Ok so some more Harry Potter, fanfic and AU idea's. This is a long one. >.>;
So Posting in segments. Credit due to quite a few friends, RL and online that helped come up with this. Was a team effort.
PART I
Heaven
Angelic Overture
The house on Privet Drive looked like all the others on the street: run-down, shabby, and overcrowded. Dudley Dursley thought sometimes he could remember a time when the house had only had him and his parents in it, but probably that was only a fantasy. The truth of the matter was that the house was one of the few that barely leaked at all when it rained, and the more people there were in a house, the warmer it was in the winters.
The blond five-year-old kicked at a piece of broken pavement absently. Mum and Dad were already gone, of course, doing their work. Or whatever it was that grownups did during the day; Dusley found himself not all that interested in the matter. He himself was supposed to be on his way to the Place.
That was what it was called. Children who were too young to work and too old to need their mother’s care went there for the day, so they wouldn’t “run wild” or cause other trouble. All Muggle children within walking distance (and anything within two towns was considered walking distance) who had been deemed too young, or too sick, or too crazy to work with the grownups went to a big building that had been a school or something once, where they were “looked after” by witches and wizards deemed too old and infirm for much else than looking after Muggle toddlers and invalids.
If Dudley had been older, he would have appreciated the logic of the arrangement. The “useless” of both wizard and Muggle society had a place to be, and, in the case of the elderly witches and wizards, a purpose. As it was, he was a little frightened of his first day at the Place. The older children in the house had told him about the Place and what went on there; while he was sure they were purposely trying to scare him, a few of the stories had rattled even his stoic five-year-old fearlessness.
He sighed and walked faster. The faster he got there, the faster he’d be home with Mum and Dad and all the others again, he told himself firmly. While he walked, he inspected the pockets of his ratty coat to make sure nothing had taken up residence in there since the last time he’d looked.
Noise from ahead made him look up and shove his hands in the coat pockets. It didn’t do to look distracted. He was one of the youngest in the house, he knew how things worked there, and they probably worked the same in the Place. If he didn’t pay attention to what was happening around him, he ended up either being beaten up or locked in a closet by the older, bigger kids. If he was lucky. The best way to get by without contusions or claustrophobia wass to look attentive and eager to please, so that was what Dudley did.
The Place loomed in front of him, a huge stone building that positively teemed with children ranging in age from about Dudley’s own five to possibly a few very scrawny, sickly fifteens. In reality, the crowd of kids wasn’t confined to only the Place proper; they spilled over into nearby buildings and across the ruined street as well. In some areas, it more closely resembled a demilitarized zone than a “day care”, with groups of kids facing each other across silently agreed-upon lines of territory, posing and snarling at each other.
With an effort not to look out of place (the older kids had told him that “newbies” got the brunt of the bullying), Dudley progessed into the Place itself. It was quieter, not so crowded as the streets and buildings surrounding it. Very few children were in evidence there, and those that were sat quietly and talked amongst themselves or curled up in corners and slept.
An old woman approached Dudley. She had a friendly-looking face, wore dark purple robes, and had an ancient wand stuck in her belt. Dudley recognized her immediately as a witch and therefore as his better, and bowed nervously. She laughed a thin old lady’s laugh, then bent down and pinched his cheek. “Oh, no need to bow to old Louisa, duck. What’s your name, then?”
“Dudley Dursley, ma’am,” he replied shakily, bearing the pinching with good grace. “It’s my first day.”
“Why, so it is, duck, so it is,” Louisa told him, smiling. “So you’re the one we’re supposed to look out for.” She looked him up and down, taking in the unevenly cropped golden hair nearly brown with dirt, the smudged face, the large blue eyes. “I can’t say you’re particularly impressive, but your family history being what it is....” She shrugged.
Dudley blinked. “Family?” he asked blankly. “I’ve got Mum. And Dad. And the others at the house, but I don’t think they’re family, right?”
“Not really, no.” Louisa peered at him again. “You don’t know, do you.” She shook her head and waved a hand dismissively. “Well, you’re really too young for testing yet, aren’t you? Go find something to occupy yourself for the day, dear.” With that, the old witch tottered off to join a group of other oldsters.
Dudley blinked. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, certainly not from a witch. He looked around obediently. The group of oldsters huddled together by one wall, chattering amongst themselves, by and large ignoring their charges. There was very little furniture, and the few kids that were present huddled in groups against the cold, imitating the oldsters as best they could. Nothing looked interesting in this room, but the Place had lots of rooms for him to look into and around, so he left the main room with the oldsters.
