Out of Tune

Out of Tune

It was time for midterm exams for all of the Hogwarts students. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville trudged sleepily into the damp, mildewy dungeon that housed the Potions classroom. They had been up all night studying for what they knew would be the most terrible exam of the term. Harry stole a glance at the members of Slytherin house-they were all smiling--in fact, Harry could hear Draco going on about how his father was getting him a new Firebolt for Christmas ("Potter's gonna wish he'd bought some Depends when he sees how good I fly at the next Quidditch game with my new Firebolt! He's gonna freakin piss himself when I grab the snitch right outa his puny little-")

Harry wanted to walk up to Draco and make his nose a little less perfect, but Hermione caught his arm. "Harry, if Snape sees you fighting with Draco, he'll kick you out of class! And then you won't pass your exams, and you'll be expelled and it would be horrible!" Harry knew she was right, but he was tired of Draco's constant snide comments. Just once he'd like to grab Draco by the throat and smash his head onto the floor of the dungeon a few times--not to kill him, just perhaps render him a drooling vegetable. Yeah, tha'd be sweet. Harry smiled at the thought, his eyes glazing over....

"Mister Potter? Am I to assume by that idiotic expression that you are confident that you're going to pass my exam?" Snape was standing in front of Harry's desk, staring at Harry with icy little black eyes.

"Oh, the exam? Yeah, uh, I suppose I could pass it," Harry said. "My mind was just elsewhere."

"Yes, I've quite suspected that for some time now. The only wizard in this class stupider than you is Longbottom," Snape said. Neville blushed and put his head down. "But at least he has an excuse. His mother dropped him on his head when he was a baby." Snape laughed cruelly. "I rather hope you don't pass this exam," he continued, clasping his hands together and toughing his pointer fingers to his chin. "According to Professor McGonagall, your marks are rather low this term. Much lower than they should be. If you fail my test, you will not be Seeking for Gryffindor for the rest of the year. Then my house will win."

The other Gryffindors looked at Harry in alarm. Ron and Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Is Snape telling the truth Harry/" asked Hermione.

Harry was embarrassed. He had been spending too much time in Hagrid's hut, taking care of the flobberworms. He had not been studying as he should. And even when he and his friends had been preparing for this test he had been looking at the models in the Sears catalog. He just wasn't in the mood for taking tests. "Yeah, Snape's telling the truth," Harry admitted.

Ron smacked his palm against his forehead. "You stupid git," he said. "How could you let our house down?"

Truth be told, Harry was burnt out from studying. During the tri-wizard tournament the year before, he had been forced to learn many complicated spells. His head had nearly exploded from all the thinking. Now it was all he could do just to come to class.

Snape began to pass out the tests. When Snape gave Harry his exam, Draco began to sing a funeral song. "Why doesn't Snape deduct points from Draco? If I had done that I would've been kicked out of the classroom." Harry thought. He grabbed his quill, and began his exam, scribbling furiously. He'd show them...he'd pass the test with flying colors.

"Harry, come into my office," Professor McGonagall said. Harry walked in and sat down in an extremely uncomfortable chair.

"I take it that this isn't good news," Harry said, praying to sweet Jesus that she wasn't going to tell him what he didn't want to hear.

"This is terrible news, " said Professor McGonagall. "You did so poorly on your Potions exam, that Professor Snape thought he was grading Neville Longbottom's by mistake. I am afraid that your grades are not high enough to play Quidditch in the spring term."

Harry felt his stomach lurch. Quidditch was the only thing he was good at. And it was the only way he could get really close to Cho Chang without getting slapped. His face paled as he looked up at the head of his house. "Is there anything I can do?" He whispered.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and looked out the window. "There is one thing, "she said, "and it's highly unorthodox."

"Anything Professor!" Harry cried.

"Well, you could add another class to your schedule and get a passing grade. That way, your grade would be good enough to play Quidditch for us again. But I am not sure you have the right stuff...." She paused. "It will be truly horrible for you."

