Who Ya Gonna Owl? to date:
Jun. 22nd, 2005 12:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynChapter 1: Something Strange In The Neighbourhood
Chapter 2: Ghostbusters- Whaddya Want?
Chapter 3: Seven-Forty-Seven Comin' Out Of The Sky
Chapter 4: Can I Buy Your Magic Bus
Chapter 5: Blinded Me With Science
And now, because I have made you wait too damn long, I am going to give you the first half of Chapter 6.
Who Ya Gonna Owl?, Chapter 6a
Englishman In New York- No, Wait...
---
Arthur Weasley leaned back on his heels and resisted the urge to pull out his pocket-orrery for the third time in what he rather suspected was less than fifteen minutes. The Spirit Division's offices were woefully plain, offering very little in the way of material to keep visitors busy. Possibly this was because they had precious few visitors to begin with. Which, Arthur conceded, made a certain amount of sense- but it was very little comfort to a man in his position. Nacknouck was taking forever.
It occurred to him that the carpet had been laid down in neat little geometric units here, green and purple hexagons interspersed with the occasional bit of blue or red. Perhaps counting the things from one end of the foyer to the other would serve to pass the time? . . . no, he knew that wouldn't help either; he'd already done it twice, anyway. Flooring held no real charm at a time like this.
A dusky-skinned witch with her hair pulled back in a braid that fell quite nearly to her knees hurried by with an armload of scrolls; Arthur stepped forward, about to offer her assistance, but she paid him no notice. By the time he thought to call out a greeting, she'd already vanished into the maze of smaller offices that lay just past Nacknouck's door. Arthur sighed, resting his head and shoulders against the wall again, and reached into his pocket. Maybe if he checked at the orrery now-
Nacknouck's door opened. “Yo, Art?”
Arthur straightened immediately. “Over here, Dr. Venkman.”
“Excellent,” said the American. “Listen, the brain trusts are gonna be in there with your boy for a while, and Ray's asked for Winston to hang around too, but they don't really need me right now. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact I was supposed to wait here and escort the four of you to-”
“Change of plans. Egon took one look at your guy's files and pounced like a flea on blood. He won't be coming up for air for a couple hours, and Ray's probably gonna wind up at the containment room with Winston, so that pretty much leaves you and me.” Peter shrugged. “Ray says he'll contact me if there's a problem.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Fun being left out in the cold, huh?” A wry smile flashed across Peter's face and vanished. “So. Where are we supposed to be heading?”
“Back to Diagon Alley, actually.” Arthur nodded in the general direction of the lifts and started walking. “There's been enough trouble erupting there that the goblins've demanded extra care be taken-”
“Goblins?” Peter's stride was long enough that he'd been just about outpacing Arthur, but at that he stopped and stared. “Nobody mentioned any goblins.”
“Er- yes, at Gringott's. The bank?” Arthur blinked a few times at the man's suspicious expression. “Surely someone told you? They do run the place, after all.”
“Moon-man money,” Peter muttered under his breath. “Geez... Nah, it's okay. I'm pretty sure Ray said something about that on the plane from Iceland, but I was ignoring him by then.”
“I see.” Peter looked as if he was about to start walking again; hesitantly, Arthur put up a hand. “Er- before we go any further-”
“Hm?”
“D'you mind if I ask you something, Dr. Venkman? It, er. . . might be a bit personal, but-”
“Hey, if it doesn't end up with me running around in robes and my skivvies, go ahead.”
Suddenly Arthur was immensely glad of his limited grasp of Muggle slang. “I should certainly hope not. No, this is about, ah. . . what you know.”
“Oh, you mean about you guys? Wizards and stuff?”
“Yes.”
Peter smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “Funny you should ask, Art. Tell you what- I'll tell you how that happened if you give me the wizard-on-the-street story about what's going on around London, okay?”
“I would've done that anyway!” Arthur protested.
“Yeah? You can owe me something else, then.”
