Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the settings nor the play they're all working on are mine. Just having a little fun... so please don't sue.

Author's Note: I was blown away by all of the wonderful reviews. I have responded to each of you individually; it's the least I can do to show my gratitude. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story!

Chapter 2- Can You Hear the Caged Gryffindor Sing?

“I can’t wait till tomorrow morning!” Hermione Granger was beside herself with excitement. Harry and Ron smiled indulgently at each other over her head as she bounced down the hall toward Gryffindor Tower. “I love Phantom of the Opera! I saw it in London with my folks over Christmas holiday several years back. It’s so romantic and dramatic. And it was so beautiful! I hope I get cast. I so want to be in it.”

Ron cast a sly look at Harry and winked. “But ‘Mione, if you get cast, it’ll take time away from your studying. Aren’t you worried about your N.E.W.T.s?” He looked at her with a worried expression and clasped her arm gravely. Hermione’s rapt expression faltered, and she looked at Ron in horror. Ron couldn’t hold it in any longer and his face crumpled into snorts of laughter. Hermione whipped around to look at Harry as well and saw him grinning. She scowled at them both and swatted Ron’s hand from her arm.

“Honestly! You are such a prat, Ron! You just did that to scare me! Hmph. Well, you do have a point…” She stared off into space, obviously thinking hard. Harry knew what she was thinking, so he gripped her arm.

“Hermione, stop it. He was only joking. You know you really want to be a part of this. You don’t need to worry about your N.E.W.T.s. You’ve been more than ready for them for years now! Don’t let them stop you.” Harry shot an irritated glare at Ron, who was still sputtering with chuckles. Ron manfully managed to compose himself. “Besides, I think it sounds fun, and who knows when we might get a chance to do something like this after we leave Hogwarts? And… well… I really want to get a part too… and I was hoping we could do this together.” Harry looked at the floor, releasing Hermione’s arm, stammering.

Hermione looked curiously at Harry. Was he blushing? No, he couldn’t be. She smiled uncertainly at Harry, then turned to glare at Ron again. He backed away, holding his hands in front of him, as if to ward her off.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione. I just couldn’t resist. You’re so bloody predictable! Harry’s right, though. Think of it as our last Hogwarts adventure. Now that the war is over, we won’t have any more of the scary kind, so how about a fun one? I’ve never seen or heard of musical theatre before, but from what you told us at dinner, it sounds fun. And it’d keep us from getting too bogged down in N.E.W.T.s. I was just joking, really.” Ron managed a dutifully contrite expression and Hermione forgave him. She rolled her eyes at Ron, then smiled a little, letting him know he was off the hook.

Harry stepped between them. “Good, now let’s get back to the common room. I want to know more about this play. And, say, did the Sorting Hat talk a lot to you lot, too?” Harry used this as an excuse to fling his arms around his best friends’ shoulders, walking in step toward the Tower. Ron looked surreptitiously at Harry, noting the slight flush on his cheeks. He smirked to himself. Knowing Harry so long, he could tell that Harry fancied Hermione, but was trying to be casual about it.

Ron understood. He had fancied her for a couple of years, until they had tried to take a step forward into a relationship the previous summer, just before the war.

She had visited the Burrow, and they had been sitting in the garden, zapping gnomes with their wands, when the sun had set. They were laughing at the gnomes’ expressions as they went flying through the air, and Ron looked at Hermione in the light of the setting sun. He was startled by how pretty she looked, and just gazed at her. Hermione had noticed the sudden change in Ron’s behaviour and looked at him. She saw the wonder in his eyes and felt her stomach flip. Ron had moved closer to her and leant toward her. As dusk fell, they inched closer together until their lips met. Both of them had been expecting sparks, after the tension they had felt over the years.

But, nothing happened. The magical moment between evening and night was gone, and in the darkness, they backed away, searching for each other’s reactions. Seeing the pained confusion mirrored in each other’s eyes, they broke off the gaze, looking away, embarrassed. Ron hastily cleared his throat, glad for the cover of darkness to mask his flaming cheeks, sure they would rival his hair. Hermione sighed gustily. Neither of them knew what to do or say. They glanced at each other again. Hermione gave Ron a sheepish half-smile.

“Well, we would never have known if we hadn’t tried, right?” She followed with a wry chuckle.

