Harry Potter stood near the end of a long, winding queue (consisting primarily of girls, he noticed with dismay) with his two best friends at Hogwarts--and indeed, anywhere in the world--Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry's look of utter bewilderment was reflected upon Ron's face. To be perfectly honest, neither boy had the slightest inkling as to how they had all gotten there. Harry turned to Hermione for an explanation, but she was staring dreamily at the wall.





The last thing Harry clearly recalled was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Hermione, trying to compose a ridiculous poem about Gilderoy Lockhart's alleged defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, an assignment due the next day in Professor Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Hermione had already completed hers and was humming an unfamiliar tune more than a little off pitch. Ron clicked his tongue in annoyance, and Harry tapped his quill on the table, trying to come up with an idea for an opening. He had gotten as far as: Gilderoy Lockhart's Defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, by Harry Potter. This line was scrawled rather untidily at the top of his paper. Ron had progressed no further.





Hermione abruptly ceased her infernal humming and announced to Harry and Ron, and really to the room at large, that they had better hurry up or they'd all be late.





"Be late for what?" Ron asked wearily.





"The auditions for Professor Lockhart's new Drama Club. Don't you remember?"





"What?!" Ron exclaimed, taken aback. "No way am I going near that loony git until I absolutely have to!"





"He's not a git, Ronald! Come on, Harry."





"What? I--er--no, I'm still working. I don't do theater. I have to--" Harry had been vehemently refusing to go with Hermione to the asinine Drama Club auditions, and then...





Somehow they had ended up standing together in the crowded, noisy corridor outside of the normally empty classroom that was serving as Lockhart's Drama Club Headquarters.





The line moved quite slowly as Lockhart called each student in individually. Harry and Ron were conversing in low whispers, plotting their escape, when Lockhart called, "Granger, Hermione!"





Hermione peered appraisingly at her two friends. They must have looked guilty, because Hermione obviously suspected something was amiss. Even her infatuation with the unnaturally handsome Lockhart hadn't dulled her keen senses.





"Oh no, Harry! I'm not ready yet. You and Ron can go before me," she said innocently, though a hint of a sly grin played about her mouth.





Ron pushed Harry forward. Harry's protests were only half-hearted. He was resigned to the worst. This blasted audition was inevitable. Lockhart had been badgering Harry about it for weeks, and Harry had a shrewd feeling that even if Hermione hadn't dragged him down there, Lockhart would have found him.





"Good evening, Harry!" Lockhart cried enthusiastically upon Harry's entrance.





"Good evening, Professor," Harry mumbled reluctantly.





"I'm so glad you decided to come down, Harry, really. Of course, I knew you would. You've grown rather fond of the limelight, eh?"





"Actually, Professor, Hermione--"





"It's alright, Harry. There's no shame in desiring popularity. Trust me. I know about these things."





"I'm not--"





"Fame is a fickle friend, Harry; remember that. Now let's get down to business, shall we? As our first production will be a musical entitled Bye Bye, Bandon Banshee, I need you to sing a few lines of a song of your choice, just to get an idea of your vocal abilities."





"Er, I don't actually sing, Professor. I was hoping to maybe be an extra, or even just work on the stage crew. I don't really need a part at all."





"Nonsense, Harry, my boy! Surely you'll be auditioning for lead, the part of Yours Truly!"





"Er--"





"Excellent! Now sing!"





"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," Harry began quietly, barely opening his mouth.





"Teach us something please!" Lockhart crooned in a warbling falsetto.





Harry grimaced and stared in incredulous silence as Lockhart finished the song with gusto, completely oblivious to the fact that he was singing alone.





"Wonderful, Harry! Simply superb! That was a lovely duet! With my help, Harry, you could someday be a star!"





Harry attempted to force a smile and experienced a sensation most peculiar indeed; it was as though his face was literally cracking along the jaw line. Alas, he could not be so lucky. His face was still intact and the audition trundled on.





Lockhart handed Harry a sheaf of parchment and asked him to please read from the beginning. Harry mumbled the selected lines, intentionally mispronouncing simple words and pausing for long periods of time for no apparent reason. He was sure that even Lockhart, the delusional and essentially brainless coxcomb, couldn't possibly be impressed by such a lackluster performance. Lockhart began belting out stage directions as he shoved Harry toward various spots around the room.





"Splendid, Harry! An interpretation truly from the heart! I can scarcely say I've ever seen anything more beautiful, moving, inspiring! Now dance!"





"What?!" Harry shouted in alarm, but Lockhart heard nothing. He had donned a pink fez with a large royal blue plume and was attempting force one onto Harry's head, in spite of very loud protests. He then began to pirouette flamboyantly about the chamber as Harry looked on, his eyes popping.





Lockhart tripped over a chair and hit the floor with a great thud and a pained grunt. Harry seized this opportunity and ran toward the door. He jerked it open and fled down the corridor past the remaining students eagerly awaiting their turn to audition. He rounded a corner, turning out of sight of the amused observers, fez still firmly in place.