Summary: It is London in the late 1920s, and the Muggle influence on the magical society has never been so strong. The older generations, especially of the pure-blood families, disapprove, but their children are becoming increasingly curious and open-minded. Join one of these young men as he attempts to introduce his mother to the pleasures of Muggle culture, and as he discovers the full extent of them himself.
Categories: Historical Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 1
Completed: Yes
Word count: 2821
Read: 1501
Published: 08/24/06
Updated: 08/29/06
1. One-Shot by Fantasium
Author's Notes:
A/N: This story was written for my beloved Patrick/TheVanishingAct, in response to his prompt for the SPEW Summer Secret Story Swap. Lots of thanks and huggles go to my precious Marie/ElectronicQuillster for betaing.
A Song for Johnny
“Muggles everywhere! I do not understand why we simply couldn’t have Apparated.”
“There, there. Mother, please calm yourself, or people will hear you.”
The streets of London were growing busier by each minute after sunset. The men in suits were quickly being replaced by people in casual outfits, some more daring than others. The evening air was unusually hot for early June, and smelled of human bodies, fried food and excitement. In the midst of the moving crowds, two young men were guiding a middle-aged woman along a sidewalk. All the similarities, from hair colour to dress sense, indicated that she must be their mother, and she was looking anything but pleased.
“This is too much for me, I’m too old!” she complained.
“Mamma, you’re not old!” protested the younger of the two men. “You look even more beautiful now than when we took you out last year.”
A small smile appeared on her lips. “Oh, Charles, you are too sweet. And perhaps you are right… I can hardly believe it’s my birthday again already.” The smile vanished as her eyes reached the older brother. “But I still don’t see why you had to take me to a Muggle restaurant. You never know what they “”
“Now, come, dear mother, you seemed to like that garlic chicken well enough?” teased the tall, handsome man.
“Hmpf. I might have thought… But that’s not the point, John. Why do you refuse to tell me where we’re going now?”
“Because,” he said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “it’s a surprise. And don’t worry, we’ll be there in a minute.”
True to his word, he soon steered her towards a door. According to the lit sign above, it led to some establishment called Sergeant Sally. His mother tried to stop, staring open-mouthed at the sign, but John pushed her inside. Once over the threshold and with her feet firmly planted in the crimson carpet, she seemed stunned and incapable of further protests.
“Why, if it isn’t John Weasley!” a voice sounded. “I thought I might see you here tonight.”
“Ben!” John greeted the maitre d', taking advantage of his mother’s unexpected silence. “Yes, we’re celebrating a special family occasion today, and I couldn’t think of a better place to come to for some entertainment.”
“Special family occasion, you say?” the man said and left his counter, greeting John’s family by showing off his rows of glittering teeth.
“Ben, meet Agatha Weasley, my mother and tonight’s birthday lady. The young chap is my brother, Charles.”
“It’s a pleasure to welcome you to our humble house of music and merriment, Mrs Weasley,” Ben said as he scooped up Agatha’s hand and gave it an audible kiss. She was still gaping, and when he let go of her hand it fell back to her side as though she had no control over it.
John grinned. “Do you think you’ll be able to get us a good table? Close to the stage?”
“Of course. Anything for such a charming lady,” Ben winked.
Agatha’s mouth snapped shut, but apparently she had not found either her voice or will to refuse yet, as she let herself be led into the next room. It was much darker there, with only some dimmed lights along the walls and crystal candlesticks on the little tables. A bar hovered at the other end of the room, like a small island of light and glass bottle reflections in a sea of shadows and smoke from Muggle cigarettes.
“Table number eight should suit you well,” Ben said and pointed towards the stage. “Elsie should begin in less than ten minutes.”
John nodded his thanks and continued his act of guide dog until he had his mother secured in a velvet-cushioned seat. The two brothers sat down on either side of her, Charles looking around the place with eyes sparkling of curiosity.
“Interesting choice of entertainment, big brother,” he commented.
“Yes, I thought it would be nice change from Merlin’s Mad-House or The Trafalgar Tenor.”
“There is nothing wrong with the Mad-House! They have the funniest plays in Britain!” Agatha Weasley suddenly objected.
“Glad to have you with us again,” John said and reached out to pat her hand, which was clutching her fox-fur purse in an iron grip. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I don’t suppose they serve Gillywater here?” she said with a sharp voice.
“Eh…” John faltered for the first time. “No, but I will get you something similar.” He stood up and made to head over to the bar.
“What about me?” Charles said, pretending to look offended but with a smile at the ready in the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, I already know what to get you,” his brother chuckled. “It’s a brand new Muggle mix called Between the Sheets.”
