Professional Pianist - Not Quite

This isn’t going to go well. Amelia thought with a sigh, resting her chin on top of her closed fist.

Amelia was currently sitting in the pantry of the Leaky Cauldron on a sack of potatoes, holding her head in her hands. She could hear the commotion of customers in the bar, and looking up at the clock she could see why the noise had grown exponentially since she first arrived. It was just getting to be 7:00 P.M., one of the busiest times of the night for the Leaky Cauldron. All around her, other student employees were bustling about, chopping this, frying that, prepping for sandwiches, ladling soup. Everyone was so busy that no one had bothered to notice the extra person sitting quietly in the corner, separate from the chaos.

How did my father ever convince me to do this? Amelia wondered, leaning back against the wall, tempted to beat her head against it so she might have a good excuse not to have to work tonight.

Tonight was Amelia’s first night of work. Ever. This was all her father’s idea, and though her mother had originally gone along with it, she wasn’t too thrilled with the direction Amelia had chosen to take upon her father’s prodding. Frederic had recently determined that Amelia needed to get some real-world experiencing working for money, instead of receiving it through her parents fund set up for that exact purpose. Her parents had always told Amelia she needn’t find work because it would take away time from her studies and other more noble time commitments, but somewhere in the last few weeks her father seemed to have changed his mind. In an unusual gathering of her entire family – minus Raoul, of course – her parents had revealed to her that they wished for her to find employment.

Although Amelia wasn’t opposed to the idea of working, she still had not managed to determine what had probed this in her parents. After 16 years of life, now they decide that she needs to know the value of working for her galleons? But whatever the reason, Amelia had been forced to seek employment. But, having no prior experience, Amelia was turned down at nearly every institution she applied at. Not being naturally social, she was a sorry excuse for a waitress or bartending applicant. She had absolutely no experience or knack for cooking, and she couldn’t stand the noise of the joke or candy shop.

As a last ditch effort, Amelia had seen a sign in the window of the Leaky Cauldron seeking help, so she decided to inquire within. Much to her surprise, the owner was thrilled with her resume, the first one to offer her a position without even requiring an interview. Shocked, but pleased that her job hunt had finally amounted to something, Amelia hadn’t even bothered to inquire about the nature of the work. She had just agreed to arrive for her first shift on Friday night at 6:30 P.M., figuring that she would be trained once she arrived.

Much to her surprise, though, when she had arrived tonight she was not given an apron or a notepad. Instead, the owner had greeted her at the door and gestured toward a dimly lit corner of the bar where a large, black baby grand piano sat. The lid of the instrument was down right now, but he encouraged her that she was welcome to open it before she began to play.

This revelation that she had been hired as the piano player was the shock that had sent Amelia into hiding in the kitchen. As she looked back up at the clock, she saw that it was already six minutes past seven o’clock, which made her late. It was only a matter of time before the owner came looking for her, and although the other student workers were too busy to notice, she didn’t exactly blend in well with the potato sack she sat on.

Pull yourself together, Amelia coached herself, taking a deep breath that smelled of deep fryers, You really don’t have any other options. You’ve already determined that you are unfit to work anywhere else, so it is either this or admitting defeat to Dad. And heaven only knows what kind of work he will dig up for you if you fail to find some of your own. Probably working with the son of one of his rich friends, hoping to play matchmaker. It’s just a few songs. It is so loud in there that no one is even likely to hear you.

Still not convinced, but knowing she was running out of time and options, Amelia stood up from the potato sack. Before leaving the pantry, Amelia checked her black tights for runs, pulling her pleated grey skirt down and smoothing it. The green v-neck jumper she was wearing would at least prevent anyone from seeing her perspire, Amelia thought as she slid out of the kitchens and into the crowded bar, her patent leather heels clicking against the stone floors until she reached the piano.

Someone – probably the owner – had already lifted the lid of the piano, revealing the many strings and hammers within, and Amelia quickly took a seat on the bench. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but so far very few people had taken notice of the redhead who had taken up a place in front of the keyboard of the massive piano. With a deep breath, Amelia placed her slightly shaking hands on the ivory keys, letting them rest there for a moment.

Just start playing. The noise in here is likely to drown you out anyway. And remember to breathe.

Taking her own advice, Amelia took a deep breath to settle herself and allowed her fingers to start rolling across the keys, tentatively at first, but then closing her eyes and pretending that she was alone in the room of requirement, blocking out the conversations from the bar patrons and shouts between the wait staff and cooks. As she got past the first few bars of the song, Amelia could feel herself growing at least a little more confident and her hands shook less, pressing out the notes to Billy Joel’s Piano Man.

