Disclaimer: None of the characters or places portrayed in this story are mine. All belong to JKRowling. Not copyright infringement intended.

Hidden Talents

The suitcases of the students' of Hogwarts School had all been packed and were on the Hogwarts Express – all that was left to depart was the mass of third year pupils shouting riotously as they swarmed the entrance hall.

An emerald robed teacher marched back up the stone steps for the fifth time that morning and entered the castle. A sudden silence fell over the third years – this particular professor had a way of commanding hordes of students without saying a word.

"Put that wand away, Mr. Davies," Professor McGonagall's voice cracked sharply through the air over the students' heads. "Or do you want detention with me while all your fellow classmates are comfortably on their way home?"

McGonagall, famously known among the students for her severity, was of course not going to keep the boy behind. However, Alvin Davies, along with most of the school thought that his transfiguration teacher was always deadly serious.

"Sorry, Professor," Alvin squeaked and tried shakily to stuff his wand back into his pocket as Professor McGonagall looked fiercely down at him through her stern eyes.

"Hm," she replied curtly, then looked to the rest of the students and with no evidence of a smile said, "Enjoy your summer. You may go."

The students began to leave the entrance hall quickly and the noise level rapidly started to rise. Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared angrily.

"Quietly!" she snapped loudly above the sudden noise of her pupils.

Once the last of the suddenly very quiet third years had stepped out into the grounds on their way to the Hogwarts Express, the enormous castle doors closed of their own accord. Minerva McGonagall was left standing alone in the peace of the entrance hall and inhaled a deep, relaxing breath. She turned on her heal, her light, summer robes fluttering out behind her, and began to make her way up the marble staircase and to her office where the last of the years papers could be neatly filed away.

As she was walking along the final corridor that led to her office, she noticed a door to her left that was not usually there. Minerva knew that many of the doors in Hogwarts enjoyed moving around. She knew that sometimes (rather too often for most people's liking) solid walls like to pretend that they were doors. Ordinarily, however, like most of the inhabitants of Hogwarts, the walls and doors rarely, if ever, misbehaved in Minerva McGonagall's presence, and so this door gained Minerva's full attention.

There was nothing at all grand or extraordinary about the door. In fact, it looked as though it might lead into a poky storeroom. With her brow furrowed, Minerva grasped the cool, brass knob that was attached to the thin wood, and twisted it. It gave one long squeak and then abruptly clicked open. She pushed the door open and discovered that the room beyond it was not a storeroom at all. Stepping forward and into the room, she left the door slightly ajar behind her.

Minerva appeared to be in a disused classroom. Dusty desks were piled against the back wall to her left, while the blackboard to her right had been covered with a sheet that looked as if it had originally been white but was now spotted with grime and mould from the damp air.

It was the object straight ahead of Minerva, however, that caught her eye. Standing on the cold flagstones in the centre of the room, spotless and shining, stood an enormous grand piano.

Minerva's feet remained very still at the shock of such a unexpected yet magnificent spectacle. It had been years since Minerva had played on her Great Uncle Phoebus' Perfect Pitch VII piano, and this was many leaps up from that. This was a Phoenix Elite, one of the greatest pianos known in the wizarding world. She had no idea how Hogwarts had come by this treasure, and knew that she would probably never find out; the castle had always played by its own rules.

Minerva stepped over to the Phoenix Elite and perched on the edge of the equally shiny, ebony stool. As if lifted by invisible cords, the lid of the piano rose steadily as she sat. Minerva's hands hovered over the white and black notes. She could already feel the magic of the instrument tingle through her fingertips, drawing her fingers down to the keys.

Minerva adored wizard pianos. She was seven when she had been forbidden by her Great Uncle Phoebus to learn to play on his Perfect Pitch VII. She was told instead that she had to be taught on a muggle piano and without any use of magic to aid her training. The single spell to give a witch or wizard complete knowledge was not allowed. ("How will you ever learn discipline? You can use my piano when you know how to play properly," her Great Uncle had said in his strong Scottish burr.)

The difference between wizard pianos and muggle ones was not a significant one; however, it was very noticeable – the notes and harmonies of a wizard piano affected the player in ways unheard of by muggles. In a dramatic piece of music, for instance, the musician's robes might suddenly billow out behind them as if they had been caught in a strong wind, while in a sombre piece, the piano might rise steadily off the ground, taking its player with it. The outcome was always a surprise and different with every score and sometimes even changed depending on the witch or wizard who played it.

