Dumbledore, Please Explain Your Twisted Logic!

Chapter Two

In Which Some Truly Nonsensical Auditions Are Held

It was Friday. Classes had just let out, and the students had an hour before the auditions for the play. As the whole school had heard about it, most of the students had decided to give it a go. For the boys, this meant an hour of free time before heading over to the Great Hall; for the girls, it meant an hour of preparation.

Actually, Hermione employed Harry and Ron in helping her prepare. She spent fifty-three minutes bossing them around merrily, and they (meaning Harry) yielded to her whims.

"Get me my hairbrush," she said in a no-nonsense voice.

"Don't look at me," Ron said as he glanced up from the toilet, where he was polishing his Cleansweep. "Real men don't touch hairbrushes."

"For Merlin's sake." Harry rolled his eyes and passed her the hairbrush. She attacked her bushy brown hair for a few minutes with the ferocity she had built up by battling Dark wizards. Nothing happened, except the hair bushed up even more.

"Looks amazing," Harry lied. In truth, her hair looked awful; he felt it a better use of time to look past her face and examine everything below it (except for the clothing, which was hideous). He really wanted to stare at her hips instead of her hair, but he thought that might be a bit rude. So he compromised by focusing his gaze somewhere in between, around her breasts.

Ron didn't say anything, because real men didn't give girly compliments. He finished polishing his broom and turned his attention towards Harry's Firebolt.

"No, really," Hermione pressed. "Does it look any good? Do I look like Rowena Ravenclaw?"

"Of course," Harry lied again. "You look stunning."

"No, really!" Hermione said again, primping in front of the mirror. "I think my hair might be a bit bushy. And did Ravenclaw wear such prudish clothing?

"Your hair's flatter than a smear of roadkill," Harry offered, "and a lot prettier, too." Two lies in the same sentence! And, since three's a charm: "If you call that gorgeous outfit prudish, I'd love to see your idea of stunning!" Feeling overly proud of his stellar abilities at deception, Harry leaned against the wall and stared at Hermione's bum.

"No, really!" Hermione cried.

"Harry, stop ogling Hermione!" Ron cried out as he followed the path of his best friend's gaze.

Harry jumped guiltily and blushed. "I--I--I'd never. . ." he stammered.

"You're going out with Ginny!" Ron chastised him. "And I'm supposed to beat you up or something if you cheat on her. That's what any real macho man does, after all!"

"Shush, Ron. Harry's only acting like a normal teenager," Hermione said clinically. "His hormones can't help it."

Harry moaned in embarrassment and backed towards the window, snatching his Firebolt from Ron along the way. "I'm not going to cheat on Ginny! I--I--I'd never look at, er, Hermione..." Being a Gryffindor, he failed at lying worse than Neville failed at Transfiguration... Okay, he almost failed worse than Neville. In any case, Harry wasn't fooling anyone, and he knew it. So he jumped on his Firebolt, leapt from the window, and then flew back to his dormitory.

Hermione shrugged and turned back to Ron. For a while the two of them were silent as she stared at him and his Cleansweep. Ron purposefully stopped paying attention to her--that is, he stopped paying attention until she stared at him for a full minute. At long last, he lifted his head and shot her a questioning glance. "What is it?"

"I need your opinion," Hermione said. "Do you really think I look pretty?"

Ron knew girls. He knew what Hermione wanted him to say. Now was the time for him to lavish adoring sentiments on her physical appearance and to generally fluff up her self-image, because she really needed it.

But Ron wished he didn't know girls. He was trying to be a macho man--macho men could act all suave, macho men could act all cool around women, but no macho man should actually understand them! Besides, Hermione looked so horrendous that her ego didn't deserve fluffing. So, bluffing his way, he answered: "Pretty as in how? Am I supposed to tell the truth?"

Hermione looked quite put out at this. "Of course you're supposed to tell the truth!" she snapped, jabbing her hairbrush in accentuation.

Any man, macho or no, knew that what she really meant was: "Lie through your teeth, you bastard!"

But Ron didn't want to be plain-ol'-macho--he was going for supermacho. So: "The truth?" (Here he acted very laid-back as he surveyed Hermione with a cool demeanor) "Hmm, your hair's a bit bushy, and your teeth could use some straightening. Your clothes look a bit prudish, your shirt makes your breasts look smaller, your skirt should be at least half-a-foot shorter, and, in Merlin's blessed name, please ditch those tights! You have way too much mascara; I'll bet it'd start flaking away if you just blinked. Your lips are colorless, and they're thinner than McG's--put on some lipstick and lip liner. You should put some rings on your fingers so they don't look so bony. And, boy, do you need to get that snarl off your face!"

