Harry Potter and the Heart of Regenesis

Chapter Twenty-eight

Bally's concert

Bally woke just before they reached the end of the Channel Tunnel. The lights in the train were bright and clear - like mini-spotlights, he thought - not at all like the dim, tassel-shaded lamps on the Hogwarts Express. The windows were clean, surrounded by gleaming, white-painted metal - not wooden-framed and covered with a film of smoky dust as they were on the Hogwarts Express...and the seats were upholstered in bright primary coloured fabrics - not a fading, dullish dull brown leather. But Bally knew which train he wished he was on board right now.

The train ran almost silently, it seemed - a very faint clattering metallic hum where it ran over the tracks was all he could hear. He was more enamoured by the soothing 'ker-ching, ker-CHUNG - ker-ching, ker-CHUNG ' of the old steam engine he had only ever ridden a few times yet felt he had loved all his life.

While the outside of this train shone in silver and blue Bally craved red - bright scarlet, to be precise - and a black funnel. A plume of grey-brown smoke and a guard in his blue suit and hat waving a green flag was what he really wanted to see. Another polystyrene cup of hot, tasteless tea sat in front of him, placed there by a fixed-smiling stewardess with greasy hair and spots.

Bally sighed. It was not an unfamiliar scenario. Many Muggle-born Hogwarts pupils found themselves in the same situation. They had lived perfectly happy, normal lives with their parents and families for eleven years - just a few admitting to having thought something was always 'sort of missing' from their lives - then, after a year at Wizarding School, they suddenly found it hard to settle back into a mundane Muggle life without wands, robes and people flying around on besoms. *

It was little comfort to the parents to know that their offspring had problems of their own - they often felt a little resentment to have 'lost' their children in the first place and having looked forward to getting them home for a few weeks in the summer they were, quite naturally, not too happy that their loved ones often couldn't wait to get back to school again. Gerald and Sally Granger had felt like that for years. Particularly Gerald. Hermione had been his 'Little Princess' and he missed her so much it hurt the first few months she was away at Hogwarts. By the time she came home again she had grown up so much he had never really gotten over it.

Suddenly he had found himself with a more grown up daughter - and he'd missed the caterpillar turn into a butterfly. Something was missing and, even now, when he thought back to those pre-Hogwarts days there was a small part of him that felt almost 'bereaved'. And even though he and Sally were both immensely proud of her achievements and high profile career - and despite the fact they loved having her home even for short stays it was almost as though she lived and worked in a foreign country. Since they had sold their practice and opened a surgery in Harley Street their London flat was only a few miles from both the Ministry of Magic and Diagon Alley - but both were not just further away than that - they were literally in a different world!

Bally's parents, Bram (short for another famous old Salvation Army - and Booth family - name, Bramwell) and Joy had been very reluctant to let their son go to Hogwarts in the first place - not least because witches and wizards were not the sort of thing you normally discussed in church. As far as all except the closest family members knew Bally had 'gone away to a special boarding school for exceptional young musicians'. Although white lies were also discouraged at church they honestly felt this particular one, in this particular case, would cause a great deal less harm and bad feeling than the absolute truth.

When he arrived home for the summer he discovered that he had outgrown all his Muggle clothes - he had grown a full five inches in three terms - and having Edwards flying around the house was not a universally liked addition. Joy couldn't leave fresh meat on a plate to defrost any more and Bally's sister Kate had lost more than a couple of bacon sandwiches! Edwards, however, spent most of the early weeks of the holidays flying between Portsnorth and Chelmsford, where Darla lived with her mother, Anna Svensson, exchanging letters between Darla and Bally. Most read 'Missing you like crazy - I'm bored' or variations on that theme.

Chris Creevey was spending his holidays partly at home, partly with Dennis (where he hoped he would be allowed to go into the Ministry and help his brother with tasks like making tea and filing parchments) and he had also been invited to go up to Chudley and stay with Verity's parents for a week to watch the Cannon's pre-season Training Camp. Ieuan and Geraint were going on holiday to Kenya, so they would be full of stories about lions, elephants, zebras and rhinos when they got back to school, Bally thought.

He would have the programmes from his tour. He ought to be excited to have the opportunity to play in front of thousands of people, he realised, but a lot of the thrill of his trombone expertise had left him when he realised it was his magic that had made him stand out from the rest and not his exceptional natural skill alone. He still had to work at it, of course, but he felt like he was cheating a bit. There was a DVD being produced called 'Bally in Barca' covering his trip to the Spanish City - but most of his school friends wouldn't even know what a DVD was! Even if he took it to show them, DVD players wouldn't work at Hogwarts (he'd found that out when he'd got a portable DVD player for Christmas with some discs of Portsmorth's Premier League highlights to watch on it. He'd carefully not watched them over the Christmas holidays, saving them for when he got back to school. What a disappointment that had been!)

