Chapter Three: In Which a Star is Born and The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Music


The crowning delight of Harry's current existence was the realisation that metamorphism meant they could alter their voice box as well. The discovery came during one of their now everyday retreats to the washroom while lunch and break were in session.

They'd been humming scale practices, which slowly turned into an operatic piece they'd heard in a stage-play. Nothing unusual — they'd often squeaked out soaring high parts of their favourite pieces in their past life when there'd been no one around to hear them mangle the tune. But it was not so this time around. It took them a moment to register that the vocal gymnastics they previously made a mockery of was actually playing out terribly well; they'd never managed such clean staccati before, not in this octave — they used to be a contralto and reached mezzo at most.

And then they executed a crystal clear A-flat above high C.

They nearly choked on their tongue — that — this was — they were singing a coloratura soprano piece!

Their voiced pitched from their surprise, and —

F6.

Harry sat down heavily on the floor, head tucked into their knees as they tried not to pass out from the shock.

After a minute, shakily, they straighten. Inhaling slowly, they opened their mouth again, and — there! F6 again! It wasn't a fluke! And, holy crap, it didn't feel like anything — no strain, no difficulty; it was as comfortable as their talking voice.

They sat back, staring down into their lap with wide eyes.

They'd known that they could change any part of their physicality at will, vocal pitch included, but they hadn't known known — they hadn't really comprehended they could reach any note, put on any tonality, and, oh, good gods, they could expand their lung capacity, too, couldn't they? They could probably sustain notes inhumanly long! They could — they could . . . !

Well, they could sing like a goddamned dream — could probably take up a wind instrument as well — but that was about it, now that they were thinking about it.

Coming down a bit from the giddy high, they told themselves firmly that it didn't actually mean much in the grand scale of things beyond what it meant to them personally; there was no need to get so worked up. They didn't handle being worked up well, especially not in this body that somehow felt things so much more strongly than the one before — they couldn't let themselves slip into being overwhelmed even from something that made them happy.

Oh, but they could go professional if they wanted — there was that, too. It was only a matter of getting this body used to enunciating more precisely and to the different styles of music. They could be on, um — West End! Oh, goodness, they could totally be on West End — ooh, and maybe even join an opera house, too! Was Disney Channel a thing in England yet? Harry was just the right age to be amongst their 90s-2000s era of stars! Oh, gods, oh, gods, this was a talent that was marketable — undeniably marketable — so they could actually do something they liked for a living! They could have a career they actually enjoyed —!

No — no, they had to chill out with this.

Inhale.

Exhale.

They were freaking five at the moment — a career was far off yet. And, Jesus Christ, they knew for damn sure there was a vault of gold waiting for them at Gringotts; if they invested well — which they could with the future knowledge they had — they'd never need to have a career at all if they didn't want to.

Now, wasn't that a calming thought? Nice and calm, yeah? Perfectly soothed and calm.

They started humming again. Nothing specific, actually sort of droning, a nice calm and errant droning. Mmm, thinking of droning —

They busted into hysterical tears, hands coming up to clutch the sides of their face, maniacal laughter erupting from them.

Polyphonic overtone.

And two sets of it — they'd given themselves a second set of vocal folds.


Elation made Harry want to immediately run and tell anyone willing to stop for a moment all the excruciating details of their discovery — leaving out the inherent magical properties, of course. But they didn't; they didn't want the Dursleys to come down on them if they caught wind of it.

That was not to say that the Dursleys definitely would give Harry Hell for this new 'talent' — Dudley had no skill nor interest in the Arts, and so Harry wouldn't inadvertently overshadow him with this. But Harry remembered the theories and head-canons that the Dursleys hated any signs that canon-Harry had sort of commendable traits and made sure to try to stamp any out. Not that this was something that Harry would be allowing to be taken away from them, but if the Dursleys didn't know, then they wouldn't be looking to deprive Harry of it either. They couldn't exploit Harry with it either.

And so Harry refrained from looking into a school choir no matter how much they would have loved to join up. Granted, a nursery school choir would likely be horrifically bad, what with consisting of children who had yet to learn how to carry a tune let alone have any control of their voices, but at least it would have been fun and got Harry away from the house a bit longer.

