(no subject)

[bardic_lady]

Thanks to lornelover, discovered the icon portrait maker...The horror, the agony...

This is me


This is my dad (sort of, there really wasnt a good beard for him)


This is my mum (The little person is me...)

And this is the first chapter of Wizard's Play, a Harry Potter fic about Hermione Granger going into wizarding theatre after Voldemort's defeat.

Title: Wizard's Play
Beta: the incredible copperbadge
Rating: PG, for a brief mention of the world's oldest profession/
Pairing: None yet
Notes: Chamberlain Bellingham-Whyte should be read with a Southern accent, I don't know why, he wrote himself that way.


Muggles say that theatre is the second oldest profession in the world, but they’re wrong. It’s an understandable mistake; if you’re unaware that something exists, it’s difficult to include it on a list. Actually, theatre is the third oldest profession in the world, because wizardry, which muggles know nothing about, is the second oldest...
Prostitution still came first.
And it only makes sense that these early professions would intermingle, brothels with wizardry, brothels with theatres, and wizardry with theatres. For almost all of wizarding history there have been theatres and wizards with flair for the dramatic to fill them.
Wizarding theatre changed over the ages even as muggle theatre did, evolving to suit the times it played for.
During the Great War against Voldemort, wizarding theatre was a place of solace, a place to forget the evils that threatened outside and bask in shimmering musicals and upbeat comedies. Those who were face to face with the Dark Arts everyday depended on rare opportunities to attend the theatre to lift faltering morale.
Hermione Granger was well aware as she battled the armies of the Dark Lord that her spirits would have flagged long ago were it not for those occasional trips to see a brighter, more hopeful side of life. She envied the actors their courage and their ability to laugh in the face of crushing despair. In her mind, they stood just a few steps below Harry and Dumbledore as heroes of the War.
When the War was over and the Dark Lord well and truly vanquished, it fell to the survivors to decide how to proceed with their lives. For those like Hermione, who had jumped straight into the fight from school, it was a slightly more complicated decision. She spent several long nights pondering her alternatives: a position in the Ministry like Neville; a teaching post at Hogwarts like Remus, there were numerous alternatives, offers had been immediately forthcoming when she made it known that she was in the job market, and she turned them over and over by candlelight as she tossed in bed. As if summoned, on the fourth morning after her insomnia started, when she arose there was an unfamiliar owl sitting next to her copy of the Daily Prophet, clutching a roll of rich creamy parchment.
“Now, what on earth could that be? No one I know uses such fancy paper for letters...”
She shrugged, set small cups of Muddles and of water out for the owl, and unrolled the scroll.

Dear Ms. Granger,
Forgive this intrusion; I am sure that you have been deluged with illustrious job offers since the conclusion of your battle with the Dark Forces, but allow me to drop one more humble proposition into your lap. My name is Chamberlain Bellingham-Whyte, artistic director of the Piccadilly Stages Theatre.
Ms. Granger, during your most excellent defense of our world, you occasionally gifted us with the honour of your presence here, and your approbation was duly noted by our staff. Your pleasure in our proceedings leads our company to make this offer to you. You have a reputation as one of the foremost research witches of our age. At this time, our company is seeking a dramaturg, a sort of theatre researcher, to join our staff. We would be more than honoured, Ms. Granger, if you would join us in our theatrical endeavours.
Yours most courteously,
Chamberlain Bellingham-Whyte
Chamberlain Bellingham-Whyte
Artistic Director,
Piccadilly Stages

“Well then,” Hermione murmured, “Isn’t that interesting?”
And she sat for several minutes thinking about this new idea. After taking a deep breath, she smiled. “Why not?” she asked the slightly perplexed looking owl. “Why not be in the theatre?”
She dashed off a quick reply.

Dear Mr. Bellingham-Whyte,
I am intrigued by your offer and am strongly considering accepting your proposal. When would be a convenient time for us to meet to discuss the details of this position?

