I was inspired to create this story by Wings of Fancy and her fanfiction, Musical Maladies. I have toyed with this idea for awhile, but going to see Wicked last Saturday finally kicked my rear into gear. So here it is, Something Wicked This Way Comes. By the way, I do not own Harry Potter or Wicked. I am simply borrowing the characters and music for my own enjoyment only. But without further ado, No One Mourns the Wicked.

At the Start of Term Feast, Hermione glanced around at the students in the Great Hall. She could detect a few sympathetic glances that were being thrown her way. They thought that she was disappointed for not getting Head Girl. The funny thing was, she wasn't. She had been offered the position, but she chose not to take it. She wanted to be an apprentice instead, and learn more about magic. She never felt the need to command large groups of people and do all the mundane work of Head Girl. It would have been nice, but she felt she could learn more as an apprentice. Instead, the badge went to the next most qualified: Pansy Parkinson. Somehow, she wouldn't have been Hermione's first choice for Head Girl, but she supposed Dumbledore knew best. (A/N: Yes, I know, Dumbledore is supposed to be dead. Well, too bad, so sad. I want him alive and therefore, he is alive. Same with any other supposedly dead characters that you read about in this fanfiction.)

She smiled to herself, knowing that she could relax and enjoy the year, at least more than she had previous years. Technically speaking, she, Harry, and Ron, along with the other 7th years were supposed to be graduated, but after what had happened last year, what with Voldemort almost getting control of the entire Wizarding world, everyone was offered the chance to redo the last year of school. Most people took this; even the more reluctant ones, like Ron, were persuaded by their friends (Read: Hermione) to finish their education.

But anyway, there would be an extra load of first years this year, so as to not fall behind. Last year's first years obviously weren't resorted, but the group waiting in front of the hat seemed larger nonetheless.

"Can't they hurry it up? I'm starving," moaned Ron, holding his stomach as though it might burst out.

"Ron, do you mind?" Hermione replied distractedly, still looking around the Hall. She had a nagging feeling that something was about to happen, almost a curse waiting to be unleashed.

And, unfortunately, she was right. Right after Dumbledore finished saying his few words and sat down, about 2/3 of the student body leaped to their feet, almost without their own volition. The rest of the students and the teachers all stiffened, the recent war with Voldemort still fresh in their minds. But the standing students didn't attack. Instead, they did something even more bizarre: they sang.

"Good news!" But the students didn't look like this sudden singing attack was good news for them. Some looked extremely pained, as if their throats were being strained by the notes being wrenched forth. Others look terrified, like they had no control over what was happening, which they indeed they did not. Some tried to run away, but the entrance to the hall seemed to be blocked by some invisible force. No one could pass.

"She's dead! The Witch of the West is dead!" Wait, what? But the students weren't done. "The wickedest witch there ever was, the enemy of all of us here in Oz is dead! Good news! Good News..."

For a moment, Hermione dared to think that this was all over. But then, a student standing at the Ravenclaw table climbed rather unsteadily onto his table and shouted, "Look, it's Glinda!", prompting the students to cheer wildly, staring fixedly across at the Slytherin table. Hermione's jaw nearly fell to the floor, only held up by her sense of good manners. Climbing onto the Slytherin table was one of the last people that Hermione would expect.

After the war, many Slytherins had toned down their blood prejudices, as a lot of it was instilled into them by fear, and now that many of their parents were in Azkaban, Slytherins were free, for the first time in their lives, to make their own decisions about who they liked and who they disliked. It was a long process- one does not simply forget 17 years of brainwashing and prejudice in one day- but some Slytherins were becoming almost tolerable. One of these was Pansy Parkinson. While her parents were not Death Eaters, they heavily supported him, much like the Blacks, and led Pansy down the same path. When she arrived at Hogwarts, she followed her parents' guidance, being rather cruel to other houses, particularly the other Gryffindors in her year. But after the war, her parents were jailed for use of Dark magic. Pansy, alone in the world, started associating with others that weren't in her house However, it wasn't easy. People treated her with suspicion, thinking it was all an act, and that she hadn't really changed.

