Chapter 13: Welcome Home
Harry was somewhere he had never been before, somewhere big and dark and confusing and cold. His hand was stinging as if someone were pricking him with needles of ice. It felt like a summons, a call that he had no choice but to obey. He took one faltering step, then another, and suddenly there was terrible pain in his head, red-hot pain that blasted him backwards through the dark and the cold...
-----
Harry was standing in a wood-paneled room. Two figures, hooded and cloaked, knelt before him.
"You may speak," he said in a cold, high-pitched voice that chilled him as he heard it coming from himself.
"Karkaroff has been found," said one of the figures, in a male voice that Harry found familiar but was unable to place.
"Excellent. Where is he?"
"They are bringing him to you as we speak, my lord," said the other figure. This voice, a young woman's, was also familiar, and for some reason it made Harry's stomach churn.
"Ahh, no, my little one. You must not call me that. You remember, I have adopted you as my own, since you have tried so hard to please me. What must you call me, my daughter?"
"I will always try to please you, my father," said the girl, her voice breathless with some emotion. Joy? Fear? He couldn't tell. Either would do.
"Now, tell me what I should do with Karkaroff," Harry hissed. "You, my little prince, you speak first."
"Pain is the best teacher, my lord. Karkaroff will not stray again if you show him what pain truly means. The Cruciatus Curse works wonders on weak fools."
"My daughter, what say you?"
"Karkaroff expects pain. He has steeled what little will he has against it. Counteract his will, my father. Remind him that he is your puppet. Let him live for a time under the Imperius Curse, doing nothing without your assent, and he will serve you faithfully."
Harry felt himself laughing, laughing at the eagerness the children showed to outdo one another in his service...
NO!
The fabric of the world ripped and twisted. He was falling, falling...
-----
Harry landed hard on a floor covered with thin carpet, winding himself.
The carpet was a diamond pattern, he noticed in passing, as he got his breathing started again. And the wall was green.
Green?
He looked around. He was on his hall at Carrington, outside Matthew and Bradley's room.
Relief washed over him. I'm safe here. Whoever that freak was, he won't find me here.
No one bad can find me here.
"Hem, hem."
Harry gasped as his hand surged with pain.
I was wrong.
He scrambled frantically to his feet. Dolores Jane Umbridge was standing in the hall, between him and his room. She had her wand in her hand and a horrid smile on her wide toady face.
Harry felt as if he couldn't quite look at her. The air seemed distorted around her, as if she was bending reality simply by being there.
"Well, Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise. Or perhaps not a surprise. I have been waiting for you, after all. Don't you know it's impolite to make people wait?"
She stepped forward. Harry stepped back.
"Are you afraid of me?" she asked softly. "You should be. It's good for children like you to fear the adults in power over them. It makes them more willing to obey, more tractable. You have not been tractable, Mr. Potter. But when I finish with you, you will be. I give you my word on that. Now, come here."
Harry shook his head dumbly. His vocal cords seemed frozen, his muscles unresponsive. This can't be happening.
"Very well, then, if I must use force, I must. Accio!"
Harry managed to dodge as the Summoning Spell shot at him, stumbling backwards out of the way. But he knew he couldn't run forever. It was even possible that her next spell would catch him, catch him and pull him to her, and then she would begin doing whatever it was she planned to do...
Somebody help me, Harry thought desperately, watching Umbridge advance slowly, horrific smile widening with every step. Somebody, anybody...
A door opened beside him. Fran Anderson's door.
"What's going – " she began. Then she noticed Harry, and the look on his face of utter terror.
With one lithe motion, Fran reached across the hall, caught Harry's wrist, and executed some kind of complicated spin, pulling him into her room and landing herself in the hallway. "Get me the phone," she said softly.
Harry looked around her room (decorated in a far nicer shade of green than the hall) and spotted the cordless phone on the windowsill. As he crossed the room to get it, he heard Umbridge's voice.