They made it to an empty lift just before the doors closed; Arthur prised them open further for Dr. Venkman's pack's sake. “All right, I suppose. Was it Dr. Stantz who told you? He seems the sort to do that for a friend.”
“Nope.”
“Dr. Spengler, then?”
“Also wrong,” said Peter. He was smiling slightly, his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall of the lift.
“Then how-”
“I'll give you a hint- I went to school in Scotland.”
Arthur stared at him; Peter's smile broadened visibly. “You can't have- that's impossible!” Arthur exclaimed at last.
“Can't have what?” The man was enjoying this far too much to sound so innocent. “If you guess close enough, I'll give you a gold star.”
“You can't have stumbled across Hogwarts!” Arthur blurted. “The Muggle-repelling charms on that school're as thick as on this place- no, thicker!”
At that, Venkman laughed aloud. “Ooo, so close,” he said as the lift slid to a halt. “No gold star for you, young man. Although maybe I could see my way clear to giving you a smiley face sticker for at least trying.”
“How, then?”
Venkman stretched his arms over his head, popping a few knuckles in the process. “Picture it if you will,” he began. “A young man on his first really, really long trip away from his native land, on a solitary journey to the nation of Scotland, sounding out the only accredited university in Europe to offer a graduate course of study in parapsychology. The year is 1978. The time, June. After a long, hard day of wandering the streets of Edinburgh, avoiding Scottish food for all he's worth, our hero finds himself thirsty. He's of the age of majority on both sides of the Atlantic, so what does he do?”
“There's a pub involved, isn't there...”
“Very good! Keep this up and you might just get a star after all, Arthur.” Venkman smiled, ignoring the curious stares of a cluster of witches as they passed through the lobby. “Right you are. Why go back to the hostel when there's entertainment close at hand? My Lonely Planet guide to Scotland assures me that Americans and their spending habits are welcome throughout the city, so I pick out a likely-looking establishment, head on in, and make a serious stab at getting thoroughly sozzled.”
“Well, yes, but that doesn't explain how you found out-”
“I was getting to that.”
“I mean,” continued Arthur heedlessly, “if you'd somehow stumbled into a wizarding pub despite the charms, not that I know how you'd manage such a thing-”
“I said I was getting to that.” Peter gave him a mock-serious glare. “Understand that despite my youthful appearance, I was already wise in the ways of the Booze. I'd been there a good while and met quite a few very interesting young ladies when the door burst open and four of the most enthusiastically schnockered kids I'd ever seen in my life came in.”
The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck began to prickle.
“How they even had the capacity to get that stinking drunk at that age I don't know- they were younger than me-”
“Eighteen, weren't they,” Arthur murmured.
“Bingo! You've just about earned that star back after all, Mr. Weasley. Now, for the grand prize, can you tell me why they were in that state and that pub?”
An image of Bill the morning after his NEWTs flashed across Arthur's mind; he sighed. “Because, I suppose, end-of-term exams were over...”
“There we are. See, Art? Was that so hard?” Venkman patted him companionably on the back. “These four guys came storming in and announced exactly that, informed us that they were about to buy everyone in the place a drink, and sat down as if they owned the place. One of them, in fact, sat down right next to me. Said his name was James Potter.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur blurted.
Peter blinked. “You know the guy or something?”
“No, not really, just his son. Do go on, though. I'd quite like to hear how this ends.”
Peter nodded. “Okay. Potter's buddy, Sirius, plunks down the cash for a round for the whole bar including yours truly, and from there things pick up speed. Next thing you know Sirius is up on a table singing 'I Still Call Australia Home', the little guy in the group's beating the pants off half the bar at darts, the skinny one's making close personal friends with a mug of beer the size of his head, and Potter's crowing all over me that he's just scored top marks on a bunch of newts. Which, y'know, sounds kind of gross to me, but who am I to pass judgment on another man's lifestyle?”
“Er, but NEWTs aren't-”
Venkman held up a hand. “Who's telling this story, Arthur?”
“Sorry.”