But Hermione could not get that snarl off her face. At first Ron's honesty had so shocked her that she was rooted to the spot like a tree caught in a particularly vicious cut of Devil's snare. But she eventually got her functions back, along with a towering temper.

"What?" Ron asked, hoping he had come over more as a macho man than a super-critical fashion designer. "Was it something I said?" He thought he'd done rather well; the "McG" had been an especially macho touch, because of course any real man would be too easygoing to spend so much time and energy on a name like "McGonagall."

Hermione gave him a sharp slap in the face to remember her by, then a firm dose of the silence treatment for the rest of the day.

**********

Meanwhile, Loser was running around the Hufflepuff dormitories looking for his clothes. The boys always hid his stuff, and they called him mean names. In this respect, he was very much Hufflepuff's version of Luna, except he wasn't sexy, he wasn't interesting, he wasn't smart, he wasn't calm, he wasn't brave, and his most frequent activity was crying like a baby.

This was the activity in which Loser was currently engaged: crying (as he ran about the boy's dormitory, half-dressed and frantic). "Where's my dress robes?" he moaned. "Finch-Fletchley, have you seen--"

"--Nope." Justin answered, stifling a snigger.

"Oh no!" he whimpered. "Are you sure. . ." But Justin had run off already to let out his giggles. "What about you, Macmillan? Have you seen my pants? Somebody took them all!" He wiped at his cheek, which was wet his tears. He licked away the salty moisture and stumbled about the hallway as he pulled his shirttails down as far as they would go, so as to hide his pale, bulky briefs.

"Never in my life, Loser," Macmillan replied, snorting in mirth. "Look, I gotta get ready for the auditions. See you later!"

"B-but wait--!" Loser blubbered. But Macmillan was already gone.

Behind him someone gasped. Loser whirled around and found himself standing face-to-face with Susan Bones. She cocked her head sideways and stared at him in slight surprise. Her gaze started at his disheveled blond hair, then traveled past his askew glasses, his halfway-buttoned shirt, his blanched, bony legs, and down to the long teal socks on his skinny feet. She raised half an eyebrow.

Loser started to cry as he tried to pull his shirt even lower. "Wh-why-why are you in the boy's dormitories?" he moaned as his shirt tore along the hem, exposing his dorky underwear.

"I'm here to meet my boyfriend," she said coolly. She was dating Edmund Daramont, who was a seventh-year Hufflepuff and Seeker for the Quidditch team. He also happened to be a thousand times less of a loser than Loser.

"But. . . but. . . " Loser stammered. "But. . . have you seen my--?"

"No," Susan answered shortly. "And you have a hole in your tighty-whities."

Then she strode quickly away, as if she couldn't bear to spend one more second in Loser's presence. He couldn't blame her; nobody as beautiful as her deserved to hang out with someone as dorky as him. Ah, if only he was like Daramont or Finch-Fletchley or, best of all, like Cedric Diggory (minus the dead part, that is)! Then he might actually have a chance at winning Susan's heart.

But of course, he realized, it was not to be. Once again, he had embarrassed himself in front of her. He began bawling afresh as he stumbled off in search of his clothes.

**********

As for Draco, he was always dressed impeccably, so he was actually ready for the auditions as soon as he stepped out of class that afternoon. So at 3:00 he went off to have some fun. This involved entering a broom closet down the hall from McGonagall's class for a secret tryst with Cho Chang (who had had to redo her seventh year, just like Marcus Flint).

"Draco, my sweet!" she crooned into his ear. "I love you!"

"I know, honey," he whispered back. "I love you, too." He started kissing her gently on the lips. She moaned and entered his firm embrace.

"Yes, yes, more!" she moaned softly in his ear. He complied ever so willingly and enjoyed the minty

breath-freshening spell she'd cast on her mouth.

After ten minutes of this enjoyment, he cut it short. "I promised Pansy I'd meet her at 3:15," he panted as he broke away from her.

"Mmmm, do you have to?" Cho mumbled against his lips.

"I'm afraid so, my dear," he murmured, giving her one last deep kiss. "But just remember that I love you more than I'll ever love her. Until tonight, darling. . ."