Ron looked at her and felt his throat loosen. She wasn’t mad. He gazed at her, suddenly very content with their friendship. He gave her a lopsided grin, chagrined. “Oi, but I had thought it would be different.” He laughed.

They were back to the easy camaraderie, beyond the awkwardness. Hermione reached for Ron’s hand and squeezed it. Ron looked at it gratefully and squeezed back. Cheerfully, he asked, “Say, you up for a game of Wizard’s Chess?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “You only want to play because you know I’ll lose.”

“Well, it keeps things in perspective to not be perfect at everything, you know,” he said lightly.

Hermione swatted him on the arm. “You git!” She stood as he scrabbled backwards to his feet. “Fine. But only because I will beat you one of these days, Ronald Weasley.”

Ron leered at her, feeling safe with flirting now that they both knew it would never amount to anything. “Oooh, promise?”

Hermione let out an outraged squawk, swatting at him again. She dissolved into giggles. “You’re insufferable. I meant beat you at chess, you dolt!” She threw him a haughty glare and stood to her full height.

He smirked at her, looking down at her amused expression. Throwing a companionable arm around her shoulders, he began leading her back into the house. “I’m sorry things didn’t click, ‘Mione. I really thought we would, you know?” He sighed. “Well, I guess I better tell Harry I finally made a move. Of course, I’ll have to pine for you and tell Harry I was roundly rejected…”

Hermione shoved his side. “You’ll do nothing of the sort! Ron, you know we’re better as friends. Tonight just proved it. At least we know now.” She looked up at him a trifle anxiously. He glanced down at her reassuringly and squeezed her shoulders.

“I know. I was just teasing. Look, we won’t go on about this again, okay? But if Harry asks, I’ll tell him the truth, just as you would. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They had reached the portrait hole by the time Ron’s reverie ended. “Phoenix feather.” The Fat Lady opened, letting the three climb in through the hole. The common room was full of chattering students. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to their favourite seats, waving, nodding, and responding to greetings along the way.

They got comfortable, and Harry spoke up. “Okay, Hermione, tell us more about this play. We need to know what we might be in for.” He smiled.

Hermione’s eyes lit up again. Her hands flew about as she spoke. “Oh, it’s so beautiful and sad and happy at the same time.” Ron looked puzzled.

“Okay, well, there’s this opera house in Paris, and these two men take over management of it. Well, once they do so, they hear the rumour of the Phantom of the Opera. The chorus girls and the stagehands talk about a man—a ghost perhaps—who lives under the opera in the catacombs. Naturally, the managers don’t believe them, but strange things happen and they start to wonder. Eventually their star soprano—a horridly conceited woman—storms off in a huff because of an accident. So, a chorus girl—Christine—moves up to play the role. She has been getting singing training from an unseen tutor, whom she calls the Angel of Music. Her father had died but promised her he’d send her the Angel of Music.

“At the performance, an old friend of hers—Raoul—sees her, and they strike up a re-acquaintance. But, when he shows interest in her, her Angel of Music objects and takes her away from her dressing room through a mirror. It’s the Phantom, and he spirits her away to his dungeons. They cross a deep underground lake, and he is bent on seducing her when she faints. She wakes to hear him playing his organ, composing, and sneaks up to pull off his mask. He explodes and she is terrified. He’s a monster under the mask. He eventually takes her back to the opera.

“There, the managers receive notes from the Phantom about Christine replacing Carlotta—she’s the horrid soprano—or they will regret it. He’s threatening them with more ‘accidents.’ They refuse to comply and Carlotta plays. The Phantom shows up to watch, and Raoul is in his seat. He gets extremely angry and causes Carlotta to croak like a toad, hangs a stagehand, and causes a chandelier to crash! The managers realize then that he’s a force to be reckoned with.

“In the meantime, Christine and Raoul have escaped to the roof to be safe and she convinces him that the Phantom is real. They declare their love for each other. The Phantom sees all and is heartbroken. He channels his hurt into vengeful anger and vows to repay them for her betrayal.

“Six months pass, and they’ve not heard any more from the Phantom, until he shows up at a Masquerade ball. He gives the managers a new opera and rips Raoul’s engagement ring from Christine. Later, the whole place is in an uproar about the new opera. Christine doesn’t want to do it, but Raoul convinces her that if she does, they can capture the Phantom and she will be safe.