"As long as I'm not cleaning bedpans without magic, it can't be that bad.... I'm not going to have to clean bedpans am I?" Harry asked slowly.

"No," the Professor said. "Harry, have you ever heard our band here at Hogwarts?"

And then it dawned on him. Harry Potter was going to have to join the band. "But--I can't play anything! And they're all nerds!" Harry sputtered.

"Many fine talented and kind people play in the band Harry. And don't worry, they can't play anything either. They're terrible. Why don't you think you haven't heard about them until today? Professor Legato needs an oboe player, and you're going to be the go-to guy."

Harry left the office, feeling slightly ill. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him.

"I have to play oboe in the band in order to play Quidditch," he said flatly.

"Oh no! Not only are you going to be in the band, but you have to play a really gay instrument," Ron sighed. "Cripes!"

"I'll join up with you Harry. You won't have to suffer alone. I took flute for a year at home, " Hermione said. She nudged Ron. Ron shook his head vehemently. "Ron, Harry is your friend!" Hermione said. He'd support you!"

"Oh, all right. Sign me up. What instrument shall I play?"

Hermione gave him an appraising look. "You sir," she said to Ron, are a drummer."

*****

Harry was miserable as he made his way down the long corridor to Professor Legato's band room. Oboe! He could not believe the nasty turn of his life events of the past twenty-four hours. As he walked down the hall, he wondered to himself why the band room was in the lowest basement of Hogwarts School. Then he remembered what Professor McGonagall said about the band being terrible. Perhaps being "tucked away" in the bowels of the school was for the best. "At least no one knows I have to take this class except for Hermione and Ron," he muttered to himself.

Presently, Harry came upon the door to the band room. He opened the door and called out, "Uh, Professor Legato? It's me, Harry Potter. I'm here for my first private lesson....er, sir?" In the middle of the large room sat two chairs and a small case. That must be Harry's oboe. "I would rather face Lord Voldemort without a wand than play in the band. I have my reputation to think about..." Harry mused aloud.

Suddenly, a ruddy face peered out of the small office adjacent to the band room. The band director had twinkling violet eyes and very little hair. He did not wear the robes that the other professors wore. Instead he was wearing an olive green suit reminiscent of one that Harry had seen in Vernon Dursley's closet about ten years back. The director of the Hogwarts school band wore a hot pink tie emblazoned with twirling trombones and trumpets. His shirt wasn't tucked into his pants and he looked extremely disorganized.

"Aha! Here's the answer to my prayers! An oboe player to grace my band!" cried his cheerful voice. Professor Legato strode out of his office and over to the two chairs. "You are Harry Potter, aren't you?" He asked.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, lifting his bangs and showing his scar. "I'm Harry Potter."

Professor Legato pumped Harry's hand vigorously. "I'm absolutely pleased as punch to meet you, son!" he exclaimed, sending little flecks of spit flying around Harry in a rather disgusting halo. "and with you being so popular, maybe you'll lead others to our little flock!"

Harry seriously doubted this. "Uh, how many are in the band now, sir?"

"Well, we're not that big, but we play our hearts out and we try really hard," answered the professor. "With you in our midst, our number has risen to fifteen!"

Harry's head drooped. "Oh," he said quietly. "You know, Professor, I've never played. I was hoping that the band would be a little larger, so I would blend in and no one would notice me!"

The professor roared with laughter as if Harry had told him the funniest joke ever. "Harry, oboe players never blend into the band. You could have a band of two hundred and still hear the plaintive whine of the oboe." His smile dimmed as he saw Harry roll his eyes and sigh. "Don't worry, son, you'll be great. Just hold the instrument and blow into it, and you'll be as good as any high school oboe player around!"

Harry was not enthused. "Can't someone else play with me?"

"No no no!" cried Professor Legato. "You know the old saying-how do you get two oboe players to play in tune? Shoot one of them! No, one will suffice for our humble little group. Come now, let's take the oboe out of the case and give it a whirl!"