And, with this sentiment completed, he stepped out of the closet and tripped off.

If you think Draco's fun was over, you're wrong. It had actually just began.

Once that broom closet was out of eyesight, Draco set off at a jog. He was glad that he had foisted his schoolbags off on Crabbe and Goyle, because otherwise they would have gotten in his way during the sprint. Two minutes and two flights of stairs later, he ducked into an empty classroom in the East Tower to meet with Hannah Abbot.

"My love, my dear!" she cooed, and she flung her arms around Draco and started kissing his silky blond hair.

"Am I late?" he murmured into her shoulder.

"No, no, you're just on time!" And she began to stroke his chest industriously while he busied himself with kissing every one of her dimples. She moaned appreciatively and untucked his shirt so that she could gain a proper access to his smooth, hard stomach. Draco's breath caught in his midriff as he felt her enthusiastic fingers work their magic.

"You like that?" she breathed into his ear.

Draco nodded eagerly and pushed her sleeve off her shoulder. His tongue dipped expertly down to taste the bare skin, and she shuddered in forbidden pleasure. Draco smirked and let his blood rise within him as he deepened the lip-to-shoulder kiss.

Draco allowed himself ten more minutes of this before he broke away from Hannah, whose hands were running along his waistline. "I must leave you now," he said softly, still trying to regain control of his breath. "I told Pansy I'd meet her at 3:30."

"What? Then we still have a few minutes, don't we?"

"She's at the other end of the school, darling," Draco murmured. "And you know how suspicious she is. Tell you what--we'll continue this tonight. . ."

Hannah backed away, disappointed. "Are you sure you hafta leave, Draco?"

"I must," he said tenderly. "But believe that I will always love you."

And he left the empty classroom and sprinted over to the sixth floor, where he met Euan Abercrombie, a boyish Third-Year Gryffindor, behind a portrait of two ladies holding hands.

"Ready for some fun, Euan?" Draco growled with a smirk.

"Yeah!" Euan sounded breathless as he stared up at the blond Slytherin with stars in his bright blue eyes.

"Then let's get to it!" Draco crowed. He then started kissing the younger boy fiercely on the lips, relishing the joy of the third texture of tongue in the past half-hour. Cho's minty taste had mixed with the slightly raspberry-ish scent that hung around Hannah. Now Euan's signature flavor entered the mix. He tasted of fresh air mingled with house-elf, which was Draco's favorite kind of meat (he ate it almost every day in the summer!).

"D'you want to hear what I did in the bathroom yesterday?" Euan said eagerly as he stared up into Draco's sharp gray eyes.

Draco smirked at the silly little Gryffindor and ran a finger down the boy's luscious cheek. "Tell me tonight, big boy," he purred. "Now's not the time for words."

"Oh," Euan said as Draco's lips met his exposed collarbone. "Oh! Oh!" And so on and so forth.

Ten minutes later the blood in Draco's veins was really pumping as a quivering excitement danced about his body, especially near his loins. His stomach did a few flip-flops of anticipation, but he broke away from Euan, letting the tremors fade ever so slightly in disappointment.

"I've gotta go now, Euan," Draco crooned. "I'm supposed to meet Pansy at 3:45."

"That's ten minutes from now," Euan said, pouting. "Can't you stay a wee bit longer?"

"No," Draco said, still breathing heavily. "It'll take me ten minutes just to find her. So pip pip for now."

And he pushed open the portrait and ran in the direction of the supply closet off the Charms room, which was where he was set to meet Marietta Edgecombe.

Draco's hand went straight to her breast when they met. She gasped in delight and squeezed his bum, which tightened in response. Then they got down to a serious round of kissing and groping, while Marietta inserted bits of conversation in at the most inopportune moments.

"You know," she said as Draco manipulated her nipple through her bra. "I think Cho is meeting someone on the sly."

"Ssshh, love, now's not the time for words."

And so they continued their groping for another half-minute before Marietta spoke again. "Who do you think it might be?"

"Bloody Harry Potter, maybe," Draco mumbled into her bare belly. He was focusing more on the over-concentration of blood below his waist than on Marietta's words.

"No, she can't stand Harry," Marietta said as she worked her hand down the back of Draco's boxers. "When they were going out, he kept reminding her of Cedric, and she's hated him for it ever since."

"Mmm, I'll bet. Your belly tastes really good today."

