Ah, my comeback into ff.net has happened, dun, dun, dun. Any-who, I got my inspiration for this story from my love of Walt Disney, and the Haunted Mansion. In fact, were do you think I got the name Gracey from, none other than the Haunted Mansion. Although, the Gracey Mansion in this story is the one in Disneyland, although I have never been to Disneyland, only to Walt Disney World. So, enjoy, and tell me what you think. Oh, and by the way, there are really no characters from HP in here, only the world of HP, and the magic, so, if you want characters, go read something else, hon. This is about a school in Louisiana. An odd school.
Disclaimer: what is there to disclaim? The HP belongs to JK Rowling, and the WB. And the HM belongs to Walt Disney, and the Disney Company and Family.
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'The update?' I asked Mary, who was looking through an old antique telescope on the second floor veranda of Gracey Academy, and standing next to me.
'Well, Scarlett and Bella are studying under cypress number six, and that senior, Alicey, is next to the garden, but I don't know what she's doing', came Mary's reply, and I sighed. Nothing even remotely interesting ever happened at Gracey Academy, except for the occasional explosion from potions, or visit from a parent.
Gracey Academy is where we went to school. One of the top witches schools in the country, it only accepted a few students a year, and only those up to the challenge. And, there really was a challenge. It housed grades seventh through twelfth, all in the old Louisiana mansion built by none other than George Gracey. All of the teachers, of course, held up Master Gracey with a firm hand, but all of us students think he was just a crazy old lunatic millionaire. The old Gracey Mansion was just that, old, but, I must admit, it was amazingly beautiful, and it held such a New Orleans French Quarter charm to it. It's four Greek columns in the front face of the building were surrounded by green wrought iron railings and verandas that circled the whole structure. It really was a masterpiece, and I compliment old Gracey on his taste.
Behind me sat Abby and Michelle at a little wrought iron table with four chairs, made to match the railings. Abby looked up from the bird she was watching a little ways down the veranda, and at me. 'I feel your pain,' she said simply. I turned around to her and leaned against the railing, wrinkling my nose in boredom.
Suddenly, Mary shouted, 'Aha!' and I spun around, skirts of my uniform rustling, demanding 'What?! What is it?'
'I spot proof of civilization!' she said cheerily, still looking through the telescope. Abby jumped up from her seat to join us, and Michelle looked up from the notebook she was writing in, no doubt about how bored we could get on a Sunday afternoon.
'Oh! Let me see!' I begged, but Mary kept on talking.
'It's a car! A…what is it? A Rolls Royce! A Rolls Royce at Gracey, I never thought I'd see the day!'
At about this time, Abby cut in, 'Oh my lord! Finally, proof on Earth that there is a salvation at which we have no conscience to, which we have not thought to ponder upon, therefore our heads grow weary from lack of use! Hey, that's catchy, do me a favor Shelly, and write that down, will ya?' she smiled at her well-put words and squinted her eyes against the sunlight that was somewhat faded by the greenery at the car, which was approaching the school gates. Shelly just raised an eyebrow, and shook her head.
The gates had permitted entrance to the car, which rolled down the long drive to a silent stop at the front of the school. Mrs. Merewether, our headmistress, came bustling out of the large front door below us to greet it. Looking above and behind her, she saw us and yelled, daintily, 'Girls, do come down and meet our new exchange student!'
'Exchange student? Since when do we have an exchange student?' I asked. Michelle replied, 'Since now, I guess.'
At Mrs. Merewether's bidding, we made our way inside, down the large stairs, and outside again. By then, the headmistress had opened the back door of the Rolls Royce and out had come a girl, of about our age, with dark, dark brown curls, darker than mahogany, and bright blue eyes that could've given Frank Sinatra a run for his money.
'Ladies,' Mrs. Merewether was saying in her Louisianan accent, 'this is Miss Molly Albertson, from London. Molly, welcome to Gracey Academy, and these students are Felicity, Michelle, Abagale, and Mary Ella. They're in your grade.'
Molly nodded and smiled at each of us. 'Hello.' She said shyly. She had a distinct British accent, and I figured that she must be pretty nervous to be in a whole different country, a whole different continent, a whole different hemisphere from home. I smiled right back at her, as did everyone else.
Mrs. Merewether began to usher Molly past us into the house, and we followed as she led her to the parlor, where we have assembly every morning and where we gather some nights. Did I forget to mention that there are only ninety students at Gracey, and that would be about fifteen a grade? Yea, we're pretty small, but I like it that way.
'Abby, Michelle, would you two be dears and help Sam get Molly's bags?' Abby and Michelle nodded and began to leave, but Molly protested, 'Oh, no, don't bother, I'll get them.' But headmistress shooed that possibility away and begged Molly sit, and that she did, and Mary and I along with her. As if on cue, Miss O'Neal, one of our assistant cooks, came out with a platter of little snacks, which looked delicious to me, but Molly didn't eat, and like I said before, I supposed she was too nervous.
While Mrs. Merewether chatted away with our new student, I sized her up. She seemed like a nice person, and I hoped she was, because we got enough, ahem, coldness, out of Bella, when she was 'under the weather', so to speak. After a while, I got sick (with all due respect) of hearing Mrs. Merewether dig information out of Molly, so my eyes drifted up to the portrait of old (and dead) Miss April-December, Master Gracey's relative in some way. All of the students had stories of April-December that they got from their sisters, of mothers, or cousins, or whoever had attended Gracey before them. Legends, to put it right. I supposed most of them were fake. But some of them had to have some truth in them, right? Miss April-December was, to put it simply, beautiful. She had beautiful hair, beautiful eyes, beautiful face structure, beautiful everything.
But sometimes, at night, when we snuck down for midnight snack when we weren't supposed to, that portrait looked…scary, to be honest. Scary, like April-December knew very well that we were not suppose to be where we were, like she was go to tell on us, and like she was going to get us for breaking the rules. Yep. That was one peculiar picture, all right. Who knew what it really was…
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Ah, I have to say that I was quite proud of that. I've been planning this story for a long time, and I finally have it out. So be a good person and review. And if you want to see the Mansion, go here: http://www.disneyfans.com/photos/DisneylandResort/Disneyland2000/NewOrleansSquare/HauntedMansion/HiRes/101000_098.html Thank you!