Hey guys! if you were looking for some whump & comfort, you've come to the right place!
This story was inspired by the video of a french opera singer who looked just like Connor when he was younger (see Cum Dederit by P Jaroussky if you want to look it up). The idea grew fast and my perverted mind is still having way too much fun with this AU so, time to translate!
My english is a bit rusty so please, don't hesitate to tell me if you spot any mistakes.

Chapter 1: You are a singer Harry

Articulating his first words with great care, Connor neatly clicked his tongue on each sharp letter before lovingly closing his lips around the consonants that followed. He whispered the next words reverently, connecting the two with a slight inflection before breathing out a long and lyrical note, harmoniously placed between two syllables. He loved and feared this endless note extended beyond normal breathing. It was a beautiful opportunity to shine and he steadily held this whole note, the slow tempo highlighted by the dance of the bows on the strings behind him.

As he revealed the end of the word, breathless, Connor had to squeeze his eyes shut under the growing pain that hit him as his lungs squeezed out the last atoms of air. The audience would believe in a mark of passion for the Latin lyrics but Amanda wouldn't fail to reproach him for this weakness at the end of the concert.

Ignoring the unpleasant prospect of his late evening, Connor allowed the violins to soothe his nerves, and bring his brain to focus once again on the rest his interpretation. He repeated the verse, and this time, he methodically brought his breathing under control. The shorter sentences would give more strength to his countertenor voice and would reduce the risk of disappointing Amanda with a breathless ending. She would criticize him for not having been ambitious enough, but it was better than having to make amends because he couldn't hold a note long enough - or worse, if he got it completely out of tune.

His piece over and done, Connor saluted the crowd who applauded warmly. He bowed once, twice, then slipped away behind the curtains, while another singer was climbing on stage. Amanda was already waiting for him in the shadows of the backstage and the stiffness of her posture immediately informed Connor that she was going to give him a hard time. A small treacherous voice pointed out to him that he kind of deserved it a little anyway.

He knew this song; Amanda had been training him tirelessly for months. Tonight should have been easy - especially just a few days before his audition for the prestigious Detroit Conservatory.

"I will not insult your intelligence by asking how you'd rate tonight's performance," she began. "You know very well that it was well below the level you'll need to achieve next week for the competition."

He looked down, submissive, before agreeing. "Yes it's true." His voice was a quiet murmur as he tried to justify his lack of performance. "I don't know why I struggled to hold that note. It pulled me back from the song and it took me a while to really get back into it."

"Yes." Her voice was ice-cold. "I could hear that."

"I'm sorry." He truly was, but more for what was coming next.

She looked down her nose. "You know what this means." The rhetorical question was punctuated by a small smirk and he had to fight back the urge to sigh.

It meant that he wouldn't sleep tonight – once again.

The last singer left the stage around 10pm. All spectators shuffled out of the concert hall shortly after that and by the time the staff had restored the theater to its original pristine state, midnight chimed somewhere in the city.

Amanda had left for another personal appointment soon after Connor's performance. Even if she'd had to fight her way with the theatre's staff for a few minutes, she didn't waste any more time than necessary. While Connor was about to spend his night alone in a dark and empty theatre, Amanda had somewhere else to attend. She'd told him about this every day for a week, she had a dinner with a friend of hers - a former student, a prodigy and worldwide celebrity to whom she kept comparing Connor: the great Elijah Kamski.

For a few years now, thanks to Kamski, baroque music and countertenors were cool for the first time in ages. He was the tall, attractive guy who could sing like a woman – and without looking like a sissy. Women loved him, men were intrigued, and bigots hated his guts and feared little boys would turn gay because of him even though Kamski was dating a girl.

Because of that love-hate battle, mainstream talk shows kept inviting him, repeatedly. Everywhere he went, Elijah had to squeeze his way through passionate crowds waiting for him and signing autographs to crazy youngsters, like a flipping pop singer. For sure, Connor was a bit jealous of his fame; but he did not envy the high-pitched screams Kamski had to endure every time he waved at his fans – or the attacks he was getting.