That didn't stop Harry from revelling though. It was a quiet sort of revelling, reserved for a single person and used no words, but they were pretty certain everyone could see they were incandescently happy. They'd been walking around with a smile that refused to be quashed for days now.

This also made them strangely popular? Dudley hadn't yet harassed them during school (if he ever would with how Harry was working this reality), and this somehow equated to the other children wanting to be around them, almost doubly so now that Harry was actually smiling around them.

Just that morning, the boy who sat next to Harry in class showed off his deluxe pack of crayons again and offered to share with Harry even though he'd been so militant about not letting anyone touch it before. Then, at lunch, three girls who sat at the other side of the classroom stopped Harry before they could escape to the washroom again and asked Harry to play hide-and-seek. A couple of boys from another class talked Harry's ear off after school before pick-up, too, and even Piers, Dudley's rat-faced friend he met on the first day of school, chattered to them about this and that as they waited for Aunt Petunia to come get them.

Harry didn't really know how to take the warm reception. On one hand, they'd been an awkward, friendless little weirdo when they'd been this age before, and they'd been fully ready to live through that again because of canon-Harry's enforced isolation. Isolation was easy to them, comfortable even. On the other hand, Harry couldn't deny that having people — even little brats — so eager to get on their good side was ego-stroking. The habit of being perfectly agreeable and attentive in public had followed them into this life, where it served them well — apparently, someone that actually listened and expressed interest their interests was something the little brats of Harry's school weren't used to.

"Harry, Harry! Look at this!"

"Hey, Harry, want my last cupcake?"

"Sit over here, Harry! We saved a spot for you!"

Admittedly, it was annoying to pretend they cared about things like colouring books and new toys, and Harry kind of resented the kids for prompting the response from them, but the kids were pretty cute for the most part, so Harry forgave them.

Mercifully, the staff was ambiguous to Harry for the most part.

Charmed school days aside, Harry now filled their time even at Privet Drive with as much singing as they could, squeezing in as much practice as possible without tipping the Dursleys off. They hummed Lady Gaga through the mopping, Disney through the dishes, Mozart through the cooking, and musicals while they gardened. Harry was left alone through these chores now despite being still pre-primary school age after Aunt Petunia observed how oddly capable they were — after a period of suspicion, she just left them to it. In this solitude, they daydreamed of what the performing arts were like within the wizarding community.

Celestina Warbeck was a big name Harry knew from the books, The Weird Sisters as well, but that was pretty much it? Oh — and they knew there was a popular singer that was a dhampir, but. . . . yeah, that was it. There hadn't been much time for really anything but quidditch and worrying about survival in canon-Harry's life.

Harry wondered if there was a school of performing arts. They remembered reading something about a . . . university? Or maybe it was a theatre company? Something that was written in as a homage to the academy that several of the actors from the films trained at.

Probably was some sort of school, now that they were thinking on it — they wondered at what age people were allowed to apply. Hmm, but it was likely just for acting.

Harry eventually got a craving for an audience. Not an actual, viewing-them-from-a-stage audience, but just someone to admire and praise them. Harry did so love praise, but it was in short supply around these parts. They just wanted someone to pat them on the head and tell them they and their singing were pretty.

This was when they got it in their head to seek out a garden snake.

Admittedly, this was one of their dumber ideas; they knew nothing about the species of snakes that inhabited the British Isles other than they tended to be a lot more subtle in their colouring that the ones they were used to. They knew about adders — those were well-known — and the pattern on the back to identify them, but other than that, nothing.

Harry didn't let that stop them though — they went digging through the back garden whenever they had a free moment.

They struck gold one Sunday morning after a heavy rain the night before. The ground was soft, the weeds thicker — perfect for a snake to slither by to snack on whatever rodents or other creatures had been washed out of their hidey-holes. And, just so, Harry caught sight of a scaled tail twining through Aunt Petunia's tulips as they crept on their belly through the undisturbed morning dew.

Curiously, Harry didn't feel any fear or even startlement at the potential danger. Was this a by-product of being a Parselmouth?

§Excuse me?§ they said, and then jumped at hearing themselves. Good gods, what a sound! The films hadn't done it a bit of justice for just how eerily inhuman it was! The hair on their nape stood on end; they were thoroughly discomfited.

