Time to Play!

POV Oliver

Oliver had no idea what he'd expected when he walked into the Oxford Playhouse. Certainly not to be sent down a narrow corridor and straight into a rehearsal room only a few minutes later.

About a dozen people were scattered around the room. Some sat on chairs along the walls, while others stood in the middle with scripts in their hands. Two actors were performing a scene while the others watched.

"No, no, no!" an older man shouted, clapping his hands twice, and the two stopped immediately. The man had to be at least sixty. Grey hair, rolled-up sleeves, and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

The guy looked like Ollivander!

"Again," he said.

Oliver stayed by the door and watched them rehearse.

It took the older man a few minutes to notice him. His gaze drifted towards the door, stopped on Oliver, and his brow furrowed. He walked over and bent down slightly.

"Are you lost? Do you know where your parents are?"

Oliver stared at him in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. He froze for a moment in shock before pointing at the piano.

"I'm here about the job."

The man looked at the piano, then back at Oliver, and burst out laughing.

Oliver sighed inwardly, walked over to the piano without a word, and sat down on the bench.

Damn it, still too short!

His feet dangled above the floor, nowhere near the pedals.

The people who had been quietly watching the spectacle could no longer hold back at the sight and started laughing as well.

Oliver looked around and actually spotted a pedal extender beside the piano. He promptly got back up, fetched it, and placed it beneath his feet.

Once he had adjusted it, he sat down again and looked at the older man.

"So, what do you want me to play?"

The man eyed him sceptically before reaching for a stack of sheet music and placing several pages in front of him.

"Mozart. The Magic Flute," he said. "Queen of the Night."

***

POV Arthur Fletcher

Arthur had no idea what he was doing.

He stood beside the piano and watched the boy straighten the sheet music in front of him with a completely serious expression.

Arthur glanced at the others. Some were still grinning, and one of the actors had already turned his attention back to his script.

Then the boy began to play.

♪ ♫ ♩ ♬ ♭ ♮ ♯

The first notes rang through the rehearsal room, clear and surprisingly powerful. As if the boy were demanding their attention. He wanted their eyes on him, and he was going to get them.

The melody filled the room, the rapid notes flowing together and echoing off the bare walls of the theatre.

What had looked like a bad joke only moments ago—the little boy on a piano bench far too big for him, a pedal extender beneath his feet—suddenly didn't fit at all with what Arthur was hearing.

The mocking grin disappeared from his face, replaced by sheer amazement.

Stolen story; please report.

One by one, the conversations behind him died away. One actor lowered his script. Another turned completely towards the piano.

Nobody was laughing anymore.

Arthur knew the piece. He knew what it was supposed to sound like, and more importantly, he knew what it sounded like when someone was out of their depth.

The boy wasn't.

The music echoed through the rehearsal room, sometimes light and quick, then more powerful again, as the boy's small hands moved across the keys.

He didn't look at Arthur or anyone else. His eyes remained fixed on the music, as though the room around him had ceased to exist.

Only a few minutes ago, they'd been laughing because his feet couldn't even reach the pedals.

And now this?

Then the music stopped.

♪ ♫ ♩ ♬ ♭ ♮ ♯

For a moment, the room was completely silent. The boy lifted his hands from the keys and looked at Arthur. There was a smug satisfaction in his eyes that Arthur hadn't expected to see on the face of a small child.

He knew that look.

Well? Still think it's funny?

Nobody said a word. The entire room was still staring at the little boy when his childish voice finally broke the silence.

"How much an hour?"

***

POV Oliver

Oliver looked at the faces around him and had to suppress a grin.

How dare you look down on this young master!

He was starting to feel like the protagonist of some damn Xianxia webnovel. All that was missing was someone coughing up blood after getting their face slapped.

Three fucking years he'd been taking piano lessons and practising almost every day. Did they really think he'd show up here if he couldn't play?

His gaze returned to the older man, who was still staring at him.

"Well?"

"Where are your parents?" the man asked, and before Oliver could get annoyed about being treated like a toddler again, he continued, "If we can work something out, you're welcome to help us with rehearsals, but we'll need to speak to your parents first."

"I'm an orphan?" Oliver said, hoping it would work in situations like this too.

The man eyed him suspiciously, then nodded and let out a heavy breath.

"Listen, kid. We're not some little theatre group that gets together at the weekend to have a bit of fun. We're professionals!" He paused and gave Oliver a stern look. "If you want to work with us, you'll need your guardian's permission."

Oliver thought about it for a moment. Sister Margaret would definitely give him permission if he sold it to her properly. Piano practice was a good start.

"Are you a Christian?" Oliver asked out of nowhere.

"Erm... yes?" the man replied uncertainly, clearly wondering what that had to do with anything.

Oliver smiled in satisfaction. Perfect!

A Christian theatre group where he could continue gaining musical experience instead of piano lessons and church choir. He just had to present it to Margaret the right way.

"My guardian, Sister Margaret, is old and currently in London helping other orphans in need! Would it be enough if she wrote to you? Or do we really need to disturb her in her work in the service of the Lord so she can come here in person?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," he said quickly. "As long as your guardian agrees, a letter will be perfectly fine. Sister Margaret certainly doesn't need to interrupt her important work over this."

"Yes, that would be very un-Christian like of you!" Oliver nodded solemnly.

Arthur stared at him for a moment but said nothing.

"Good! Then my nun—" Oliver stopped himself. "Ah, I mean my guardian, will write to you." He gave Arthur an innocent smile, said goodbye, and headed for the exit.

So, what am I going to do about my personal Filch?

Oliver started walking back to the Dragon School. It took almost twenty minutes on foot, which definitely wasn't going to work in the long run.

He needed a bicycle.

With one, he could get here in a few minutes and somehow squeeze rehearsals in between his Oxford courses.

After all, his permission to leave the Dragon School on his own only applied to Oxford. Whitaker was hardly going to let him wander off to the theatre after already complaining about all the special treatment he was getting.

So Whitaker couldn't find out.

Oliver went through his timetable in his head. He didn't have to attend every single lecture. He could practically skip Business Administration altogether, and there were bound to be a few classes in the other subjects he could afford to miss.

He just had to schedule rehearsals during the classes he could skip. They wouldn't need a pianist every time anyway.

When Oliver finally reached the Dragon School again, he spotted Whitaker waiting by the entrance gate. He stood there with his arms crossed, watching as Oliver walked the last few metres towards the school.

Oliver raised his hand while he was still some distance away and waved cheerfully.

"Mr Whitaker!" Oliver called with a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame.

Whitaker regarded him suspiciously.

"Just the man I was looking for!" Oliver said. "I need a bicycle."

"No!" Whitaker replied flatly. "You're late. Oxford shouldn't have taken this long. Did the little genius get lost?"

Oliver remained calm and kept smiling.

"That's exactly why I need a bicycle. My little legs can't manage such a long walk without a break," he said.

Whitaker let out a deep breath and stared at Oliver in silence for a moment.

Then he started to grin, and Oliver knew that look. It wasn't an innocent grin. Whitaker looked like a damn supervillain who'd just come up with the perfect plan.

"You know what?" he said. "I've got just the right thing for you."

Before Oliver could ask what he meant, Whitaker turned around and walked away.

After a few steps, he started laughing loudly.

Oliver watched him for a moment, wondering whether he really wanted to follow this man. He seemed to have completely lost it.

The guy's fucking insane.