((Can I post? ))

Keith sat in the leaky cauldron, staring curiously at his watch. He had been here for hours, staring at the face of as it spun round and round, pulsating colors emanating from it in dance like motion. Keith couldn't tear his eyes away from the shifting colors. There was mainly blue, a little green, some yellow, red...and a strange peach-ish color he got whenever he walked by the to the bar to get more butterbeer.

So Dad gave me a light show instead of a broken watch. Nifty. He thought to himself, sighing and shaking his head. Despite how fascinating this revelation was, he was still no closer to finding out the watch's purpose. He blinked once or twice, trying to get the fog out of his head, and looked around.

The clock said 7:00, meaning he had been here for 3 hours. He grinned ruefully, glancing at the small mountain of butterbeers on his table. No wonder his head was so fuzzy. Butterbeer had extremely little alcohol, but Keith's small size made him slightly susceptible to what little it did posses. That and he suddenly had a pounding headache, making everything a bit blurry.

The tables were filled with people talking, laughing and yelling, but Keith began to notice some sound off in the background. Apparently others had noticed it too, as conversation was beginning to die down, people shifting their heads towards the front of the room. Keith however, was unable to see over the much taller adults and students, and was forced to climb onto his table top locate the source of the distraction.

He caught a glimpse of a girl at a piano, playing out a song that his father had often sung when he had had 1 too many firewhiskeys. He struggled to place a name to the song and finally identified it as Piano Man. What surprised him more was the girl playing the piano.

Keith knew he recognized her from somewhere, but the fog in his mind made it hard to concentrate. She was in his house...he had met her before, he was sure of it. They had made fun of Christy together, she had done well, if he remembered correctly.

Amelia. Yeah, that was it. Amelia. He hadn't known she played piano. Or that she would need to play piano. If he remembered correctly, she was super rich or something. Definitely rich enough to avoid working at a bar. But who was he to complain? The music was good and helped clear his head, and apparently the rest of the crowd agreed with him, rocking back and forth in time with the music. He grinned and waved towards Amelia, but doubted she could see anything other than his outstretched hand.

Amelia’s fingers continued to roll over the ivory and ebony keys, the notes flowing from her memory to her fingertips. Although she was still aware at a subconscious level that she was in a crowded bar, playing for a group of complete strangers, a sort of peace had settled over Amelia as the music flowed from the piano. It’s comforting tones and pure notes – at least the instrument was in tune – surrounded her like a security blanket, one that she had always found herself at home in.

On the whole, Amelia disliked performing for others. It made her feel self-conscious. Her mother had occasionally forced her to play her violin for guests at the house, showing Amelia off to all of her esteemed guests and relishing in the praise they gave her for giving Amelia such a wonderful gift as music. Not one to enjoy being the center of attention, though, Amelia knew that by showing off her musical talents she was likely to become just that.

The song had already passed its climax and Amelia was beginning to slow the tempo, pressing more gently on the keys as she reached the final measures. The damper pedal extended the final chord of the song, resonating around her and then slowing fading and giving way to something that, to Amelia’s slightly distant mind, sounded a lot like silence.

Opening her eyes, Amelia became aware that although the bar had not become completely silent, many of the patrons were staring at her, a few of them with their arms wrapped around each other in a drunken stupor, still swaying to the music that had already stopped. As her eyes scanned the crowd, a small spattering of applause came from the few tables nearest the piano, faces of all ages looking up at her.

Although many would have reveled in the attention, Amelia merely blushed, disappointed to find that this job would not allow her to be as anonymous as she had hoped. The noise of the bar had already faded considerably, most everyone looking to her for another song as the short round of appreciative applause died out. One of her hands left the keyboard and drifted to the back of her neck, a characteristic move which indicated that Amelia was nervous or embarrassed – in this case, both.

Taking her silence for acceptance – though that was definitely not the emotion Amelia was feeling – the crowd began shouting toward her, requests cropping up from different groups around the bar. Some of the songs she had never heard of; others she would never play, even though she knew the tune. Amelia’s eyes darted around the crowded space, following the string of requests shouted toward her, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden attention focused on her.

As she scanned the groups in the bar – rowdy again now that the music had ceased – Amelia spotted a puzzling extension over the heads of a few burly – and quite drunk, from the looks of it – men. It was a pale, small arm peeking out which, Amelia determined after tilting her head and moving over a bit on the bench, belonged to a small blonde boy she recognized as Keith Nicholas. The boy, for reasons she had yet to determine, was grinning from ear to ear, clearly having recognized her from their brief meeting in the common room many weeks ago.