The trip to Barcelona had been the highlight of his summer - as he had fully expected it to be. The tour sponsors had flown out his whole family to Spain for a week's holiday in Malgrat-de-mer. Bellfone were a mobile phone company who had been good to the Booths over the last couple of years. They had provided Bally and both his parents with top of the range mobile camera/phones and had run a series of advertisements in the musical press with slogans like 'Bally's on the Ball with Bellfone' and 'Guess who's having a Bally good time with Bellfone?'

If they had known that he and his girlfriend communicated with owls they'd probably have reviewed their policies - but what they didn't know hurt neither party so the deal went on! In Barcelona he had played in the wonderful cathedral 'La Sagrada Familia' and had marvelled at the different styles of architecture involved in its prolonged construction (It was still unfinished after hundreds of years).

He had, later, been given the tour of the enormous football stadium and had sat in the leather seats of the Director's Box. Down at pitch level he looked up to the highest banks of seating and was amazed how far away they seemed - then, from those same seats he looked down at the pitch and wondered if the players could possibly seem any bigger than ants to spectators sat so far away! As if to reinforce the way his mind now worked his other thought was 'Wow! This would make a terrific Quidditch arena!'

He had tried explaining Quidditch to his football mad father but Bram couldn't get his poor Muggle mind around the 3D aspect of players going up and down as well as forwards and backwards!

The train sped towards London and, before he was even more tempted to try the revolting looking tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches it finally ground to a halt at Waterloo. He walked out with his manager, carrying his travel-bag over his shoulder and trombone case in his hand as he walked towards the black London taxi waiting for them just the other side of the famous arch. He looked up at the big clock. It was 6.02. **

In less than an hour he had a rehearsal with the BBC Concert Orchestra. Tonight he was playing three solos. In the first half he had chosen two of his favourites: 'Specià l' by Gabaye and 'Pièce en Mi Bémol Mineur' by 'J. Guy Ropartz'. The first was a showy, fast piece with lots of double-tonguing, fast slide movement and a slower, jazzy middle section that was his favourite bit. When he had played it in a concert in Birmingham last year a newspaper critic had labelled the piece a 'lollipop'. His manager had been furious but Bally thought it was quite apt. Now, whenever they had a chat to discuss items for concerts Bally called it 'the lollipop piece' and made Mr. Francis scowl.

The second piece was in two sections, a slow introduction and a fast allegro section. In the former, tuning and intonation was vital - the trombone was the only instrument other than the orchestral strings truly capable of a proper glissando - you can slide from one note to another through an infinite number of other pitches. If Bally was just a millimetre short of third position, for example, he would sound very out of tune. (He never was even a tenth of a millimetre out, of course!) The allegro was fast and furious and allowed him to show his 'bravura' side.

The orchestra were playing a popular von Suppé overture 'Light Cavalry', a Strauss waltz 'Roses from the South' and 'Scheherezade' by Rimsky-Korsakov, which was a great favourite of Bally's. The second half of the concert featured Mozart's 'Jupiter' Symphony and the Trombone Concerto. He had to have an encore prepared too and he grimaced at the thought. Ever since he was seven his 'signature tune' had been 'The Acrobat'. He hated it. In his opinion it was a silly piece that existed purely to demonstrate that the trombone can do a glissando. And that's it.

'The Acrobat' was the first piece he ever played in a concert hall, having been invited to be a soloist in a children's Promenade Concert nearly five years ago. It had been 'cute' for the audience to watch a little seven-year-old genius playing a reasonably difficult piece, especially as he almost had to bend himself double at that age in order to reach right down to sixth position where all the glissandi started. Now he was twelve and still playing the 'same flipping piece' and, consequently, he was a bit more than fed up with 'The Acrobat'. What made it even worse was that he had once had the chance to express this opinion in a conversation with an ancient concert pianist who had shot to fame by playing Chopin's 'Minute Waltz' in nearer half a minute. As a result he had felt compelled to use it as his encore for the next sixty years! Bally tried to picture himself aged seventy and still playing 'The Acrobat' but it was too horrid to even imagine! The really strange thing was that he pictured himself as an old man at seventy, which, due to his being a wizard, was not going to be the case. By the time he was seventy he ought to look little older than his own dad did now!

He saw The Royal Festival Hall and smiled. Tomorrow night he would see Darla. She had sent Edwards back to him in Spain with an excited message that she and her mum would be coming to London on July 30^th and hoped to see him then. He had sent her a pair of back-stage passes so that they could join him at a reception after the concert. Then he began to feel nervous.

'Nervous?' he reprimanded himself. He'd played in front of critics, composers and professors, as well as celebrities (up to and including royalty) and had NEVER felt nervous. Now he was getting scared to play in front of a little girl! 'If that is what love does to you', he thought, 'I don't want to know!'