Interviews were all the same after some point, but Amanda had watched them all – and so did he. When questioned about the reason why he decided to become an opera singer, Kamski always answered, with a tender smile, that the urge to sing had come to him very early on, and blossomed thanks to an open-minded and loving family. The hosts and public never failed to respond with a fond 'aww' while, behind her screen, Amanda was seething.

Connor knew that his manager was dying to see him add a note to her attention; to hear him add that he wouldn't be where he was now if not for his high school music teacher who pointed him to a prestigious conservatory. No tribute to her talent as a teacher, nor as an intermediary, was ever paid but this outrage did not refrain Amanda from meeting up with Kamski every time they were in the same city. Like tonight. If she kept reminding him of their past, maybe he would remember to give her credit at some point.

It was Amanda's strength. A cold and insidious force, never-ending and stubborn, like the calm stream that eats its way through the stone, atom by atom.

He could only imagine their evening together, probably in a very expensive restaurant in the city. As for himself, Connor had bought a miserable-looking sandwich at a 24/7 grocery store next door and had patiently waited for the theatre to be completely empty. Amanda had arranged everything with the guard so that he could use the stage and the concert hall even after closing time. And no one refused Amanda anything.

No one below her anyway.

Coming up on the stage with heavy feet, his stride weighed down by fatigue, Connor put the metronome on the ground in front of him before stretching. He did a few short vocalization drills and then sang the first measures of Vivaldi's short piece, the same measures on which he had struggled a little earlier. Tomorrow – or later this morning - he would sing this piece to Amanda, and it would be flawless from start to finish.

She came back at 8:00 am, freshly combed and neatly dressed, while his short nap in one of the front row seats had left his hair sticky and his suit crumpled. Getting up slowly, Connor felt as if some sick animal had half-digested him and then spat him out. Without any further greetings than her cold look, Amanda sat down in the front row while Connor slowly went back on the stage.

"Now sing." She ordered.

Always that same word.

Now.

Now sing, now stand straighter, now go to bed. Since his parents had died and Amanda had become his legal guardian, Connor had come to hate that word. He hated it even more so now that Amanda had managed to make him sign a contract that tied her as his agent – exclusive agent and manager. Since that day, like the horse trainer who received a promising yearling, which still need a bit of work before it could win its first race, Amanda was driving him with a tight bridle and keeping her riding crop close to his flanks.

The eternal injunction was like a sharp sting on his rump.

Now.

Swallowing his irritation, which he knew was only coming from his advanced state of tiredness, Connor sang.

His interpretation was impeccable, even his sleep-deprived brain had the strength to realize that. His gallop was smooth and efficient, his long strides delivering a stunning performance. He closed his eyes, and now that the vision of Amanda's stern look was gone, he could let the song swallow him whole and sail away to better shores. There, on the smooth sea of his own voice, Connor sang higher, holding the high-pitched note effortlessly before continuing. The lyrics felt like smooth pearls on his tongue and he delivered the last syllables in a delicate yet assured breath.

After a few seconds, Connor opened his eyes to the quiet room, his voice dying out in a faint echo in his ears. Alone on the stage, he suddenly felt strangely naked under the persistent look of his manager.

"Now go back to the hotel and rest." She ordered. "I don't want these sleepless nights to show on your medical check-up next Tuesday."

Connor considered the absence of reproach like the most beautiful compliment she could give him. Before she could add anything, he complied and left.

God. How much he hated those medical check-ups. He hated those cold, abrupt hands that pushed him into position, those doctors who gave him orders - open your mouth, jump there, breathe into that. Amanda always insisted he went anyway. If he ever were to develop something serious, they had to detect and treat it as soon as possible. Vocal cords were such fragile things.

Yes, very fragile indeed. Even more so when you worked them relentlessly and over their capacity.

The doctor noted a slight inflammation that he wrote down in his file and tried several time to get personal information about his general state of mind. Connor stayed tight-lipped as usual. What was the point? He would certainly be in another city the next time, another doctor would overview his file and ask the same useless questions.

He was fine.

Except that he was so late.

Connor ran out of the doctor office as if the building was on fire, shrugging his coat on and looking at his watch with horror. A part of him was still hoping that he'd missed the winter time change but his own personal version of Amanda pointed out contemptuously that time change did not happen on Tuesdays and that he was indeed one hour late. He grabbed his phone instantly. Better warn her now than make her wait wondering why the fuck he wasn't there already.