"Excuse me, young woman, what do you think you are doing?"
"What do you think you are doing, Madame?" countered Fran. Harry turned around and saw that she was standing almost nose-to-nose with Umbridge, looking down at the older woman with a severely annoyed expression, hands on her hips so that the black duster she was wearing flared out somewhat. "I've never seen you here before. Why are you terrorizing one of my residents?"
"One of your... residents?" Umbridge seemed nonplussed. "I am Dolores Jane Umbridge. The boy you just dragged in here happens to attend a school of which I am headmistress. He has run away. I am here to bring him back."
Fran raised her eyebrows and gave a not-quite-mocking smile. "I am Francesca Anderson, RA of 1st Gardner, and the young man in my room lives on this residence hall. He attends Carrington College, which I doubt you are head of. And he most certainly has not run away. Now, you have two choices, Ms. Umbridge." Her pronunciation of the name dripped scorn. "You can leave. Or I can call Security and have you escorted out." She extended her hand and Harry gave her the phone. "You have until I count to three. One."
"I will not be treated in this manner," Umbridge said stiffly.
"Two."
"You have not heard the last of me!"
"Three." Fran pressed a button on the phone, and Umbridge whirled around and flounced away, moving surprisingly fast for having such stubby legs.
"Thanks," Harry said as Fran came into the room.
"You know her?" Fran said curiously, replacing the phone on its silver cradle.
"I told her a truth she didn't want to hear. She has a grudge against me."
"She must, to follow you here. And I will call Security, to give them her description. They'll be on the lookout for her. Anyone else you want to tell me about?" Fran's tone was light, but her gaze was direct and penetrating.
"One person," Harry said, remembering where he'd been only a few moments before. "A man, tall, thin. Scary-looking. Very pale, bald, with red eyes. He might wear a cloak with a hood." It sounded ridiculous, he knew even as he said it, she was going to laugh at him...
"Sounds pretty nasty," Fran said with no trace of mockery. "OK, I'll call them both in. You deserve to feel safe around here. You all right?"
"Yeah," Harry said, finding his breathing returning to normal, his heart slowing back down. "I'll be OK."
"That's good. Hey, didn't you make choir yesterday?"
Harry grinned. "Yeah. First time."
"Then you better hurry. Rehearsal starts in 15 minutes."
Harry looked at the clock. She was right. "Thanks!"
He hurried to his room to get his keys and ID, wondering who Fran reminded him of.
A professor, I think. Someone I used to have at my old school.
Doesn't matter. I have to get to practice. My first choir practice ever!
He headed for the swinging doors.
-----
"There you are!" exclaimed Hermione as Harry turned the corner into the hallway where the choir room was.
"We've been waiting almost half an hour," Ginny said. "What kept you?"
"Long story," said Harry, finding himself reluctant to discuss it. "Shall we?"
There was a large set of shelves directly to the right of the entrance. On the ends were posted lists, in alphabetical order, of the choir members and their folder numbers. Harry ran his finger down the list and found himself at number 23. Ginny and Ron were 36 and 37, and Hermione was number 14.
He pulled out folder number 23. It was blue leather, with "Carrington College Choir" stamped on the front in gold. Inside were a number of pieces of sheet music. Harry riffled through them. Hmmm... "Bring A Torch, Jeannette, Isabella", I think I've heard of that. "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" too, and "Angels We Have Heard on High". But what's "A Joyous Christmas Song"?
"Why are we singing Christmas music?" Ginny asked. "It's September."
"The concert is around Christmas time, so that's what we sing," Erica replied, entering the room and pulling folder number 13 out of its slot.
"Is it just me, or do these words look funny?" asked Ron, flipping through a copy of "A Joyous Christmas Song".
"It's in Norwegian," Erica said.
"I don't speak Norwegian!"
