Chapter 2- Mary and Mammy
"Mr. Sutton?" a maid with her dirty blonde hair hidden under her white cap and tightly bound in a bun. "Mr. Sutton, supper is ready," she said, tapping his shoulder.
"What?" Oliver asked, wondering why Angelina couldn't just leave him alone.
"Supper, sir, it's ready for you," the girl of fifteen or sixteen said in a deep southern accent that Oliver was just noticing. "Mammy said to call you, even though I told her you were asleep sir."
Oliver opened his eyes and looked around the room. He lay across a navy blue chaise lounge with cherry wood legs and as accents on the arms and back of the piece of furniture. He looked over his left shoulder and noted the matching wood desk in the corner of the room. Over his right shoulder was a set of bay windows showing a large coast, though he couldn't make it out very well in the dimming light. Oliver looked back at the girl standing in front of him. He looked down at himself and realized how oddly he was dressed. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up at the girl. "Who are you?" he asked, becoming a bit concerned. She had an unusual dress on as well, and her waist seemed very small in comparison to most girls.
"Mary Trenton, sir," Mary answered giving him a strange look. "Are you feeling all right?"
"I don't know," Oliver answered. "Where am I?"
"You're in your home, Mr. Sutton."
"Um," Oliver started to wonder if this was a dream, but he figured he could find out information anyway. "Exactly where is that?"
"Just outside of the heart of Charleston; did you want some coffee sir?"
"Americans and coffee," Oliver said, forgetting for the moment the situation he found himself in.
Mary smiled, "Now you're sounding like yourself. Some tea then?"
Oliver took a deep breath figuring this had to be a dream and that he would probably wake from it before the beverage came. "Please, Mary that would be wonderful," he said. The girl nodded and left the room. Oliver noticed that she was a bit clumsy on her feet, but this didn't bother him. When she was out of the room, Oliver laid back down on the chaise lounge and closed his eyes, expecting them to open again to a red common room, dressed in his school robes instead of this loose white shirt and brown trousers. Five minutes later there was a crash in the hall and Oliver opened his eyes to the same softly lit room with a view of the shore.
"You clumsy girl, get back to the kitchens and be of some help," a rough man's voice came from the hall.
"Sorry, sir," Mary said, her voice becoming upset. Oliver got up and went toward the door as the man began to reprimand again.
"Get up, girl! Look at what you've done to my shirt!" he shouted while grabbing the frightened Mary by the collar of her dress and pulling her just inches away from his face.
"That'll be nothing to what I'll do to you next," Oliver said. If there was anything his mother had taught him, it was how to respect women, even if he didn't find it applied during a Quidditch game. "Let go of her," Oliver said severely. The man released Mary from his grasp.
"Sir, you need to hire yourself a better maid to take care of things before you have tea and glass scattered all over you house," he said. Oliver observed that this man too had a strong Southern American accent.
"Who are you to tell me who to hire," Oliver asked, playing along with whatever was going on for now.
"I'm the advisor that your Uncle has used for the past five years, and you would do well to remember what he has done for you, Mr. Sutton," the older man said with distain.
"I'll remember what he did for me, you can be sure of that, but you are not him and you may leave my home now," Oliver said. He was never one to let people beat him at anything.
"Excuse me sir, but-"
"But nothing, Sir, leave," Oliver said, then leaned down to help the frazzled Mary with the broken pieces of glass.
"Good day," the man said, then turned around and left, muttering insults under his breath.
"Are you all right?" Oliver asked Mary, placing some pieces on the tray.
Mary simply nodded, tears filling her eyes. She looked up at Oliver, "Please don't fire me Mr. Sutton, I'll try to do better, and my ma is sick and Dad can't find work. I'll pay for Mr. Adler's shirt."
"What?" Oliver said, everything finally striking him at once. He was still in this strange place, with people he didn't know, and fear came quickly upon his face, draining it of color.
"Please don't fire me," Mary begged again, not seeing the change in Oliver.
"I-I won't," he said, hoping it would stop her from crying. It worked, though it took her a moment to calm down entirely. When Mary wiped her eyes for the final time and gave Oliver a faint smile and stood, taking the tray with her. "I'll get it," Oliver said, standing and taking it from Mary.
"It's all right, I can get it," she protested.