Amanda's voice almost froze his ear and he could hear the silent threat when she asked him to hurry up. Hurry up he did, and he jumped on the next subway train barely sparing a second to look at the directions.

Amanda had arranged a meeting with the director of the Detroit Conservatory, claiming to have with her a student just as good as Kamski and that she was dying to introduce him to the director of such a prestigious music school. He would certainly make a nice addition to the hall of fame of the conservatory. She had also certainly told him she was one of Eliijah's former teacher, casually mentioning that fact in order to attract the Director's attention.

Kamski's name had left her enough room to slip her foot in the door, and she didn't need anything more than that to get what she wanted.

The entry competition was focused on skills, talent and dedication to the art – not on social relations or family name. But that did not stop Amanda from weaving her web and exerting her insidious pressure.

As always.

Stumbling out of the underground entrance with an air of panicked meerkat, Connor tried to find his way on the large square that stretched out all around him. According to the photographs printed on the brochure of the school, the building was rather recognizable with its red brickwork and white-framed windows. He looked around. The square and several building on its edge were undergoing major renovations. Pedestrians were channeled into wide corridors made out of palisades covered with useless city hall advertisements, but none looked like a map.

'Detroit is getting a new look!' cheered a blonde printed on a very large poster near where he was still standing. But he didn't care about that! He needed to find the conservatory and quick – or Amanda would crucify him right now and then.

Feeling the panic growing inside of him, the young singer randomly went left, towards a large building whose façade was covered with scaffoldings up to the top. Once there, the posters informed him that, 'for you, the town hall is getting a facelift'. He ran back the way he came, swearing softly – he would be the one getting a facelift once Amanda was done with him. The brochure only said Hart Plaza, no number, no access map.

Crap.

He was just about to get his phone out to google map his way out of this when a silhouette caught his eye: a blond woman with a guitar case on her back. He went after her with a desperate shout.

"Excuse me!"

The woman turned around and the exasperation on her face had him pause. Maybe the GPS option would have been safer.

"What?" she asked, her voice dripping with annoyance.

"I'm sorry to bother you." He tried to force his voice to work without trembling but his nerves were getting the better of him. "I'm looking for Detroit Music Conservatory."

"Do I look like someone who'd go there?" the dripping got even stronger and her face took a dangerous look. God she was just as scary as she was beautiful.

"I-" He stammered. "It's just that-"

"That's on the other side of the fountain."

He turned around to look in the general direction she was pointing at, her arm raised in an exasperated shrug. She did not hold the position very long but it was enough for Connor to see, with horror, that the fountain was almost at the other end of the square and the school even further. He turned back towards her in order to thank her despite the bad news, but she was already leaving, walking away briskly and muttering something like 'fucking tourists' under her breath.

Amanda's reproachful words already ringing in his head, Connor ran across the square as if his life depended on it. Amanda always suppressed her accusations and incisive attacks when they were in good company, so as to maintain the illusion of being the sweet trainer of an exemplary colt. But once they got back to the privacy of their hotel, Amanda always chastised his behaviour with more determination than a hyena feasting on a fresh carcass.

When Director Fowler's assistant brought him into his office, Amanda was standing at the corner of the desk, her elbows resting on the solid wood in order to share something on her phone with the other man. Without a doubt, she was showing him one of the various recordings she took of his performance and if this position was also giving the director a nice view of her cleavage, that was only pure chance.

She stood straight as soon as Connor walked in, skillfully converting her annoyance into and exclamation of relief.

"Ah, Connor! You're here at last. I was starting to worry."

Fowler might buy this obvious lie, but Connor knew better – and two could lie.

"I'm sorry; there was an accident on my metro line."

The director, an African American in his forties, with a rather imposing stature, greeted him with a firm handshake. Connor replied with a reserved but cordial smile, even though he already knew how the conversation would unfold. 'The voice and the face of an angel!' Fowler would call him. He would reassure the young singer about his future in this academy, tell him that, with such a dedicated manager, he would easily reach the top – just like Kamski.

