a signal, the detection charm cast over him, he attacks his fiddle with the bow, glaring intently at the composition. Several people's mouths drop; he is excellent.
Dammit.

I hate the way he over exaggerates his movements, sweating and grunting for no damn reason really. Showmanship and showboating really pisses me off, and yes, I know I'm a massive hypocrite, and no, I am not jealous.

After about 3 minutes of straight playing, Finnegan hits his cadence note, flushed from over-exertion. The audience has gone completely still, bursting into screams and applause as he finishes, giving a little grin at his response.

The seventh years a little less enthusiastic than the others; this is what the competition is like?

Nott is halfway down the row, shifting his way past knees into the aisle.

"What are you doing?" Graham asks.

"Hell, if this is what the people are going to sound like, I might as well just go now!" he grins, twiddling his drumsticks in his hands. A few people note our conversation and mutter in agreement.

"Professor! It would be my honour to perform next," Nott shouts ridiculously.

McGonagall is in partial disbelief, she pauses: "Well…alright Nott, come up here" she gestures quickly.

Nott jumps onto the stage and flourishes his wand – out of the tip appears a green drum set; rather expensive. Several girls quip excitedly when he gets on the stool, the 'saviour' was about to play!
Kill me now.

"And tell us what piece you are going to play, Nott."

"Er…an overture." He replies thinking. "Billius Tell….oh wait no, my ad, an improv of William Tell. Is it okay if I bewitched this horn to play the melody?" he adds, taking a tiny horn out of his back pocket.

"Yes. Dephresnsio." The light glowed white. "Reprehendo Instrumentalis,"she points at the trumpet, which emits no sound, showing that it wasn't going to play Nott's piece as well.

Wizards can be very tricky.

McGonagall regards Nott, who coughs, "Ahem. Lascivio"

The trumpet blasts deviously loud and plays the epic charging start. Nott prepares to play, sticks lilting and spinning in his palms. Coming in as the music reaches a pause before the melody, his cue has came. He bashes the drums, his hands moving a mile a minute.

I cannot tell if he's good or not, honestly. The improv aspect makes it difficult to assess whether or not he is intending to be offbeat when he is, the same when it sounds too strange to be proper.

Deceptive little bastard! I'm shaking my head so he can see it, but a smirk cannot be avoided. If only I'd thought of that.

Nott ends with a ridiculous flourish, but nobody else seems to notice and applauds heartedly, though not as loud as Seamus.

"Thank you for…whatever that was, Nott." McGonagall states. Nott bows, waving an outstretched hand in circles and crossing a leg behind the other as he bends over.
Silly git.

"Who's next?"

The auditions are progressing at a rapid pace; some going very well; others not so much. Overall, everyone is quite talented, unfortuantely. Compared to the other years, anyway.

Cho Chang is giving me a run for my money by playing Chopin's Nocturne on the piano; her long fingers make it easier to play, the same advantage I was blessed with. The only problem I can see with her is that she is so damn shy, doesn't project the image of confidence which is so important as a musician.

Another piano player is Parvati. She's doing a duet with Lavender Brown who has decided to –ugh – sing. They're playing Brahm's Lullaby, not a very familiar tune to me; but I'm glad about that fact. There's no chance for it to be ruined for me. If I felt empathy, my heart would've gone out to Parvati, she really isn't that bad. Lavender is just garbage. It's not even that she can't sing, it's that she is so dramatic (and slightly nasal) that she looks like a total idiot. Not that she didn't already.

Lavender has ended up off of the stage and is stood right in front of Weasley, finishing the last of her notes, staring 'seductively' into his eyes. I can see Weasel's ears turn red form behind him, his back tense. I try to snicker quietly, but I'm unable to contain this amusement. The room becomes incredibly awkward after this; everyone gave the obligatory clap, and Parvati is giginvg off the edhe that she'd like nothing more than to stab her best friend.

Next up is Susan Bones; a Hufflepuff. Yawn. She's decided on a Brahms's piece as well, a violin concerto. Hmm, she is actually quite good. I notice everyone else's surprise, perhaps because she ain't all that popular. No slip ups, earning herself a nice round of applause.

As she gets back down in her place, I overhear Granger whisper to her dimwit companions, frightened.

"Oh Merlin, I'm so nervous. Susan was so good! Better than me, surely. I really hope I'm not –"

"Next is – Hermione Granger!"

She lets out a shrill whimper; she's panicking, her arms shaking. I have never seen her in such a vulnerable state. Well that isn't true….but I like to keep most memories from last year out of my head. It's just that she's usually so self-assured when it comes to school. I want to say I relish in the fact that she's struggling for once, but for some reason it doesn't merit him as much pleasure as a thing like this normally would….

"You'll be fine Hermione, go on, McGonagall's waiting!" Potter urges his bushy haired freak.

I have no surety in what to expect from this Mudblood girl. I've had some damn strange occurrences with her this past month, and I'm afraid to find out. Because I keep paying attention to her and fucked if I want to get caught up in more shit than I can handle.