mangled for the sake of fanfic by Waywren Truesong
Twelfth Night is my favorite of Will Shakespeare's plays, and while he no longer collects royalties -
assuming he ever did collect royalties - it is still most emphatically not mine.
Harry Potter and all associated characters are J.K. Rowling's, may her font of inspiration never
run dry. Harry Potter is also not mine, and it's a good thing too, as I'd never have gotten up the
gumption to publish, and that would be a sin and a shame. However, I wouldn't say no to private
dibs on Harry and Ginny. Pretty people! *.* n.~
I originally meant to take Jelsemium's idea in Harry Situation re: Romeo and Juliet, and I even had
the introduction all written out:
Two Houses, both
alike in dignity,
In fair Hogwarts
where we lay our scene,
From ancient
grudge break to new mutiny,
Where students'
blood makes students' hands unclean.
From forth the
fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of
star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whole
misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their
death bury their mentors' strife.
The fearful
passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the
continuance of their siblings' rage,
Which, but their
fellows' end, naught could remove,
Is now the two
hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you
with patient ears attend,
What here shall
miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
But then I read the Hogwarts version of A Midsummer Night's Dream (isn't it ever going
to get updated? ;_;) and started thinking 'Maybe I should take this seriously.'
But I didn't quite want to do R&J. I mean, it's awfully sad, and I wouldn't want to use the
current generation for it; by Jel's outlay it would've required all new characters, and that's
an awful lot of work.
But I still wanted to do a Shakespeare play.
And someone was already doing Midsummer.
Fortunately, I thought of my -other- favorite.
And that's how we got to today. ^^
I've used the Project Gutenberg edition of 'Night;
the Bard's original text looks like this,
stage directions are in italics, and my own additions look just like what you're reading right now.
I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had fun writing it.
Ja ne!
~Wren Truesong
A note on the fourth wall: the characters are aware they're in a
play - mostly - but they
have a fascinating method of storytelling. I'm not sure I can explain it, but it seems to
flow best in this OOC/IC fashion. Sorry. ~W.
***
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ORSINO, Duke of Illyria.....................................Harry Potter
SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola.................................Ronald Weasley
ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian.................
A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola..............................Colin Creevey(?)
VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke..................Draco Malfoy(?)
CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke......................
SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia.............................Sirius Black
SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK........................................Gilderoy Lockhart
MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia.................................Severus Snape(!)
FABIAN, servant to Olivia...................................
FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia...........................Remus Lupin
OLIVIA, a rich countess.....................................Hermione Granger
VIOLA, sister of Sebastian..................................Virginia Weasley
MARIA, Olivia's waiting
woman...............................Lily Evans
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants
Played by Random Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Gryffindors
***
SCENE:
The sea-coast of
Illyria; and a very comfortable room in Potter Manor (tho it's more like a
castle)
A
very nice island of unidentifiable climate and setting; pick and choose as you
like.
Myself,
I think 'Illyria' suggests someplace tropical, but for some reason my mental
image
is somewhere on the coast of Scotland.
Oh well, less travel, better costume
budget;
I guess this is the BBC production.
Enter
GINNY, wearing a nice set of robes that appear to have seen far better days
than
being soaked in the sea and torn about in a storm, a Captain who seems to be
an
older Colin Creevey (ooh, he grew up nice) and Random Sailors.
Ginny,
pale and clearly holding off tears by dint of shock and sheer will:
"What
is this place?"
Sailor: "This
is Illyria, lady."
Ginny
blinks at the sailor, briefly distracted.
"Since
when was a Weasley a lady?"
Sailor
hmphs, "Since Mordred had a son."
Ginny
blinkblinks at him, and sighs:
"And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother is in Elysium..."
*looks
hopeful*
"Perchance he is not drown'd:
What think you, sailors?"
Captain
reminds her gently:
"It is
perchance that you yourself were saved."
Ginny
hugs herself, but stands straight:
"O my
poor brother! and so perchance may he be."