Harry did as he was asked. The Professor showed him how to hold it and also explained about the double reed. "It's important to clean your oboe occasionally," he told Harry. If not, all the food from all the meals you have ever eaten will get trapped in the body of the instrument. Then we get the mold and the mushrooms, and well, it just isn't pretty to imagine." He gave a little shudder. "You may want to consider actually changing your reed as well, instead of just playing on the same one like so many of the clarinets do." He shook his head. "Those clarinets--whining constantly about how they can't play and always blaming the reed! You know, if perhaps they'd actually take it off of the mouthpiece and store it properly, but I digress. Harry, WAKE UP!" Harry's eyes popped open.

"It is time. Harry, blow into that horn!"

What happened next was frightening. The oboe emitted a loud squawk, a sound not unlike the yowl of a cat when it gets it's tail caught under the wheel of a slowly moving car. Harry, surprised, dropped the oboe into his lap; the door of the band room opened and a cacophony of laughter from about a dozen Slytherin students filled up the hall. Harry blushed and wished that the floor would open him up and swallow him. Either that or his invisibility cloak would magically appear and cover him. Draco was leading the Slytherins into the room.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't little Mozart himself! Ickle Harry Potter is going to play with the band nerds!" Draco drawled, grabbing Harry's oboe and twirling it like a baton. Harry looked at Draco, completely nonplussed. Draco's smile lessened just a bit. "Well," he said, "You are going to demand this thing back aren't you?"

"No way, I don't want it. Keep it," said Harry smugly. He made to leave the band room. Crabbe and Goyle grabbed Harry's arms.

"You'd better pretend like you want it back, or Crabbe and Goyle are going to tear you a second ass."

Harry considered this threat. "You know, two asses may not necessarily be a bad thing," he pondered. "I could do so many things with more than one a-"

"Enough!" Draco yelled, covering his ears. "I just got a mental image I could have done without. Crabbe, destroy the Pottie's o-blow. That way, he doesn't play Quidditch, Slytherin wins the house cup, and I will be the one getting into the Cho's pants!" Draco laughed. "And the great part is that I don't even like her!"

Harry gulped. Crabbe hurled the oboe into the air. It sailed out the window. Harry furiously stuffed his hand into his robes and yanked out his wand. "Accio oboe!" he cried. The oboe settled into his arms, unharmed. Just then, Professor Legato, who had dived for the safety of his office when the Slytherins came in, strode out of his office and stopped in front of Draco.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. I was so hoping you'd come by today." Professor Legato said. Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, I have no idea what you're talking about, sir," he sneered.

"Oh, come now, there's no need to be embarrassed. Your piccolo is in my office all fixed up and ready to go. I'll see you at the usual time at the Malfoy mansion for your lesson." The Professor smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Draco was redder than a tomato. "C'mon, boys," he motioned to his goons. Harry was suppressing giggles at the image of Draco playing a piccolo.

"Oh, and Draco," advised the Professor, "the next time you wish to act out one of your lewd sexual fantasies, try to use something else as a probe...perhaps a branch or long pole?"

Draco could no longer maintain his dignity. He burst into tears and fled from the room. The other Slytherins looked as if they wanted to laugh but couldn't out of respect for their house. Harry was rolling on the floor, tears coming out of his eyes. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad.

Just then, Ron and Hermione walked into the room. Hermione was carrying a flute case and Ron had a pair of Vic Firths. "What'd you do to Malfoy?" asked Ron. "He looks like hell!"

Harry filled them in on the whole piccolo deal. Ron whistled. "I knew that if Draco ever played in a band, he'd be a pic!

Hermione had a confused look on her face. "I would have guessed trumpet...he's so full of himself."

Ron and Hermione told Professor Legato that they were interested in joining band for the term. He looked as if he may cry. "Oh, this is a delightful day! First rehearsal is tomorrow at 1:00. We have a pep rally for the Hogwarts cheerleaders this Friday to prepare for."

Harry and Ron's jaws dropped. "Cheerleader pep rally?!" They grinned at each other. Maybe the band would not be as bad as they thought.