The Harpsichordist

Hogwarts letters came three days before the start of term. "Leaving it awfully late, aren't they?" commented Ron as he opened his envelope.

"Not as bad as last year, though," said Harry.

Hermione opened her letter and flipped immediately to the booklist to see which classes she had been allowed to take. She had passed all her O.W.L. but knew that those classes wouldn't all fit at N.E.W.T. level. The books for Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Potions, Transfiguration, and Herbology were all there, but Hermione puzzled a bit over the last item on the list, Musical Basics: Sight-Singing, Harmony, and Analysis.

"Harry, Ron, did you --" she began, but broke off as Ginny let out a squeal.

"Ooh, look! I've got a badge! A prefect badge! Muuum!" she shouted.

Mrs Weasley came running. "Oh, Ginny, that's wonderful!" she gushed. "Fifth prefect in the family! Wait till I tell Arthur! What do you want? An owl?"

Ginny seemed really thoughtful for a minute, then, with a quick glance at Harry, said, "Mum, could I have a broomstick, like Ron's?"

"It's a good thing the twins aren't here," Hermione heard Ron mutter to Harry, "or they'd be impossible."

Harry laughed softly, and Hermione noticed that he looked odd, somehow, as though he was happy but somewhat reluctant to show it. And when he hugged Ginny in congratulations, his face looked a little pink -- as did Ginny's. Hermione moved forward to congratulate her friend, and forgot about the odd book on the list.

It wasn't until that afternoon, when they were in Diagon Alley, that she remembered and pulled it out of her bag.

"You get that weird book, too?" Ron asked, watching her, as they settled at Fortescue's for an afternoon ice cream. Their books were stuffed in bags at their feet, and, as usual, Hermione had about three times as many.

"Yes, I did," Hermione said. "I wonder what it's for?"

"Must be a new class," Harry said.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Well, everyone's buying them -- didn't you see?" said Harry.

Hermione had seen. Nearly every teenager in line had had a copy.

"I wonder why, though," said Ron. "We've got enough work as it is already."

"Oh, Ron," she said, "One little class isn't going to be too much work. Besides, I doubt it will meet more than once a week. I've read about N.E.W.T. classes, and they take up so much time, double periods three times a week. I don't think there would be more than an hour each week that we'd have to spare from our regular coursework, and I really don't think that Professor Dumbledore would expect us to take time away from important things to study music."

"Music's very important," Ginny said, her tone slightly hurt.

"That's not what I meant," Hermione started to say.

"That's what you just said," Ginny replied, a little heatedly. "'Taking time away from important things to study music.'"

Hermione was suprised -- normally she and Ginny got on perfectly well.

"Sometimes I think you do spend too much time studying," Ginny went on, almost sadly. "There are more things in the world than books and grades."

Hermione was silent for the rest of the day.

When Luke awoke on his first day at Hogwarts, he was a little startled to find that there was a fire lit in the grate in his bedroom. He could have -- would have -- sworn that there hadn't been one the previous night, when, half dead, he had collapsed into the sheets fully dressed.

His room was flooded with bright sunlight which, combined with the fire, made the room a little more than cozy. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and realized with a start that he was no longer in his jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers. He was barefoot and wearing blue-and-white striped pajamas. He curled his toes in the thick pile rug under his feet. A little unnerving, but not unpleasant, though he wondered who had undressed him. "Magic, of course," he murmured to himself.

The windows were wonderfully old-fashioned, with brass catches on the bottoms that allowed them to swing outwards, letting a cool breeze float in. Luke gazed out at the grounds that had last night been all but invisible to him.

The grass was green and thick, like an emerald carpet covering a long slope between the castle and some sort of athletic field. Squinting, he could make out the shape of spectators' stands, ranged in a circle around a grassy field. There was something at either end of the field, although he couldn't make it out from that distance. He had three days before the students came, though, so perhaps he might go see.

As Luke turned away from the window, his stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten anything since a particularly floppy plate of lukewarm noodles covered in some sort of glutinous white stuff at least twenty-four hours ago. Breakfast sounded like a good idea. But first, he had to wash up.