“Christine visits her father’s grave, seeking comfort, and the Phantom is there, trying to lure her to him. Raoul appears and saves her. Now the Phantom declares war on both of them.

“On the night of the first performance of the new opera, everyone is in place to capture the Phantom. But he secretly takes the place of the leading man, joining Christine on stage. When he suddenly changes his song, they all realize who it is and Christine pulls off his mask, and he wraps his cloak around her and disappears. They find Piangi—Carlotta’s lover and the leading man—dead on the stage bed.

“The Phantom takes Christine back to his lair, to make her his bride. Raoul and others from the opera follow to track down the Phantom. Raoul swims the lake and arrives at the gate to the Phantom’s dungeon. The Phantom lets him in, only to secure him in a noose. He forces Christine to make a choice: stay with him and he will free Raoul, or leave him and he will kill Raoul. Raoul begs her to save herself, but she chooses the Phantom and kisses him. After this, the Phantom seems to break down and releases them both. He makes them leave and disappears before the others can come to lynch him.

“All that we see left behind is his mask…”

Hermione trailed off. Most of the other students in the common room had gathered around to hear her tale, and there was a profound silence. A couple of the girls had tears in their eyes. The silence was broken by a sniff.

“That was so beautiful. How sad for the Phantom…” Lavender blotted her eyes on her robes.

“Sad? The bloke was a murderer! He deserved what he got!” Seamus turned to her indignantly.

“But he loved her!” Ginny sputtered.

Suddenly there was an uproar as the Gryffindors argued about the Phantom.

Harry looked at Hermione and grimaced at the noise around them. “So, Hermione, what part would you want?”

Hermione started, flushing slightly. “Well, I would be happy with any part, of course…”

“Oh, give over, Hermione; you know you want to be the lead!” Ron cut in.

Hermione glared at Ron, crestfallen. “Of course I would like that, but I’m not as arrogant as all that. I would truly like to be involved in any way. What about you lot?” she asked, turning the tables on them.

Ron blanched. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not too keen on anything major. I know Dumbledore said they have a spell for us, but I can’t sing worth a Knut.”

Harry had a distant look in his eyes. “I think I’d like to be Raoul. I think I have a good shot at it. The Sorting Hat said something about me being the heroic type, especially after everything that happened with Voldemort, and Raoul does try to save Christine.” He looked at Hermione, then nervously darted his eyes away. “Heh, wouldn’t that be something? If you and I got the roles of Christine and Raoul? I have to wonder who might get the Phantom.”

Ron wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Oi, can you imagine if Malfoy got it? Ugh, Hermione, that would be ruddy awful if you were Christine and he was Phantom. I can’t think of anyone worse…”

Hermione shuddered in disgust. “Well, we’ll hope for the best. You realize that we have to take whatever we’re given. We can’t back out. But really, can you see someone like Colin Creevey as the Phantom?” She giggled and the two boys laughed with her.

“I can’t believe that Dumbledore has the faculty involved. Can you see Flitwick as the Phantom?” Harry said, gasping with laughter.

“Or McGonagall as Christine?” Ron continued, looking at the pained look that flashed across Harry’s face. “Oh, Harry, I have an even better one… Trelawney!”

Hermione shrieked with laughter at the panic on Harry’s face, but relented when she saw him turning a little green. “Ron, stop it. That’s horrid. It’s all right, Harry. I’m sure she wouldn’t be suitable at all. So, even if you do get Raoul, you needn’t worry.” She patted his hand consolingly, and he clasped her hand in his. She felt the strength in his grip and was taken aback. Glancing up at Harry, she saw something glittering in his eyes. Shaking her head slightly, she glanced to Ron, who was ducking his head to the side, whistling tunelessly.

He flashed them a grin and said, “I’m going to get something from the house-elves. I’ll bring you something back.” He slid around the table and winked at Harry behind Hermione before giving him a thumbs-up and sauntering off.

Hermione noticed that Harry still had her hand in his. Harry interrupted her scattered thoughts, “Uh, Hermione, you said Christine kisses the Phantom. Um, do, uh, do Christine and, and, um, uh, I mean, does she kiss Raoul?” Harry stammered fiercely, cursing himself under his breath, feeling his palms sweat, hoping Hermione wouldn’t feel it.

