Disclaimer: I own nothing but a beat-up horn named Franny.
The Beginning
It was like every other day at Hogwarts. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, Snape was harpooning. Ah, the beauty of it all. To Harry, Ron, and Hermione their last year would be their greatest. With Quidditch already zipping through their minds, they were ecstatic about their seventh year.
Hermione was, of course, still a prefect and top in her class.
Ron was the sexiest man alive.
Harry forgot if he was wearing underwear-I mean, Harry was basking in the sunlight.
Yet unknown to them, danger was lurking. And that danger was none other than Dumbledore. Yes, Dumbledore seemed innocent to the others, but his mind was missing a few marbles. It wasn't even apparent to the students until he got drunk and danced under the tables instead of on top of them and was knocked unconscious for several days. That was a great party.
Anywho, Dumbledore, though brain-dead, wanted the oldest students to learn a very interesting subject that year at Hogwarts. They had learned how to do magic, but what if they lost their wands or something else that would probably never happen? What would they do then? It was time for them to learn a very important talent....
"Hey you guys," Ron said, staring at the clouds and picturing little penguins (dancing in the breeze of course), "What is a marshstring brand?"
"A what?" Harry asked, looking at Ron.
"You know, the class we have to take this year? I've never heard of it before."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You mean a marching band, right?"
"What?" Ron asked.
"A marching band."
"A marshsting-"
"Marching-"
"Mashring-"
"Marching-"
"Marshmallow-"
"MARCHING." Hermione said through her teeth.
It was very quiet for many seconds. Some moose ran by.
"Band." Ron whispered. "Well, what is it?"
Hermione pondered. "I don't know. I went through Muggle Studies, and I know what marching is, but why would it be like an elastic band? I don't understand how it's going to help us at any way in the Wizarding World."
"Well," Harry chimed in, "I hope it doesn't have anything to do with underwater basket weaving."
Meanwhile Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in the Slytherin lounge- thingy when the same subject happened to wander by.
"Crabbe" Draco said, looking at the large boy, "what was that subject you were drawling about not too long ago?"
Crabbe began to think. "Oh," he exclaimed, "you mean that same subject that just happened to wander by?" (Author smiles)
"...Yes."
"I was talking about how we were going to be in a marching band next year."
"A what?"
"A marching band. You know, you have instruments and you play them?"
Draco smiled craftily. "Instruments of DOOM!?!"
"No, not instruments like 'wands.' Instruments like musical instruments."
"Oh."
It was quiet for a long time. Some guy with a moose walked by.
"Well," Draco finally exclaimed, "I don't know what you're talking about, but at least we'll still have Quidditch."
**Two months later at the Seventh year first meeting
"NO QUIDDITCH!!" Harry screamed. It was part of the worst news he had ever received in his life.
"That's right, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "We must devote all of our time to marching."
"But-but-" Harry stammered, "I don't even know what a marching band is!"
"That's what you're here to learn!" Dumbledore screamed, doing a little jig. "A marching band is a group of people who play instruments that march with them at the same time! It's very difficult and takes almost three years to get it right!"
"Then...why are we doing it?" Hermione asked.
"Because it will help you in the future."
Hermione gave an inquisitive look. "But how-"
"IT WILL HELP YOU IN THE FUTURE." Dumbledore said in an extremely, yet scary voice. The clouds darkened. People scurried.
"Now" Dumbledore smiled, "to assign your instruments. Usually instruments are assigned by how well you can make a noise on the mouthpiece. I think that's a bunch of crock. So the sorting hat will choose."
"But sir," Hermione frowned, "The sorting hat is on vacation."
"...Right." Dumbledore made a face as if he was thinking. "Well, then I guess we will just have to use his cousin."
"The sorting hat has a cousin?" Ron asked.
"...Of course he does." Dumbledore said, sweat drops starting to pour down his face. Slowly he took off his mitten from behind his back. "The sorting MITTEN!" Dumbledore tried to talk from the side of his mouth saying in a very squeaky, high pitched voice, "HELLLLLOOOO boys and girls!"
Everyone was quiet.
Snape was looking very confused. "Um, sir-"
"Anywho!" Dumbledore exclaimed, looking at the mitten. "Are you ready to pick their instruments?"
"Am I ready? AM I READY? Does a bear pee in the woods? Does a hobbit have hairy feet?" The "sorting mitten" exclaimed.
One by one, each seventh year was given an instrument by the mystical mitten. The instruments somehow didn't seem to fit the students just right...
Dumbledore walked passed Hermione. "FLUTE!" The high-pitched voice screamed.
Hermione blushed. "Sir, I really think that I should have something else."
"You question the mitten?"
The students began to giggle. "It's not that, it's just that...well, there's this muggle movie that talks about this girl.." She began whispering the rest in Dumbledore's ear.
Dumbledore began to laugh. "That's ridiculous! I mean, I've put that flute in worse places than that!"
The world was scared.
But the instruments got worse. Ron was given french horn, Harry was given the symbol, Seamus got the saxophone, Crabbe got the drums, Goyle was given the clairinet, and the list went on and on.
But the worst of all was Draco's. When Dumbledore walked by, he screamed, "TUBA!"
After the meeting, everyone went back to their rooms, realizing that this year wasn't going to be too great. What were they possibly going to do? Play in the Band? The Band would take all of the fun out of their lives. It would crush them. Quidditch was what the world yearned for. Snape did talk Dumbledore into at least reconsidering that awful deal.
Still, the wizarding world wasn't ready for something as crazy as a marching band.