"Neither do I. Don't worry, Big Guy will help us sound it out. We did Japanese in women's choir last spring. Something about fireflies, with the parts – first soprano, second soprano, alto – singing the same thing, but one beat off from each other. Felt like singing a ping-pong match."
Hermione smiled. "I wish I could have heard it."
"I'll play you the song sometime, I got the CD," Erica said. "They record all the concerts. Come on, let's see where we're sitting."
Harry found his seat, between a tall boy and a serious-faced blond girl, just as Big Guy climbed up to his conducting platform and sat down on the chair there.
"Everyone stand up," he proclaimed. "For you new people, we open rehearsals here at Carrington with a little ritual. We rub the shoulders of the people next to us, then we turn around and do it again. It helps everyone relax and the singing muscles loosen up. If you don't want to, go sit down now, no one will hold it against you."
No one moved.
"Turn to your left, then, and get going."
Harry had never had anyone rub his shoulders before. It felt wonderful, even if it was a strange girl who was doing it. Wonder if Ginny would do this for me sometime?
"Reverse," Big Guy called, and everyone turned around.
The boy now behind Harry gave a more energetic massage than the girl had. He felt as if his shoulders were being mauled. But when Big Guy said, "That's enough, sit down, everyone," Harry discovered that all the aches he'd been half aware of in his back were gone. He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the relaxed feeling.
Big Guy led them through a series of warm-ups, singing vowel sounds, syllables, silly sentences, even numbers. Then he turned around and took something off the stereo system behind him. It was a large charcoal starter, such as people used to get barbecues going.
Looks like he's found a new metaphor for this year.
"This is your throat," Big Guy said, brandishing the charcoal starter, and everyone laughed. "All right, it's not your throat. But pretend it is. This is the amount of room you want around your voice. If you think of your throat as being this large, this roomy, your sound will improve tremendously."
That was only the beginning. Under Big Guy's system, vowels had shapes. "Ah" was short and fat, "oh" was tall and thin, and "oo" was taller and thinner yet. All the other vowels one could sing were either twins to those or fell between them. And the strange thing was, it all made sense.
They started learning "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" that night. Harry had heard the piece before, but he had never known that it was based on ancient chants. The arrangement they had called for the men to sing the melody of verse 1 in unison, then move into harmony on the chorus. The women would sing the melody of verse 2 while the men sang a counterpoint, and then all four parts would finally do full harmony on that chorus. Finally, the women would do counterpoint for the last verse, while the men sang the melody again.
This is really nice. I wonder if the four of us could do it without the rest of the choir.
Besides "O Come" and the other music Harry had already looked at, the choir would be doing two carols with the community chorus, "Caroling, Caroling" and "Sing Noel". And there was one other thing to learn.
"Everyone take out the white sheet at the back of your folders. This is the Carrington Alma Mater. We don't do this in concert, but afterwards, we come to the stairwell right back here and sing it, so you do need to know it."
Hermione stuck her hand up. "Why in the stairwell, sir?"
About three-quarters of the choir laughed. Harry figured those were the returning members, who knew the joke. Personally, he didn't see what was funny about the question. Why would someone want to sing in a stairwell?
"Do you sing in the shower?" Big Guy asked.
"My dad does," Hermione said.
"Why?"
"Well, because it reverberates really well... oh, of course!"
"Exactly. The stairwell has the same effect. Let's try the Alma through a couple times, and then we can go try it out."
The harmony seemed pretty simple, just four parts all the way through. Harry had never sung the piece before, but a lot of the other basses obviously knew it well, so he was able to keep up by half sight-singing, half listening.
Carrington College, yonder on the hill,
Through all the years, our hearts are turning still
In love to thee, and so they ever will.
O, Alma Mater, Beatissima.
"Sounds good," said Big Guy after the third time through. "Let's go."
Harry saw a lot of big smiles as the choir headed en masse for the door to the stairwell. "I love the stairs," a soprano said to her neighbor.
"Oh, me too. Gotta love the echoes."