A doorway off to his right looked promising and, sure enough, there was a large bathroom, complete with an ancient claw-footed bathtub. Wendy would like this, he thought with a pang of loneliness. The bathtub seemed large enough for at least three people to sit in, and definitely large enough for two to... Stop that, he told himself. She's not here. You'll see her at Christmas, and maybe next term she can come and help.

The shower looked fairly ordinary, so Luke turned on the taps and was pleasantly surprised that the water came out hot, with no waiting. Magic had its advantages.

He retrieved his shampoo, soap, and shaving paraphernalia from his trunk, then stepped into the shower. When that was finished, he wrapped the towel around his waist, wiped the bathroom mirror clean, squirted some shaving cream onto his hand, and began removing his bristles.

He was just about to do his Adam's apple when, out of nowhere, a motherly voice with a thick Scottish accent said, "You've missed a spot, dearie. Just on your chin."

The now-bloody razor fell into the sink with a clatter. Luke stared around.

"Who said that?" he asked sharply.

"Me, dearie," said the voice again. It was coming from the mirror.

Luke stared into it, seeing only his puzzled, bleeding face.

"Oh -- you're the new teacher!" the voice said, sounding delighted. "You're that Muggle old Greenbridge downstairs was raging about!" It let out a small titter. "Wait till they find out that you're in my bathroom!"

"Um... yes?"

"Sorry, dear, if I startled you," the voice continued.

"Who -- who are you?"

"Oh! I'm your mirror."

"My mirror?" He stared at it, but couldn't see any way for it to speak. Magic, he thought ruefully.

"Yes. Now, you'd better wipe that blood off your neck and finish shaving. You're wasting water," the mirror chided.

Luke obeyed, and, a few minutes later, was back in the bedroom. He dressed in the first clean clothes he could find and left. He'd tidy up later.

The corridor leading to his rooms looked much less sinister during the day. The torches were still lit, but the castle now had an air of openness that it had lacked during the night. Remembering Snape's words about how to get to the Great Hall, Luke looked around for a staircase. None.

On a whim, he went right, following the corridor as it led past paintings -- moving paintings -- and more doors that appeared to lead to empty classrooms. After what felt like ten minutes walking along the same corridor, he finally found a staircase and headed down it, only to find that it ended after one flight.

Damn, he thought, and set off down the new corridor. There was an ugly suit of armor with its gloves on backwards, some more paintings of old people, many of whom were snoozing gently, along with a few unpleasant statues that seemed to leer at him. The corridor twisted and turned, never quite going around corners but never going straight.

Now thoroughly lost, he finally found another staircase that went downwards, only to find that he didn't go anywhere. He kept stepping down, but was always on the first step still.

"Hey!" he finally exclaimed in frustration. "I just want to get to breakfast!"

"Oh, you don't want that staircase," said a melancholy voice behind him.

He turned and yelped. There was no place to run, no place to hide. He was facing a pearly white, translucent man whose clothing placed him easily in the fourteenth century -- a ghost.

"Now, now, good man!" exclaimed the ghost. "I am not so frightening. You must be the new teacher Dumbledore told us all about. A Muggle, how exciting!"

"You're a g-ghost!" Luke stuttered.

The man chuckled. "Indeed I am, dear fellow." He swept off his plumed hat and made an elaborate bow, with many hand flourishes. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service," he intoned.

"L-luke Navarra," said Luke, stunned. Feeling quite out of his depth, he held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you." The ghost looked at him, then down at the hand.

"Likewise," he said delicately, and Luke realized that, being a ghost, Sir Nicholas wouldn't be able to shake his hand.

"Right," he mumbled, and put the hand away. "Um... anyway, you were telling me that I don't want this staircase?"

"Naturally not," said Sir Nicholas. "This one doesn't go anywhere except on Sundays in months with the letter 'J' in them."

"What?" said Luke, laughing. "You're not serious!"

"Of course I am," said Sir Nicholas, sounding slightly miffed. "I have haunted this school for over five hundred years."

"I'm sorry," Luke apologized. "I'm just suprised, that's all. Do you think you could help me get down to the Great Hall?"