Hermione gathered her thoughts. “Well, yes. They kiss on the roof and the Phantom sees it. Why?” she asked warily. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer, not with the grip Harry had on her hand.

“Oh, you know, after Ron joked about McGonagall and Trelawney, I couldn’t help but wonder what I might be getting myself into if I was Raoul. I mean, that would be bloody awful! But, if it was a student, that would be okay, unless it was a Slytherin. I still think it would be nicest if you were Christine and I was Raoul.” He looked up from under his lashes shyly, gently rubbing a finger across the back of Hermione’s hand.

Hermione felt her stomach flutter nervously. Harry couldn’t mean… “Uh, sure Harry, that would be nice. Look, I have some studying to do. Especially if I get a part, I need to make the most of the time I have. Ron did have a point, you know.” She tugged her hand from Harry’s and stood, feigning carelessness. “If Ron shows up with treats, feel free to have my share. I can’t believe he’s even hungry after that feast.” She rambled on nervously, trying not to see the hurt in Harry’s eyes.

Harry pushed back from the table, pretending like Hermione, suddenly guarding his thoughts. “Sure, no problem. We’ll see you around tomorrow morning. Come to see the cast list with us?” he asked casually.

Relieved at his reversion to his normal friendly manner, Hermione smiled and nodded. “Sure thing. Good night, Harry.” She turned and made her way to her room, not seeing Harry’s eyes follow her all the way out.

In her private Head Girl’s room, Hermione warded her door and sank down onto her bed, absently stroking Crookshanks when he jumped up beside her. She took a few deep calming breaths, trying to forget the feel of Harry’s hand holding hers. She didn’t know quite what to make of Harry tonight. She’d never seen that look in his eyes before.

Hermione rose up onto her arms and sighed. Her stomach still roiled. Boys. She pushed up off her bed and started for the bathroom, ostensibly to take a bath before settling in for her evening’s study grind. As she passed the mirror, she paused, gazing at her reflection in wonder. Just what were they looking at when they looked at her that way? Ron did it the night they kissed… Hermione made a face at the memory. And Harry did it tonight.

She ran a hand over her hair, still brown and bushy, although it was a little smoother now that she had had so many years of practice reining it in. Her eyes were a standard brown. She didn’t see the sparkle that came to them when she got excited about something, or the shine that they carried when she was concentrating on something deeply interesting. She still had that handful of obnoxious freckles, although they had faded as she had gained more sun each summer at the Burrow.

Her gaze travelled down. She took off her school robes and laid them across the back of her chair, looking at her figure in her school uniform. She was fairly short. Ron and Harry practically towered over her. She was not fat, nor was she skinny. She was average. Average weight, average proportions, nothing special about her. She didn’t know how graceful she was when she walked, her head held proudly, or how endearing she was with all of her little poses and mannerisms.

All she saw was an average girl.

She realized that she was more mature now, of course. She probably wouldn’t grow any taller, and her figure was set, unless she gained or lost weight. She was the woman she would be, just lacking polish. She thought about the other girls and didn’t see how she could compare favourably to someone like Lavender, the acknowledged beauty of their group, or even Ginny, with her shining hair and ready smile.

Hermione looked at her reflection and frowned. Sternly, she said to herself, You’re imagining things. Harry is NOT interested in you that way. He is your best friend. Just like Ron. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. And with that, she marched into the bathroom, refusing to ponder the matter any more.

As she slid into the warm water a few moments later, her thoughts drifted to the casting of the play. Possibilities played across her mind.

I would so love to play Christine. Harry said the Sorting Hat said a lot to him. It didn’t say that much to me. Just that bit about me being devoted to those I love and being a perfectionist.

Hermione felt a moment of chagrin as she remembered the hat making a sly remark about her fascination with the unknown and her endless quest for knowledge, which sometimes led her to do things that were quite reckless. She couldn’t imagine how it had known about all of the things she had done with Harry and Ron, sneaking about, stealing potions supplies, spying… but it did.

