This chapter has been reposted to correct a formatting error.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Do You Hear the People Sing?

Harry had the feeling that Hooch was greatly enjoying this opportunity to boss around her fellow teachers and employer. She stood at the head of the Hufflepuff table, where the cast had congregated, smirking at Snape's sour face and Dumbledore's reluctantly quiet visage. Beside her stood Ginny Weasley, the Student Director. Harry avoided her eyes; no matter what the Weasley family said, he knew they would never forget his role in Ron's fall from grace. He smiled gratefully at Draco as he slipped into the seat beside him, smirking in that way of his that signaled an approaching soliloquoy on his own greatness when he was cut off by Hooch's strident tones.

"Alright, everyone! We are simply running straight through the show tonight. We don't have time to stop, so try not to get too lost or I will be forced to sing your lines for you." Harry noticed all the teachers cringed in unison. "Has anyone forgotten their part? No? Then get out your music and let's be off."

Everyone groaned and settled in for a long night. With a wave of her wand, the sweeping chords of the Prologue began. Harry ignored Draco's snickers as he sang with his fellow convicts, falling silent at the sound of Snape's voice.

He and Draco traded wide-eyed looks. Even sounding bored and irritated, Snape's voice was impressive. Harry almost missed his first solo entrance, squeaking out his weak and trembly voice just in time for his cue. He felt Draco's hand on his arm, but the panic did not abate until Javert's part ended and Snape appeared to tune out.

Harry's voice grew a bit stronger as he continued with Valjean's first moments out of prison in 19 years. He faltered again as Anthony Goldstein, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Jack Sloper took turns ostracizing him because of his criminal record. Despite his continuing nerves, he nearly fell asleep as Ernie performed the part of the Bishop at a ponderously slow tempo. He heard Draco cackling as Harry sang timidly, "But when the house was still, I got up in the night. Took the silver, took my flight!" He determinedly avoided Snape's gaze; he didn't need to meet the man's eyes to know he sounded more terrified than terrible.

It wasn't until his soliloquy that Harry began to feel comfortable. Here, at last, were words he could understand, emotions he felt everyday. He thought of the war, of the people he killed and the people that died in his stead as he sang, "And have I fallen so far, and is the hour so late, that nothing remains but the cry of my hate? The cries in the dark that nobody hears, here where I stand at the turning of the years." He thought of his life, his duty as the Boy-Who-Lived, fighting for a world that did not care if he lived or diedas long as he did their dirty work first. "My life was a war that could never be won; they gave me a number and murdered Valjean when they chained me and left me for dead," he cried.

He glanced at Snape before focusing on Draco, singing, "He treated me like any other. He gave me his trust, he called me brother." His gaze turned to Dumbledore. "My soul he claimed for God above—can such things be?" And he glared at Hermione, who was defiantly avoiding his eyes. "For I had come to hate the world; this world that always hated me." He covered Draco's hand on his arm with his own, singing bitterly to Dumbledore—his general, reluctant Mephistopheles to his innocent Faust. He felt tears in his eyes as he shouted, "Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone! This is all I have lived for! This is all I have known!"

As the song wound to an end, he felt himself reaching his breaking point as he whispered, "I am reaching, but I fall, and the night is closing in; and I stare into the void to the whirlpool of my sin. I'll escape now from that world, from the world of Jean Valjean—" He jumped an octave as he bellowed, "Jean Valjean is nothing now; another story must begin!"

Even the music stopped at the end of the song, as everyone stared at Harry in a combination of shock and horror. He felt Draco rubbing his arm soothingly as he forced himself to look up and meet everyone's eyes. He saw Draco's understanding, compassionate gaze; Dumbledore's eyes, filled with realization and a dawning guilt; Remus's tears; Hermione's strangely blank expression; and Snape, staring at him with the same calculating stare he received in his second year after calling off a snake. The only thing that kept Harry from bolting was the comforting weight of Draco's hand on his. After what felt like an eternity, the blonde snapped imperiously, "I thought we weren't stopping tonight! We have a lot left." Madame Hooch nodded and hastily restarted the music.