The first few other rooms he came to were empty, with old chairs and tables scattered around. Broken windows let dead leaves and dust blow in on the wind and collect in piles on the floor. Dudley shivered and wrapped his shabby coat closer around him. Too cold, too empty, too boring.
A few rooms were occupied by groups of kids; some of them had built fires, and others looked like the groups outside, huddling together and glaring across hallways and out windows. Dudley stayed away from those rooms, although it was cold enough that the fires would have been welcome. Dudley knew from rough experience at the house that older kids were very possessive of their places, and if he didn’t want black eyes or worse, he’d keep away and leave them alone.
There was one room that didn’t have any windows in it, so it was slightly warmer than the first ones had been. No gang and no kids with fire, so colder than *those* rooms, but that much safer, too. It was also much darker... in fact there wasn’t any light at all. Dudley stretched out a hand in front of him to feel his way around.
It didn’t help. He crashed right into a large, boxy thing and fell backwards onto his rear. The thing twanged discordantly, protesting his clumsiness. Dudley scrambled backwards a few feet, then stopped when he realized that his head hurt from running into that thing, and if he smacked into a wall it wasn’t going to make him feel any better. “I hope that thing’s not alive,” he said out loud, “Or mad, or something.”
A voice laughed somewhere in the room. “Um...hello?” Dudley hated how his voice sounded, all thin and scared in the dark.
“Hello to you,” an elderly voice cackled. “A wanderer, I see. And young.” Another laugh.
“Who... who are you?” Dudley asked, getting to his feet. A little more boldly (if he couldn’t see who was talking, they couldn’t see him either!) he added, “Show yourself!”
“And brave.” A light flared, and by it Dudley could make out a hunched over figure shuffling around. It lit a few candles and the room stood out in flickering pools of golden light. The boxy thing that Dudley had run into sat towards one end of the room, with chairs arranged on the other as if the boxy thing was holding court. A few of the candles were spaced on top of it so that their light shone across a sort of ledge, with tabs alternating small black wedges and bigger white wedges, across the entire length of the box. Dudley had never seen such a thing before, never in his life.
The hunched over figure who’d lit the candles was actually a little old man who grinned like a nearly-toothless maniac in the candlelight, in very shabby green robes, with an equally shabby wand shoved in his belt. “Emil. I’m Emil. And you would be...?”
“Dudley.” He didn’t bother with a last name; after all, ‘Emil’ hadn’t. He pointed at the boxy thing, absently rubbing his head with the other hand. “What’s *that*?”
“Hurt your little head, didn’t it, when you ran into her?” cackled Emil. “That, dear boy, is my darling Antoinette.”
“Ant-wan-ett.” Dudley wrinkled his nose, sounding out the name. “What’s an ant-wan-ett?”
“Antoinette is her name,” Emil said rapturously, running his hands across the black and white wedges, causing the boxy thing to make very different sounds than it had when Dudley had run into it. Nice sounds. “Antoinette is a piano, boy. Hasn’t anyone taught you anything?”
Dudley crept closer, blinking at the boxy Antoinette. I don’t think she bites, he decided, although I’ll keep my hands away for now, just in case. “I know stuff!” he protested. “Just not *this* stuff.”
Emil cackled. “Come here. I’ll show you.” The little old man sat on a bench in front of the piano and backoned to Dudley, who shrugged after a minute and climbed up beside him. Emil took hold of Dudley’s hand and pressed the fingers against a few of the wedges in a pattern. “Hear that, boy? She’s singing to you.”
Music... a lullaby Mum sometimes sang to him... Dudley snatched his hand back and stared at the old man in awe. After a moment, he carefully repeated the motions on his own and played the lullaby again. “A piano,” he repeated, enchanted. “What else does she do?”
“That’s it. A piano plays music. And Antoinette better than most, these days, because I take very good care of her, I do.” Emil preened slightly.
“Just lullabies? That’s silly.”
“Not just lullabies. Any music.” Emil shook his head. “Time was when everyone knew what a piano was meant for. Now, it’s something you know if you’re lucky. Times change, boy, times change.” He cocked his head to one side thoughfully, then asked, “Would you like to learn?”
“Learn?” Dudley asked. “Learn to play this?” He nodded enthusiastically without waiting for a verification. “I’d like that very much!”
