Hogwarts, School of Rock

Through a combination of eavesdropping and carefully asked questions and hints ("So, what was everyone's favorite lesson from last term?"), Aberforth managed to struggle through the younger years' classes. He took note of the color and shape of their textbooks, copying the cover details so that he could purchase them for himself in Hogsmeade later, and hopefully, glean ideas from the pictures. As far as he could tell, the students didn't notice anything amiss. He had always been good at improvisation.

Unfortunately, the same tactics would not work with the sixth years. For one thing, they were already onto him. For another, he truly believed that they had nothing to learn from him. Aberforth had always believed that experience was the best teacher, but an encounter with Professor McGonagall, in which she had waxed endlessly about "those poor children" and "the struggles they've endured under sadistic and incompetent teachers," had quickly disavowed him of that notion.

And to tell the truth, he was rather afraid of the sixth years. Not to mention Professor McGonagall.

All too soon, it was Monday morning again, and he and the sixth years sat staring at one another. If the classroom had had a clock, its ticking would be the only sound in the room. Aberforth considered conjuring one.

Finally, Bushy sighed and raised her hand. "What are we going to do today, Professor?"

"Exactly what we did last time, Miss...?"

"Hermione Granger."

"I knew that."

"But how are we supposed to earn marks if we do nothing?"

"You want to learn something? All right. Lesson one." There was a scramble to take out parchment and quills. "Scribbles on a piece of parchment are completely worthless in the real world. Believe me, I know. End of lesson." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

"How can you possibly need any more sleep than you're already getting by teaching?" exclaimed an Irish boy.

"Whoever made up these schedules should be committed. It's far too early to be awake."

"Professor McGonagall makes them up, I think," the boy offered.

"Well then, Professor McGonagall and her fellow agents of the Man should be sent to St. Mungo's."

A redhead, whom Aberforth would place money on being a Weasley, spoke up. "Um, Other Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall's a girl. Er, woman. Lady. Yeah."

Somebody whispered, "Ooo, Weasley's in luuuuuurve!" Aberforth found it amusing and ignored it.

"Of course she is, Red. She's also the Man."

A few snickers told him who the Muggle-born students in the class were, but most of the faces before him were blank and confused.

"I suggest you ask your classmates. Now, if you'll excuse me." He conjured up a pillow, placed it behind his head, and closed his eyes.

It took the students considerably less time to shift to common room mode this week, but Aberforth was unable to doze off so easily. In hopes of finding a discussion boring enough to lull him off, he allowed his hearing to drift from conversation to conversation. They were only teenagers; it shouldn't take long.

A gaggle of giggly girls and one lone boy gossiped merrily at the side of the room. Probably boring enough, but far too squeaky.

Four other boys were snickering over something the fifth was drawing in a notebook. Joining them, though tempting, would not help with the sleep.

Draco Malfoy, predictably, sat alone with his feet on the desk, watching a flying lesson outside.

Another boy was frantically pouring over a textbook.

Harry Potter and his two friends huddled in the other corner, whispering. Every now and then, another student would glance in their direction. Intrigued, Aberforth tuned in.

"But why not, Harry? We know it works from last year!" insisted Red.

"It's different now," Harry replied.

"You're being ridiculous, it's the same thing. Even our incompetent substitute knows you know more than any of us, him included," Bushy said. She had the most irritating habit of using her entire body for a simple eye roll.

Harry shook his head. "I taught you guys everything I know last year. There's nothing more to teach."

"So we'll learn together! The library has hundreds of books with more advanced work, we could all take a few and study them together."

Red groaned. "It's no fun when we have to do the research ourselves!" Aberforth quite agreed.

Another full body roll. How did she do it? "Honestly, Ron, Harry's not going to be able to do everything for you forever-"

"That's not what I said!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it's n-"

"Stop it, both of you!" Harry silenced their growing argument as it attracted attention from their classmates. "Look," he whispered, "I said no DA, and I mean no DA. We don't have to sneak around this year. People can practice in the open if they want to."

"But Harry," Bushy protested.

"You run it if you're so eager to. I'm out." He put his head down on folded arms.

That effectively ended the debate. Aberforth made a mental note to ask Albus what this "Dee-yay" was later and tuned out.

The classroom buzz continued uninterrupted as he sank into his catnap. Catnaps were a truly wonderful thing, he mused. Whoever invented them deserved some sort of prize, something more useful than the silly medals his brother was constantly collecting. Pity that person was likely dead. As their biggest fan, however, Aberforth would be more than willing to accept such an award on their behalf. There was nothing like a good catnap. So peaceful...relaxing...rhythmic...