“Thank you. Potter goes on about how his teachers say he's got a long and glorious career ahead of him, but he can't tell anyone about it. It's all very hush hush. Unless I'm the right kind of people, nudge nudge wink wink and so on.”
Arthur clapped a hand over his face.
“Yeah. I'd had a few by this time, but he completely took the cake. He was so drunk he actually did the nudging and the winking, so... I tell him, hey, maybe I'm not English, but I've come across several thousand miles of open ocean to study parapsychology and the supernatural on a full scholarship and that ought to count for something. He gives me this blank look, and I figure I must've mispronounced something, so I tell him it's mind reading and ghosts. Next thing you know...”
“He thought you were talking about studying advanced wizardry,” Arthur finished. “Merlin's beard. It would be James, wouldn't it... How on Earth did you manage to keep him from finding out you were actually a Muggle?”
“You have no idea how completely, utterly, totally drunk that kid was. I could've told him I was Darth Vader from the planet Vulcan and he'd've bought it. I told him I'd just graduated from Louis Armstrong Magic School in Corona-”
“Where?”
“Part of New York City. Anyway, he bought it.”
“Lying to a defenseless drunk man isn't very nice, you know.”
“Not being nice runs in my family.”
Arthur shook his head wonderingly. “You'd think that sort of thing would draw some notice after the fact.”
Peter snorted. “Who from? The three of 'em were too busy drinking and singing and taking people's money to do anything else. James was the only one who talked, and I was the only one who was listening to him. Even the bartender was ignoring us. I didn't say anything about any of what I heard until I got back to the States and saw Egon and Ray again. At which point they confirmed the whole thing, and I was in on your dirty little secret.”
“I see.”
“Good,” said Peter, stopping in his tracks. “Because now it's your turn. Tell me what's going on here, Arthur. Not what your bosses are saying, either. I can get that from the guys the next time I see them. I want you to tell me what you're seeing, hearing, whatever, as you and the wife and kids go about your everyday lives- you do have a wife and kids, don't you?”
“Rather.”
“All right, then. Walk with me, Arthur. Talk with me.”
To be continued...
Chapter 2: Ghostbusters- Whaddya Want?
Chapter 3: Seven-Forty-Seven Comin' Out Of The Sky
Chapter 4: Can I Buy Your Magic Bus
Chapter 5: Blinded Me With Science
And now, because I have made you wait too damn long, I am going to give you the first half of Chapter 6.
Who Ya Gonna Owl?, Chapter 6a
Englishman In New York- No, Wait...
---
Arthur Weasley leaned back on his heels and resisted the urge to pull out his pocket-orrery for the third time in what he rather suspected was less than fifteen minutes. The Spirit Division's offices were woefully plain, offering very little in the way of material to keep visitors busy. Possibly this was because they had precious few visitors to begin with. Which, Arthur conceded, made a certain amount of sense- but it was very little comfort to a man in his position. Nacknouck was taking forever.
It occurred to him that the carpet had been laid down in neat little geometric units here, green and purple hexagons interspersed with the occasional bit of blue or red. Perhaps counting the things from one end of the foyer to the other would serve to pass the time? . . . no, he knew that wouldn't help either; he'd already done it twice, anyway. Flooring held no real charm at a time like this.
A dusky-skinned witch with her hair pulled back in a braid that fell quite nearly to her knees hurried by with an armload of scrolls; Arthur stepped forward, about to offer her assistance, but she paid him no notice. By the time he thought to call out a greeting, she'd already vanished into the maze of smaller offices that lay just past Nacknouck's door. Arthur sighed, resting his head and shoulders against the wall again, and reached into his pocket. Maybe if he checked at the orrery now-
Nacknouck's door opened. “Yo, Art?”
Arthur straightened immediately. “Over here, Dr. Venkman.”