Emil cackled. “Well, then, boy, let’s get started...”
*****
So Posting in segments. Credit due to quite a few friends, RL and online that helped come up with this. Was a team effort.
PART I
Heaven
Angelic Overture
The house on Privet Drive looked like all the others on the street: run-down, shabby, and overcrowded. Dudley Dursley thought sometimes he could remember a time when the house had only had him and his parents in it, but probably that was only a fantasy. The truth of the matter was that the house was one of the few that barely leaked at all when it rained, and the more people there were in a house, the warmer it was in the winters.
The blond five-year-old kicked at a piece of broken pavement absently. Mum and Dad were already gone, of course, doing their work. Or whatever it was that grownups did during the day; Dusley found himself not all that interested in the matter. He himself was supposed to be on his way to the Place.
That was what it was called. Children who were too young to work and too old to need their mother’s care went there for the day, so they wouldn’t “run wild” or cause other trouble. All Muggle children within walking distance (and anything within two towns was considered walking distance) who had been deemed too young, or too sick, or too crazy to work with the grownups went to a big building that had been a school or something once, where they were “looked after” by witches and wizards deemed too old and infirm for much else than looking after Muggle toddlers and invalids.
If Dudley had been older, he would have appreciated the logic of the arrangement. The “useless” of both wizard and Muggle society had a place to be, and, in the case of the elderly witches and wizards, a purpose. As it was, he was a little frightened of his first day at the Place. The older children in the house had told him about the Place and what went on there; while he was sure they were purposely trying to scare him, a few of the stories had rattled even his stoic five-year-old fearlessness.
He sighed and walked faster. The faster he got there, the faster he’d be home with Mum and Dad and all the others again, he told himself firmly. While he walked, he inspected the pockets of his ratty coat to make sure nothing had taken up residence in there since the last time he’d looked.
Noise from ahead made him look up and shove his hands in the coat pockets. It didn’t do to look distracted. He was one of the youngest in the house, he knew how things worked there, and they probably worked the same in the Place. If he didn’t pay attention to what was happening around him, he ended up either being beaten up or locked in a closet by the older, bigger kids. If he was lucky. The best way to get by without contusions or claustrophobia wass to look attentive and eager to please, so that was what Dudley did.
The Place loomed in front of him, a huge stone building that positively teemed with children ranging in age from about Dudley’s own five to possibly a few very scrawny, sickly fifteens. In reality, the crowd of kids wasn’t confined to only the Place proper; they spilled over into nearby buildings and across the ruined street as well. In some areas, it more closely resembled a demilitarized zone than a “day care”, with groups of kids facing each other across silently agreed-upon lines of territory, posing and snarling at each other.
With an effort not to look out of place (the older kids had told him that “newbies” got the brunt of the bullying), Dudley progessed into the Place itself. It was quieter, not so crowded as the streets and buildings surrounding it. Very few children were in evidence there, and those that were sat quietly and talked amongst themselves or curled up in corners and slept.
An old woman approached Dudley. She had a friendly-looking face, wore dark purple robes, and had an ancient wand stuck in her belt. Dudley recognized her immediately as a witch and therefore as his better, and bowed nervously. She laughed a thin old lady’s laugh, then bent down and pinched his cheek. “Oh, no need to bow to old Louisa, duck. What’s your name, then?”
“Dudley Dursley, ma’am,” he replied shakily, bearing the pinching with good grace. “It’s my first day.”
“Why, so it is, duck, so it is,” Louisa told him, smiling. “So you’re the one we’re supposed to look out for.” She looked him up and down, taking in the unevenly cropped golden hair nearly brown with dirt, the smudged face, the large blue eyes. “I can’t say you’re particularly impressive, but your family history being what it is....” She shrugged.
Dudley blinked. “Family?” he asked blankly. “I’ve got Mum. And Dad. And the others at the house, but I don’t think they’re family, right?”
“Not really, no.” Louisa peered at him again. “You don’t know, do you.” She shook her head and waved a hand dismissively. “Well, you’re really too young for testing yet, aren’t you? Go find something to occupy yourself for the day, dear.” With that, the old witch tottered off to join a group of other oldsters.
Dudley blinked. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, certainly not from a witch. He looked around obediently. The group of oldsters huddled together by one wall, chattering amongst themselves, by and large ignoring their charges. There was very little furniture, and the few kids that were present huddled in groups against the cold, imitating the oldsters as best they could. Nothing looked interesting in this room, but the Place had lots of rooms for him to look into and around, so he left the main room with the oldsters.