Harry slid an arm around Draco and gave him a thankful smile as they continued with Fantine's sad story. He paid no attention as they moved through "At the End of the Day," "I Dreamed A Dream," and "Lovely Ladies," relying on Draco's elbow in his stomach to warn him when it was time for one of his brief lines. He woke up long enough to watch a terrified Blaise Zabini yell at McGonagall as he sang the part of the unpleasant factory manager Bamatobois. Harry felt sorry for the Slytherin; the look the Transfiguration Professor was giving him promised painful revenge against anyone who dared to even glance her way. Her voice was rusty but pleasant, although she, like Snape, made it clear that she wished herself elsewhere. Fortunately, by the time of his entrance in "Fantine's Arrest," she was busy glaring at Snape as he gleefully lectured her. They moved through the cart scene and Harry, having no desire to regain everyone's attention, gave a lackluster performance of "Who Am I?" Fantine died, and Harry and Snape tackled "The Confrontation." Considering it was their first attempt, and that both men were ignoring each other while desperately wishing themselves elsewhere, they did a surprisingly good job staying together as they sang in counterpoint to each other. Harry coughed as he felt Draco poke him in the ribs, and when he next glanced at Dumbledore, the man was beaming at him with a full-fledged twinkle in his eye.

The next few songs were spent trying to distract Draco before he burst into howls of laughter. It was unclear whether he was laughing at Luna, who was giving the impression that she had just wandered in and happened to be singing the part of Young Cosette, or at Professor Flitwick and Millicent Bulstrode's gleeful performances as the Thenardiers. Millie caught Harry's eye as she snarled, "Enough of that, or I'll forget to be nice!" and both young men were gone with uncontrollable giggles. "Want to bet on Luna's odds of surviving this show?" Draco whispered wickedly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "The hat must have an awfully cruel sense of humor," he returned. It was only reasonable that forthright, no-nonsense Millie would have problems keeping her patience with Luna. As Harry, Millicent, and Professor Flitwick sang "The Bargain," and "The Thenardier Waltz of Treachery," he felt himself grinning for the first time in months. As Harry and Luna sang what Draco had termed "the insipid la-la music," Harry was aware of his friend straightening in his chair and clearing his throat pretentiously.

They had finally reached 1832, Paris, and most importantly the Entrance of Gavroche. Harry lifted his wand slightly and whispered an incantation at his preening friend, who puffed up importantly as he began to sing, "How do you do, my name's Gavroche," glaring at Harry when he realized his voice had been spelled to that of a young boy.

Harry shrugged innocently, mouthing, "That's show business." He lost his innocent expression and broke out laughing as Draco continued to glare, his fierce expression at odds with his sweet little voice.

Their quarrel was forgotten when Dumbledore began to sing. The aura of power that surrounded him during battle had returned, taking decades off and drawing all eyes to him. Remus sang his lines in response, but all attention was focused on the Headmaster as he sang, "With all the anger in the land, how long before the Judgment Day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size? Before the barricades arise?" Thus finished, he sat back in his seat: twinkling, benign Dumbledore once more. Harry got the feeling that the Headmaster was greatly amused by everyone's gaping expressions.

Harry ignored Hermione's entrance, flipping aimlessly through his script. He had a bit of a break, other than one short outburst. He glanced up when he heard Trelawney's simpering voice. "How strange, this feeling that my life's begun at last..." He watched her nudge her chair closer and closer to Lupin, who looked like he was about to tear down Hogwarts's anti-Apparation ward single-handedly if it would allow him to escape the Divination teacher and her smothering cloud of perfume. Harry reluctantly sang his lines, avoiding his "daughter's" strangely blank stare. He was too relieved to finish to feel sorry for Lupin as he started the actual love duet. Finally, thankfully, they had finished the First Act, and Hooch called for a fifteen-minute break before starting Act Two.

No sooner had she finished her announcement did Harry feel Draco's fingers digging into his shoulder. "Change my voice back, I can't brag about my incredible performance while I sound like like Professor Flitwick!"

OoOoOoO

He couldn't understand.

The boy had won, had faced Evil and banished it from the Earth. He had fame, money, and a friend that would die for him... it had only made sense to back away, to distance himself before the boy learned that heroes and unmentionables shouldn't mix.

He should be happy, he wanted the boy to be happy. That was why he had left him, left his small frame crumpled on the ground beside his fallen rival. Part of his heart had remained, but he could live with that.

Most of the world thought him heartless anyway.