Hermione was wary of the Slytherin girl, and so felt surprised that this same girl that had bullied and ridiculed her was now climbing onto the table. What was more, she felt sorry for her, almost not of her own volition. She frowned. Where had the feeling come from? She quickly put the thought aside as Pansy opened her mouth and began to speak.

"It's good to see me, isn't it?" That sounded like something Pansy might say; a little odd, but normal. For a bizarre second, Hermione thought that Pansy was doing this of her own free will, but that idea was dashed when Pansy started singing.

"Fellow Ozians... Let us be glad, let us be grateful, let us rejoicify that goodness could subdue the wicked workings of You-Know-Who." Was she talking about Voldemort? Looking around the hall, Hermione could see other people pondering this same question. Then again, why would she be singing about it? Pansy was not one to suddenly burst into song. Definitely not.

"Isn't it nice to know that good will conquer evil?" Pansy looked revolted at the goody-goody phrases spewing out of her mouth uncontrollably. Also, she could feel the need for high notes building in her throat. She tried to draw upon the vocal training her parents had forced upon her as a child and took a deep breath.

"The truth we all believe'll by and by outlive a lie for you and..." As she was cut by one of the other singers, scattered applause broke out across the hall for Pansy. Besides the mere fact that she hit the high notes, she had an amazing voice. Pansy wasn't listening, though. She dropped to the floor, temporarily relieved of the curse, and chugged her pumpkin juice while she could. This turned out to be a good idea, as she was only released for a few seconds, as a student- Pany couldn't see who- yelled "Glinda, exactly how dead is she?"

"Well, there has been much rumor and speculation... innuendo, outuendo... but let me set the record straight. According to the Time Dragon Clock, the melting occurred at the 13th hour; a direct result of a bucket of water thrown by a female child. Yes, the Wicked Witch of the West is dead!"

Right as she finished, Colin Creevey stood up on the table and sang, "No one mourns the Wicked!"

A terrified-looking Hufflepuff first year sang "No cries 'They won't return!'"

All of the affected students except Pansy sang, "No one lays a lily on their grave!"

A burly Slytherin sixth year piped up, "The good man scorns the Wicked!"

All the girls who were under the curse sang "Through their lives our children learn!"

Together, the voices rang out: "What we miss when we misbehave..."

It was Pansy's turn again. "And goodness knows, the Wicked's lives are lonely. Goodness knows, the Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, you're left only on your own..."

In a kind of echo, the crowd took up Pansy's words, while Pansy reflected that it really did feel like a musical of sorts, what with the chorus and storyline and all. "Yes, goodness knows the Wicked's lives are lonely, goodness knows the Wicked die alone. Nothing grows for the Wicked, they reap only what they sow."

The Weasley girl was the next to speak. Standing up on the table, she said, "Glinda, why does wickedness happen?" As soon as the words were out, she turned bright red, and buried her face in Potter's robes, who put his arms around her comfortingly.

Apparently, Pansy's pondering time was over. She spoke imploringly, though she didn't understand why. Why was she feeling sorry for this Wicked Witch that she was so apparently against? "That's a good question; one that many people find confusifying. Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon him? After all, she had a childhood. She had a father, who just happened to be the governor of Munchkinland."

Then Hermione's jaw, if not already on the ground, could have dropped into the dungeons. For the next person to speak was not someone already under the curse. In fact, it was a teacher, a group that had not yet been affected. And of all the teachers it could have been, it was Snape.

He stood up, very rigidly and said, "I'm off to the Assembly, dear." Hermione wasn't sure whether to laugh or what. This whole experience was way too much. Some students laughed half-heartedly, too in shock to enjoy the moment.

But Pansy continued doggedly, though she was as astonished as the rest. The words were ripped from her mouth against her will; she was powerless to stop it. "And she had a mother, as so many do."

Then, as if playing the part of the father was not enough, of course Snape was forced to sing. "How I hate to go and leave you lonely."

Then, from the other side of professor Dumbledore, Professor Sprout spoke up, joining the ranks of the afflicted. "That's alright, it's only just one night."

Hermione dimly registered that Professor Sprout had a surprisingly nice voice- a little thin, but nice- but she was too overwhelmed to concentrate on this fact at the moment.