"No, I insist. I want to, uh, see what's going on in the kitchen," Oliver said, starting to make his way down the hall with the tray in his hands. He turned back, "where is the kitchen again?"
"Down the hall and the last door on the left," Mary said, thinking it an odd question, but not letting it bother her.
Oliver walked down and heard humming growing louder as he went toward the kitchen. He pushed against the door carefully, hoping he wasn't disturbing anyone. "Hello," he said.
A medium set black woman stopped humming her song and turned around, pursing her lips at Oliver. "Mr. Sutton, don' you come in here and try to scare me like dat." She grabbed the tray from Oliver, who was frozen where he stood not knowing what to make of this. At least Mary had a way to ease him into all of this. "Now why don' you just sit at the table and eat yo' supper."
"All right," Oliver managed to get out. He went out the door the woman had pointed out, now developing a headache. He entered into a large dining room with a long table, with enough places for nearly half of Gryffindor house. The room, unlike every other whitewashed room he had seen so far, actually had painted walls; forest green up to a cherry chair rail and a lighter more subdued blue above the wood. My…this Uncle must have like Cherry wood, Oliver thought, still hoping that this dream would end soon. Hanging down from the ceiling was a large crystal chandler.
Oliver sat at the head of the table facing the kitchen just as the lady came out to from the kitchen and set a plate of food in front of him. He looked at it oddly for a minute. "Well, on wid it den," she said, forcefully. "Dem grits ain't gone jump in your mouth by dem selves."
"Are you going to eat too?" he asked.
"I'll be takin' my food in de kitchens, likes I do every night, Mr. Sutton and dere ain't no changin' my mind, so don' you be tryin'."
Oliver didn't argue with her, instead he started poking his fork into some of the foreign food. The mashed potatoes looked familiar, and the middle thing looked like some sort of chicken, so the bit to the right must be what the lady called grites, or gits, or something like it. Mary came into the room a minute later with a pitcher in hand. "Careful with dat," the lady said to Mary.
"Yes Ma'am," she said, turning carefully and walking very slowly toward Oliver. She poured him a glass of what looked like some kind of juice.
"Thank you Mary," Oliver said as she lifted the pitcher back up.
Mary blushed lightly. "You're welcome, sir," she said, and turned to leave.
"Have you eaten?" he asked, not liking the silence in the large room. She turned back around.
"No Mr. Sutton. I was going to eat in the kitchens with Mammy," Mary replied.
Mammy, Oliver's brain registered. "Okay," he said, and Mary left the dining room.
When Oliver was finished- which wasn't very long since he found grits to be to his liking along with the other food that had adorned his plate- Mammy came in and took the dirty plate. "Young Sir has an appetite tonight," she exclaimed. "Would you be reading in yo' study tonight?"
"No, I think I'll hit the sack," Oliver said, putting his napkin on the table, which Mammy picked up.
"Hittin' what sack, Mr. Sutton," Mammy asked.
"Uh, going to bed early," Oliver recovered quickly.
"A'right, Mr. Sutton. Mary turned down your bed this mornin' for de first time, so you tell me if'n dere be anything wrong."
"Yes Mammy," Oliver said, hoping he could find the bedroom on his own. He went from room to room, praying not to run into anyone along the way, until he came to a room with a large brass bed and a colorful quilt, with all sorts of greens and yellows and reds within it. He started to undress, layer after layer after layer, until he was left in drawers, which went down to his ankles, and a loose shirt. It was humid and hot here and Oliver wondered if there was anything cooler to sleep in. When he looked through all of the drawers in the armoire sitting to the right of the bed, he ripped the fabric on the drawers from the knees down off and took the shirt off. He folded them neatly at the end of the bed, along with his brown pants, stockings, and a cravat; though he wouldn't have been able to name some of the articles of clothing.
Oliver crawled into bed, turned onto his side and fell sound asleep, pictures of Quaffles passing from Chaser to Chaser toward the opponent's hoops. He would stop them should they ever get near enough, but on Oliver's perfect team, they rarely did.
A/N: Okay, what are you peps thinking about this story? I feel bad for Oliver, but at the same time I kind of think it's funny, him being all confused and such. There isn't much going to happen until probably chapter 4 at the earliest, but it might start up next chapter, even if Oliver doesn't know what's going on. Hope you all enjoyed it!