Chapter 1 : Rose's Guitar
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"No! I don’t want to play some wooden muggle box with strings mum!” I said stubbornly, trying to dodge around her towards the stairs, and eventually the safety of my own room.
Hermione Granger, in other words, my annoying, persistent, and oh-my-voldemort so stubborn female parent was trying to convince me to attend a guitar class, which I had no interest for. I mean who wants to play weird muggle music all day? Why not just crank up the weird sisters on the wizarding radio, and just bop along to that? Urgh, mom was just so annoying.
“Rose Weasley, you will go to this lesson! There are still three hours until we have to leave, so hurry up and get ready” she demanded. Uh oh. Demanding voice wasn’t terribly welcome. My mom was stubborn, just like me, and most of the time, she used it to her own advantage, like abusing her power as an adult over my small, newly adult self. Okay, maybe that was exaggeration, but honestly, I do not bloody want to join a guitar class!
“Mom” I whined, standing on the fourth step, puppy dog eyeing her as she stood firmly with her hands on her waist, eyes lined with a tiny fraction of amusement.
“Rose, just one lesson! I promise you’ll have a ball”
I weighed the pros and cons. Mom did mention a rather adorable muggle boy teaching the class- tick in the pros list. But then again, how the bloody Nargle do you operate a guitar? Dad bought one as a joke on my birthday (his jokes are always so lovely), and I’ve touched it, a total of once. Hey, it’s not my fault dodgy muggle contraptions scare the saucepans out of me! They just don’t make sense. But then again, I knew I’d feel guilty if I refused my mom’s demands. She’s a very demanding parental figure. If I’d had this conversation with dad, he’d just tell me how that gingers do what they please, and then go crack open a ginger beer.
“Argh, fine! Just one lesson” I gritted, before stomping my wuss of an ass back to my room, ignoring the snickers my brother, Hugo, was sending my way as I passed his door. Totally unfair that Hugo didn’t have to learn the stupid guitar.
“Three hours until we leave, Rose!” Mum’s voice echoed up the staircase. Boy does she sound much happier and slightly triumphant too. I scowled, why did I give in to her?
I stomped over towards my walk-in wardrobe, and pushed my way through the winter coats, into the very back, where my newly polished guitar lay. After a thorough sweep through of the house, my mother discovered my dad’s hilarious prank, otherwise known as my white guitar, hidden in the closet, growing dust.
I pulled out the pearly instrument, and grumbled as I hugged it against my chest, fighting my way out of the wardrobe, and onto my bed. I struck my fingers downwards, and the guitar let out an enormous, metallic sound, that probably deafened all the birds in the vicinity.
I cringed, trying to stroke it, much gentler this time. I slowly let my thumb run over each of the six strings, listening as they evoked smooth, rich notes, wafting out of the instrument. I glanced down in surprise, my fingers fixed on the last, steel string, as I waited for the music to end.
“Not too bad” I murmured, shifting my fingers into the chords I had curiously looked up in mom’s music books. I didn’t know many at all, but it was easy, to manipulate my fingers into a simple ‘G’ chord. I strummed again, with a little more confidence, and the sound the guitar emitted was pleasant, and a sweet soothing sound coaxed a smile out of me.
“See, it’s not all bad, Rosie” Ron Weasley grinned, appearing suddenly and leaning against my doorframe, ginger hair messy and arms crossed. The smile quickly wiped off my face, and I scowled.
“Go away dad” I complained, putting the guitar down gently, and walked to my desk, prepared to ignore my father.
“Whatever you say, Rosie” he laughed, and raised his arms innocently, before traipsing across to Hugo’s room. Good, go bug my stupid brother.
I sighed, glancing down at the innocent, white guitar and glared at it. In about the past ten minutes, the muggle instrument and I had formed a love-hate relationship, and I still felt compelled to act like I hated it. At least in front of mom- I hated admitting that I was wrong. I had inherited her stubborn trait, and I knew that, even if I grew fondness for the guitar, it’d be kept to myself.
I slipped out of my room, checking both ends of the hallway, as if I was crossing a street, to be sure mom or dad wasn’t around. I sidled into my parents’ study, and spotted what I was looking for immediately. Silently, I snagged it, and retreated back into my bedroom, locking the door and casting a silencing charm on the door. Thankfully my seventeenth birthday was last month, and I was able to freely use magic outside of school now.