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Harry, Hermione and Dai sat in the centre section of the stalls, eight rows back. Ron had managed to skilfully talk his way out of having to endure a classical concert via his eloquent summary of the situation a couple of nights before.

"Dai can't stay home by himself, can he? No. So either Harry stays at home and looks after him or either Hermione or I do. With me so far? Right then. The other alternative is that you all go, Dai can have my seat, and I'll stay here by myself. I really wouldn't mind...I mean, I'd be sorry to miss having to listen to an orchestra for about three hours - I need the sleep, you know?"

That had made them laugh and they had quickly agreed to go along with his idea. Hermione had made a little play of the 'are you sure you trust Harry and me together on a date in London?' kind but he wasn't going to fall for that. They didn't realise he heard everything at least twice as loud as they did - the last thing he wanted on a Sunday night was having rows of trumpets and trombones torturing his tympani!

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All three were sitting in formal dress, Harry and Dai in black bow ties and jackets and Hermione in another beautiful long black dress; this one was made of a shiny, patterned material and was completely 'off the shoulder'. Harry couldn't resist telling her how beautiful she looked and she kissed him softly on the cheek in thanks for the compliment.

Darla spotted Harry and came over to say hello at the start of the interval. She introduced her mother but Anna Svensson already knew Harry Potter, at least by reputation if not personally.

"Oh, hello," she said, blushing slightly. "Is this your wife?"

"No," Harry laughed, shaking his head. "This is Hermione - we were school friends - but this is my son, Dai - David," he added quickly seeing the look of confusion on Anna's face. "Pleased to meet you." He made to shake her hand but Anna had already reached forward to hold his shoulders and kiss his cheeks. The British were so formal!

Harry explained to Hermione that Bally and Darla were 'an item' and she pretended to look shocked.

"Tut, tut," she clicked. "We didn't get round to that sort of thing until we were 5^th Years," she said - pretending to be exasperated.

"Erm...Hermione..." Harry whispered. "I don't think Bally and Darla are quite into 'that sort of thing' yet, though!" he said, giving Hermione the kind of look that showed her he remembered doing 'that sort of thing' with her rather fondly. Now she blushed.

Bally performed brilliantly throughout the concert. At times, during the concerto particularly, you could hear audible gasps of astonishment from the audience as he played so fast his right arm seemed to be a blur. Semiquaver runs danced dazzlingly over the listeners then, as if to force home his virtuosity, the pathos of the adagio middle movement almost moved some to tears. But Dai loved 'The Acrobat' best. He laughed so much at the piece that his face radiated smiles and he ran up and down the aisles as soon as the concert ended with his left fist at his mouth and the right arm pumping in and out, mimicking the action of repeated glissandi.

Darla waved them goodbye as they passed her waiting at the foot of the steps to the stage where those with back-stage passes queued. But all Dai wanted was 'trombone'.

"Want a drink before we go home, Dai?"

"No, I want a trombone!"

"Do you need the toilet?"

"No, I want a trombone?"

"Do you want to stop at MacDonald's?"

"No, I want a trombone?"

"Do you want a roll of Sellotape over your gob?"

Silence, but he put his left hand back into a fist over his mouth and made more 'in and out' stretches with his right arm in front of him all the way back to the car.

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"How good was he then, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"You asked me that like I was the expert?" she replied.

"You're more of a musician than I'll ever be," he ventured. "I can sing a bit but that's it. If I blow a whistle the pea drops out! You are a brilliant cellist and...so much more...musically educated than I am. Bally sounded fantastic to me but how would you say he compared to the best adults, for instance?"

"I think he was wonderful," she smiled. "I'm not the most familiar with brass but his timing was superb, he didn't overblow, even on that corny old encore when most adults would just 'ham it up'. Yet, when the orchestra were going full pelt at the end of the concerto he didn't get lost either. I could see he was using magic, though."

Harry was very interested now. He remembered when he first saw the 'other' Hermione play cello he had noticed her fingers lengthening and shortening on the strings. What had she seen in Bally's performance?

"Well, for a start," she began. "He didn't breathe 'normally' in the slow movement of the concerto. There was one passage that went on for over a minute and he was playing continuously. To do that his lungs would have to be the size of pillowcases! I know the Aborigines have a technique called circular breathing that they use when blowing a didgeridoo but to do that they have to keep puffing their cheeks out and they use the air in the cheeks to blow out while breathing in through their noses. He definitely wasn't doing that!

"Then, there was something strange about the way his right arm worked - almost like there was a series of ratchets in it. You know when you adjust your driving seat or something there are, like, notches?" Harry nodded. "Well, it was like that. Yeah?" she asked, wanting him to confirm that he understood what she had meant.