It's
clear that anyone who dares pooh-pooh her hopes is going to get a Bat-Bogey
Hex
up the nose.
Captain,
showing a remarkable sense of self-preservation:
"True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see."
Ginny
smiles just a little. (Sailors relax
just a bit.)
"For
saying so, there's gold.
Only, I
haven't got any, so you'll have to take my heartfelt thanks instead.
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him.
Know'st thou this country?"
Captain
politely ignores the mention of cash:
"Ay madam, well, for I was bred and born
Not three hours' travel from this place."
Ginny: "Who governs here?"
Captain,
looking proud:
"A
noble duke, in nature as in name,
and in
the sky on broomstick of much skill."
Ginny: "Nice to know they play Quidditch here.
What is the name?"
Captain:
"Harry
Potter."
Ginny
looks surprised and pleased, or at least less pale.
"Harry
Potter! The very same?
I have heard my father name him.
(And
the history books, and the Daily Prophet, and every wizard under the
sun.)
He was a bachelor then."
Captain
nods:
"And so is now, or was so very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur,--as, you know,
What great ones do the less will prattle of,--"
Ginny
flushes and mutters something about bugs.
Captain:
"--That
he did seek the love of fair Hermione."
Ginny
blinks. "What's she?"
Captain:
"A virtuous maid, the daughter of a
count -"
Ginny:
"I thought
her family was dentists?"
Captain: "Their heraldry is teeth.
- That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjured the company
And sight of men."
Ginny: "O that I served that lady
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is!"
Captain:
"Say what?"
Ginny
translates: "I'm envious. A little peace and some busy work would be nice."
Sailors,
unison: "O~oooh."
Captain
looks dubious. "That
were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's."
Ginny:
"You what?"
Captain
translates in turn: "She's in such a bad mood from Harry's
pestering she won't
talk to
anybody, not even a new handmaid."
Ginny:
"Oh."
*Thinks
for a time*
"I have an idea."
Captain
looks attentive.
Ginny
espouses on her idea:
"There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Aside:
"Not that
I can actually pay you a single Knut until I get some sort of salary,
but let's ignore
that, hmm?" *sweatdrops, but presses on:*
"Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him:
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit."
Captain blinks at her, then bows.
"Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see."
Ginny looks a bit uncomfortable:
"Well, I mean, you don't have to curse yourself blind or anything. Just don't tell anyone.
At any rate, I thank thee: lead me on."
Exeunt
***
HARRY'S Manor
(only it's more of a castle, really), the Music Room
A largish room
with high ceilings, excellent acoustics, and good lighting, comfortably
and tastefully furnished. A reclining couch is at one wall, surrounded
at both hands
by comfortable
but lesser chairs; it faces the piano, which has pride of place among
the instruments
scattered about here.
Enter HARRY,
Duke of Illyria, upon a broomstick(!); he is clad darkly but casually in
tight black
jeans and a black turtleneck. His seat on the Firebolt is lazy, his left leg
crossed before
him on the stick. He is reading a book
with both hands and does not
seem to care
that he might need to steer; his balance is perfect and he never runs into
anything.
CURIO and other LORDS (most of whom seem to be Gryffindors) trail
behind him, all
dressed far, far more formally.
Harry alights
just before the couch, stows the Firebolt carefully underneath it, stuffs
the book into
his back pocket, and reclines, one leg hanging off the side. He sighs
a little,
glancing around at all the fawning attendants, and looks tired and fretful.
Harry: "Why are you all following me? I said I wanted a bit of quiet music. I've got a
dreadful
headache." He throws an arm
over his eyes. "Anyway, it's
not like any of you
can sing."
Lord:
"Well, actually -"
Harry silences
him with a Look.
"The Hogwarts
song does not count, and if you sing it I will transfigure you into a
treble
without benefit of
magic."
Lord pales. "Yes, my lord."
Harry: "And don't call me that." Sighs and
removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of
his nose.
"Wasn't there something about a new page this morning?"
