Concerto For Grace and Orchestra
A century ago, Albus Dumbledore
looked forward to sweet music and
a lovely girl. Then he had the
worst day of his life....
Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. All characters are fictional.
in the schools for a long time, life is hard, Mr. Larsen."
- Paul St. Pierre, The Education of Phyllisteen
"Cute apron, Hagrid!" said Ron.
Hagrid looked up through the light Spring rain to see the three intrepid first-years coming through the courtyard wall to the sloping field between the school and his hut.
"Ain't an apron," he answered with a smile. "It's a seed sack, if ya don't mind. Got a bare spot or two out here, and I'm throwing grass seed."
"Why do you have bare spots here?" asked Harry, himself a veteran of lawn and garden care. "Nobody walks here much."
"It's these stone channels alongside the walk. They send all the water down to the end here, and it washes out these spots. Every Spring, same thing."
"Hagrid," said a puzzled Hermione, "why don't you get rid of these channels? The walk's almost level, and it's the highest spot on the lawn. Wouldn't it be better if the rain simply ran off across the grass in all directions?"
"There y'go, thinkin' agin! O'course it would, Hermione. Truth be told, they ain't here fer drainage. I'd just as soon tear'em up, but there's a history behind 'em, and Perfessor Dumbledore wanted to leave'em that way, jist for old time's sake."
"Cool!" said Ron. "Then they must have been troughs to catch the blood of dying trolls, in some great rippin' battle here, huh?"
Everyone looked at Ron.
"What've you bin readin'?" said Hagrid. "Nah, nothin' like that."
"Well, if they're not for rain," persisted Hermione, "then what are they for?"
Hagrid stopped seeding, and looked around, as though he wanted to be sure they were alone -- then disclosed the deep, dark secret.
"They're bowlin' ball gutters."
There was nothing much else to do on a rainy afternoon, so the young Gryffindors followed Hagrid back to his hut. With mugs of hot chocolate in hand, they sat back to let Hagrid spin the tale.
It had all happened a long time ago when Dumbledore was relatively young -- maybe only 50, instead of 150.
He was still quite youthful in appearance and agility, tall and bespectacled, with a well-trimmed mustache, short beard and sideburns. The lady professors found him quite attractive, humourous and happy, yet his bookish ways were greeted with disinterest.
His assistant professorship meant occasional lectures, and substitute teaching during the absence of other instructors. Other than that, he continued his lab research on the uses of dragon's blood, a post-graduate project which had proven to be of great significance in the magical world.
He was not without a hobby. His spare time was spent on the remains of a steam-powered orchestrion, discovered in a barn near Althers by antique-hunting wizards. That was a story in itself.
It had been left behind when a traveling circus ran out of money in the 1860s. The finders had donated it to the school; Armando Dippett, the newly-appointed headmaster, would have preferred to dump it in the sinkhole alongside the Great Hall, but Dumbledore pleaded its case.
Though grungy, it was a beautiful thing to behold. On this garishly-painted circus wagon were a flock of musical instruments -- an upright organ, horns of all sorts, chimes, drums -- all rigged up to operate from a huge roll of thick paper full of holes. In all, almost a full orchestra, run like a player piano, and powered by an onboard coal-fired steam engine!
Right off, it didn't work, of course. A leaky barn roof and nesting mice had ruined most flexible parts -- the macintosh bellows on several instruments, grommets, leather belts, india-rubber seals on valves and pumps, the pressed-paper music rolls, and any thin pieces of wood -- which meant that it would never make music on its own again. Well, not without magic!
Dippett was dubious about keeping it, not to mention Dumbledore's request for space in the school to repair it all. Dumbledore argued that the musical instruments themselves were still in half-decent shape, and he could clean and tune them. With any luck, he could charm them individually to memorise great works of the classic composers he loved, and the school would have a fine magic orchestra for Sunday concerts by the lakeshore -- "strands of the masterworks on the strand at Hogwarts," he called it.
Dippett finally surrendered, and alloted a first-sublevel dungeon room, once used for choral practise.
The room was no prize. It had only one window, high off the floor, and that was nearly blocked by a Grecian urn that some 18th-century romantic had placed on the sill for "atmosphere." Below window level was a huge double-ring timber chandelier that no one had lit in years. There were no doors, but a wide egress, leading directly to the stairwell landing. The stepped floor, perfect for a choir, was useless for classroom space or almost anything else -- so naturally, Dippett was willing to let Dumbledore have it.
Dippett was remarkably tolerant of the occasional bleats and blasts of "music" coming from Dumbledore's repair shop. Privately, he thought the orchestra would never sound like anything but a merry-go-round.
Undaunted, Dumbledore cleaned, shined and retuned the instruments, making them as fresh as new. He spent his vacation time in London, hunting in second-hand shops, his small allowance going for violins and other strings to round out the ensemble. A huge bass proved too clumsy for a broom ride, and he wouldn't trust it to a floo-powder trip or some muggle lorry service, so he escorted it home in the baggage compartment of the Hogwarts Express, then struggled along the road from the rail station on foot, carrying the huge burden.