Snape sang once more, scowling deeply (how one could scowl and sing simultaneously, Hermione had no idea): "But know that you're here in my heart while I'm out of your sight..."

Pansy could barely speak for trying not laugh, but she managed to choke out, "And like every family, they had their secrets."

Professor Dumbledore spoke next, sending the students a little further towards the panic end of the emotional spectrum. If this curse could overcome even the greatest wizard of the time, what else could it force the ones afflicted to do? Dumbledore looked horror-stricken as he sang, "Have another drink, my dark-eyed beauty, I've got one more night left here in town. So have another drink of green elixir, and we'll have ourselves a little mixer. Have another little swallow, little lady, and follow me down..."

Pansy continued, now a little bit scared, and for some odd reason, sad. And the odd thing was, the sadness almost seemed to be not her own, as if some other force was inhabiting her body, which was a rather disconcerting feeling. "And of course, from the moment she was born, she was, well, different."

Suddenly, Professor Trelawney shrieked, "It's coming!" It was impossible to discern if she was spellbound or if she was being herself. That did sound like something that she would say if she was her normal self.

Snape snapped back, "Now?" but again, it was hard to discern if he was under the curse or acting of his own volition. Normally, Snape suffered the Divination Professor's rambling in silence, so the curse was probably to blame.

Again, she shrieked, "The baby's coming!" Yeah, it was definitely the curse.

"And how?"

"I see a nose,"

"I see a curl,"

Together, the odd twosome sang, "It's a healthy, perfect, lovely little..."

They cut off suddenly, and Professor Trelawney let out a piercing scream much like the one she had made when she saw the Grim in Harry's cup.

"Sweet Oz!" The sudden transition from singing to speaking was too much for Snape's vocal cords, causing his voice to crack slightly. Some snickered, but others were still too confused and terrified to make a sound.

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked Sprout, though no one was sure whether it was the curse or just concern for her fellow faculty member. It was probably the former, as Professor Trelawney was rather prone to dramatics, and so the rest of the staff had learned to let well enough alone.

"How can it be?" Trelawney exclaimed.

"What does it mean?" scowled Snape.

"It's atrocious!" screeched Trelawney hysterically.

"It's obscene!" Snape said in perhaps the loudest voice the students had ever heard him use.

"Like a froggy, ferny cabbage, the baby is unnaturally GREEN!"

After the exclamation, Trelawney fell silent, looking horrified and terrified, a toxic brew that was shared by most of the student body. Snape, however, was not quite done. Hermione felt a sudden sympathy for the baby as he continued, "Take it away... Take it away!" She frowned at the rising emotion for a non-existent child, but quickly dismissed it as empathy of how she felt disconnected from her own parents as the song continued (seriously, how long is this song?)

"So you see, it couldn't have been easy..." But Pansy was fighting a losing battle, both against the chorus who seemed determined to ignore any attempts to explain this so-called wicked witch's motivations.

"No one mourns the Wicked! Now at last, she's dead and gone! Now at last, there's joy throughout the land. And Goodness knows we know what goodness is." Now the roles were reversed. Instead of the masses echoing her, Pansy echoed their words in extremely high tones. She silently cursed whoever made the music. Were they determined to tear out her vocal cords? "Goodness knows the Wicked die alone."

Still in those maddeningly high tones, Pansy sang, "She died alone." Obviously, Pansy thought. That was rather the point of the song.

Back at the Gryffindor table, something stirred in Hermione's mind, but she pushed it away for the moment. She wanted to hear the rest of the song, just in case there was something that would help figure out what on Earth was going on.

"Woe to those (Woe to those) who spurn what goodnesses they are shown... No one mourns the Wicked!"

All around the hall, voices were fading, some students rasping as their throats were forced to emit notes they could not reach, others' voices dying with the strain of so much singing. But still they were forced on.

Pansy also was not yet free. "Good news!" She felt a pang of pain, but it did not come from the throat that so desperately was trying to keep going, but from her heart. The only other time she felt like that- she quickly shook the thought away as the crowd continued to sing.