Curio:
"Yes, lord -" Harry gives him an unfocused but nonetheless
deterring look. "Er,
Master
Harry." Harry looks pained, but
doesn't argue. This is clearly a long-standing
argument upon
which Curio is not going to bend, and he's been around far too long
to sack. "He did quite well, for a beginner,
and awaits your final interview."
Harry, polishing
his spectacles with a handkerchief: "Can he sing?"
Curio: "He has an excellent soprano, and some
skill with piano, viol and lute."
Harry: "No saxophone?"
Curio:
"That and guitar as well.
But it didn't seem period to mention it."
Harry gestures
eloquently at his jeans. Curio nods.
Harry replaces
his spectacles.
"Someone go
and fetch him. We might as well have
that interview."
Curio turns to
someone in the crowd and whispers. A
random person hurries out.
Harry: "One question, Curio."
Curio looks
attentive.
Harry: "What's his name?"
Enter GINNY, looking very different from how we last saw
her. Her breasts are,
of course, bound; she is clad in trim black livery with
silver buttons and tracing
(the jacket rather resembles Wakaba's Student Council
uniform) and low-heeled
short boots; her
hair has not been cut, but rather queued back in a horsetail,
bound at the end with a length of black velvet
ribbon. She is, quite frankly,
arresting,
in an androgynous sort of way.
Ginny presents herself before the couch and bows.
"Ronald, my lord. Ronald Caesario Weasley."
legs before returning to 'his' face. "You are not
a Ron."
Ginny doesn't bat an eyelash. "Is there someone I should be instead, my lord?"
Harry: "Yourself perhaps."
Ginny: "But I am, my lord; myself and no other."
Harry: "But 'Ronald' is not your name."
Ginny: "It was given to me, and there is no other to claim it; therefore it is mine."
Harry gives 'him' a searching look. CURIO, meanwhile, makes a few urgent
gestures;
the LORDS begin to melt out of the room. Neither Harry nor Ginny notice.
Ginny: "Perhaps you would prefer the name Caesario? It is a name of mine own choosing,
and whatever that it is, I am."
Harry: "...Very well, Mister Weasley. Be Caesario."
Ginny: "As you will, my lord."
Harry: "I thought that was the name of the play?"
Ginny: "All the better reason to use it."
Harry: "...If you say so."
Ginny: "My thanks, my lord."
Harry: "Don't call me that."
Ginny: "Why, then, what shall I call you?"
is worse than 'my lord', and 'Master Harry' is right
out. Must think, must think...!
"Let us see if your service is acceptable before we discuss
it," he tries. Isn't he
supposed
to be the one in control of this situation?
Ginny raises an eyebrow, but he is
the Duke, and she's supposed to be trying to take
service with him, not flirting. "What you will, my lord. What do you wish of me?"
Harry: "I was told that you could
sing."
Ginny: "A little."
Harry gestures to the piano. "Can you play
that?"
Ginny considers the piano, and nods.
Harry: "Do it, then."
Ginny seats herself and begins to warm up a bit. Her hands are long and strong
and deft, quite elegantly shaped; Harry finds himself staring at
them.
Ginny, suddenly: "What will you have, my lord?"
Harry startles. He
spoke! How could he have forgotten
Caesario was in the room
when Harry had been staring at him? Besides, he was a boy.
"Have?"
Ginny: "You asked that I should play. What manner of song?"
Harry: "Oh!
Er. A love song?" His mood abruptly sours at the mention of
love.
"Yes, a love song."
Ginny blinks at his sudden vehemence, but complies. (A/N:
I really need to pick a song
here. Fleetwood Mac
springs to mind; maybe Paper Doll.
It would suit his apparent mood.)
Harry broods as she sings, to the point of doing a very good
Viktor Krum imitation.
The song ends, and Ginny looks to him for further instruction,
but he appears to
be in his own world, and abruptly bursts out:
"If music be
the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of
it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may
sicken and so die.