Embarrassed to find that someone she knew was watching her – instead of just a room of anonymous and intoxicated adults – Amelia gave a tiny wave in his direction, flushing more deeply as she averted her eyes from him. It was not that she disliked the boy; on the contrary, Amelia had found him to be quite amusing and interesting at their introduction. It was rather the fact that someone who knew her would be able to testify about the outcome of this horribly uncomfortable situation of playing piano at the Leaky Cauldron.

Attempting to shake off the discomfort as being spotted by a fellow student, Amelia picked the very next request made out of the air, placing her hands on the keys and picking out the first few notes of the highly unorthodox song – at least for someone classically trained in piano - but at least it was something to keep her face away from the stares of the bar-goers.


Amelia’s mind provided the lyrics, though she did not sing them aloud. Amelia did not prefer to sing in front of a crowd any more than she liked to play piano in front of one. Even the fact that she knew the lyrics to this song – or knew this song at all, for that matter – was slightly embarrassing, but the shorter, more choppy rhythm played well into Amelia’s nerves; the shaking in her hands was barely visible as her hands bounced across the lower register of the piano.

((This song is “Bust a Move” by Young MC. I just needed to pick one that was a little “out there”, and that might be requested by a drunk bar patron ))

Keith laughed as he recognized the tune Amelia was playing. He hadn't expected something like that from her. She had always seemed so...well, high strung and dignified. Not one to know how to play "Bust a move" on the piano. Determined to get closer, Keith began crawling over the shoulders of the drunken bar patrons.

"'Scuse me. Pardon me. Out of my way please...ooh, sorry about your face ma'am. And that firewhiskey sir. I'll uhm, pay for that or something. And- Hey. Ow!" He scowled as one of the men finally decided to throw him onto the floor. Keith shot him the bird and stuck out his tongue, scurrying his way through the rest of the crowd. He finally reached the stage, looking up at Amelia and flashing a quick thumbs up.

Amelia needed to focus on the keys as her hands bounced across the keyboard, the rhythmic nature of the hip-hop song forcing her to improvise at times. Clearly, this was never a song that her piano instructor had given her; he was far more fond of classical, baroque, and romantic era music. Young MC and Debussy did not exactly compose in the same vein, after all. But Amelia was not completely oblivious to the fact that when it came to people listening to you play piano, classical didn’t exactly give you a wide audience. It was for this reason that Amelia had picked up a few books of her own – which she, of course, hid from her classically trained mother – and worked to learn music by ear.

After many years of exposure to music, Amelia found that learning to play popular music was not all that difficult. Many times, it was a regular progression of chords that carried the melody, allowing her to play most anything as long as she knew the song. On one occasion, Amelia hadn’t known the song her father’s friend requested, so she had asked him to hum it in order to get the tune. This, she had found, was completely ineffective, especially when the request is coming from someone with one too many glasses of scotch in him. And so she had learned to stick to what she knew.

When she hit the higher parts of the song – If you want it baby you've got it – a few of the bar patrons chimed in, making Amelia laugh and almost miss the next series of notes. An especially tall man with a gut that suggested the beer he was holding was one of many in a progression seemed to be getting really into the music, surprising Amelia with his falsetto. She laughed in spite of herself and the nerves she was still feeling, although to a lesser degree now.

Now having gotten the hang of the octave jumps, Amelia’s eyes were free to scan the crowd, getting a feel for their thoughts on her performance. Most seemed to be enjoying the music, though several of the older witches and wizards looked confused by the commotion caused by the song. Probably a little after their time… Amelia thought, smiling to herself as she watched another patron attempt to do as the song suggested and “bust a move”, but fall over instead.

Distracted now by the crowd, Amelia’s eyes flitted between the many different scenes and reactions before once again spotting the familiar face in the crowd. Keith was standing right on the edge of her raised platform, his grin seemingly too wide for his face. He was giving her the thumbs up signal, meaning he was rather enjoying the music and also – she suspected – the bar’s fare.

Shooting him a quick, gratuitous smile, Amelia turned her eyes back to the keyboard to play the last few staccato notes. A few of the men who had decided to sing along were a bit behind, and their words ended after the actual music did, which resulted in teasing from their buddies. While the other patrons were distracted and laughing at the belated lyrics, Amelia learned down toward Keith, though not leaving her piano bench.

“Hey,” Amelia said quietly, noticing that his eyes seemed a bit unfocused and that he smelled faintly of butterbeer – though that could have been any of the patrons around him as well.

