𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼: ǟ ʀɛǟʟɨȶʏ ֆɦɨʄȶɨռɢ ȶǟʟɛ ✤ ֆɛʋɛʀʊʂ ҳ օƈ

𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

Being.

Innocence. Free-spirited as a Patronus's breath of radiance. As a goat grazing upon sun-kissed meadows. Free-spirited as a woodland doe.

"That's right. Now," Flitwick spoke softly to rouse the choir from their thoughts, "Unfortunately, I must meet for another appointment in 5 minutes time." He scanned the choir, then settled upon the sopranos. "Miss Felicity, would you run class until I return? Cover any of the techniques we went over today."

Felicity blushed, shrinking her once-powerful stance. Her throat ran dry. Did Professor Flitwick ask her to teach choir?

Teach.

Teach.

Leadership. That was something Harry excelled at, not her. Likewise for Luna, even. If only Luna were the older one now. "I, err, do you want me to uh," she gestured to the piano. Merlin! Why does mindless babble pour out my mouth?

Flitwick grinned. "Only play if you are comfortable. But given your piano skill, I highly suggest it. So. I must really hurry," he stated in his squeaky voice, glancing at his mini watch. "Do you accept, Miss Felicity? I sense you not only sang, but truly felt the melodies. An example others will follow."

Felicity spared a glance at Luna.

Luna nudged her best friend. "Start with warm-ups. Trust me," she whispered, nodding in encouragement.

Classmates parted as Felicity weaved her way down the Great Hall steps to the base floor. Recalling the psychology book, she planted her feet squarely and broadened her shoulders.

A power-pose. Psychologically, power-posing increased self-confidence.

"I'll do it, Professor."

"Thank you, Miss Felicity. I won't be long." He hurried off towards the exit leading to the charms classroom.

Now 50+ pairs of eyes burned the same beam upon her. Felicity turned, staring at the robes, then chins, then shivered as she met their encircling gazes. It's just friends, not students. Just Neville, just Katie, Luna, peers just waiting to sing something beautiful like I do. Why else would they join Frog'appella?

She swung both legs over the piano bench. Taking a deep breath in, then out. "Okay. Um, so each section will sing a stretched chord of my choice to practice for The Peace of Wild Things."

Felicity spread her fingers, playing each note. "Re," she sang in solfege, "that's you, altos."

"Re . . ." the whole alto section continuously sang as Felicity directed the next section.

"Mi . . ." she gestured to the tenors.

"Do . . ." the bases joined.

At last, the soprano's voices completed the meditative chord. "Ti . . ."

Felicity experimented with varying chords. She varied her hand signals. Occasionally, the sopranos found a low an octave lower Fa. She tried the tenors at a high do, which sounded wonderful.

She raised her wand high. The choir pulsed energy into their voices, raising not only their volume, but fullness. Lowering it gently, the choir softened like a perfect arc. 

Perfection. That was it. The crescendos synced without a layered closure, their pitches blended a little too well. She dropped her arm to her side, indicating a pause.

"Let us try singing on raw voice only. No charms. No magic."

Zacharias interjected, raising a hand. "But the lower notes strain our vocal chords on our part." The other tenors nodded.