"Certainly," said Sir Nicholas with dignity, as though he was going to be the charitable one and forget the transgression. He led Luke back down the corridor he'd just traversed, back up the last staircase, and through a hidden door behind a tapestry to a corridor at the end of which Luke could see the gleaming marble staircase he'd walked up the previous night.

"If you walk down this staircase, you'll find yourself in the entrance hall," said Sir Nicholas. "The Great Hall is to your left."

"Thanks very much," said Luke as the ghost glided away.

He walked down the stairs, across the entrance hall, and towards the doors to the Great Hall. He could smell breakfast -- bacon, eggs, cinnamon -- and hear voices. Walking through the doors, he saw four long tables propped against the high walls, and another long table on a dais to his left. In the middle of the hall was set a large rectangular table, around which sat about a dozen adults in long robes and pointed hats.

The room was enormous, with a high ceiling that seemed to be transparent -- Luke could see clouds and blue sky through it. There didn't appear to be any glass, though.

"Good morning, Luke!" called Albus, rising from his chair. He indicated an empty chair partially down one side of the table from him. "Do have a seat."

"Now that the Muggle's here," said a voice.

Luke looked quickly to see who had spoken but he couldn't tell. He suspected it was Snape, though. "Sorry I'm late," he said, coming over to the table and sitting down. "A staircase wouldn't let me descend, but Sir Nicholas came to my rescue."

"You mean Nearly Headless Nick?" asked a stern-faced woman with a Scottish accent.

"Nearly Headless?" he asked her. "How can anyone be nearly headless?"

"Our poor Gryffindor ghost had the misfortune of being partially beheaded before he died," said Albus over a few snide titters. "But that is a story for another time. Shall we eat, and then retire to the staff room for the meeting? Luke," he continued, as everyone else started eating, "I'll introduce everyone to you there. It will be a lot to take in, and I don't want you choking." His eyes twinkled.

Luke, feeling as if he'd just been plunged into an icy bath, stared back at him in desperation. Introductions! What did they all teach? How was he going to remember their names, their subjects? For that matter, what sort of subjects did they have at a wizarding school?

"Don't worry," Albus said in his ear, as if he'd read Luke's mind. "It is a lot to remember, but you'll do fine. Eat some breakfast," he said kindly.

Luke eyed his empty plate, then looked along the table to see what there was to eat. He spotted fried eggs, toast, bacon, ham, sausages, grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, and jugs of what looked like carrot juice. He took a bit of everything except the meat, poured himself a glass of the juice, and started in.

"Don't you eat meat?" squeaked a voice beside him.

He looked at his next door neighbor and tried not to stare. The man was about three feet tall, with a shock of white hair and an ancient face. "Uh, no, I don't," Luke answered, hoping that all of his food stayed in his mouth.

"Whyever not?" asked the man.

Luke thought about explaining all the reasons behind vegetarianism -- the chemicals that wound up in the feed, the treatment of the animals, the poor handling that meat often received -- and said, "I just don't like it."

"Pity," said the man, "the house-elves are quite good with the meat dishes. Oh, I'm Filius Flitwick; it's very nice to meet you."

Luke turned sideways and awkardly shook the proferred hand. "Likewise," he said. "Um... what are house-elves?"

"They do the cooking and the cleaning around the school," explained Filius. "You'll rarely see them, but occasionally if you're up late, you'll see one scampering around, seeing to the fires and such."

"Oh," he said again. "That's convenient." He felt so completely out of his depth that, for a moment, he wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry for his mother. But the moment passed, and he set to his eggs, which were quite good.

All along the table, people were talking.

"I don't understand," said the Scottish woman to Albus, "why you ever let Hagrid bring these creatures onto the grounds. Look at the Skrewts, for goodness' sake!"

"My dear Minerva," replied Albus, "if I forbid Hagrid from bringing a creature onto the grounds, he will simply smuggle it into the forest somehow. It is much better that the students see what kind of creatures exist, rather than being surprised the first time they come across something not usually covered in the curriculum."

"But, Albus, they're absolutely impossible to control!"

"Hagrid seems to be fine with them. Don't worry. Poppy can take care of anything that happens."

This assurance did not apparently sit well with Minerva. She shuddered, though she said nothing more.

