Out of Tune

Out of Tune

Chapter Two

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, Harry found that playing in the Hogwarts band wasn't entirely a bad thing. True, if he could have chosen the instrument, it wouldn't have been the oboe, but even that was getting to be a little more enjoyable, now that he could sort of play "London Bridges." Because of Harry's celebrity, the band had made some appearances in the corridors of the school and most people seemed sympathetic to his plight.

Even Cho Chang had approached Harry in the hall on more than one occasion with words of admiration for him. "You know, Harry," she had breathed into his ear one afternoon before Transfiguration class, "I just love the sensuous sound of the oboe. Perhaps you could play me a solo sometime." Harry had shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the time, but not due to the heat or a sore butt. He had smiled at her and said, "Sure, whatever. Anything you want, babe, as long as it's "London Bridges" or "Hot Cross Buns." Later he would think back on his reply to her and bang his head repeatedly on one of his bedposts. Why did he say such dumb things?!

Wasn't band supposed to make a person smarter?

One afternoon, Harry and all the other bandies were sitting in yet another ho-hum rehearsal, listening to Professor Legato ramble on about the need for everyone to practice. "Draco," he snapped at the silvery-blond haired boy. "I know you're not practicing that piccolo. I mean, it's not as if I can shrink myself down to nothing, climb into your case and holler at you at home! I mean, what would I say?"

Harry whispered in Hermione's ear, "He'd probably say, 'let me out, let me out! It's cold and dark in here and you never feed me!'" Hermione laughed.

Suddenly, the door to the band room opened, and Dumbledore strode in, a serious expression on his face. He walked over to Professor Legato and whispered something in his ear. Legato gripped at his chest, and the baton he had been holding flew out of his hand and nearly took out their only trombone player's one good eye.

Legato composed himself. "Class, we've had a terrible turn of events. The Dark Lord and his minions of Darkness are descending on the castle as we speak. And they've brought their strings."

Most of the class sucked in a horrified breath, as if they knew exactly what was going on. Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione were clueless. "What's going on sir," Hermione asked without raising her hand.

"I'll field that one, Legato," Dumbledore said. "Why don't you go do some score study in your office?"

Legato bid a hasty retreat, and Dumbledore sat down.

"What I am about to tell you has been kept a Hogwarts secret for years and years." Dumbledore began. Everyone leaned closer.

"Hogwarts used to have an orchestra as well as a band. They were almost as bad as you guys are now, but not quite. 40 students strong, and all were beginning string players. To this day, I can't get the noise out of my head of them trying to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." It was like fingernails on a blackboard. But they enjoyed it, and it kept most of them from dropping out of school to become low-class magicians at Muggle children's birthday parties. It was in their first year of existence that the board of directors at Hogwarts decided to place the students in this room."

Several band students looked around their room with a new found respect. There had been an orchestra at Hogwarts.

"One student in the orchestra was rather a surprisingly good cellist. He could play just about anything by ear, and could sight read difficult music without so much as a worry. He was one of those child prodigies you hear about all the time. Rarely did you see him without his 'cello."

"However, due to budget cuts, and the need for new Quidditch uniforms, the orchestra was cut from the Hogwart's budget. Now most people were thrilled at this. Remember, these kids couldn't play, except the one. And that student grew up to be...LORD VOLDEMORT!"

The students exclaimed!

"Yes, kids, it's true. The guy was to the 'cello what Wynton Marsalis is to the trumpet. He just had a way with the instrument, and loved it with all his heart. He attempted to get scholarships to other wizarding schools with orchestras, but because he was a poor orphan child, he lacked the necessary social connections. He was forced to give up the instrument he loved. And so it is through this that his hatred for anything good was born.

"What can we do?" Harry asked. "We're only one band."

"Ah, Harry, that's something I will divulge in the next chapter."