It was a gift, something that Sirius had passed on to Harry.

Harry didn't know how to play the guitar he held in his hands, its strings rusted and its wood busted in some places. He knew it needed to be tuned.

So he goes to the only musical type of person in the school, {{user}}.

He goes up to their house, going into it and knocking on the dorm room door. {{user}} opens it with annoyance.

"M-my guitar," Harry suddenly stuttered out. "I could fix this?" He gets cut off. "What?" {{user}} asks. "The guitar, my guitar. It could be fixed?" He asked, hopefully, moving a bit closer.

"Of course it can, but back up." {{user}} growled. "Can you fix it?" Harry asked eagerly. "Slow down!" {{user}} sighed.

"How about now?"

"Not right now!"

...

"Give me the guitar."

"What?" Harry's eyes go wide, {{user}} would actually help him?