“What?!” Agatha shouted after him, causing several heads to turn and stare at her.
Clearly scandalised, she let go of the purse with her right hand and put it over her heart as if close to fainting. People gave her a few more quizzical glances, but soon returned to their conversations.
“Charles,” she whined, “what is this accursed place your brother has taken us to?”
“Oh, Mamma, don’t worry. It’s just a Muggle club. An… unusual choice for a wizard, perhaps, but completely safe.”
“I just wish your brother was more like you. More normal. The Seer your father and I took him to said nothing about a bizarre interest in all things Muggle! She foresaw that he would marry as a young man and give me seven grandchildren!”
“Mamma, I don’t think that Seer was entirely reliable. Didn’t she also say that John would be working at the Ministry? I don’t think that’s very likely to happen.”
“No, but “”
“Here we go!” John interrupted their conversation as he placed the drinks before them. Charles dived at his glass of amber-yellow liquid at once, but Agatha only eyed her fizzing drink with suspicion. Ignoring her caution, John took a sip from his own glass. “Sorry,” he said, “what were you talking about?”
“Mamma was just complaining about how you fail to live up to that Trelawney woman’s predictions,” Charles laughed.
Agatha was just about to defend her case, but John stopped her.
“Shush,” he said and waved his hand at his mother and brother. “She “ Ehm, it is about to begin.”
They turned their heads and saw that young woman had stepped onto the stage. She talked quietly to the band for a few seconds before turning to her audience with a bright smile on her face.
“Welcome to Sergeant Sally, folks,” she spoke into a microphone. “My name is Elise Carlisle, and I will sing you a few songs tonight.”
John thought he heard his mother mutter something about ‘tramps and tarts’, but he did not really listen. He was much too busy taking in the sight of Elise Carlisle’s low-waisted, knee-length frock and how the beads and tassels on it had started to move along with the rhythm of the first chords. It was not until his mother gasped that he even started to pay attention to the music.
“Mr Jones, are you coming to bed?” Elise’s clear voice was singing out. “You’ve been awful rough, and you’ve done your stuff “ it’s just as well we’ll wed!”
“Now I know why they call it the ‘naughty twenties’,” Charles leaned over and whispered to his brother.
“Mr Jones, are you coming to bed?” Elsie’s song continued. “Mr Jones, can you really be mine? Mr Jones, oh, you’re looking divine!”
When she finished, loud applauding broke out; loud enough to cover Agatha’s offended squeaks. During the tunes that followed, John found great amusement in watching his mother’s facial expressions. He knew she was not used to such daring language, but he honestly did not think that it would do her any serious harm. He loved his mother, but thought that her constant prudishness was a little tiring and figured that this was a fairly mild revenge from his part. Leaning back in his chair, he found himself enjoying the way Elise was handling the microphone as she prepared for another song.
“Our last song for this evening, ladies and gents, will be something new that the band and I have been working on. Please let us know what you think!”
John sat up again. He had become a frequent visitor at Sergeant Sally after finding out that Elsie Carlisle performed here whenever she was in town, and a new song was always exciting. He did not know what was so particularly fascinating with this Muggle singer, but there was just something about her that caused his ears to burn whenever she looked in his direction.
“Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny, how you can love!” she began her new song. “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny, heavens above! You make my sad heard jump with joy, and when you’re near, I just can’t sit still another minute!”
John felt how his face grew hot when she, after searching the crowds with her blue gaze, caught his eye and captured him. His family completely forgotten, he felt that from that moment she was singing to him, and to him only. Her voice seemed to fill his head, his veins, his entire being. It echoed in his heart, and he realised that his ears were now only two of several body parts feeling as if on fire.
“Oh, Johnny, please tell me dear “ what makes me love you so?” Elsie sang, her eyes still fixed on his. “You’re not handsome, it’s true, but when I look at you, I just… Oh, Johnny, oh!”
Breathless, John joined in the handclapping, and even stomped his foot on the floor a couple of times. Winking at him, Elsie Carlisle finally released him from her hypnotic stare to bow to her audience.
“Aww, I need the ladies room!” Agatha complained, and John, still partly in a trance-like state, saw that she was now implicatively holding a bottle of smelling salt underneath her nose. Suppressing a giggle at her deliberate drama, he offered her his arm.
“Come on, Charles, I think mother wants the bathroom, and then it’s perhaps time for you to escort her back home.”
“I think you’re right, dear brother,” Charles said and gave him a knowing grin.
Together, they helped Agatha to the door with the skirt-clad figure on, and then stood to wait outside on the red, fitted carpet. John was slowly recovering from the dizziness Elsie Carlisle had caused in his mind, and Charles, leaning against the wall, was looking both amused and concerned.
