(For more detailed Author's Notes and Disclaimer, see Chapter 1 and the end of this chapter.) This story is set in the same universe as my "Chapter of the Duck," although it can stand alone if one understands a few points. It takes place about a year and a half after the battle with the Raven, around late April or early May. Duck once again became human, and studying ballet at the Academy; Fakir is away on a tour with many of the seniors in the Dance and Music divisions, and is expected home in about two weeks.

My heartfelt appreciation to LunaSphere for beta- reading this!

Chapter 3

Duck had her own problems.

At an apparent age of about sixteen, she was still in the Beginner class, although she had progressed to pointe work. Carefully and steadily she was working toward Intermediate and an assured spot in the corps, and hoped to achieve it next term. It was the result of being a duck for a year; she'd aged a little faster than she did as a human. One of the disadvantages was the loss of class time.

Two years ago last month she had appeared as a student here at the Academy, a very clumsy and distracted student; but she had discovered that, no matter how terrible she was, she liked above all else to dance. She had changed back to a duck before that fall term, and back again a year or so later. The love of ballet had remained with her all that time. Incredibly, she had been given a second chance.

This was her second term back, and she was working as she had not had the luxury of working before, when she had been Princess Tutu. If work involved getting up at the crack of dawn to snag a place in a practice room, so be it, much as she disliked early mornings. That way she might be late to breakfast, which she had seldom bothered with before, but she would not be late to class. With so many upperclassmen away on the tour it was easier to put in time by herself.

Just now Duck wanted to be alone.

Check the mirror; make certain of her form and do the basics over and over again, ever so slowly, to set it into her muscles; just like Miaowjinsky in Mr. Cat's story, just like she would do later today in class. There was something; move her leg an inch this way and it would be– yes, that was what she thought it should be, and a memory stirred; it felt right now... there too, that was the proper angle... she could do better than that, she could stretch that far without harm...repeat, and again and again, and it wasn't necessarily easier each time as the muscles grew fatigued, but keep at it, just not so much as to cause harm.... After all, as she often reminded herself, she was really just over two years old, and had no natural talent for this.

It happened several times this morning, that wonderful feeling that something was absolutely right and, once it was habit, it would remain with her always. The feeling had occurred sporadically for the last two terms. Duck knew exactly what it was; the memory of perfection was Princess Tutu's legacy to her.

As much as she liked all her friends, this sort of practice she did alone as much as she could. Mytho and Rue were okay, proficient as they were; and, yes, Fakir, although he wasn't the most patient of people and might never make a good teacher. She just had to make sure they knew what she was working on if she practiced with them. They would ask her to watch them now and again, after all. They seemed to trust her eyes. Maybe I can do that, thought Duck, remembering a detention from Mr. Cat for disturbing the Advanced class. She'd cried out just before Rue fell from fatigue, but had known it was too late even before she had yelled.

Then she smiled. The detention had been extra practice. Had she been wrong, it would have been cleaning duty. And surely the pianist, nice as he was, would not have come in just then for practice he didn't need unless someone suggested it. Pique and Lillie had been there too, keeping her company, and finally Mr. Cat himself had arrived and taken her out of Probationary. Mr. Cat was surely the most devious mind she'd ever encountered, even more so than Drosselmeyer.

A few more times through the music, and the morning spate of thoughts and recollections had given way to concentration, which was the real benefit of an early warm-up. Finally it was time to change for breakfast. She happened to glance out the window.

The figure in the overcoat was limping his way through the morning mist toward the music building. Duck controlled the impulse to run out in her tights and leotard, instead watching to make sure where he went. He tried the front door; locked, still; seniors each had a key to the side door, she knew, and the main doors weren't opened until after breakfast started.

There were more people about now, heading for the dining hall. The man walked on, away from her. She left to change, hoping to see Autor at breakfast.

"Well, he might slip up, then," said Autor that afternoon. He hadn't been in for either breakfast or lunch when Duck had been, and she had finally tracked him down in his practice room after classes. "He isn't allowed on the grounds unless he–"

"–has business with someone," supplied Duck. "He can surely spin that much of a story."

Autor deflated a bit. He looked as if he hadn't slept well. "Life would be a little easier just now if he'd take 'no' for an answer. I mean, there is the little matter of school." He rubbed his face with his hands, fingers reaching under his glasses. "To top it all off I've got this music running through my head."

"What, from last night?"

"No, not that, thank goodness. No, this'll be for a composition assignment next term."

"Oh? Can I hear it?"

He was never sure whether it was meanness on his part or the desire for an audience, even if she might be a musical idiot; but he played what he had, both his first effort and then the one he'd worked on last night. It took only a few seconds. They felt right now; definitely two parts of the same unfinished piece. He looked up to find Duck looking at him with an odd expression on her face. Eventually she broke the silence.

"That's how he makes you feel?"

"What?" It came out rather more sharply than he had intended.

"Sorry," she said. "I feel like I'm intruding. But it sounds like how Vendetta is making me feel too."

Duck's memory of class and detention are from season 1, episode 4 ("Giselle.")

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