The first few other rooms he came to were empty, with old chairs and tables scattered around. Broken windows let dead leaves and dust blow in on the wind and collect in piles on the floor. Dudley shivered and wrapped his shabby coat closer around him. Too cold, too empty, too boring.
A few rooms were occupied by groups of kids; some of them had built fires, and others looked like the groups outside, huddling together and glaring across hallways and out windows. Dudley stayed away from those rooms, although it was cold enough that the fires would have been welcome. Dudley knew from rough experience at the house that older kids were very possessive of their places, and if he didn’t want black eyes or worse, he’d keep away and leave them alone.
There was one room that didn’t have any windows in it, so it was slightly warmer than the first ones had been. No gang and no kids with fire, so colder than *those* rooms, but that much safer, too. It was also much darker... in fact there wasn’t any light at all. Dudley stretched out a hand in front of him to feel his way around.
It didn’t help. He crashed right into a large, boxy thing and fell backwards onto his rear. The thing twanged discordantly, protesting his clumsiness. Dudley scrambled backwards a few feet, then stopped when he realized that his head hurt from running into that thing, and if he smacked into a wall it wasn’t going to make him feel any better. “I hope that thing’s not alive,” he said out loud, “Or mad, or something.”
A voice laughed somewhere in the room. “Um...hello?” Dudley hated how his voice sounded, all thin and scared in the dark.
“Hello to you,” an elderly voice cackled. “A wanderer, I see. And young.” Another laugh.
“Who... who are you?” Dudley asked, getting to his feet. A little more boldly (if he couldn’t see who was talking, they couldn’t see him either!) he added, “Show yourself!”
“And brave.” A light flared, and by it Dudley could make out a hunched over figure shuffling around. It lit a few candles and the room stood out in flickering pools of golden light. The boxy thing that Dudley had run into sat towards one end of the room, with chairs arranged on the other as if the boxy thing was holding court. A few of the candles were spaced on top of it so that their light shone across a sort of ledge, with tabs alternating small black wedges and bigger white wedges, across the entire length of the box. Dudley had never seen such a thing before, never in his life.
The hunched over figure who’d lit the candles was actually a little old man who grinned like a nearly-toothless maniac in the candlelight, in very shabby green robes, with an equally shabby wand shoved in his belt. “Emil. I’m Emil. And you would be...?”
“Dudley.” He didn’t bother with a last name; after all, ‘Emil’ hadn’t. He pointed at the boxy thing, absently rubbing his head with the other hand. “What’s *that*?”
“Hurt your little head, didn’t it, when you ran into her?” cackled Emil. “That, dear boy, is my darling Antoinette.”
“Ant-wan-ett.” Dudley wrinkled his nose, sounding out the name. “What’s an ant-wan-ett?”
“Antoinette is her name,” Emil said rapturously, running his hands across the black and white wedges, causing the boxy thing to make very different sounds than it had when Dudley had run into it. Nice sounds. “Antoinette is a piano, boy. Hasn’t anyone taught you anything?”
Dudley crept closer, blinking at the boxy Antoinette. I don’t think she bites, he decided, although I’ll keep my hands away for now, just in case. “I know stuff!” he protested. “Just not *this* stuff.”
Emil cackled. “Come here. I’ll show you.” The little old man sat on a bench in front of the piano and backoned to Dudley, who shrugged after a minute and climbed up beside him. Emil took hold of Dudley’s hand and pressed the fingers against a few of the wedges in a pattern. “Hear that, boy? She’s singing to you.”
Music... a lullaby Mum sometimes sang to him... Dudley snatched his hand back and stared at the old man in awe. After a moment, he carefully repeated the motions on his own and played the lullaby again. “A piano,” he repeated, enchanted. “What else does she do?”
“That’s it. A piano plays music. And Antoinette better than most, these days, because I take very good care of her, I do.” Emil preened slightly.
“Just lullabies? That’s silly.”
“Not just lullabies. Any music.” Emil shook his head. “Time was when everyone knew what a piano was meant for. Now, it’s something you know if you’re lucky. Times change, boy, times change.” He cocked his head to one side thoughfully, then asked, “Would you like to learn?”
“Learn?” Dudley asked. “Learn to play this?” He nodded enthusiastically without waiting for a verification. “I’d like that very much!”
Emil cackled. “Well, then, boy, let’s get started...”
*****