But this evening, Harry had stood before them and had cast off his self-appointed role of Happy Young Man, revealing a desperate and angry teenager bowed under the weight of loneliness and guilt. And, God help him, looking to Snape to catch him before he fell.

And he ached to do just that, to move beside his Harry and pull him close, running his fingers through the ebony hair, taming the locks as he promised to calm the soul. He was born to protect this man, compelled to care about his wellbeing. He no longer cared about the opinions of others, no longer feared the rush of emotions crowding his battle-scarred chest.

His gaze fell on Harry as Lupin sang in the background—

In my life,

There is someone who touches my life

Waiting near...

Waiting here.

OoOoOoO

Harry could not understand how everyone slept at night. He wasn't judging them, but he found himself simply incapable of comprehending a night of peace. The stillness of the dark was the perfect backdrop for the shadows that hovered always at the edge of the sunlight…

When he closed his eyes, he saw Ron, his mouth a twisted moue of disgust as he raised his wand. He heard Voldemort's laugh, and the soft thud Neville's body had made as it hit the ground. He could feel the Cruciatus surge through his blood, the pain a mere prickling discomfort compared to the ache of fear and betrayal curling in his belly. He could smell the blood, taste the suffering that hung heavy on the air…

He couldn't understand how everyone slept at night, while he was driven from his dorm to walk the endless halls, fruitlessly trying to outrun his thoughts. He had an uncomfortable feeling that Dumbledore knew, and while the idea mortified him, he was grateful for the pointed ignorance of the teachers and staff.

Tonight, however, his path was not aimless, even if his conscious mind could not quite discern his destination. It was not long before he found himself pacing at the door of the Room of Requirement. He smiled bitterly. I doubt even Hogwarts has the magic to provide what I require. Opening the door, he was unsurprised to find a Player Piano. "Well, well, what shall we play?" he whispered, running a finger lightly down the keys. "What great masterpiece is the appropriate requiem for innocence?" As if it had heard his question, the piano began to play. He recognized the melody immediately. Closing his eyes, he began to sing:

God on high

Hear my prayer

In my need

You have always been there.

He is young

He's afraid

Let him rest

Heaven blessed.

Bring him home...

OoOoOoO

Severus was finishing his nightly prowl when he heard the first strains of music weaved its ghostly way through the echoes of the castle. He moved swiftly to the Room of Requirement, knowing who was inside. The door creaked quietly as he opened it, but the current occupant was too far gone to notice. Even Severus's granite composure melted a fraction at the heartbroken picture Harry presented.

The Seventh Year was leaning against the cold stone wall as he sat on the piano bench, his legs bent in front of him and his arms pulling them to his chest. There were tears running down his face as he finished his song:

Bring him peace

Bring him joy

He is young

He is only a boy

You can take

You can give

Let him be

Let him live

If I die, let me die

Let him live

Bring him home,

Bring him home

Bring him home.

Harry barely finished the final phrase when he burst into wracking sobs, the first time he'd cried since the battle, Severus guessed. Without a second thought, he swept forward and gathered the younger man into his arms.

Severus was not a comforter, never a caregiver, he knew that all too well. Yet this, he thought, rubbing Harry's back soothingly, was something he had managed to learn out of necessity. Their training had been hard, had been cruel, and there was no one available to put Harry back together save Severus himself. Severus did not remember the first time he had tentatively laid a hand on Harry's shoulder rather than throwing him out of the room after a session, not any more than he remembered the last time he had forced this strong-willed creature to cry. But somewhere along the line, between fighting Dementors and Death Eaters, between Occlumency and true Remedial Potions, holding Harry in his arms had become a habit that both drew strength from. They both had to be strong, to keep everything inside so they could be ready to fight, but in the seclusion of the dungeons they could take the comfort they needed and call it training.

And Severus knew this was what he had been missing since that day in the Great Hall. A haven, a home for two men who lacked the knowledge to recognize what they had.

But they could learn.

Do you hear the people sing

Lost in the valley of the night

It is the music of a people

Who are climbing to the light.

For the wretched of the earth

There is a flame that never dies.

Even the darkest night will end

And the sun will rise.


A/N: This has many loose ends, as it was originally intended to be a much longer fic, through the performance and graduation. I'm no longer sure if that is a good idea, or if it would seem extraneous. If you have any opinions, let me know! Piton