Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.
NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.
Moulin Rouge
Writer's Block
Blank.
That's all that was on the thick paper paper in front of him, wedged mercilessly in the metal confines of his type-writer. That's all his mind was, also. Blank. There were no ideas forthcoming, and no mysterious scandals to occupy his mind with and then manipulate into his story. He groaned and ran a hand down his face, feeling grubby to the touch. And yet he had no desire to take a bath. He was just too stressed to think, and yet his mind just didn't seem to be able to switch itself off.
He groaned and buried his face in his hands, banging his head subconsciously on the edge of his desk. "What is wrong with me?" he groaned as he clawed at his hair in sheer frustration. "Why can I not write anything?" He had been at it for two days since -the incident -and yet he had barely written any more than three pages. He needed to get a move on otherwise they show would not have an ending, and without an ending, let alone a satisfying one, the Duke would not allow him any commission on his own work of art, and then where would he be? Right back to square one; a pennyless writer.
He groaned again.
He needed an injection of passion, something that this story was seriously lacking at the present time. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his sore eyes. All he needed right now, was a miracle. And a bath. He opted to take the bath first, and then head down to the Sunday market and stock up on provisions. He refused to attend church -Oh, his dear mother would be so ashamed of him if she were alive to scould him. Sighing in defeat, but at least with a plan in his mind, he went over to heat up some water for his oh-so-thrilling bath.
~0~
Each and every seat in every pew was filled to the brim with Sunday-goer's of the Bohemian world, attempting to find some form of forgiveness for whatever sins they had committed during the last week. Among these church-goers was fresh-faced Draco Malfoy, dressed in his Sunday suit and clasping his mother's beautiful pocket-watch in his hand as he joined the procession to the altar to accept a circular wafer, the sign of the Cross, and drink Christ's blood. The wine was strong and slightly bitter as it burned down the back of his throat, but he did not mind. As he slowly eased his way back to his pew and to his seat, he mentally debated on whether he should seek solace from confession or not.
As he sat down to read yet another prayer from the small, blue prayer-books, he could not help but think about his mother and what she would be thinking of him, in Heaven. He knew she was in Heaven. It was a fact; his mother had not sinner in her life. He knew where he would be going -to Hell, alongside his father and Harry and even that red-mouthed little brat, Ginevra. He shuddered at the thought of spending eternal damnation with HER hanging off of his arm. Another shudder ran through him.
He did not know if confession would do him any good at this point in his life. All he could do was go along with his father's plan and wed Ginevra, turn her into a star and gain the majority of the earnings. His stomach twisted painfully. He did not know if he could stand being married to that red-haired woman for a moment, let alone a life-time. He sighed outwardly and ran his slender fingers over the pearls of his mother's Rosemary, prayers tumbling through his lips. He removed his pocket-watch from his waistcoat and glanced and the glimmering hands. As soon as the surface was concluded he needed to meet Ginerva and Arthur outside of the Elephant and attend the Sunday Market in town. He was intrigued by the bohemian artefacts he might stumbled upon, despite himself. Perhaps he would find something to place on his mother's grave when he returned home; she had always adored the Bohemain way of life, if, from afar.
"-And may Peace be with you!" called out the Priest at the altar.
"And also with you," came the monotone response from those gathered in the pews, before they each began to shuffle out, towards the large oak doors that seperated them from the real world.
As soon as Draco stepped out onto the baked cobblestones of the Square, he felt brighter, warmer, more hopeful of the day ahead of him. The only cloud upon the horizon was that of his dinner that evening with Ginevra. His father had arranged it but he had always tried to find ways to cancel it. It would not be anything spectacular, merely a light dinner in the Elephant before the evening rehearsal. Draco grimaced at having to attend another tiresome rehearsal; they dragged on for so long and he grew frustrated as people could not recite a few simple lines when he practically knew the play back-to-front. He wondered if Harry had managed to write anything else.
He drew himself up short.
He was not supposed to be thinking of that messy-haired little boy, he was supposed to be thinking of Ginevra. He inwardly cringed as he thumbed the outline of his pocket-watch through his waistcoat and made his way around the church. Two bright orbs of fiery red hair caught his eye as he came to the mouth of the wide cobbled walk-way between a bar, the Elephant, and the Moulin Rouge. Ginevra stood -covered up for a change -in a deep blue satin day-dress with matxhing parisole and her bright hair curled tightly underneath a small hat, a few errand curls dripping before her eyes and at the nape of her neck. From afar, she did look quite beautiful, but it was the image of her long, white legs thrown into the air, her body half-naked and her shrill, piercing voice that made him recoil from her.