“Did you really think it was a good idea to bring mother here? It’s not really her style, is it?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Oh, Charlie, relax. She could do with a change of scenery. Besides, at least she’s not sitting about home moping about dad, is she?” John defended himself. “And look at the bright side of it “ now she will have something to complain about until next year.”
Charles just shook his head and laughed. “You had better be nice to her, or she’ll remove you from the family tapestry. Or worse: her will.”
“Wouldn’t care if she did. Apart from you they’re all just a sad old crowd of Muggle-haters.”
“Why do I get a feeling that you will change that trend in the Weasley clan?”
Now it was John’s turn to laugh. “You never know, little brother, you never know! But ah, here’s mother.” He took her hand and helped her down the steps. “There. Promise me you’ll take her home safely, Charlie?”
“Of course. If I were you I’d worry more about my own safety, Johnny,” he smirked.
“Ooh no, don’t say that!” their mother moaned and paled further.
“I was only making a joke, Mamma. Come here and let me Side-Along Apparate you; you’re too weak to do it on your own.”
“Make sure you send me an owl as soon as you get home!” Agatha managed to demand of John before Charles made the both of them to disappear with a crack.
Chuckling, John left the vestibule and returned to the tables. The pianist was alone on the stage now, playing a familiar song with some sporadic accompaniment from the remaining band members. Glasses were clinking and soft conversations rose from the circular tables as people leaned in closer together. John drew a deep breath as he moved in the shadows; he loved the atmosphere, the soft lighting, the anticipation created in the interaction between men and women.
He carefully pulled out his wand as he approached the passage to the dressing rooms. He had not needed to bother with discretion, however, as the couple closest to him seemed perfectly busy with exploring each other’s thighs under the table. Grinning, John waved his wand at the guards, and slipped quietly past them as soon as their eyes glazed over. He continued down the short corridor, pointing the tip of his wand at every door he passed. When he finally reached one that glowed faintly purple from his pointing, he pocketed the wand and knocked gently at the wood. For a few seconds there was nothing but silence, but then “
“Yes?”
He entered the room, taking in the scene, complete with a vase with red roses, a mirror encircled with bright lights, and Elsie Carlisle wearing a silk dressing robe over something… something that did not cover as much as it ought to. John blushed, and was all of a sudden just as speechless as his mother had been earlier. The singer watched him for a moment or two, before flashing him a smile.
“The mysterious red-head has found my dressing room,” she declared with a nod. “And here I was, thinking that two overgrown men were guarding my quarters from rabid admirers. How on earth did you get past them?”
Clearing his throat, John found his voice again: “Oh, I have my ways.”
“Really?” Elsie got up from the chair and pushed her flowing, golden hair back over her shoulders. “And have you come here to demonstrate ‘your ways’ to me?”
Flinching slightly at her unexpected boldness, he had to swallow before replying. “If you should so desire.”
She was so close to him, so swiftly, in so little clothing. He had expected some resistance; resistance that he would have had to overcome with the wits that had made him famous back at Hogwarts. But now he found himself being the one outwitted, and that magic mattered not “ here he was at her mercy.
“Oh, I think you know what I desire,” she said, taking hold of his hands and placing them on her hips.
He soon discovered that her hips were only the starting point, and that he had been given free passage to her back, her shoulders, and her smooth chin. She, in her turn, had let her hands travel up from his dragon-hide belt and over his chest, and was now taking a firm hold of his orange tweed tie. With a determination he had never known in a woman before, she pulled his face down and pressed her mouth against his. John could barely believe how soon she parted her lips for his exploring tongue, and how willingly she let herself be pulled closer. When the kiss ended “ too soon, he thought, despite how marvellously long it had lasted “ her whole body was pressed against his. With his cheek resting at her soft locks of hair, he suddenly realised that he had not even had a chance to introduce himself.
“My name is John Weasley,” he whispered.
“I know,” she breathed at his neck, “but you always looked like a Johnny to me.”
Smiling as his lips were brought to hers again, John vowed to himself never to let another Weasley speak ill of Muggles.
A/N: Yes, John Weasley eventually had a son, who in his turn also had a son, whom he named Arthur. :)
I found Elsie Carlisle when I was researching real-life, female British singers from the 1920s, and I picked her because she fit my ‘profile’. It was only after I started writing that I found out that she had sung an early version of the song Oh, Johnny, oh!, which later became very popular in the recording by The Andrew Sisters, and which also gained a lot of new interest in late 2005 when it appeared in the major motion picture The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.