H. Granger

She attached the small roll of parchment to the owl’s leg and sent him off with a quick wave, then sat down to her breakfast and to wait.
The response was remarkably quick in coming and detailed exactly how she should get to the theatre, that afternoon, if it was convenient, and who she would meet to arrange the job should she continue to be interested. She wanted another opinion about the idea, but quickly disregarded Harry, as he was away on Ministry business to France, and Ron, she suspected, wasn’t quite ready to hear from her yet. Who to talk to?...
And then the answer appeared.
She summoned up the fireplace at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and asked the twins if they wanted to meet at the Leaky Cauldron for lunch before her appointment. They eagerly agreed and so at noon, Hermione set out to brave the tube from the flat she was staying in at Queensbury, to Charing Cross and Diagon Alley.
When she brought up the possibility of her new career, Fred and George looked at each other and then at her with identically bemused smirks.
“Truthfully, Hermione,” began Fred
“We were going to suggest that you get a job,” continued George
“But we were afraid you’d insist on going into something political where you’d never really be happy. We figured you’d want to follow Harry and Neville into the Ministry or go teach somewhere.”
“Theatre’s perfect for you, Hermione. You’ll have fun and, no offense my girl, you need more fun...”
With their enthusiasm bolstering her confidence, Hermione walked in the stage door of the Piccadilly Stages Theatre and was shoved out of the way by a wizard in paint-splattered black robes.
“Watch it! Comin’ through! Look out! Out of the way or we flatten you! Come to that, stay in the way so we can flatten you!”
Hermione gasped as several boards floated around the corner guided by the wand of another wizard in paint-covered black.
“Pardon me, but...” Hermione started
“Not now, can’tcha see we’re busy? It’s Construction Day and we’ve got less than fifteen hours to knock out this bloody excuse for a set!”
Once they had negotiated the next corner, Hermione took a moment to breathe and then began to look for some indication of where she ought to be going. She could hear voices coming through a closed door part way down the hall and she paused a moment before going in.
“The bleeding Hell I’m going to wear this, Christine! I look like a potato wrapped in a puppy! I’m playing a queen who theoretically is the most beautiful and good woman ever to exist and you’ve got me in a potato-coloured bag and a cloak that Cruella DeVille could wear!”
“Charlene, it won’t look like a bag if you let me take it in. Which I will do as soon as you put down your wand and stand still. And your cloak is supposed to be ermine. Since this isn’t Covent Garden and we don’t have more Galleons than Croesus, you’re going to have to deal with faux fur! Honest to Merlin, Charlene, I’m about to walk out and then you can explain to Mr. Ballicroft why his queen walks around in her lingerie!”
“Some costume witch you are! Why can’t you ever transfigure me a decent outfit?”
“That’s it. Char-, Charle-, Ms. Elliot! I was not hired to take abuse from you. If it is that much of a problem for you, please, transfigure it yourself!”
The door flew open and a small blonde witch, in what seemed to be the ubiquitous black, stepped into the hallway. She gestured and the door slid mostly closed behind her. Tentatively, Hermione approached her.
“Excuse me...”
“One minute...” the blonde held up a hand and pulled out her wand. “Accio Costumus Elliot,” she murmured.
A dress and a large piece of fur flew through the crack in the door which swished gently shut. A piercing scream echoed through the hall as the witch turned back to Hermione.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Um, I’m here to meet with Mr. Bellingham-Whyte and I don’t know where his office is...”
“Come this way. Shut up, Charlene! It’s not like you didn’t expect it! I’ll be back in five to either fit your costume or strangle you with it! It’s not usually this hectic, but season starts in two weeks and the first show in rep is being teched this weekend. It’s hell but with luck, it’ll all come out in the end. This is Mr. Bellingham-Whyte’s office. It was lovely meeting you.”
With that, the witch turned and darted back down the stairs.
Hermione found herself standing in front of a large, heavy, oaken door wondering if she wasn’t making an enormous mistake...