"And when we get right in tune... oooh, just feels like the building's going to come down!"
"As Big Guy says, 'wah wah wah wah wah.'" The girls giggled.
"I wonder what the resonance note is in here?" said Erica, coming through the door behind him.
"Resonance note?"
"Places with a lot of echoes, like stairwells or bathrooms, will have one note they resonate to better than others. That's what that 'wah wah wah' thing means. It really does feel like the place is going to shake apart – you can feel the vibrations everywhere. Like magic."
"As a matter of fact, Gorilla, it's B flat in here," said Big Guy as the choir arranged itself around the edge of the stairs. "Shall we try it?"
Erica smiled. "Considering I've never heard an overtone... why not?"
Big Guy blew a tone from his pitchpipe. "Everyone sing this note, in whatever register you feel comfortable."
Harry sang, and all at once he understood. The walls were indeed shaking so hard it was almost visible. From somewhere, some trick of the sound waves, he thought, other notes seemed to appear, as if invisible people were singing with them. Even after they stopped, Harry could feel the note resonating in his bones. It felt like the heartbeat of something larger than himself, as if he were only part of a greater whole.
"That was amazing," he said quietly to Erica and Hermione.
"Wait till we sing the Alma," Erica answered with a wink.
She was right. The simple hymnbook tune was transformed by the echoes of the space. It sounded majestic and grand, like the college it praised.
I most definitely like it here, Harry decided.
-----
He returned to Rivers with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Erica after practice was over. They walked into Gardner to find Edith and Anna practicing their sparring in the hallway.
"Must you?" Erica said irritably as Anna dumped Edith onto her back.
"Yes, we must," Edith said from the floor. "Where else are we supposed to practice? This hall doesn't have a lounge."
"You could always do it in the room," Erica said. "You're going to scare people."
"Who cares?" Anna inquired. "We'll move if they need to get by, but we live here, so we're allowed to use the space however we want. And you love watching us, don't try to deny it."
Erica rolled her eyes. "Fine. Just don't blame me when someone calls Security on account of the chicks beating each other up in the hall." She opened her door, then paused. "Anyone up for pasta?" she asked the foursome. "I had a meeting right before rehearsal, so I missed dinner."
"I could handle that," Harry said, realizing he hadn't eaten.
"Ron can always eat," Hermione said. "It's a Weasley family trait."
"A male Weasley family trait," Ginny corrected firmly as Ron gave Hermione an affectionate shove. "But I could use a snack. What kind of pasta?"
"Just with red sauce. That ok?"
"Sounds excellent," Harry said, following her in. "Hi, Lanie."
"Hey, Harry," Lanie said from her computer in the corner. "Ron, Hermione, Ginny, do any of you like swimming? I'm going to the gym later tonight."
"Oh, I love to swim," Hermione said. "But I have chemistry to do. Maybe another time?"
"Sure. Anyone else?"
"I'll give it a try," Harry said. "I'm not much good, though."
"I can teach you, then. I never made it through lifeguard training, I'm too little, but I think I can keep you from drowning."
"Can I come?" Ron asked. "I'm pretty decent."
"Don't be so modest," Ginny said. "You swim like a fish. One that's been dead two days."
Ron snatched a pillow from the futon in the middle of the room and smacked his sister with it. She grabbed another one, and that was all it took for a full-scale pillow fight to erupt. Ron actually knocked Harry over at one point, so he elected to remain on the floor for a while.
He was next to a rather messy corner of the room, Erica's from the look of things. There was a stack of library books sitting on the floor beside a laundry hamper and a pile of sheet music, graded papers, shoes, and assorted other items. The top book on the stack had an interesting picture on the front – a young woman in a black ball gown with wings affixed to the back, on the arm of a man in armor wearing a feathered cape. The title, in raised letters, was The Black Swan.
Harry opened it to look at the information on the flap.