"Yeah," he grinned, opening the car door from twenty feet away with his electronic 'blipper' key. He opened the door for her and watched her climb in before lifting the now yawning Dai onto his booster seat in the back.

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Backstage at the Festival Hall Darla and Anna were surrounded by musicians busily bustling to and fro carrying instruments and instrument cases. A tall man with a very old-fashioned, waxed moustache muttered 'excuse me' as he pushed past them with a double bass, his bow almost poking Darla in the eye; a middle-aged bassoonist dragged her things up the corridor on a trolley trying to hurry and complaining that she a had a taxi waiting outside.

They finally found the dressing room with 'Master Ballington Booth' stuck to it on a printed card. Anna knocked and Bram Booth opened the door, guessed who they were and invited them in. Mr Francis was sat on a sofa beside Bally and they seemed to be discussing the concert. Bally looked tired and now he could see Darla in the room he was even less inclined to listen to his manager droning on.

Mrs Booth offered Darla a drink and she chose a Coke while Anna preferred a black coffee. She introduced herself as Joy and asked if they'd had a nice day. Soon the two women were engrossed in conversation - Darla thought it strange that they could relax and chat like that; she knew Joy Booth was a Muggle and she couldn't remember too often seeing a witch and a Muggle talking together so easily and so soon after meeting. To Darla the whole thing was quite strange; she was in a very Muggle room in a very Muggle building for a Muggle event, drinking a Muggle drink (even if it was now available at Hogwarts) but thinking magical things inside her head.

She sat on a chair and tried to listen to what the manager was saying to Bally. The conversation appeared to be quite heated and was now between Mr Francis and Mr Booth with Bally sat in the middle like a tennis net.

"Don't you yawn while I'm talking to you, you ungrateful bloody whippersnapper!"

"Mr Francis! Please don't use language like that in front of my son! I have told you before and Bally has just reminded you that he will do no concerts during the school term times, no interviews and no recordings."

"But this is a unique opportunity! They won't change the dates of the whole event because a twelve-year-old boy doesn't want to miss his bl- ..." he trailed off before getting another ear bashing. "Miss his maths lesson," he finished sans expletive.

Bram Booth looked at his son with a half-questioning expression but Bally shook his head with his own, half-panicked expression!

"No dad! I can't miss school. You know that. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it."

"Dumble what?" Francis mocked. "What a stupid name. Is that the old fool of a headmaster? Let me talk to him - he'll want the publicity for the school, surely. Sponsorships - money! That's what talks! Let me talk to Dumblethingy! Give me his phone number!"

Bally wanted to be able to take his wand and do something nasty to his manager but his wand was locked in a trunk seventy miles away in Portsnorth. But Mr Francis looked around the room at everyone else. The whole room had gone silent.

"What?" he asked, impatiently. "Have I grown the proverbial second head or what? WHAT?"

"Mr Francis..." Joy Booth stepped forward as she spoke. "While we thank you for your interest in Ballington's career and for everything you have done for him so far it has been made very, very clear to you on several occasions in the past that his trombone playing must not, can not and will not interfere with his education. He will not miss one single day's schooling this year, next year or any year until he is eighteen.

"Your remit is to arrange concert performances, Mr Francis - are you listening to me?" Joy was almost shouting by now. Mr Francis had been tilting his head from left to right - like a schoolboy mocking a teacher - while she harangued him. Joy was not amused.

"As I was saying," she continued, "your remit is to arrange concerts during his school holidays and the same goes for recordings, TV appearances or anything else you want to arrange. If you don't like it you can lump it!"

Mr Francis shrugged,

"He'll be throwing away a fortune," he spat from between clenched teeth before grabbing his brown suede jacket and clattering through the door, slamming it hard behind him, whilst thinking about the 25% of a fortune he'd be losing if he continued to lose this battle.

When Mr Francis had gone Darla and Bally finally had a chance to talk while the adults held their own conversation. Darla sat beside him on the sofa and they held hands and he told her all about the tour, their holiday in Spain and the Nou Kamp. She told him how she'd been bored a lot of the time, being left at home with a neighbour while her mum was at 'Flourish and Blotts'. She had gone into work with her mum for a few days and had helped out in the storage area of the bookshop. She had never seen so many books of all shapes and sizes, she told him. Bally loved listening to her but his attention kept being distracted by the conversation the adults were sharing. His mum started talking about Mr Francis again and, suddenly Anna shrieked as if she'd remembered something important.

She ran over to the sofa and looked at Darla and Bally with an excited look on her face.

"I wanted to tell you straight away! Have you heard the news? It's on the front page of the Daily Prophet today! Your headmaster! That Mr Francis reminded me...

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* besom is the proper name for a traditional sweeping broom

** Just a little reference to a favourite song of mine, 'Rendezvous 6.02' originally recorded by the rock group UK.

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