“Excellent,” said the American. “Listen, the brain trusts are gonna be in there with your boy for a while, and Ray's asked for Winston to hang around too, but they don't really need me right now. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact I was supposed to wait here and escort the four of you to-”
“Change of plans. Egon took one look at your guy's files and pounced like a flea on blood. He won't be coming up for air for a couple hours, and Ray's probably gonna wind up at the containment room with Winston, so that pretty much leaves you and me.” Peter shrugged. “Ray says he'll contact me if there's a problem.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Fun being left out in the cold, huh?” A wry smile flashed across Peter's face and vanished. “So. Where are we supposed to be heading?”
“Back to Diagon Alley, actually.” Arthur nodded in the general direction of the lifts and started walking. “There's been enough trouble erupting there that the goblins've demanded extra care be taken-”
“Goblins?” Peter's stride was long enough that he'd been just about outpacing Arthur, but at that he stopped and stared. “Nobody mentioned any goblins.”
“Er- yes, at Gringott's. The bank?” Arthur blinked a few times at the man's suspicious expression. “Surely someone told you? They do run the place, after all.”
“Moon-man money,” Peter muttered under his breath. “Geez... Nah, it's okay. I'm pretty sure Ray said something about that on the plane from Iceland, but I was ignoring him by then.”
“I see.” Peter looked as if he was about to start walking again; hesitantly, Arthur put up a hand. “Er- before we go any further-”
“Hm?”
“D'you mind if I ask you something, Dr. Venkman? It, er. . . might be a bit personal, but-”
“Hey, if it doesn't end up with me running around in robes and my skivvies, go ahead.”
Suddenly Arthur was immensely glad of his limited grasp of Muggle slang. “I should certainly hope not. No, this is about, ah. . . what you know.”
“Oh, you mean about you guys? Wizards and stuff?”
“Yes.”
Peter smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. “Funny you should ask, Art. Tell you what- I'll tell you how that happened if you give me the wizard-on-the-street story about what's going on around London, okay?”
“I would've done that anyway!” Arthur protested.
“Yeah? You can owe me something else, then.”
They made it to an empty lift just before the doors closed; Arthur prised them open further for Dr. Venkman's pack's sake. “All right, I suppose. Was it Dr. Stantz who told you? He seems the sort to do that for a friend.”
“Nope.”
“Dr. Spengler, then?”
“Also wrong,” said Peter. He was smiling slightly, his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the wall of the lift.
“Then how-”
“I'll give you a hint- I went to school in Scotland.”
Arthur stared at him; Peter's smile broadened visibly. “You can't have- that's impossible!” Arthur exclaimed at last.
“Can't have what?” The man was enjoying this far too much to sound so innocent. “If you guess close enough, I'll give you a gold star.”
“You can't have stumbled across Hogwarts!” Arthur blurted. “The Muggle-repelling charms on that school're as thick as on this place- no, thicker!”
At that, Venkman laughed aloud. “Ooo, so close,” he said as the lift slid to a halt. “No gold star for you, young man. Although maybe I could see my way clear to giving you a smiley face sticker for at least trying.”
“How, then?”
Venkman stretched his arms over his head, popping a few knuckles in the process. “Picture it if you will,” he began. “A young man on his first really, really long trip away from his native land, on a solitary journey to the nation of Scotland, sounding out the only accredited university in Europe to offer a graduate course of study in parapsychology. The year is 1978. The time, June. After a long, hard day of wandering the streets of Edinburgh, avoiding Scottish food for all he's worth, our hero finds himself thirsty. He's of the age of majority on both sides of the Atlantic, so what does he do?”
“There's a pub involved, isn't there...”
“Very good! Keep this up and you might just get a star after all, Arthur.” Venkman smiled, ignoring the curious stares of a cluster of witches as they passed through the lobby. “Right you are. Why go back to the hostel when there's entertainment close at hand? My Lonely Planet guide to Scotland assures me that Americans and their spending habits are welcome throughout the city, so I pick out a likely-looking establishment, head on in, and make a serious stab at getting thoroughly sozzled.”
“Well, yes, but that doesn't explain how you found out-”
“I was getting to that.”