Upon catching sight of him walking their way, she raised her arm into the air and calls out, "Hello there! Draco! We've been waiting an age and a half for you!"
Draco took delight that even Arthur seemed to wince at how shrill her voice was, as he came up to them and shook the redhead man's hand and planted a chaste kiss on the back of Ginevra's. She flushed undelicately as she tilted her parisole over her head and pushed her small breasts out even further. Draco arched his arm out before him, "shall we?" he asked with a small, forced smile. Ginevra links her arm through his and pushed her body up against his as they walk off together -Arthur waving them goodbye before turning to return to the almost complete theatre.
~0~
'As it turns out the maharajah was merely a boy, a young man if that, following in his father's foosteps. His life was mapped out for him, in permanent ink upon parchment as thick and heavy as the earth. The courtesan did not know this, and there was no way that he could let her know. He had the money and the power and the advantage to make numeral mistakes and not get caught.
However, one night when he is watching the glamorous skin of the delicious courtesan flash in and out between silken scarves of all imaginable colours, there is a gentle knocking at the window that only he seems able to hear -the gentle plinking of pebbles upon the iron-cast window frames. Whilst the courtesan and her ladies-in-waiting finish their performance and disappear to properly cover their skins. Making sure that the young ladies were otherwise occupied, the young Maharajah stepped out onto the large, marble balcony and looked around to find not a soul. Just as he was turning around to return inside, a large pebble caught his eye, with a scrap of parchment tied to it.
Curious, he bent to retrieve it and read the message upon it:
YOU LIVE SO ROYALLY YOU CANNOT SEE YOUR OWN MISERY. LET ME SHOW YOU A SIMPLE WAY TO BE HAPPY. MEET ME TOMORROW NIGHT UNDER THE MAPLE TREE.
Enraged at the audacity of this intruder, the maharajah bid his bride-to-be goodnight, and on the following night, with the pebble tucked into his pocket, made his way to the Infamous Lone maple tree on the large hill opposite the palace'
Blaise looked up from the page. He frowned and flipped it to its reverse side, but saw no more words on the thick paper. Looking up he smiled and placed the small extract on top of the writing desk, where Harry sat, biting his thumbnail, having thoroughly scrubbed himself up and wore a freshly laundered white shirt that seemed to reflect every ray of brilliant sunlight that filtered in through the half-drawn blinds. "It's good" he stated smiling, as Harry continued to gnaw at his thumbnail.
The brunette cocked an eyebrow, "you think so?"
Blaise looked mock-offended, "you think I'd lie? Besides, I think that it is relatable -don't you?"
"Someone trying to steal a Prince's bride-to-be and him getting royally pissed? Yes, I can see that happening"
Blaise let out a rough bark of laughter, "well there you go then, boy-o! You have nothing to worry about. Now come on! Let's go! I refuse to buy the maggoty cheese again"
Harry frowned up at his companion with a look of disgust curling his lips, "you willingly bought maggot-infested cheese from a Sunday Market?"
Blaise blinked owlishly, "it was there. I was hungry. Plus ... I did technically fall asleep on my feet for over an hour and missed-out on the good cheese"
Harry could only roll his eyes at his friend as they both sauntered out of his garrett and down the narrow staircase. As soon as they stepped out of the building they were enveloped in sunshine. Harry felt a shiver run through him as his skin was warmed up and his nerves evapourated into the air around him. The Square a few blocks away was bathed in sunlight and crammed with early morning church-goes going around for their weekly shop and grabbing some little trinkets to take home with them for their children or for their own amusement. Harry admired the small trinkets and food stalls as he walked passed; he could do with a few more shirts, definately more socks and under-garments. As his arms became laden with purchases, he also decided that he may as well infest in some thicker blankets -winter was coming up after all. The items did not cost as much as he had anticipated.
Blaise had flounced off somewhere to attend to a young lady, so Harry was left to his own devices. He didn't mind, as he walked over the warm cobblestones and ran his fingers over a pair of dark, heavy-set drapes. They were a gorgeous wine colour and could make his little apartment feel more like 'home'. Plus it would help keep any drafts out during the evenings. As he was tracing the fine trimming on the very edge, another set of long, elegant fingers touched his own, and then flinched away as though burnt. He looked up -and wished that he had not. There stood Draco in all his Sunday finery with a rather bouncy Ginevra on his arm. They looked every bit the perfect couple. His heart grew heavier and sank within his chest. "Good morning," he said tartly, as he snatched the rich fabric from under both of their noses. He bundled it up carefully and handed it over to the plump woman running the stall, "I'll take those please" he smiled brightly as she beamed over at him.