As I waited for the thing to load, I grabbed my guitar and fiddled with the strings. I plucked them, pulled them, flicked them, and probably just abused them until I heard one snap. It was the thinnest string, the one on the very bottom, and it had recoiled when I pulled it away from the body of the guitar. Oops.
“Reparo” I muttered hastily, and the string reconnected. Terrified, I returned the guitar to the safety of the ground, and turned my attention back to the computer.
It took me about thirty minutes to get to the search engine my mom uses countless times, and I slowly typed in the words ‘guitar lessons’ and hit the small button that read ‘enter’. I jolted as the screen immediately shifted, morphing into multiple lines of text, with advertisements and pictures flashing from the sides. Annoyed at muggles for inventing such a confusing contraption, I scrolled down with the mouse, until I finally found a line of text that didn’t look dodgy.
Guitar Covers by Taylor, Harry and Lily – click here!
So I clicked, and was transported into a bright blue world of technology. I couldn’t stand it, cringing away from the screen, I stumbled my way into a world of musical words, and images of people playing guitar. Wow, they looked much more coordinated than I did. I probably looked brain dead when I ‘strummed’ (or you know, break the strings).
I clicked the first link on the ‘website’, as mom had described it at dinner one night, and let out a little shriek as a moving picture of a ridiculously handsome boy popped up, and started strumming the strings of a shiny brown guitar.
“Hi?” I said awkwardly.
No response. How rude.
I sighed, and closed my mouth, deciding to wait until the end of his performance to try and talk to the strange guitar man.
An hour later, I had worked out, (being the smart non-Ravenclaw I am) that the strange guitar man did NOT talk (still so rude) and that he played the guitar a million times better than I do. Jealous, I picked up my guitar, and tried to copy his movements, but with shameful results. I wish I could play as professionally as the kid on the screen did.
Annoyed, I folded up the computer, pulling the lid onto the pad with all the letters on it, and shut off the elektrikity, before glancing at the clock.
There was about thirty minutes until I had to be ready. Mom was probably yelling her bushy butt off downstairs, but my silencing charm prevented me from hearing. I made a mad dash around, pulling a comb through my hair, and tugging on jeans and a t-shirt. Muggle clothing was so much more comfortable than robes, I admit, but still. Muggles are WEIRD.
Grabbing my guitar, I hoisted it against my chest, and unlocked the door, removing the silencing charm under my breath.
“ROSE WEASLEY! IF YOU DON’T GET DOWN HERE IN TWO MINUTES, I’LL SIGN YOU UP FOR A WHOLE YEAR OF LESSONS” My mother’s shrill voice rang out, clear and sharp throughout the house.
“Oh shit!” I cursed under my breath, and hurtled down the stairs into the living room.
“Rose, what have you been doing? I’ve been calling you for ages” my mom chastised grouchily, and I smiled, a sheepish expression on my face.
"Nothing, mom” I told her sweetly, “I’m all ready to go now.” She cast me a suspicious look, but probably decided that whatever pretence I was putting up was better than refusing to go the lesson at all.
“Go wait by the car” she told me, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. I turned on my heel and casually walked out of the house, carefully carrying my guitar against my body. I had decided that I was going to be as good as the people on mom’s computer, and I was going to try my best to get as much out of this lesson as possible. Sexy instructor or not.
“Are you ready, Rose?” mom asked, opening the door of our Ford Anglia, and sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, whatever” I replied airily, careful not to show my building excitement and anticipation for the class. Mom smirked at me in the rear view mirror, and I kept the giddiness off my face, until she looked away.
“Apparate home yourself when you’re done, I’m going shopping with Aunt Ginny”
I nodded, and stared out the window.
This was going to be a fun day, and I was no longer dreading the guitar lesson. Maybe I’ll even let my mom sign me up for the rest of the year!
The car pulled into the parking lot, and I looked around the tall, boring building. The words ‘Beginner guitar classes’ were printed in bold on the side, the paint peeling slightly.
I walked across the pavement, and into the building, waving a careless hand to my mother as she drove out. I let the grin shine on my freckled face, and a skip wormed its way into my step.
This was going to be awesome.
A/N: for my lily <3
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