"It would be a shame to let such a promising student go to another school." Fowler told him at the end of their meeting. "I hope the entry competition will be a mere formality for you."

Detroit conservatory opened its advanced musical course to a dozen young classical artists, with various courses on history and linguistics but the in-depth courses on the instrument of choice (in Connor's case, vocals) were private lessons. Even if other artists would be admitted with him, he would have to be the only winner in his category at the end of the competition. The director could give him his vote, but the rest of the jury would still need convincing.

They had lunch together in a private room isolated from the rest of the mess hall, and Connor tried to get a minimum excited about the on-going conversations as he watched Amanda weave her web without her victim even noticing. A touch on the director's hand during a story, a slight caress of her foot as she changed her legs' position under the table: furtive and insignificant contacts that worked incredibly well on men of this age. The poor man stood no chance. He would eat in her hand by this evening, and would be able argue vehemently in Connor's favor during the deliberation of the jury, Amanda's words echoing out of his mouth as effectively as if she had sat him on her knees and inserted her hand in-

Slightly disgusted by the image of Amanda's new puppet provided by his brain, Connor excused himself from the table, his appetite suddenly gone.

After a visit of conservatory, Connor had to abandon Amanda and Fowler in order to resume his compulsory routine - routine that this interview and the medical visit this morning had completely turned upside down. He could have use their meeting as an excuse to avoid his two hours of cardio training but the idea of being alone on his treadmill, without having to suffer the reproaches of his manager or witness her outrageous manipulation, helped him make his decision. He had just turned his back on them when Amanda called after him.

"Connor, you'll wait for me before having diner right?"

The question mark was for the show, he knew. It was another cute display of their fake symbiotic relationship, which fooled Fowler once again and left him with a fond expression on his face. However, Connor could easily translate the promise of a very difficult conversation once she'd be home.

Amanda had never left any marks on his skin – too incriminating. Sharp as daggers, her words left no trace and that was the weapon she preferred instead. Like the shepherd's stick on the flanks of stray sheep, she was using her constant verbal scolding as a way to guide him to the top. On bad days, she could also become the border collie dog closing its jaw on the back of his knees.

He knew there would be no stick tonight.

How dared he? How could he spit on her hard work like that? He really thought she was doing all of this for fun? His late arrival required tremendous efforts to keep Fowler in line when this affair should have been won already. Amanda spent so much time buttering that fat ass of a director that her mouth was desert dry.

"Now pour me a drink and go train in your room for that competition." She ordered in a tired sigh. "And I don't want to hear you stop before 11pm."

In the darkness of their current Airbnb, he trained as instructed. With several warning stomps of their foot, the upstairs neighbor quickly made it known that they weren't so fond of Connor's very loud singing but he ignored them. Their wrath was nothing compared to his manager's.

Connor woke up the day of the competition with a mixed feeling of relief and anxiety. After these three days of competition, Amanda would certainly cut him some slack and focus on whom she had to manipulate to get him to sing in some prestigious concert hall on weekends. They would finally rent a proper flat to accommodate his school schedule, and his weekly routine would finally be diversified by the different courses. With any luck, he might finally be allowed to touch his long discarded cello without having Amanda preventing him from playing because, according to her, that would not get him any points at the entry competition anyway.

Once Amanda had deemed his voice more remarkable than his skills as a cellist and noticed that the competition was sparser with countertenor singers, she decided that his training would be focused on singing – and singing only. He still was a pretty good cello player and he'd rather let the bow of his mom's cello glide on the delicate strings than sing with the greatest orchestra of the country.

Written tests were only a formality that he passed diligently, his mind fixed on a perfect score. This would allow him to gain as many points as he could over the other singers he'd spotted, but, more importantly, a perfect score meant that he would not have to justify any mistake to Amanda's condescending face.

Slightly nervous for his final test, Connor quietly entered the audition room. The concert hall was quite small but it felt ridiculously big for such a small audience. The jury was seated in the pit usually reserved for the orchestra during operas while the rest of the seats stayed empty. Despite the distance, Connor noticed some teachers whispering when he approached and he couldn't help but swallow nervously.