"No one mourns the Wicked!" Yes, we heard already. You don't need to repeat it a hundred times

Pansy threw up her hands helplessly "Good news!" Apparently she was not immune to repeating things endlessly.

"No one mourns the Wicked!" Finally, Pansy was able to sing with the rest. "Wicked!"

There was a moment of silence. A student tried the doors. Still nothing. Then, "Wicked!" The students all collapsed like marionettes whose strings had been cut. A couple of students who were pushing against the wards on the doors nearly fell through as the curse suddenly lifted. No sound could be heard throughout the hall except ragged pants and quickly murmured spells as those not under the curse cast any spells that they knew on their friends to help them: small healing spells, usually used during potions when one nicked themselves with their knife; spells to dull pain; Aguamenti for those who needed water, as many did. Professor McGonagall, seeing that Dumbledore was in no way in any shape to command the students, rose to her feet and said calmly, "All those afflicted, please head to the Hospital Wing. Everyone else, go to your dormitories immediately. Miss Granger, if you would assist Madam Pomfrey. No, Weasley, you may not go to the hospital wing, you are fine. For goodness sake, if you were not singing, go to your dormitories. They have quite enough to deal with just with those cursed, they don't need any more trouble.

Truer words have never been spoken, thought Hermione. The hospital wing was overflowing. In every available space, makeshift beds that were hastily transfigured were stuffed haphazardly. Even then, people had to budge over and share with their friends. Madam Pomfrey didn't have enough pain-relieving potion to sooth all the sore and torn throats, so Hermione had several cauldrons bubbling away in Pomfrey's office. She alternated between stirring the brews and dashing around the extremely over-crowded wing, giving out doses as soon as she was finished.

Seeing the Deputy Headmistress arrive, Madam Pomfrey made her way over. "Minerva, what happened? I only got so much information from Pomona before she went into shock. When Albus stopped in here, I just got that I would be having tons of new patients before he staggered off to his study. He looked like he'd been in a war zone. I was surprised that he didn't collapse on the spot. Oh, where is Severus when you need him..."

"The Potions Master is... indisposed at the time." Professor McGonagall's lips thinned, as Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened.

"He... Oh Merlin..." McGonagall nodded, trying hard to keep her professional demeanor in front of her students, most of which were silent. She was a little scared that some of them would never speak again, let alone sing, which was a shame, because many of them had beautiful voices.

"So Albus isn't here?"

"No, I think he was embarrassed to be seen by the students. But if only we knew what happened..."

McGonagall nodded once, curtly, then turned and left the wing. She knew exactly where Dumbledore was.

As expected, she found him in his sleeping quarters, something only a very few knew of. It was attached to his office, so that he could be there for his students and fellow staff at any time. She entered after giving the password (Collywobbles) to find Dumbledore huddled in a pile of blankets. Only his eyes were recognizable, two blue eyes staring blindly around the room, not really seeing it. McGonagall advanced toward the man upon the bed, only to have him cringe back a bit. Ignoring this, McGonagall sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. She hoped that he would get over this... whatever it was, because until he did, she was Headmistress, and honestly, she had no idea what to do about this crisis. She spoke, much like one might try to soothe a frightened child. "Albus, what happened?"

There was a beat of silence. Then Dumbledore spoke, but not in his normal calm, but commanding voice that he normally employed, but in a broken voice that seemed to speak of a man utterly defeated. "I... don't know. A feeling came over me, something I can't describe. I've never felt that way before. I feel so... dirty."

McGonagall only nodded, sensing that he had more to say. "The feeling... like I didn't care about anything, except her. Not that she was married, not anything, but..."

She sighed "I know, Albus."

The cocoon of blankets trembled a little as he shook his head. "No, you can't. It was so… disgusting. I feel so… unclean."

He shuddered and fell silent. McGonagall waited for a while, but apparently Dumbledore was not able or willing to say more. Slowly, she got up and left the room, deep in thought. What was this curse, that it could reduce a great man like Dumbledore to a feeble old man?

Across Hogwarts, the question ran, as gossip does, from person to person, mouth to ear. What is this? Why? How? But no matter how much they were asked, no one had an answer. All that was left was to wait and ponder, because what else could they do?