“I mean,” continued Arthur heedlessly, “if you'd somehow stumbled into a wizarding pub despite the charms, not that I know how you'd manage such a thing-”
“I said I was getting to that.” Peter gave him a mock-serious glare. “Understand that despite my youthful appearance, I was already wise in the ways of the Booze. I'd been there a good while and met quite a few very interesting young ladies when the door burst open and four of the most enthusiastically schnockered kids I'd ever seen in my life came in.”
The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck began to prickle.
“How they even had the capacity to get that stinking drunk at that age I don't know- they were younger than me-”
“Eighteen, weren't they,” Arthur murmured.
“Bingo! You've just about earned that star back after all, Mr. Weasley. Now, for the grand prize, can you tell me why they were in that state and that pub?”
An image of Bill the morning after his NEWTs flashed across Arthur's mind; he sighed. “Because, I suppose, end-of-term exams were over...”
“There we are. See, Art? Was that so hard?” Venkman patted him companionably on the back. “These four guys came storming in and announced exactly that, informed us that they were about to buy everyone in the place a drink, and sat down as if they owned the place. One of them, in fact, sat down right next to me. Said his name was James Potter.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur blurted.
Peter blinked. “You know the guy or something?”
“No, not really, just his son. Do go on, though. I'd quite like to hear how this ends.”
Peter nodded. “Okay. Potter's buddy, Sirius, plunks down the cash for a round for the whole bar including yours truly, and from there things pick up speed. Next thing you know Sirius is up on a table singing 'I Still Call Australia Home', the little guy in the group's beating the pants off half the bar at darts, the skinny one's making close personal friends with a mug of beer the size of his head, and Potter's crowing all over me that he's just scored top marks on a bunch of newts. Which, y'know, sounds kind of gross to me, but who am I to pass judgment on another man's lifestyle?”
“Er, but NEWTs aren't-”
Venkman held up a hand. “Who's telling this story, Arthur?”
“Sorry.”
“Thank you. Potter goes on about how his teachers say he's got a long and glorious career ahead of him, but he can't tell anyone about it. It's all very hush hush. Unless I'm the right kind of people, nudge nudge wink wink and so on.”
Arthur clapped a hand over his face.
“Yeah. I'd had a few by this time, but he completely took the cake. He was so drunk he actually did the nudging and the winking, so... I tell him, hey, maybe I'm not English, but I've come across several thousand miles of open ocean to study parapsychology and the supernatural on a full scholarship and that ought to count for something. He gives me this blank look, and I figure I must've mispronounced something, so I tell him it's mind reading and ghosts. Next thing you know...”
“He thought you were talking about studying advanced wizardry,” Arthur finished. “Merlin's beard. It would be James, wouldn't it... How on Earth did you manage to keep him from finding out you were actually a Muggle?”
“You have no idea how completely, utterly, totally drunk that kid was. I could've told him I was Darth Vader from the planet Vulcan and he'd've bought it. I told him I'd just graduated from Louis Armstrong Magic School in Corona-”
“Where?”
“Part of New York City. Anyway, he bought it.”
“Lying to a defenseless drunk man isn't very nice, you know.”
“Not being nice runs in my family.”
Arthur shook his head wonderingly. “You'd think that sort of thing would draw some notice after the fact.”
Peter snorted. “Who from? The three of 'em were too busy drinking and singing and taking people's money to do anything else. James was the only one who talked, and I was the only one who was listening to him. Even the bartender was ignoring us. I didn't say anything about any of what I heard until I got back to the States and saw Egon and Ray again. At which point they confirmed the whole thing, and I was in on your dirty little secret.”
“I see.”
“Good,” said Peter, stopping in his tracks. “Because now it's your turn. Tell me what's going on here, Arthur. Not what your bosses are saying, either. I can get that from the guys the next time I see them. I want you to tell me what you're seeing, hearing, whatever, as you and the wife and kids go about your everyday lives- you do have a wife and kids, don't you?”
“Rather.”
“All right, then. Walk with me, Arthur. Talk with me.”
To be continued...