Other staff and students thought he was a little strange to spend so many hours and galleons on his "one-man band." Slytherin students started calling him the "maestro" after one of them peeked through the doorway of the music room and saw Dumbledore dreamily waving his wand, leading an imaginary orchestra.
"But, Hagrid, what does all that have to do with bowling balls?" asked Ron.
"Keep yer shirt on, red. I'm getting there. And before I'm through, you'll hear about a day Perfessor Dumbledore wishes he could ferget. Worst day he ever had, they say."
Now, you also have to realise that Albus Dumbledore was as human as the next fellow, and from time to time there could be some very attractive witches on the Hogwarts staff.... well, back then, anyway! Dumbledore took particular note of Grace Anne Gorman, the new librarian -- brilliant, charming, red-haired.
Grace was athletic, and enjoyed any activity that involved a little exercise. While others flew brooms to Hogsmeade, she would walk, or pedal one of the new "bi-cycles." In the winter, she would don skates or snowshoes rather than ride a sleigh. Occasional "crown and gown" Quidditch games -- staff versus students -- were great fun for her.
So, when a bowling craze in the muggle world developed into a minor interest in bowling at the school, it was no surprise that Grace would be involved. Tenpins was the chosen form, and the flat stretch of walk on the sloping lawn was perfect for the lane. Pinboys were selected from among bystanders; they would return the ball, levitate the fallen pins out of action, and reset with the peculiar ten-pin charm, triangulare. Stone troughs were set in the ground on each side to act as the gutter -- not entirely necessary when there's only one lane, but dictated by the sloping terrain.
The lady participants thought the wooden bowling balls of Victorian days were quite heavy enough, thank you very much. The men thought a heavier ball might be proper, and briefly considered the ancient method of using stone balls, but finally settled for a bit of magic: worn bicycle tyres, an otherwise useless commodity, were transfigured into hard-rubber bowling balls, roughly a stone in weight. Now, the games could begin!
Other than past experience at Quidditch, Albus Dumbledore at a youthful 50 was not all that athletic, but he thought he might develop a talent for ten-pin bowling. It was not too intensive, just needed a little practising for accuracy. The fact that Miss Gorman was involved was entirely secondary... or maybe not.
"You're making this up, aren't you?" said Ron. "About Dumbledore chasing girls?"
"Have I ever lied to ya, Ron?" asked Hagrid.
"I can't even picture it. Dumbledore's not gonna snog anybody in this story, is he?"
"How do ya know he's even gonna catch her eye?"
"I don't know."
"Then let me finish the story. But get yer hanky, out Hermione, it's a sad one."
Dust started to collect on his treasured orchestra while Dumbledore practised at the outdoor bowling lane. On occasion, if he was lucky, Miss Gorman and other ladies happened by, and joined in. He was consciously on his best behaviour, never mentioning bow frogs, organ stops, snare adjustment or any of his musical strangeness. He cared for his appearance; not a hair or thread was out of place, and even Dippett noted that he seemed to be walking more upright these days, not bent over like a bass player.
Dumbledore tried his best to befriend Grace. She was curious about his growing attention, and treated him well -- although when each bowling session was over, she went her way and he went his. Staff rumours said she might have a man-friend, but no one was sure exactly who. Student rumours about Grace tended to be very graphic, and he disregarded all of those, especially the one about her dancing a can-can on the billiards table in the Slytherin common room. Salacious codswallop! He would do his best to impress the lovely, ladylike Grace Gorman, perchance to seek her hand.
"Are we getting to bowling soon?" asked Ron.
"Yeah, we're there now," replied Hagrid. "This is where the bowlin' comes in."
Grace was very adept at the new sport, and was a sure thing to be in the women's finals. By applying himself, Dumbledore also comported himself well, and though he was not top-ranked, he would definitely be in the men's sub-final matches.
Now was his chance to shine! He could almost picture the school's first pair of bowling cups in the trophy hall, one engraved with the name of Albus Dumbledore, the surprise winner -- and next to it, another labled Grace Anne Dumble... er, Gorman. A matched set, if there ever was one!
He did well in the semi-final. In the last frame on the scorecard, his opponent had faltered, scoring a strike but following up with just 5 pins; surely Dumbledore could do better. His moment had come. He stepped up to the lane, confident of his abilities.
He looked around. Everyone was waiting, watching... well, except for Dippett, who was only present to award the trophies. Dippett had no interest in the game, and had fallen fast asleep in a folding lawn chair.
He poised for the throw, leaning forward, raising the ball with both hands...
"Ten galleons says the maestro misses completely," sneered Cain Farrington. A few of his fellow Slytherins chuckled.
Dumbledore almost expected to hear his teammates answer, but no one spoke up. He lowered the ball, blinking his eyes, distracted by that thought.