Who in the world could play the Phantom? It’s such a deep, dark role. Would any of these boys have the depth to portray him? Harry might; he’s been through so much heartache, but he said the hat called him the heroic type. The Phantom isn’t really heroic. At least, not in the sense that he saves people. Gods, I hope it doesn’t cast a Slytherin. I don’t know how I could manage if I was Christine and I had to kiss a Slytherin! Considering the romance in it, I’m surprised the Ministry allowed faculty to be involved. I guess that was the reason why it was limited to fourth years and above, too. Of course, the Sorting Hat won’t cast something inappropriate. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it. It’ll all work out fine, I’m sure. All I know is, this is certainly one of the most agreeable things the Ministry has come up with in years!

Hermione smiled to herself, soaking in the tub. She felt confident in the outcome since Dumbledore was the director. Now she just had to wait till the next morning to find out if she made it. It was going to be hard to concentrate on her homework tonight.

Saturday morning took forever to come to those anxious to know if they had made the cast. Harry and Ron met Hermione at her door and they walked down to the Great Hall together. Harry was careful to be the simple friend and not the nervous suitor.

Ron saw both Harry and Hermione acting as if nothing had transpired and smirked to himself. When he had returned to the Tower, laden with sweets, Hermione had already disappeared and Harry had secluded himself in his bed. Ron had yanked the curtains open and tossed Harry his share of the spoils, but Harry had avoided Ron’s eyes, thanking him and closing the curtains again. Ron had shrugged, knowing that Harry would bring it up if he wanted to talk. He wasn’t going to push him.

Hermione was rambling, nervous about the cast list and about seeing Harry. She trailed off as they approached the notice board, where there was already a large group gathered.

As they approached, Luna Lovegood turned to them and looked at them with her pale, bulging eyes. She smiled blankly. “It’s not there yet. There’s a scroll posted, but it’s been enchanted to let the list appear at 8:00. We’ve only a few minutes to wait. I expect to be cast. Do you?”

The trio stammered a bit, looking at each other. Hermione finally answered, “We would be honoured of course to be cast, and we do hope to be involved, but we really don’t know what to expect.”

Luna merely nodded and turned back to looking at the blank parchment intently. The crowd milled about, shuffling and nudging while they waited. Suddenly, an expectant hush fell over them as ink started to appear on the scroll. It seemed to rise from the bottom like smoke, filling in the words. As the students saw their names, they yelled and jumped around, hugging and slapping each other on the back.

“There! It says ‘Colin Creevey.’ That’s me!”

“Oh, look Susan, ‘Hannah Abbott’ and ‘Susan Bones.’ We both made it!”

“Parvati, I made it and you did too!”

“Lavender, I’m so glad!”

“Hey, Luna, you’re on here too!”

“I know, Justin, I was just looking at the faculty cast. Look, there’s Trelawney and McGonagall.”

“Hey, Dean, looks like you, me and Neville are gonna’ be actors!”

“Oh yeah, Seamus, well, it looks like a lot of us Gryffindor blokes are there; Weasley made it too.”

“Ron, I’m so glad! Wait till Mum hears we’re both in the play!”

“Yeah, Ginny, that’s great. Bollocks! Did you see who else is there…”

“Of course I was cast, Weasley, my mother would never have allowed me to not be cast. Pansy, you’re cast as my lover… How appropriate.”

“Oh, Malfoy, shut up. You don’t want to make Millicent jealous!”

“You shut up, Terry Boot; I would not be jealous!”

“Hermione, I got Raoul! Just like I thought I would!”

“Oh, Harry, that’s wonderful. Am I on there?”

They crushed closer, watching Harry’s name fill in with ink, then the ink moved higher, and Hermione’s name began to form.

“Hermione! You’re Christine! I knew it, just like I said! It wasn’t Trelawney or McGonagall. Isn’t this great? We’ll have so much fun!”

Harry clutched Hermione in a tight embrace, and she felt her face flush. He had turned so her back was to the board, and she saw the rest of the crowd fall silent, as looks of varying degrees of horror, consternation, and glee suffused their faces. She felt a stab of apprehension and struggled to free herself from Harry’s grasp. Ron looked sick; Neville looked ready to faint; Ginny looked like she was about to cry; Parvati and Lavender had joined hands and were staring, mouths agape. But it was the look of malicious satisfaction on Draco’s face and smugness on Pansy’s that made Hermione the most nervous. She finally pushed Harry away and turned. The list was complete. The ink had finally filled in completely.

It said, “The Phantom-- Severus Snape.”