Closed Playing Strings PV Simon Kincaid

Dialogue: #f58300

9th of March, 2023
16:19PM

It had been a while since Enrico had used his hands for purposes that did not include flinging dragon dung at fellow students or flicking his wand around and about to cast the most mischievous of jinxes on mundane objects that habitants of the castle consistently used. His troubling streak of chaos had alarmed many of the staff members, but regardless of how much detentions he had to suffer, the Hufflepuff had not been stopped just yet. That being said, however, he had moments where he even exhausted himself wiggling about being a menace, and so he decided to practice what his mother had advised him over the Christmas holidays. ‘Music helps the soul,’ he remembered her saying, in the back of his head.

Of course, this came with a bargain. If he promised her to practice the guitar as a mean to control his emotions, she’d get him a new one by Summer time. There was no way he agreed to such revolutionary adjustments without being rewarded for it. After all, Enrico was only a kid, and he behaved like three five-year-olds all in one. And they say children were a blessing…

So there he was, strutting like the school’s most famous musician making his way to the room where he’d hoped not to be disturbed, or worse, distracted. Today’s lessons had been interesting, but not as entertaining as usual. He slept for half of History of Magic and Potions, as usual, was a complete disaster. Nothing had changed since last year. He had hoped that within a year he’d be able to grasp the concept of it all, but everything felt twice as difficult. Sticking to what he knows - playing the guitar - would hopefully lift his spirit up and give him that bit of extra confidence. Even though he was already big-headed enough to believe that his performance in school was more than just adequate.

Once he finally arrived at the desired location, he tucked his button-up shirt into his pants and adjusted the sweater on top of it as it felt like it didn’t fit him anymore. Just because he remained the same size ever since he was nine, his mother seemed fit to give him clothes he used to wear back then. He pushed the doors open with whatever little strength his small body could provide. The door creaked, as the light coming through the arched windows glimmered on the floor. Enrico caught a few coughs and claps as the portraits on the wall stared at him with curiosity, and he stuck his tongue out. A starter for the spectacle they were about to witness.

It was known that students came here to express their devotion to the arts, and Enrico had brought his own guitar given the fact that he was not trusted enough to borrow one from Music class. One could not blame whoever was in charge, the boy could barely keep his own wand tucked in his pocket without risking losing it. However, using his own guitar made him realise how much he needed a new one, and perhaps he could invest in one from Hogsmeade. He had heard there was an instrument shop down somewhere and thus wondered about the difference between a normal guitar and a magical one. Would it sound nicer? Would it play by itself? So many wonders.

But alas he had to stick with what he had, and what he had was humble enough to rattle and drag the attention of the portraits or anyone who walked by. It felt a bit odd to have his fingers play with the strings of the guitar as it had been a while, but eventually, he got the hang of it, even though he broke a horrible note that cringed his body every here and there.