Written for Round Eleven of Season Nine of the QLFC

Keeper

Chudley Cannons

Prompt: Bard — Write about a character who's known for their musical talent.

Word Count: 1524

Note: AU where Harry Potter is brought up in an orphanage instead of the Dursleys' house.

*.*.*

The Ballad of Ravenclaw

Harry Potter found himself in a bit of a rush that particular Thursday afternoon.

"Yeah, I see," he muttered half-heartedly, barely listening to what Oliver was saying. From whatever he had gathered, it had something to do with Mrs Figg's cat mauling his new pair of socks.

Harry still had his chores to get done. He'd ended up working after dinner in the kitchen last night because somehow he had managed to send all of Mrs Figg's china saucers into the flower beds outside. He did not himself know how he had done that, just that one minute he was trying to put the saucers into the sink for washing, and the next minute they were floating out the window into the backyard.

Thankfully, Miss Figg was rather easy on him, so she ignored the strangeness about the situation and let him go in a bit over an hour. But he was still lagging behind, and he needed to get some things over with if he wanted to see the old man with the strange name tonight.

Albus Dumbledore, he was called. And Harry used to think that Arabella Figg was a strange name. Mr Dumbledore was older than anyone Harry had seen, and he had a long silver beard that he could tuck into his belt if he wanted to. His hair was even longer, and he always looked at them, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, over the pair of posh half-moon glasses that sat on the bridge of his long crooked nose. There was a very distinct air of wisdom about him, the kind you would find around old sorcerers like Merlin. God, Harry had been reading too many fairy tales lately.

He was a friend of Mrs Figg's, and Harry could hardly remember the first time he had visited. He was probably too young then. Harry was almost eight years old, and he had been living in this place with several of the other children for as long as he could remember, and the only memory he had of his own parents was very vague. Often in his sleep he would dream of it, of them, and a blinding green light, and sometimes, a horrible laugh. It made Harry wake up in a fit of sweat, and he found himself unable to go back to sleep for the rest of the night.

Dumbledore visited the orphanage every few weeks. They never knew when he was coming, but it was always at six in the evening. He would sit with all the children in the biggest room. Mrs Figg would bring him tea and then he would sing them songs. His songs always had fascinating stories in them.

Sometimes Oliver would whip out his flute, claiming that he could play along, and then they'd all laugh over the chaos — because that was all he caused.

They were good times. Harry would not give them away for the world.

*.*.*

Emma threw the door open and poked her head into his room.

"Mr Dumbledore's visiting today, Mrs Figg wants us to make sure we've got everything done so we can see him!" she grinned, and Harry grinned back. Emma shot off, and he heard her shout the same thing into the next room, and then the next, and the next.

The rest of the day went by as slowly as possible, it seemed. When there was only a quarter left until six o' clock, the children all filed down to the sitting room, almost as if they were going to attend another class.

"Is he here yet?" Oliver cried excitedly, tugging on Mrs Figg's wrist. "I've been practising on my flute for a whole week!"

They all chuckled, and Mrs Figg shook her head. "He's a busy man, dear, but I'm sure he'll be here very soon. Be patient."

Dumbledore arrived when the clock struck six, which came as a surprise to no one. Mrs Figg greeted him, and the children watched quietly while the pair of grown-ups shook hands and chatted in hushed voices.

"He's very interesting, wouldn't you, say, Harry?" Emma whispered in his ear.

Harry nodded firmly.

"I've always wondered what he does for a living," Emma wondered aloud. "He doesn't look like he'd have a normal job, like a lawyer, or a doctor, does he?"

"He is an old grandpa, Em," Oliver said. "He doesn't have a job."

"Hmph, you never know."

Harry shushed them both down, for Dumbledore was making his way over to them.

"Mr Dumbledore!" they all cried. "Welcome back!"

"Yes, thank you," Dumbledore smiled down at them. "I trust you have been well."

Everyone chimed their response, as Dumbledore sat down on his plush armchair, putting his ukelele across his lap and entwining his fingers together.

"We missed you, Mr Dumbledore," Emma said. "Mrs Figg said you were busy."

"That is true," Dumbledore replied solemnly. "There was some business to attend to, but I am here now. And I have a new song for you. It is not written by me, but I believe you will enjoy it."

"Cool!" said one of the boys.

"Can I play my flute, Mr Dumbledore?" Oliver quipped. "After you're done, of course. I practised a tune for today."

Dumbledore laughed. "Of course, you are welcome to play for us."

Then the room quietened down, and Dumbledore picked his ukulele in his hands.

"This song is called the Ballad of Ravenclaw, for anyone who is wondering," he smiled at them, his eyes sparkling.

He dragged his fingers across the strings of the instrument, and then he began to sing.

Now Harry would admit that yes, Dumbledore had a wonderful voice, and he did every song justice. But there was something about this song that particularly drew him in. He usually wasn't one to think about what the song was saying, but this was certainly one of those songs that told a story, and he was sure he could understand what this song said.

*.*.*

Hidden in plain sight there existed a completely different community of people who lived completely different lives. They had magic flowing in their veins, and they were capable of channeling said magic through thin wooden wands. Once a young witch or wizard reached the age of eleven, they were sent to a special school called Hogwarts, and no one but witches and wizards knew where it was. They would remain in the school for seven years, and be taught to control their powers. The wizarding community was threatened by a dark wizard, who wanted only those of purest blood to remain in the community, and a prophecy dictated that there would come a young wizard and he and the Dark Lord would have a battle, and only one of them would live to tell the tale. The young wizard was yet to show up, and no one knew who he was.

"Wow…" Emma whispered in disbelief once the song was over. "That was wonderful, Mr Dumbledore!"

"Thank you, my dear," Dumbledore put his ukelele down and reached for the glass of water kept next to his armchair. "Did you all like the song?"

"Yes!" they all said in unison, and a buzz arose among the children. Clearly, the song had intrigued everyone.

"Is it true, Mr Dumbledore, what it said?" Harry could not help but ask.

Dumbledore fixed him with a knowing look. "Do you want it to be?"

"I — " Harry stuttered. "I don't know. Is it, though?"

"It's a song, Harry. If you want it to be real, it can be real."

Harry frowned. Honestly, Dumbledore did say strange things sometimes, but Harry hadn't really been on the receiving end of them.

Dumbledore smiled at his expression, then reached out to ruffle his hair.

"Do not worry about it, Harry. You will know when you are old enough."

*.*.*

Albus Dumbledore turned the corner only to be met with the most serious-looking cat in existence.

"Professor!" he said, slightly taken aback. "I was expecting that you would be here. How long have you been waiting?"

The cat's nose twitched, and then right before Dumbledore's eyes it turned into a human. A tall, stately-looking lady in dark purple robes and a pair of square glasses looked up at him.

"Not long. I heard you sing the song. Forgive me for eavesdropping."

"No matter, Professor," Dumbledore waved his hand. "I have found myself guilty of it myself countless times, I promise. And yes, I did sing the song."

McGonagall huffed. "Are you sure that it was safe to do that, Albus?"

"Oh, definitely. I knew what I was doing. I try not to do things without a reason," Dumbledore winked.

"If you say so," McGonagall said. "How is the boy?"

"As good as one can imagine. Arabella treats them all very well, as I always say. He is clever too, he was the only one who asked me about the song."

"Hm."

"I can hear the cogs in your brain, Minerva," Albus laughed. "You worry too much."

"Anyone would, Albus. I don't understand - "

"Ah, don't. Let's go now, Minerva, I find myself craving some vol-au-vents right about now, don't you?"