“Do you… um… have a request?” Amelia whispered, wondering why the boy had chosen to approach her. True, they had gotten on well enough in the common room those few weeks ago, but Amelia didn’t believe them to be especially close. She didn’t really consider herself to be close with many people at all, to be completely honest.

Keith tapped his foot in time to the music as Amelia finished her song. The bar patrons were really getting into it, and Keith was actually tempted to join in for a moment. Then his common sense slapped him in the face and reminded him it was more amusing to watch other people do stupid things while drunk than to do stupid things yourself.

Keith rolled his eyes. His common sense sounded like his mom, which wasn't a good sign. Unless he wanted to start cooking and whining about how difficult it was to take care of two children, in which case it was a major improvement. But at the moment this didn't sound like a particularly great idea.

“Do you… um… have a request?” Amelia asked. She seemed nervous. Flustered, actually. Like she didn't enjoy being the center of attention. Keith could understand that, he too often wished he had the ability to just fade into the background every once and a while.

Keith shook his head. He didn't really know why he had approached her, other than it sounded like a good idea at them time. He had to think for a moment, the damnable fog in his head impeding any solid thoughts from forming. The watch on his wrist pulsed irritably, and he absently slipped it off his wrist, pocketing it. He felt better immediately.

He finally managed to decide that he liked Amelia. She came off as unwelcoming and a little cold, but Keith figured he did too. He shook his head. "Not so much a request as a congratulations." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of ones, amounting to a little more than a few dollars. "Here's your first tip." He said,laying it at her feet. "Don't want to distract you, but how'd you end up here? Seems that being a bar's pianist would be a bit...I dunno, below you."

He didn't mean to offend her, he was just stating a fact. If anything, he reasoned, she should be flattered. He knew a lot of people who would love to have enough money to be considered "above" working in a place like this, himself included. But rich people tended to be touchy about their money, for reasons Keith couldn't quite fathom. It was something you had, like magical talent or a good voice...or the ability to play piano. Why be ashamed of something that was a part of who you were?

When Keith shook his head to her question, Amelia became even more perplexed. She had never known a first year to be quite as forward as he – most of them were a quiet lot (unless they all got together, that is. Then they were giggly and rowdy), and she didn’t know many of them to spend any serious amount of time in the bars of Hogsmeade. Keith was an oddity, but then again, she had known that from their first meeting. Anyone who chose to take on Christabelle Whittle armed with nothing more than words and a handful of first year spells had gall.

Keith took a minute to formulate a verbal response to her question, so Amelia was able to survey the room momentarily. The focus on the belated singers was beginning to die away, and more and more heads were turning in her direction, curious expressions on their faces as to why the music had not resumed. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before they started yelling at her again – and it might be more than requests this time – Amelia was growing impatient just as Keith’s thoughts fell into something coherent.

His congratulations was unexpected, as was the crumpled bit of money he pulled from his pocket. Not many witches and wizards carried muggle money, but he offered it to her nonetheless. Amelia smiled in what she hoped would seem a grateful way and scooped the wad of bills up from the floor, pulling out her wand and producing a mason jar into which she deposited the cash. She set the jar on the right hand leaf of the music stand so others could reach it if they chose to, but Amelia did not expect it. She was new, without alliances in the leaky cauldron, and most of the people here would likely choose to spend their money on more spirits than more songs.

Finished setting up her tip jar, Amelia was about to turn to Keith with a word of thanks, but before she the phrase could leave her lips Keith spoke again, this time in inquiry instead of congratulations. His comment was unexpected, and, Amelia thought, at least a little brash. Of course, the few people who knew her from Hogwarts would likely have thought the same thing upon seeing her here, but she doubted very much that any of them would come right out and ask it (Elijah might, but she guessed he would be more interested in his firewhiskey and women to have a chat with the pianist).

A bit thrown by the question, Amelia took a moment to find an answer that would both satisfy the question, but not overtly offend Keith. Her immediate response would have been to throw another question back in his face, as was her usual defensive tactic, but she couldn’t justify it. Keith had never done anything to her, and she had signed up for a job in a social setting. She couldn’t blame him for being social right now, even if she wanted to.

“Well, it seems being a waitress or cook is above me,” Amelia admitted honestly, but vaguely, trying to laugh at herself, but that was never one of her strong suits, “So I guess you could say I played to my strengths.”

“Besides, one can always use more practice,” Amelia added as an afterthought, trying to justify this to herself as much as to Keith. She knew very well that being a bar’s pianist was below her – that is why her mother was going to freak when she found out what exactly Amelia was doing to earn her own galleons – but Amelia hated the thought of having to ask her father to supply work for her. She had been trying to prove her independence to her parents for too long to go back groveling. If that meant having to play in a crowded, rowdy bar for patrons whose requests were already starting to fly again, so be it.