Or perhaps it was not the hearing of it that disturbed them, but the strange vibration they felt under their throat. It was a deep rumble, it resonated from around their vocal folds to . . . slightly above their diaphragm? And not in the front of their chest but near where they imagined their upper ribs met their spine. Harry knew then that this vibration must be how snakes could 'hear' the language — snakes didn't have ears after all.

Before Harry could think more on it, they saw the snake still. Ever so slowly, it wound itself around, coiling into itself as it peered unblinkingly from underneath a low-growing blossom.

§Erm, hello?§ they tried. §Do you understand me?§

The snake — a skinny thing with plain dark green scales — flicked its tongue, an air of cautious around it.

§I'm Overlord-of-the-Battling-Horde—§ Harry cut themselves off, blinking rapidly at what they'd said instead of their name. §No, w-wait, I'm. . . Sacred-Summit-of-the-Battling-Horde— What?! No, I'm. . . I'm Overlord-of-the— Ugh! What is going on?

"I'm Harry," Harry muttered to themselves in English, frowning at the tulip leaning over the snake. §Overlord-of-the-Battling-Horde— Why can't I say my title words correctly?!§

§Strange hatchling. . . .§ the serpent hissed, lifting its head slightly. Its voice was whispery and almost childlike. §Many fearsome title words.§

Harry's eyes widened. The snake was talking to them!

§Hello!§ they said again, eagerly. They shuffled forward quickly in their enthusiasm.

The snake recoiled. It reared back, hissing sharply.

§Ooh, sorry, sorry!§ said Harry, pulling back to crouch on their haunches. They put as much contrition as they could in their tone. §I didn't mean to startle you, I was just really happy you answered!§

The apology didn't soothe the snake, it remained poised to strike, hissing unintelligible threatening sounds.

Harry cast around in their mind for something to do. After a moment of deliberation, for lack of anything else, they began to hum.

There was no proper melody starting off, but it did quiet the snake's aggression some.

After a moment, Harry recognized Trust in Me — the song the snake sang in Jungle Book. Bit on the nose of their subconscious. Had that film even come out yet? Well, at least it was working.

The snake loosened its tight stance. As it lowered itself back onto the ground, Harry heard another layer to their voice — the snake was humming along.

§. . .you can rest. . .§ Harry crooned, §safe and sound. . . knowing I. . . am around. . . .§

The inhuman bass of Parseltongue, the melodic hiss of the snake, and Harry's own honeyed tone combined hypnotically. Harry's eyes drooped half shut, lulled as well.

The tune returned to a quiet hum. At this point, the snake was well a truly mollified again.

§Strange hatchling is dangerous,§ the snake said as the song tapered off. Despite its words, it didn't sound all that upset in the assertion. It rested indolently amongst the flowers. §This trick is strong but pleasant. Insidious. Can lure in prey easily. Clever hatchling.§

Harry smiled at it for all that it was a snake and likely didn't understand human facial expressions.

§It's nice to meet you,§ said Harry, trying introductions again. §What are your title words? I'm Overlord-of-the-Battling-Horde— ugh, whatever. That.§

§This one does not understand the hatchling's unhappiness with its title words. 'Overlord-of-the-Battling-Horde' is intimidating and strong. This one is Fangs-Glinting-in-the-Water's-Reflection.§

§Those are lovely title words,§ Harry said in earnest, smiling even wider.

§Yes, yes,§ it said with an air of impatience. It slithered closer, intently. §Now, teach this one to do the lulling noise. Prey will be easier to catch when they are deceived into peace. It is a very worthy ploy.§

Harry huffed a small laugh.

§It's called singing. It's meant for entertainment, not deception.§

§This one knows singing, hatchling,§ it retorted, coming nose to nose with Harry. §That is not singing. That is the lure of a flesh-eater if ever there was one. This one knows not what species of serpent the hatchling is, but this one will not leave until this lure is learned.§

Harry made a face.

§You'll be here for a while then — if whatever you think I'm doing can be learned, I don't know how to teach it.§

Fangs-Glinting-in-the-Water's-Reflection flicked their tongue out, scenting Harry's cheek.

§So be it.§