"Maybe it's a Slytherin," she pondered thoughtfully as she worked her finger diligently into Draco's butt crack. "She'd definitely try to keep that a secret. I mean, we all sleep around with the Slytherins, but nobody's actually supposed to 'know' about it, if you know what I mean."

"All I know is that you need to keep on licking and poking," came the mumbled reply.

"I am," Marietta said. "I'm just curious as to what boy Cho's meeting this time."

"Who says it has to be a boy?" Draco mumbled into her skirt. He was getting really light-headed now with all the excitement, and he was hardly paying attention to what he was saying, much less to what the Ravenclaw in front of him was saying.

Thankfully, she fell silent as she pondered his words and probed his crack.

A few minutes later and Draco was really aroused. He wanted nothing more than to strip off his clothes and give Marietta the time, the place, and the bloody everything he had. But he didn't. Instead he lifted his eyes to hers and murmured, "I've gotta go, love. I promised Pansy I'd meet her at 4:00."

"Really?" Marietta moaned. "Are you sure we can't--"

"I love you with all my heart, but I'm sure. You know how that silly girl is."

"Why can't you break up with her?" Marietta moaned as her lips sought Draco's. "Then we could complete what we started."

Draco drew away from her, then grabbed her hand. "Feel this," he whispered, placing her butt-picking finger in his lap. "This is a promise that we'll finish it tonight."

He had every intention of holding true to his word. But for now it was not her turn to bring him off. No, he had one last person to meet before the auditions. . .

He left the supply closet with one last declaration of undying love. Then he shot off at full speed towards the North Tower. Up the steps he went, skipping two at a time, his breath quickening and his arousal hardening. He ignored Sir Cadogan as the knight chased after him, asking him to take the sword from his pants and fight him like a man. Draco reached the stepladder a minute later, and he vaulted up. He entered the room above, where the air was thick with a heady perfume. The curtains were drawn and the lamps turned down to a sultry dimness.

As soon as the trapdoor closed, Trelawney jumped on him, her eyes wider than her teacup saucers and her face shining. "My dear!" she gasped breathlessly as she began tearing eagerly at her clothes. One of her necklaces popped, and beads flew everywhere.

Draco joined in the mad race to strip off their clothes. As they did so, Trelawney gasped, "I've seen into the future, my dear!"

"Yeah?" Draco managed to huff as he threw his shirt over a crystal ball.

"Yes, and I saw death!!" This last word worked Trelawney up into a right proper state as she threw aside her last bangle, along with her robes and undergarments.

"Yeah, and do you know what I saw?" Draco said, pausing with his pants and boxers around his ankle. Trelawney stared in unveiled lust as his solid, naked body. He leaned closer to her and whispered, "Death! I saw myself fucking you to death!!"

"Oh! Oh!" Trelawney grabbed him by the waist and threw them both into one of the chintzy armchairs. Draco landed on top, and he paused wickedly over her writhing body as he reached to remove his tie.

"Leave it!" she hissed. "Just fuck me!

"Fuck you what?"

"Fuck me please!!" Trelawney moaned. "Fuck me to death!! OH YES, TO DEATH!! TO DEATH!!! TO DEATH!!!" The repeated repetition of the word brought her to the brink. Then Draco, with his wild rhythms, pushed her over as she screamed, "DEATH, DEATH, DEATH!!!! OH FUCK YES, DEATH!! FUCK! DEATH!!"

They came off at the same time, and Draco settled into her arms. The both of them, professor and student, were trembling violently. Trelawney was still chanting, "Death. . . Death. . . Death. . ." under her voice.

As for Draco, he felt very content with this final release. He could do this every day--in fact, he did do it every day. And today was no disappointment.

But enough of that. It was 3:55. He really needed to get down to auditions, which he told the professor in a gentle, honey-toned voice as he pulled his clothes back on.

"But I want more!" Trelawney moaned as she spread her limbs wide over the chair.

"You'll get more tonight," Draco promised. He gave her a quick kiss (and a quick grope, which made her twitch) before he vaulted down the ladder and ran towards the Great Hall.

He arrived five minutes later--just on time, in other words--and met up Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"How are you, my love?" Pansy crooned into his ear.

"Perfectly content," Draco crooned back. "And do you know why that is?"

"Why?" Pansy whispered, her breath hitching.

"Because of you," Draco replied, his eyelashes fluttering suggestively. "Because of you and no one else. I love you more than all of Hogwarts put together."