That strain
again! It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er
my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes
upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and
giving odour!"
Harry flings out
a hand.
Harry:
"Enough, no
more;
'Tis not so sweet
now as it was before.
O spirit of love,
how quick and fresh art thou!
That,
notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the
sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity
and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement
and low price
Even in a minute.
So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is
high fantastical."
Ginny listens
quietly, feeling curiously as if she has intruded, tho he and she are alone in
the room.
Enter CURIO.
Curio: "Will you go hunt, my lord?"
Harry, sourly: "What, Curio?"
Curio: "The hart."
Harry smirks
bitterly.
"Why, so I
do, the noblest that I have.
O, when mine eyes
did see Hermione first,
Methought she
purg'd the air of pestilence!"
Ginny murmurs, "I thought you said you hoped that
whatever House you were in,
she wasn't in
it."
Harry waves a
hand. "Don't stop me, I'm on a roll. And that was Ron, anyway.
That instant was
I turn'd into a hart,
And my desires,
like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue
me."
Enter DRACO,
looking downright miffed but nonetheless quite pretty in the uniform
Ginny's
wearing. It would appear to be house
livery.
Harry raises his eyebrows, looking eager despite himself:
"How now!
what news from her?"
Draco, who is if
nothing else a showman:
"So please
my lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her
handmaid do return this answer:
The element
itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold
her face at ample view;
But like a
cloistress she will veiled walk,
And water once a
day her chamber round
With
eye-offending brine; all this to season
A brother's dead
love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in
her sad remembrance."
Draco smirks.
"In other words, 'my lord', the Mudblood would rather pine
in a cloister over a fictional
brother than be seen with you."
Harry smirks back, wandlessly summons the bit of parchment from
Draco's hand,
and settles back into the couch with it. "Curio?"
Curio: "My lord?"
Harry doesn't lift his eyes from the parchment. "Take the caitiff and have him flogged
for impertinence, will you?"
Draco: "WHAT!?"
Curio: "Instantly, my lord." He gestures, and two servants (CRABBE and
GOYLE)
take Draco by the elbows and drag him away, kicking and
screaming about
blood traitors and bad acting and his father having people's heads
for this.
Harry smirks a little wider.
"Methinks poor Ferret forgot this was Shakespeare."
Ginny wonders aloud,
"Didn't you say something about not being period?"
Harry smiles a sweet, wicked smile. Ginny looks for a moment as if she's about to
faint with delight.
"It's Shakespeare.
Anachronism is practically a tradition."
Ginny bows a little to this, and turns some of her attention to
the piano, one hand
picking out a sweet, gentle tune.
"O, she
that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt
of love but to a brother,
How will she love
when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the
flock of all affections else
That live in her;
when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign
thrones, are all supplied and fill'd,
Her sweet
perfections, with oneself king!"
amuse me, as do your quick wit and ready tongue -"
Ginny blushes fit to match her tresses; Harry bids fair to match it. They
stay frozen for a moment, Ginny staring at her
white-gloved hands on
the keys, Harry close behind her. The sexual tension is thick and
obvious, as is Harry's confusion. Both try to ignore that his hand need
move only a little to touch 'Caesario's' cheek, 'his'
hair.
Harry clears his throat and takes his hand away, turning
his back and
shoving both hands deep into his pockets. " - and your piano playing is of
course superb. We shall try you on the lyre tomorrow."
Ginny murmurs softly, "I thought I was lying already."
Harry turns, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
Ginny sees the eyebrow and raises an innocent look. "Nothing, my lord."
Harry lifts a corner of his mouth. "I thought not." He claps his hands once,
turning away; Curio appears at the door as if sprung from
a box.
Curio: "You called, Master Harry?"
Harry smirks faintly. "Do you know, I rather think I did. Master Caesario
will be joining our household; I trust you will make him comfortable. Myself,
I am going to bed.
Away before me to
sweet beds of flow'rs:
Love-thoughts lie
rich when canopied with bow'rs."