"Nice to see you up and about, Mister. Potter," Draco stated passionlessly, as he eyed the notes Harry handed over to the plump stall-owner.
The fabric -now wrapped -was passed back over to Harry, along with his change. He inclined his head towards Draco, "have a pleasant day"
"Oh, bless your soul! I didn't see you there!" squealed Ginevra as she bustled forward a few steps, obsucrring Draco behind her piled hair and small hat. She beamed brightly at Harry with such a wide mouth that he could see where the ruby red lipstick had coloured her teeth. He grimaced outwardly. She did not notice. "So, how is the end of the play coming along? Are you going to make me a star?!"
Wincing at her shrill voice, Harry nodded numbly, "well, I don't think that the viewers will be forgetting it any time soon"
"Ooh! Did you here that, love?!" Ginevra purred shrilly, her hands splayed over Draco's chest as she batted her thin ginger eyelashes up at him, "young Harry is going to make me a star!"
Draco looked down at her with a hint of dark amusement, "Well, my dear, he did not actually say-"
"Oh, I just can't wait!" she cut-across him, earning the back of her head a scowl from the blonde man. Her dull brown eyes flew to the church clock, "oh dear, it is getting rather late. I should head back. I'll see you tonight for dinner" she tiptoed up and pressed a delicated kiss on Draco's high cheekbones before turning to face them both, hands planted firmly on her hips, "and I shall see you both at the rehearsal!"
Without another word she was off across the Square.
Draco turned to face Harry, only to find that the younger boy had turned and walked away towards his building, satchel of purchases slung over his broad shoulders. Thoroughly annoyed, the blond man stalked after the mop of black hair, weaving in between Sunday shoppers and through the narrow alleyways to his building. The further they got from the market, the quieter the world seemed to become and the more tranquil their surroundings appearred to become. Draco was amazed, however his frustration made him hurry through all the peacefulness and climb the narrow staircase to Harry's floor.
Harry was just closing the door when Draco reached out and stopped him in the process. The brunette scowled up at him, but said nothing, as he turned to his bed and began to unpack his thick, canvas satchel. Frownign heavily, the blond man placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. He bent down so as to whisper softly in his ear, "you were a little rude to us out there, you are aware of that, aren't you?"
Harry snorted and shrugged the hand off of his shoulder, walking around to the other side of the bed to continue unpacking. Draco watched as wine was put away, along with other foods, before a few new items of clothing were stacked away neatly in what little furniture the room had to offer. The blankets were piled in both chairs beside the stove, and the drapes were slung over his shoulder before he moved towards the large windows.
"Harry, why were you rude to me -to us? Have we done something to offend you?"
"Ha!" Harry cried out, his voice cracked and hollow, as he spun around, drapes collapsing onto the floor by his feet, his eeys glimmering with anger. "She has not done a thing to offend me other than be herself -she in a personification of offense to all human senses! But you-" he glowered longer at the blond, his lip curling in disgust in a perfect imitation of Lucius, "-you are just pathetic!"
Draco bristled, his fingers curling into fists. "Don't you DARE call me PATHETIC!"
"Well you are, aren't you? Flouncing around everywhere with her glued to your hip -rubbing everyone's noses in the fact that you're with HER!"
Draco frowned, his brain taking a little longer to process the words that had just left the young mans mouth. He straightened up and loosened his fists, "so you're angry AT ME for being with HER?"
Harry huffed and turned his back on the aristrocrat and began hanging his drapes, the room growing darker as each section was fitted into place. A silence hung low and heavy over their heads as the realisation dawned on Draco. He furrowed his brow and looked down at his shoes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He was just about to open his mouth and say something when Harry cut over him. "I think it would be best if you leave now -and don't come back"
As he was about to protest, anger chilled through him and turned his insides cold. "Very well," he stated tonelessly as he crossed the room to the door. He turned the handle and opened it. Before he left he turned back to Harry's form silouhetted against the sunlight, "but just so you know, Potter, I can be just as cold as you make me out to be -understood?"
He watched as Harry's head dropped, "there is nothing you can do to me now, that will affect me anymore. I've seen you with her. You're happy -and it's not with me"
At this, Draco had nothing to say. He could not say anything at all, despite the fact that Harry was very wrong indeed. So he pursed his lips together, held his head high -and left.
A/N: A short but much needed chapter. Also, more of the PLAY will be dotted around here and then ... it is important for the finale so make sure you read it carefully. R+R!