The Beginning
It was like every other day at Hogwarts. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, Snape was harpooning. Ah, the beauty of it all. To Harry, Ron, and Hermione their last year would be their greatest. With Quidditch already zipping through their minds, they were ecstatic about their seventh year.
Hermione was, of course, still a prefect and top in her class.
Ron was the sexiest man alive.
Harry forgot if he was wearing underwear-I mean, Harry was basking in the sunlight.
Yet unknown to them, danger was lurking. And that danger was none other than Dumbledore. Yes, Dumbledore seemed innocent to the others, but his mind was missing a few marbles. It wasn't even apparent to the students until he got drunk and danced under the tables instead of on top of them and was knocked unconscious for several days. That was a great party.
Anywho, Dumbledore, though brain-dead, wanted the oldest students to learn a very interesting subject that year at Hogwarts. They had learned how to do magic, but what if they lost their wands or something else that would probably never happen? What would they do then? It was time for them to learn a very important talent....
"Hey you guys," Ron said, staring at the clouds and picturing little penguins (dancing in the breeze of course), "What is a marshstring brand?"
"A what?" Harry asked, looking at Ron.
"You know, the class we have to take this year? I've never heard of it before."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You mean a marching band, right?"
"What?" Ron asked.
"A marching band."
"A marshsting-"
"Marching-"
"Mashring-"
"Marching-"
"Marshmallow-"
"MARCHING." Hermione said through her teeth.
It was very quiet for many seconds. Some moose ran by.
"Band." Ron whispered. "Well, what is it?"
Hermione pondered. "I don't know. I went through Muggle Studies, and I know what marching is, but why would it be like an elastic band? I don't understand how it's going to help us at any way in the Wizarding World."
"Well," Harry chimed in, "I hope it doesn't have anything to do with underwater basket weaving."
Meanwhile Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in the Slytherin lounge- thingy when the same subject happened to wander by.
"Crabbe" Draco said, looking at the large boy, "what was that subject you were drawling about not too long ago?"
Crabbe began to think. "Oh," he exclaimed, "you mean that same subject that just happened to wander by?" (Author smiles)
"...Yes."
"I was talking about how we were going to be in a marching band next year."
"A what?"
"A marching band. You know, you have instruments and you play them?"
Draco smiled craftily. "Instruments of DOOM!?!"
"No, not instruments like 'wands.' Instruments like musical instruments."
"Oh."
It was quiet for a long time. Some guy with a moose walked by.
"Well," Draco finally exclaimed, "I don't know what you're talking about, but at least we'll still have Quidditch."
**Two months later at the Seventh year first meeting
"NO QUIDDITCH!!" Harry screamed. It was part of the worst news he had ever received in his life.
"That's right, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "We must devote all of our time to marching."
"But-but-" Harry stammered, "I don't even know what a marching band is!"
"That's what you're here to learn!" Dumbledore screamed, doing a little jig. "A marching band is a group of people who play instruments that march with them at the same time! It's very difficult and takes almost three years to get it right!"
"Then...why are we doing it?" Hermione asked.
"Because it will help you in the future."
Hermione gave an inquisitive look. "But how-"
"IT WILL HELP YOU IN THE FUTURE." Dumbledore said in an extremely, yet scary voice. The clouds darkened. People scurried.
"Now" Dumbledore smiled, "to assign your instruments. Usually instruments are assigned by how well you can make a noise on the mouthpiece. I think that's a bunch of crock. So the sorting hat will choose."
"But sir," Hermione frowned, "The sorting hat is on vacation."
"...Right." Dumbledore made a face as if he was thinking. "Well, then I guess we will just have to use his cousin."
"The sorting hat has a cousin?" Ron asked.
"...Of course he does." Dumbledore said, sweat drops starting to pour down his face. Slowly he took off his mitten from behind his back. "The sorting MITTEN!" Dumbledore tried to talk from the side of his mouth saying in a very squeaky, high pitched voice, "HELLLLLOOOO boys and girls!"
Everyone was quiet.
Snape was looking very confused. "Um, sir-"
"Anywho!" Dumbledore exclaimed, looking at the mitten. "Are you ready to pick their instruments?"
"Am I ready? AM I READY? Does a bear pee in the woods? Does a hobbit have hairy feet?" The "sorting mitten" exclaimed.
One by one, each seventh year was given an instrument by the mystical mitten. The instruments somehow didn't seem to fit the students just right...
Dumbledore walked passed Hermione. "FLUTE!" The high-pitched voice screamed.
Hermione blushed. "Sir, I really think that I should have something else."
"You question the mitten?"
The students began to giggle. "It's not that, it's just that...well, there's this muggle movie that talks about this girl.." She began whispering the rest in Dumbledore's ear.
Dumbledore began to laugh. "That's ridiculous! I mean, I've put that flute in worse places than that!"
The world was scared.
But the instruments got worse. Ron was given french horn, Harry was given the symbol, Seamus got the saxophone, Crabbe got the drums, Goyle was given the clairinet, and the list went on and on.
But the worst of all was Draco's. When Dumbledore walked by, he screamed, "TUBA!"
After the meeting, everyone went back to their rooms, realizing that this year wasn't going to be too great. What were they possibly going to do? Play in the Band? The Band would take all of the fun out of their lives. It would crush them. Quidditch was what the world yearned for. Snape did talk Dumbledore into at least reconsidering that awful deal.
Still, the wizarding world wasn't ready for something as crazy as a marching band.