Baron Eric von Rothbart... sorcerer, hates all women... keeps a group of maidens enchanted into swan-form... they can only be women when the moon is up... their queen is named Odette... and his daughter Odile is a sorceress who can take the form of a black swan whenever she wants... great, Odette and Odile. That would drive me nuts. How are you supposed to keep them straight?
He turned to the back flap and winced. Oh. You're not. And Prince Siegfried is in for a rude awakening when the girl he thinks is Odette the swan queen, the one he swears to love and marry, turns out to be Odile the black swan in disguise!
"Ahh, Mercedes Lackey," Erica said, dodging a swipe by Lanie and kneeling down by Harry. "You're wise to be down here. She's one of my favorite authors. This is part of her fairy-tale adaptation series. The source for this is the same as the ballet Swan Lake. Except with a better ending... 'scuse me, please, I need to check my messages?"
Harry moved out of her way as she sat down at her computer. Her desktop was blue, with a message written in red across it.
"What does that mean? 'Home is the place where you know the stories for everything'?"
"Well, I've always heard 'Home is where the heart is' and 'Home is where you hang your hat', and it all seemed kind of silly. So I made up my own. Home is the place where you can say, 'Look, this is the blanket my mom made me, and this clock was a present on my birthday, and my friend gave me this picture she took because I said I liked it.'"
"That makes sense," Harry said, thinking back over his life. "But really, the only place I've ever been able to say that about is here."
"Well, in that case, welcome home," Erica said, smiling at him. "If you'll excuse me again, the water should be boiling by now..."
The pasta, with Erica's father's homemade red sauce, was quite good. A refreshing change from the dining hall food, Harry thought. Garritty's and Rivers weren't absolutely horrible – the food would keep you alive, and it even occasionally had some taste – but it didn't compare to... his other school.
One of these days I am going to think hard about that and remember why I keep forgetting. But not tonight.
Tonight he was going to go swimming, and then he was going to do some reading for his theater class, and then he was going to go to bed...
-----
"Ssshh, you'll wake him up!"
"I thought that was the point."
"But not before we're ready, you idiot!"
"Mmmm?" Harry said sleepily. "Whozair?"
"Just me, mate," Ron said in a super-innocent voice, the kind he only used when he was trying to hide something. "Go back to sleep."
"'Kay." Harry rolled over.
He was just drifting off when he remembered hearing more than one voice.
He sat bolt upright just in time.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" shouted five voices at once.
-----
(A/N: Read carefully... I'm being JKR-ish and hinting like crazy in this chappie!
An overtone, in case you don't know, is a tone produced when you play or sing two tones that are precisely an octave apart. It's the fifth of the chord, and it's caused by the interaction between the two sound wave forms. That's all I know. And no, I never have heard it. I still think Big Guy's making it up.
AKA Hummer, MackenzieW: Thanks to both of you!
emikae: I don't know whether to be jealous or worried about your dreams. I think I'll settle for jealous.
Lady Cinnibar: ::bats eyelashes, looks innocent:: Yes, they are – see next response. And basically, if I write about it, it happened, in one form or another. Keep that in mind for some of the crazier things that will come up later. And if college is easy, I don't think I want to know what hard is...
Lanie: Thanks! Does this mean I'm safe from o-chem book concussions? I kept my promise last night, didn't I? (And see, I put more of you in this chapter. I do listen to you sometimes.)
MAndrews: ::blush:: You and Tanydwr on my other fic are going to spoil me with your excellent reviews! I think you noticed every major point I tried to put in that chapter, and you like it! I'm so enthused! Memorial service not this chapter (obviously), nor the next... but soon. Possibly Chapter 16ish. And if you can't figure out what is going to happen next chapter...
harryp123: An extra sentence! I'm honored!
The response for Letters from Sirius was highly positive, so yes, I will write it... but it may take some time. I'm hoping to update Extenuating Circumstances first. So please be patient.
I heart you all! Enjoy much!)