At least she could be anonymous here. None of the patrons cared what her name was or where she came from. Aside from Keith, no one would ask questions. The first year approaching her was, at least she thought, an anomaly. She hadn’t spent any great amount of time in taverns, but she assumed that most of the patrons left the pianist to her duties.

Didn’t they?

Keith could see that Amelia was struggling to be civil, and that surprised him. The Amelia he had met in the common room probably would've blown him off, or just ignored him by now. At least, that's what he had thought. But he always had judged people too quickly, or maybe Amelia had changed since their last meeting.

Either way, Keith wasn't quite sure what to make of the change. Nice was and civil was all well and good, but had Keith come up here expecting a challenge? No, of course he hadn't. He had come up here to congratulate an acquaintance and ask a simple question. Normal people did that all the time, right? Right?

Amelia's face twisted once, twice, and finally answered his question. She seemed unsure however, at least to Keith. Something about the pattern of her voice. She was doing what she loved, if Keith knew anything about her people - people did not go up on stage to do something they didn't love. Not like this anyway.

But still, Amelia seemed hesitant. Was the idea not hers in the first place? Doubtful. Few people did this kind of thing unless, they actually wanted to do it, and he supposed that tied in with his earlier thought. So why the hesitation? But something caught his attention, something she said as an afterthought. It sounded...different. Almost like it wasn't directed at him, but Keith probably wouldn't have been able to figure out what it meant even if he was completely sober. Instead he simply tried to nod in a knowing manner. "Well, you never know how good you are until you open yourself to criticism." Keith agreed. "Self teaching can only get you so far." Or at least, thats what his dad had said. "Look, I don't want to get in your way. Just wanted to say hey, if you need to play I'll understand." God knows he didn't want to be the one responsible for getting her fired.

The nod which came from Keith seemed intended for greatness, but instead it seemed more like a bobble head doll to Amelia, like there was a string attached to the boy’s neck and his head were merely responding to a steady coiling and uncoiling. Not that she knew this for a fact, but Amelia thought perhaps Keith had partaken in one too many butterbeers, a drink she knew he liked from their first meeting. Come to think of it, Keith hadn’t responded well to the butterbeer in that situation either, but at least he was still upright and coherent.

His words were surprisingly insightful for someone so young – not to mention seemingly intoxicated – and the boy yet again managed to impress Amelia. Between his sharp wit, barbed tongue, and knack for knowing when to shut up, the kid wasn’t half bad. Most of the first years managed to do nothing but annoy Amelia, putting her through the ringer when she was on prefect duty. On more than one occasion she had been tempted to round them all up in the common room and put a permanent sticking charm on the bottoms of their feet, just so she wouldn’t have to chase them through the corridors, looking like a banshee streaking down the hallways after a gaggle of giggling children.

The kid has a point, Amelia admitted mentally, raising an eyebrow in slight surprise. Amelia also made a mental note to try to stop thinking of Keith as a “kid”. Although he was many years her junior, he had a certain something that raised his maturity in her eyes, placing him in a category – yet to be determined – apart from the other first years. She smiled lightly in response to his words, and to her having taken something of a liking to the Ravenclaw boy.

When Keith mentioned his becoming a distraction to her, his timing could not have been more perfect. As soon as the words left his lips, Amelia’s attention and eyes were lifted from him to find the bartender giving her a pointed stare, tapping his watch for added emphasis. The crowd was starting to become unruly again, a few of the more drunk adults starting to jostle toward the stage in what looked to be the beginnings of a small mob. Able to take a hint, Amelia averted her gaze from him and gave a small smile of thanks to Keith, appreciating the understanding that was uncommon in someone so young. But then again, there were many uncommon things about Keith.

“Just grab a seat, and tell the waitress to get you some pretzels or popcorn. It’ll be on me,” Amelia added in an uncommon showing of camaraderie; she wasn’t sure what had sparked this in her(the pretzels and popcorn were to sober him up, of course, but picking up the tab?), but after she had said it she didn’t immediately want to retract the words. Instead, she gave Keith one last nod before letting her eyes and ears open to the crowd, from which the requests were lobbed.

“You got it!” Amelia shouted to a woman in the back who had shouted her request over the noise of the bar, giving her a wave to indicate that she was heard, just in case Amelia’s voice had been drowned out. Turning back to the piano, Amelia dropped her hands one octave from center and began the opening chords to “Proud Mary”.

((“Proud Mary” is better known as “Rollin’ on the River” and was originally sung by Tina Turner.))