Amanda's tricks were a dangerous business. A little bit too much pressure and her intentions could suddenly become clear. Her manipulation exposed, the persistent grudge left in the wake of that treachery would disqualify him instantly – however hard he tried to make amends and claim he wasn't aware of his manager's behavior.

The director gave him an honest smile before inviting him to take place on the stage with a small gesture of his hand.

"State your name and the title of the piece you'll be singing, if you please."

"Connor Jarosky," he stated calmly. "The piece is 'Cum Dederit' by Vivaldi."

The woman who asked for the information ticked a few items on her list before giving him an expecting look.

"We're listening."

After a few crackles, the main speakers coughed the first notes of recorded music, which Connor used when he was training without a real orchestra. He closed his eyes during the opening of the song by the violins, using that full minute to calm his nerves and slow down his breathing. There was nothing complicated or impressive about this that he should be worried about. He had sung this very song in front of hundreds of people in Chicago's concert hall last month. They were only five adults in front of him.

He was fine.

The violins slowed down to a pause and he took one deep breath before allowing his voice to shine. Like the eagle gliding inside a warm column of air, he plunged into the song, twirling the modulated syllables and holding the long G as if it was nothing more than a contented sigh. He flew high into the room, delivering each note brilliantly as if the music was warm air under his wings and his body suddenly weighted nothing. As if each and every atom of his body were blown away by Vivaldi's song – like sand in the desert wind. Free. Playful.

He let his voice and mind roam away for several minutes, only opening his eyes to realize that he didn't remember what he just sang or how well he had just performed. He only remembered that feeling of freedom – and could feel now how hard he missed it. Fowler smiled proudly to him and the general good mood of the jury was enough to calm his anxiety. He left the room with congratulating words from the five teachers.

The letter of the results came two weeks later. He found it already opened on the coffee table after coming back home from a shopping excursion downtown for his cello. The absence of reproaches gave him a pretty good idea of the results but he still unfolded the thick paper in order to confirm his good intuition. The affirmative answer from the school had him sigh in relief.

Amanda suddenly called him from the kitchen.

"Now we'll finally be able to work on that career of yours." She sighed when he finally joined her. "Remember to be exemplary and listen to your vocal teacher as if they were God himself. Got it?"

"Yes Amanda."

He knew exactly what she was getting at. Kamski's fame as an opera singer had been fast as a shooting star, thanks to his voice, his looks, but also thanks to his young and lovely teacher. Her love for him and her dedication radiated around them every time he performed somewhere in the country and had spread like some contagious disease. This was the most efficient advertising Kamski could have ever hoped for and fame hit him hard and fast.

Rumor was that they were getting married soon and internet was already weeping.

However, Connor had seen his singing teacher during the competition two weeks earlier and he knew there wouldn't be such a happy announcement in his case. He was ready to sacrifice some part of his pride for his career but he'd certainly not bat his eyelashes for a fat guy in his forties, almost bald if not for the greasy hair on the side of his angry face. Amanda could do it if she wanted. He had to draw the line somewhere for himself.

His first day of school happened the following month and Connor found that, despite his friendly looking class, he did not manage to bond with any of his classmates. A part of him, longing to belong, was a bit worried about that sad truth. How could he expect to make a name for himself when even musicians did not care about him? On his shoulder, his small version of Amanda brought back his attention the black board in front of him with a slap at the back of his head. Whatever his classmates said or did, he didn't need to chat with them nor did he need their approval. For all he knew, they were all jealous of him and his well-managed career.

Two students laughing in his direction had him doubting tiny-Amanda's reassurances but he still complied with her instruction and copied diligently the notes written on the board.

Everything was all right.

Looking for an empty room in order to practice his daily scales, Connor roamed through several freshly renovated floors before wandering into an old wing. This part of the conservatory seemed to be full of empty and nameless rooms, far from the whiteness of the rest of the building – and far from the sneering looks of his classmates. He tapped softly on the door of a randomly chosen room and was not surprised when he got no answer. He pushed his way inside, slowly revealing an old classroom with stained tables and tired-looking chairs. Halfway through closing the door, Connor froze, stopped in his tracks by a deep voice coming from the last row at the back of the classroom.

"If you're looking for a room to take a nap, this one's already taken."