Finally, some Hufflepuff took the bet. A few other Slytherins decided to make a little money, and offered other bets, and gradually all the transactions were out of the way.
Dumbledore glanced at Grace. To him, her look said, I'm not worried, Albus. You'll impress me, I'm sure. Then again, it might have been how relaxed she looked when she wasn't in a tight corset. Come to think of it, she hadn't done any betting....
He put her out of his mind. He must think about bowling, not ladies. Concentrate!
Once more he prepared, lining himself up, planning how his hand would grip the ball on release, and where his follow-through should point. He took his steps, pictured Grace, and pitched the ball --
-- releasing it about waist-high.
It bounced once on the lane, once in the left gutter, and then landed on the slope and began rolling down the hill.
He had lost! Feeling like a complete fool, Dumbledore began to chase the ball. Naturally, he reached for his wand to recover it....
.....but his wand, alias his baton, was still sitting on the lectern in the dungeon, where he had been leading his orchestra-of-the-mind that morning, in a concert dedicated to Grace.
He never gave a thought to wandless magic, momentarily confunded by the obvious path of the 14-pound hard-rubber ball.
It was rolling, at ever-increasing speed, toward the window of his dungeon music room.
"NO! No, no, no, no, NOOO!"
Games rules would not allow anyone else to interfere, so the ball ran on. Murphy's Law being what it is, the ball's accidental aim was perfect.
The ball slipped unimpeded through a row of iron hitching posts, crashed through the window pane, and struck the heavy Grecian urn with great force. The urn wobbled, then fell off the window sill onto the oversized chandelier. The extra weight unbalanced the huge fixture, which tilted and began to swing, striking the rope which raised and lowered it. The rope, already too frayed and overstressed for its age, snapped, dropping the timber chandelier on Dumbledore's orchestra.
Its rim collapsed the pipes of the upright organ, which toppled onto the string section, reducing his precious violins and bass to splinters. The very heavy chandelier then tilted, sliding across the brass and woodwinds, ripping through the percussion section, and dragging all the instruments down the stepped floor, through the wide doorway, and down the steep flight of stairs to the next landing, where it broke through the marble railing.
Nothing was heard for a second or so until it all hit the bottom of the stairwell -- four levels below.
It made such a loud, lovely cacaphony.
"WHAT WAS THAT?" shouted a suddenly-awakened Dippett.
"D flat, I'd say," smirked Farrington.
Slytherin's bowlers broke out into loud applause for Dumbledore. "Bravo, maestro! Encore, ENCORE!" they shouted, whooping and howling in derision, while collecting their bets.
While they gloated and laughed at him, Dumbledore could only kneel, looking in the smashed window at the evidence of his ruination. Years of work and hundreds of galleons, all gone! His entire crystal ball of dreams was smashed -- dreams of music, success, and a girl.....all gone in a careless instant of mind-wandering.....
Well, needless to say, Dumbledore failed to impress his lady fair. With the shame of it all, there was no further need for him to show interest in tenpin bowling.
In the end, Grace demonstrated her taste in men by marrying her boyfriend, who turned out to be a seventh-year Slytherin student. After him, she was remarried to a well-to-do Hogsmeade shopkeeper. Then, a Muggle. Or two. Later, a Hogwarts alumnus who went to the World War reported seeing her dancing the can-can for visiting seamen in a Marseilles bar.
Dumbledore's beloved orchestra was reduced to a jumbled tangle of metal; nothing could be done for it. He did manage to accio his wand, intact, from the shambles. Some say the rest may still lie at the bottom of the stairwell, but no one goes there to see.
The bowling lane was used for a scant few seasons, then interest faded away.
No one would ever bring up that most forgettable occasion in the presence of Albus Dumbledore, for fear of.... well, they just wouldn't. A footnote in Hogwarts: A History, 1913 edition, Appendix VI, dared to refer to the incident; oddly, no copies of that printing reached Hogwarts, and none seem to exist today.
Dumbledore built a fine reputation in potions and charms, and his work with Flamel is famous. He defeated the evil Grindewald, and eventually replaced Dippett as headmaster of the school. For hobbies, he turned to reading, astronomy and the collection of old scientific instruments. Today, Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in magicdom, while the likes of Grace Anne Gorman and Jubalcain Farrington are merely names on old alumni lists.
Yet, outside the wall, on the sloping lawn once known as Bowling Green, the gutters of the impromptu alley were intentionally left in place, as though the bowling lane was Dumbledore's reminder to himself of some great lesson.
Once, Hagrid had innocently asked McGonagall about the gutters; an immediate finger-waving warning was enough to deter Hagrid from ever raising the matter again.
"Then how did you finally hear the story?" asked Ron, handing Hermione another hanky.
"Madam Pince whispered it to me, after a few flagons of potent egg-nog one New Year's. But I hafta hand it to the old boy. Through all the years, his official biography has never changed. It still proudly says Albus Dumbledore has two int'rists: classical music...... and tenpin bowlin'."