...rhythmic?

But sure enough, there was a rhythm. He couldn't ignore it. Where was it coming from? Aberforth roused his senses and identified a rapid, steady pulse coming from one corner. He opened up more and discovered a modified and decorated version of the same pulse from another corner. And in the very middle, there was an almost imperceptibly low, melodic...humming.

He slowly opened his eyes. Textbook Boy.

"Music!" Aberforth cried. The room fell silent.

"No, don't stop!" He leaped up and rushed over to Textbook Boy, who looked up at him wide-eyed and trembling. "What were you humming?"

"Oh, um, n-nothing in particular, sir. I didn't even realize I was doing it. Sorry?"

"Oh-ho, did you, now? Sorry, are you? And what about you, Red?" He whirled around to the Weasley.

"Huh?" the boy said, caught off guard.

"You were tapping out the bass."

"I was?" He exchanged confused looks with his friends.

Aberforth spun again. "Malfoy, I'll bet your father insisted you take music lessons, didn't he?"

The blond narrowed his eyes. "What business is it of yours?"

"He did, he did!" said one of the girls in the gaggle.

The identical one next to her nodded. "I remember from-"

"Bite me, Patil."

"Hey now," Aberforth chided the boy amidst the sudden uproar, "musical talent is nothing to be ashamed of! It should be celebrated! It should be offered to the gods of rock and roll in tribute to freedom, beauty, truth, and..."

"...love?" ventured the blonde girl.

"No, something else. Can't remember. Doesn't matter. The three of you play for the school, I imagine?" He bounced on his toes, hands clasped in front of him.

"No," scoffed Red.

"Hogwarts doesn't have very much in the way of arts education," Bushy informed him.

"WHAT?" bellowed a wide-eyed Aberforth. The students jumped. "No art? No dance? No drama?" Somebody made a comment under their breath at the last one, but Aberforth didn't care. "No music?"

"We sing the school song every year," the blonde mentioned meekly.

"Piffle! Balderdash, poppycock, and rubbish! This is inexcusable! What kind of a school is this?" he cried to the ceiling, flinging his arms wide.

"The best school of magic in Europe, that's what it is," Bushy said primly. "We may not draw pictures for O.W.L.s, but we're learning very important skills for our futures."

The class snickered.

Aberforth smacked his forehead in disbelief. "Art isn't just drawing pictures! It's passion, it's expression, it's damn the Man and vive la revolution! Art...music...is a powerful magic, far beyond spells and potions."

The bewildered stares around him were edged with skepticism. He placed his hands on the desk beside the drawing boys and leaned closer to them. "Have you ever been transported away by a song?"

He crossed to the gaggle, who were eyeing him fearfully. "Cheered by a melody?"

He spun around and faced Textbook Boy. "Had your mind captured and changed by the lyrics?"

Turning to Malfoy, he continued solemnly. "I know you have."

As his voice rose in volume, he raised his shaking fist in the air. "And I am shocked and appalled that my brother, of all people, would preside over a school without music. If he weren't away, I would march you all up to his office this instant and demand-"

"Professor Dumbledore's not here?" Red interrupted.

His fist froze. "Ah, no, he's been called away on business, but that's not my point-"

"Is it for the Order?" another boy inquired.

"Er, I don't think you should-"

"I'll bet it is! We can help, we're good at this stuff, you said so!" added another. The students began clamoring once more, but this time, Aberforth knew exactly what to do. "Sonorus hendrixus!"

A guitar riff cut through the room. The students froze, some half out of their seats. Perfect.

"You see? Music has the power to control you, if you let it." He strolled to the front of the room and whirled around to face the enraptured class, his robes flying as they swirled around him. "But it can also give you strength, and focus. You can work with it by creating it, molding it, feeling it in you. And that, my children, is a secret more powerful than Voldemort will ever know." Most of the students winced at the name, but they remained silently fixed on him. He could tell they were starting to buy into it...and Aberforth began hatching an idea - a very clever, sneaky idea - which, if it worked, would get the students some real education and benefit him, as well.

Breaking the now welcome silence, he said, "Now, I have a proposal for you. A project, if you will. Had I only known there was so much artistic talent before me, I would have mentioned it before...but I don't suppose you're interested, what with all the important skills you're learning for your futures." He sighed and leaned back against the desk, folding his arms.

"We're interested." All eyes turned to Harry as he spoke for the class.

Aberforth rubbed his nose and tried not to smile too broadly. "Are you certain? It's not something you can write an essay or take a test on."

"Go on."