The magnificent sound of the Elite punctured the air as Minerva's fingers pressed down upon the cool ivory keys. The melodic note sailed through her skin like a breeze and played and danced at her ears. The sound was hauntingly beautiful and filled the space all around her, seeming to emanating from the very walls.

A tune came to her fingers that she thought she had forgotten; fast notes blended together in expert timing; perfect harmonies sounded throughout the room; the rapid rhythm streamed through her veins like a rising river. It was as if Minerva had never stopped playing.

The magic occurred as the pace of the music quickened. The ebony top of the piano suddenly burst into silent flames from nothing and within moments the Phoenix Elite was blazing from the violent oranges and yellows of the fire. The piano did not scorch and burn – the flames were fuelled by the fast rhythm of the music.

As the rhythm slowed the flames died down with it, burning low and blue along the surface of the Elite's top. A stillness filled the room as Minerva's playing came to an end and the blue flames faded to nothing.

"I didn't know you played, Minerva."

Minerva could recognise that voice in a crowd of thousands. Albus Dumbledore's thrilled declaration sailed over to her through the silence she had created. Minerva looked up quickly and saw Dumbledore's frame leaning against the now closed door. He was wearing deep blue robes and his face held a touch of enchantment buried in his twinkling eyes.

"How long have you been standing there?" Minerva asked, straightening her back and tightening her lips.

Dumbledore smiled. "Long enough to see you lose that strict posture you usually carry around with you," he answered. "Not that strictness doesn't become you. Quite the contrary," he added.

Minerva remained very still in her seat and her jaw clenched tightly at his words.

"May I?" he said, walking towards the Phoenix Elite and gesturing to the space on the stool next to her.

Minerva nodded briefly and Dumbledore sat, leaving a small gap between them.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

"Indirectly," Dumbledore replied. "I am missing a book and I am assuming is in your possession. I would be looking for it still had I not stumbled upon this delightful room. I hadn't the faintest idea Hogwarts housed a piano. You kept that very secret, Minerva."

"It is no secret of mine, Dumbledore," Minerva replied, sharply dismissing the notion. "I was just as surprised as you."

"Ah, but you play without the aid of magic, am I right?" Dumbledore said. "So the surprise must mean a lot more to you. Tell me, my dear, why were you taught in the muggle fashion?"

"I will not ask how you know that, Albus," Minerva said sternly, knowing that Dumbledore's powers of knowledge go far beyond her own. "My mother asked my Great Uncle to teach me that way. They wanted me to grow up to be hard working – diligent," she added.

"And might I add that they did a marvellous job," Dumbledore stated cheerily.

Minerva exhaled sharply through her nose. "I have your book," she told him, rapidly changing the subject. "Do you want it now?" she asked.

"I don't think the book is desperate to be back in my possession. I was rather rude to it last time I required its services." Dumbledore said. There was a short pause while Dumbledore glanced over the shining, ebony Elite. "I would like you to teach me to play, Minerva," he added with a sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her over his half-moon spectacles. "The muggle way."

Minerva looked back at him and her lips thinned. The prospect of teaching someone the piano the muggle way was rather stimulating for her. The idea of teaching Dumbledore the piano the muggle way was not what Minerva would call entertaining.

"No," she replied sharply. Dumbledore's silver eyebrows rose quickly.

"And why not?" he asked.

"Because you do not need it," she said. "You are already conscientious."

"You bring colour to my cheeks, Minerva," he responded. "But that is not why I asked."

"You won't learn from it, Albus," Minerva said. "You could just perform a spell and then play as well as anybody."

"Knowing how to play an instrument completely is not the same as playing it well, Minerva." Dumbledore said gently. "I know all the words of mermish there are, but that does not mean I speak it well. On the contrary, I have been told my accent is rather pitiable."

He smiled as he said this and Minerva sighed in resignation. His line of reasoning was one that she knew he would use and one that she could not ignore. She thought for a moment. Maybe she would learn something from forbidding the use of magic to the greatest wizard of the time. This prospect provoked a sudden enthusiasm in Minerva that could not be dampened.

"Very well," she said, disguising her unforeseen interest. "I will teach you."

TBC