Behind his back Goyle, who was reading Lady Chatterley's Lover, coughed significantly, but nobody paid him the least bit of attention.

**********

All the tables had been cleared from the Great Hall. The platform that normally held the staff table was obscured behind a large purple curtain secured to an impromptu proscenium, which all the students now surrounded. The clock near the Hospital Wing struck 4:00, and everyone perked up their ears and waited expectantly for something to happen.

And something did happen. Two-and-a-half seconds after the knells had ceased, Dumbledore pushed his way through the curtain and into the view of his students. He surveyed them all with his kindly gaze, though he couldn't quite suppress the insane glint that danced behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Auditions shall begin presently," he said simply, opening his arms wide (one hand held what looked to be a rolled copy of the script). "Form a line, and I'll let you in one at a time." Flashing them an old-man grin, he disappeared back behind the curtain, where he had erected a nice little stage, complete with wings, storage space, dressing rooms, and a catwalk in the fly space. Something else was there waiting for him, though it wasn't something he had magicked into position: a professor named McGonagall.

"Oh, hello, Minnie," he said. "Didn't see you there. Is something the matter?"

Yes, apparently. She looked highly distraught, with her bun slipping (only slightly, but with McGonagall it made a difference!) and her hands wringing around each other. "Please let me help with the auditions," she begged. "Please, Dumbledore, you can't get it all done in an afternoon."

"Yes, I can," he assured her. "I've set my mind to it, and nothing shall move me. Good day."

"No!" she begged. "No, Dumbledore! Let me help..."

He twisted his lips around in a childish display of deep thinking. Then he shook his head. "Nope."

"But you can't do it all by yourself!" she cried frantically.

"Why not?"

"You'll get it all wrong!" she said. "You've never cast a Founders Play before! Heck, you've never even been in one! But I have."

Dumbledore patted McGonagall on the head, rather like an adult does to a toddler. "That's exactly why you're not going to help, my dear Min. Now off with you." He gave her bottom a light slap with the script to get her on her way. "Go find Sybil or something. I'm worried about her--she's been smelling awfully funny lately."

McGonagall flounced away, very much put off. When she had sneaked around the edge of the curtain, Dumbledore sighed, contented, and turned to face his castees.

One quick glimpse showed that the students had somehow managed to form a line, though they were still jostling and pushing each other. What nice kids I've raised, Dumbledore said, feeling no shame in taking all the credit. But there's still so much wrong with them, so much fighting and squabbling and general immaturity. Oh well. Nothing that time and a little meddling won't fix.

Ernie Macmillan was first. Dumbledore pulled him through the curtain and into the auditioning space. The Hufflepuff looked nervously at the stage setup before his gaze settled on his headmaster, who smiled serenely and handed him a piece of parchment with fine print at the bottom.

"What's this?" Ernie said.

"It's an audition roster. You just sign it," Dumbledore said. And Ernie, being the ever-loyal, ever-trusting Hufflepuff he was, signed it like a complete dumb-arse.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. "Now say something."

Ernie cocked his head sideways as he pocketed his quill. "What? Say something? Say what?"

"Anything, my dear boy."

"Anything, my dear boy," Ernie complied, taking the answer far too literally. "Now what?"

"That's all," Dumbledore said. "Now shoo."

"What?" Ernie said, clearly nonplussed by his auditioning. But he didn't wait for an answer before he obediently shuffled off, trying to work out what exactly he had done.

Draco Malfoy was next. Dumbledore made him sign the parchment, then got down to the auditioning. "Do some poses for me."

Draco twitched involuntarily at the request. "Some... poses, did you say?"

"Poses, Master Malfoy, poses," Dumbledore said.

"But sir... I'm supposed to be auditioning for the role of Slytherin," Draco said, his voice taking on an annoying whine. "What's poses got to do with that?"

"Come on, be creative," Dumbledore said. "I've got to see if you're right for the part."

"But how can you tell just by watching me pose?" Draco asked, still trying to figure out exactly how he should pose.

"It's all in the nuances, Master Malfoy," Dumbledore said soothingly. "Now don't be shy."

So Draco Malfoy posed. Figuring that Slytherin was probably some sort of sex god, he did some sexy poses. He jutted his hips out while puckering up his lips. Then he lay on the ground with his robes open and his shirt stretched tight across his chest. Then he gazed at Dumbledore with a smoldering scowl. All the while the headmaster smiled serenely while he threw up in his mouth.