The guy was peering at Connor over the top of his magazine. His silver hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and, despite his nonchalant way of sitting (with his feet on top of a nearby table) and his bright earphones, Connor guessed that the man was in his early fifties at least.

"Sorry" Connor stammered while opening the door as to leave. "I was only looking for a room to practice my scales."

"Don't leave just yet kiddo!"

A bit confused by the mixed signals he was getting, Connor stepped back into the room.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I sing pretty loudly; I would not want to bother you."

"Whether you sing here on in a room next-door, these paper-thin walls won't do anything to stop me from hearing you." He shrugged at Connor's perplexed expression. "Plus I was getting tired of my playlist. Listening to your singing will be a nice change. Go ahead. "

As if to support his statement, the man removed his headphones and tip-tapped on his phone in order to pause said playlist. He set the magazine back on his lap before rising a questioning eyebrow.

"Problem?"

"Of course not."

Of course, yes. However, he had already closed the door and he didn't want to look like a fool by fleeing the room like a scared animal.

Now chin up, and be proud! Amanda had repeated this instruction so many times he had assimilated this mantra like a reflex. Every time he could feel doubting thoughts seeping their way into his mind, Amanda's order echoed in the back of his head like gunfire.

Swallowing excuses and other lies to get out of there, Connor lifted his chin and walked to the front of the classroom.

After working a few minutes on his scales and a few arpeggios, he started singing a short and sorrowful baroque song. He sank deep into the tune, cradled by the sad melody and he soon forgot about the strange man sitting at the back of the room reading his magazine. He jumped on the next song, the same he had sang a few weeks before for the entry competition and he was relieved to see that Amanda's ruthlessness in her training did not tarnish his pleasure of singing this tune.

He stopped after these two songs, satisfied by his short training, before turning towards the rest of the room.

The other man was staring at him, his mouth slightly opened on a mixed expression of surprise and something else Connor guessed as bewilderment.

"Sorry, was it too loud?"

"No." the man stammered with a slight frown. "No it just wasn't what I'd expected, that's all. But the emotion you're putting in your song is breathtaking. Keep going like this kiddo. It's good."

The compliment left him frozen in place, shocked. He wasn't used to this kind of honest mark of appreciation and he had to blink away the prickling sensation in his eyes. Damnit, he would not cry because some stranger praised his singing. This was ridiculous, whispered a bitter little voice at the back of his mind.

"Thanks" whispered Connor while looking for a new topic. "Do you work here?"

"Indeed." There was a big yawn before the man decided to add more. "And I'm late for my next drum lesson."

And with that, he was off, rolling his magazine under his arm and walking away like he had all the time in the world.

"See you next time, kiddo!"

Hell no.

Slightly non-plussed by this strange meeting, Connor for sure did not want it to happen again any time soon. In any case, his busy schedule left him no choice but to skip his daily scales during lunch-break for the next week. Between the history classes, music theory, linguistics, vocals and all the extra class Amanda insisted he attended; Connor barely had time to eat or sleep a full night. He wasn't going to last long like this.

He had to weigh his words carefully before presenting his grievances to his manager.

"Your schedule is too busy?" Amanda scoffed angrily. "Kamski managed to get a master degree in IT at the same time as his career as an opera singer. You'll be able to survive these mere two years of school while doing your usual training, won't you?"

Her question was awaiting a big affirmative nof from his part and Connor knew it was suicidal to answer differently, even though his tired mind was screaming 'no' from the back of his throat. He had to present a logical case first.

"I'm just worried the lack of sleep and proper lunch will reduce my performance. It would be a shame for me to be half dead on my feet at school after all the hard work it took us to get me in. It would certainly be a bad image to present to my teachers."

He looked at his manager while she was mulling this information in silence and prayed she would not suggest he took vitamins or started to wear make-up in order to cover the dark bags under his eyes. After two full minutes of heavy silence, she finally spoke.

"Very well."

Connor fought back the urge to sigh in relief.

"Thank you, Amanda."

Thank you Amanda, you are so kind.
enjoy it while you can Connor, it won't last very long *evil laugh*
quick chapter to set the mood before diving deeper into the story. Hope you've enjoyed it. Promised, Markus is coming soon.
See you guys! 3