Luke took a drink of his juice, which was definitely not carrot juice, though it was about the same consistency, not quite sweet. He couldn't place it, and thought he'd ask someone, when the conversation a few seats down caught his ear. A very beautiful woman was talking quietly with a slightly dumpy, short woman with flyaway hair.

"I don't understand why.... a Muggle... castle," said the beautiful woman.

"...thinks they need...but why he has to teach..." said the other woman.

The first woman shook her head, her lush black hair swinging back and forth. "I don't like it," she said clearly. "The students will take advantage of him."

Then the shorter woman saw Luke looking at them and flushed slightly, but smiled warmly at him. Luke made a mental note to find out what the worst was that the students could inflict upon him.

After everyone had eaten, a silence fell over the table. "Shall we, then?" Albus said.

Almost as one, the other teachers rose and followed him out of the Great Hall and along the corridor opposite the entrance hall from it.

Albus opened the door into a long, paneled room whose door was guarded by gargoyles. Luke could have sworn that he saw one of the gargoyles blink as he approached, last in line.

One by one the other teachers sat down in what seemed to be usual chairs, leaving Luke standing by the door, feeling foolish. He sat down in the nearest chair and tried not to look awkward.

Albus favored them all with a long gaze before starting. "First order of business, I think," he began, "is to introduce our newest teacher. This is Luke Navarra, and he will be teaching music to all the students."

Someone coughed, a very bad attempt to cover up a derisive snort.

"As I myself have remarked many times," said Albus, not quite sounding as though he were responding to the snort, "music is a magic beyond what we teach here, and I hope that Luke will assist our students in discovering its powers."

Now, that's new, thought Luke. He nodded and tried to look intelligent. Everyone was staring at him, some openly hateful, like Snape and the beautiful woman, others merely curious, like Minerva, and one or two as if he were some sub-intelligent child they were indulging. A faint boiling began somewhere in his hands, and he wished he had some paper to clench. His face felt hot.

"As a Muggle, Luke will need a fair amount of help figuring out this castle at first, as it will not respond as well to him as it does to us, and I trust that all of you will be glad to help him find his way around." The tone, though gentle, had a hint of steel in it that brooked no argument. "And I must ask you not to announce to the students that he is a Muggle, as they will certainly find out in their own due time."

There was a general murmur of slightly impatient agreement.

Albus then went on to introduce each of the other teachers in turn to Luke, who prayed that he would remember all their names, and wished he'd brought a notebook with him to jot it down.

Minerva McGonagall taught Transfiguration, which sounded like changing things into other things. She was the one with the Scottish accent. She was also Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, whatever that meant, and seemed stern but kind.

Filius Flitwick, the wizened old man to whom Luke had spoken at breakfast, taught Charms -- sounded simple enough -- and was Head of Ravenclaw House. He gave Luke an enthusiastic smile when he was introduced.

The beautiful woman he had seen at breakfast was Pleiade Sinistra, who taught Astronomy. This was the first familiar subject introduced, but when Luke turned eagerly to say, "Nice to meet you," for the first time really meaning it, she gave him a very disdainful look and turned away.

Severus Snape taught Potions. This conjured up images in Luke's head of steaming cauldrons, gathering herbs by the quarter-moon, and walking widdershins, which he thought might mean clockwise, though he couldn't remember, around your cauldron three times. Severus was Head of Slytherin House and appeared not to be very well-liked.

The short, dumpy witch with the kind face was Quivisianthe Sprout, who was Head of Hufflepuff House and taught Herbology. She seemed very nice and open, though a little nervous. She constantly straighted her hat, thgouh never noticed that her hair flew every whichway.

Effugia Hooch taught flying and Quidditch, whatever that was, and Luke tried hard not to stare at her. She seemed to be his nightmare gym teacher from middle school -- short hair, barky voice, yellow eyes, and was wearing a whistle around her neck. The way she and Pleiade were looking at each other also made him think of his middle-school gym teacher and the way the girls never wanted to be alone with her.

The man who taught Muggle Studies, Will Humperdinck, looked as if Christmas had come early. "I think we'll have a lot to talk about," he said eagerly when they were introduced. Luke groaned inwardly. Could anything make him feel more out of his depth than knowing that his lifestyle was the object of study?