"Simply enchanting," Dumbledore lied, wishing that he hadn't eaten such a big lunch. "Now off with you."

The rest of the auditions passed in a similar manner. Everyone signed the parchment before Dumbledore set them different tasks. Harry had to put on his best innocent look, which of course didn't work simply for the fact that Harry wasn't all that innocent. Ron had to show his muscles, which he did willingly but poorly. Neville had to act cunning, but he just ended up looking stupid. Ginny had to make growling sounds, which she pulled off surprisingly well (too well for Dumbledore's comfort). Loser had to look brave (I don't even want to say how that went!). Susan had to look humble (that didn't work too well, either). And so on and so forth. Everyone was a bit confused by Dumbledore's unconventional methods, except for the more-enlightened Luna, who took it all in stride as she performed the split the headmaster requested of her.

Now Hermione posed a bit of a problem. She was the 212^th student to audition, and since Dumbledore had been zipping through the students like hotcakes, she was behind the curtain before the clock had struck 6:00. She accepted the parchment Dumbledore handed her, then immediately went for the small print. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore vanished the last few words briefly.

"These names are in association with the casting of the Founders Play for the 1997 school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she read aloud. "Why in Merlin's name do you need to put that in fine print? What's the point?"

"I'm a sucker for fine print, that's why," Dumbledore said quickly, wishing she wasn't so shrewd. "Now just sign it."

Perhaps he said it too quickly. She looked up at the headmaster, her eyes narrowed, and gazed straight at him. Dumbledore prayed she hadn't been teaching herself Legilimancy at any time during her student career. "Why should I sign it?"

"Because I need a list of everyone who's auditioned," Dumbledore said. "Imagine if I assigned a role to someone who didn't audition in the first place!"

He waited to see if his answer had passed her radar. It was a tense few seconds, but apparently it had, because she signed the paper and handed it back to him without further ado. She didn't notice the fine print expanding by one additional sentence as Dumbledore took the parchment.

Feeling the need to gloss over the discomfort, Dumbledore resorted to lying. "I like what you've done to your hair, Miss Granger," he said smoothly. "It looks very... illuminating. Very much like someone from the 10^th Century." He purposefully left out the fact that, in the 10^th Century, people considered it dangerous to bathe more than twice a year, and that their hair was probably tangled in filthy dreadlocks 100% of the time.

For some unfathomable reason, though, Hermione, chose to take this as a compliment. "That's what I was going for, after all," she said after expressing her gratitude. Dumbledore allowed himself a moment to feel deeply sorry for her (and her hairbrush) before he got on with the audition.

"Touch your toes," he said.

Hermione did so, with a stunningly graceful curtsey. She had obviously been practicing.

"Now turn around."

She spun slowly, very much like a 10^th Century person would (at least, very much like Dumbledore imagined a 10^th Century person would, though he had little to go on). "Thank you very much," he said. "Now look smart."

Like Ravenclaw! Hermione thought. So she looked smart. Very smart.

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together in satisfaction. "Now goodbye."

Hermione frowned. "Headmaster, you haven't auditioned me yet. You've just made me do poses."

"That's enough, I think," Dumbledore said.

"No, it isn't," Hermione disagreed. "You need me to give a monologue or say lines or something. I have Ravenclaw's famous Fireside Speech memorized, if you want to hear it."

"Ugh, that nasty old thing?" Dumbledore said, wrinkling his nose as if he could smell the monologue from across the centuries it had been performed. "Let's try to avoid that topic if we can."

Hermione looked crestfallen. "But sir, the monologue is Ravenclaw's greatest--!"

"I haven't time to hear it now, anyway," Dumbledore interrupted her. "Now run along, go eat dinner. I have to finish up these auditions."

**********

By dinner that evening the auditions were done. The curtain and stage had been taken away, and the tables were back in their place. As the Hogwarts students greedily gobbled down their dinner, Dumbledore stood up and clinked his glass.

"Attention all students," he said. "Auditions are complete. I will be posting the results in the Entrance Hall on Monday morning, and I expect the cast to meet me here on Monday afternoon at 3:00. Thank you very much."

"Cool," Harry said to his friends. "I hope we all got the parts we wanted."

Everyone else around the room was hoping the same thing. They were in for some rough disappointment, poor devils.

A/N: Thanks a million to those who reviewed Chapter 1! Next chapter: who got which part? Stick around and find out...

Another million thanks to my beta, Lisa725--you've been a great help!