Calcula Vector, who taught something called Arithmancy, was middle-aged and fairly ordinary looking. She had been looking at Luke with frank curiosity throughout the entire morning, and, feeling brave, he returned her look with a long gaze that used to work back in Berkeley on particularly persistent panhandlers. She dropped her eyes, which gave Luke a surge of confidence.

Rubeus Hagrid entered the meeting late, his hands wrapped in bandages. Luke couldn't help himself -- he stared. The man was about twice as tall as a normal man and at least three times as broad, and he just looked too big to be allowed. His hair was wild and untamed, though his eyes were kind. He moved quite easily, though, and said, "Pleased teh meetcha," when introduced. Finding a seat by the wall, Hagrid sank into it carefully.

Sibyll Trelawney was the Divination teacher, and reminded him of the gypsy fortune-tellers he'd seen before. Her voice when she answered was misty and distant, as though she were preoccupied with visions on some other plane.

"I will introduce you to Firenze later," said Albus, after introducing Sibyll. "There will be some -- ah -- explanations necessary." Albus went on to introduce Poppy Pomfrey, the school nurse, Argus Filch, the caretaker, and the last teacher, Alta Typicus, who taught Study of Ancient Runes and looked as if ancient runes could have been her first language.

"I believe that's everyone, then," Albus said. "Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher won't be arriving until the second day of classes. Most of you already know her, I believe?" he asked, receiving a murmur of assent.

The meeting turned to mundane matters, discussion of the students, and of their schedules. Luke tried to look interested, and again wished he'd brought a notebook, as so many names flashed past and details about the school were dropped. But he couldn't follow the track of the conversation very well. He did vaguely understand that there were four groups of students, the Houses, and there were serious rivalries between them, apparently centered around a sport called Quidditch. All in all, he was thoroughly relieved when the meeting ended and he was able to set off back towards his rooms.

At least, that was where he meant to go. After climbing several staircases that led to completely unfamiliar corridors, Luke headed back down some stairs and found himself in the corridor off the entrance hall. "Okay," he said to himself. "Let's do this again."

Very deliberately, Luke started up the marble staircase, turned left, and went along the corridor to the tapestry, which he walked through. Then he continued along the corridor, trying to take note of which portraits were where, hoping that the inhabitants at least stayed in their frames, even if they didn't stay still. Keeping his destination in mind -- perhaps that might help -- he headed up another staircase, to a winding corridor, and found himself at his wall. A surge of triumph flooded through him.

But then -- "Oh, no." He had no idea what the password was. Professor Snape had said it last night, but he had been so tired that he hadn't paid any attention to him.

Luke sank down to the floor in a slump, determined not to wail. He felt so lost here -- not only was he not magical, but he could barely find his way around the school, the other teachers all thought him something less than human, and, on top of it all, the food was going to be mostly meat.

He didn't belong here, he belonged back in Berkeley, with Wendy, practicing and hoping for a successful audition, listening to music, going to movies, and watching Wendy succeed so well at her research. He belonged with the other Muggles, not in this stone castle with moving pictures and fussy staircases. He needed streets and stores and open spaces, and the normal hustle and bustle of thousands of people trying to do their jobs. It felt so empty here, so completely enclosed. He wanted to go home. He wanted so much to just run out the front door and find his way to the nearest normal town and buy a ticket home.

But this is your big chance, he told himself, your chance to become valuable all by yourself, not as Wendy's attachment. This is the big break you were waiting for, and it's a chance to teach hundreds of students about music. Haven't you always wanted to be a teacher? Haven't you always lamented the fact that every parent wanted their four year old to learn violin or piano, never harpsichord? Haven't you been praying and hoping for something like this for years? Are you going to run away just because the others are being rude and snobbish?

"No," he said aloud to the empty corridor. "No, I'm not going to give up. I'm going to succeed at this. I've been given the chance to play harpsichord for a living..."

He trailed off. His door had opened. Of course. "Harpsichord." How obvious.

Relieved, Luke stepped inside, his thoughts now centered on unpacking and cleaning, but, to his great suprise, it was all unpacked for him.

Or rather, it was in the process of being unpacked by a two-foot-high creature with long pointy ears and a squashed tomato of a nose.