Harry Potter and the Moulin Rouge

Harry Potter and the Moulin Rouge

I - The Arrival And The First Encounter

Snowflakes fell upon his worn-down coat as he tried to find himself away trough the overly snowy streets of Paris. He shivered. But he was on a mission. He was here, in the centre of the bohemian world. Here he would be able to pursue his dreams as a writer of pure bohemian fiction. Write about newfound freedom, culture - and above all, love. As his quickly brushed his scruffy dark hair from his eyes, he knocked upon the door of his lodgings.

"Aaah, you must be mister Harry?" asked the bohemian-looking youngman who opened the door. He had a very oriental look upon him.

"Yes, that's me," muttered Harry in an Irish accent.

"This way please," said the fellow as he guided him towards the stairs and to his rooms.

When Harry was left alone - after paying the first two months rent - he took off his hat and coat and stared out of the window. He had a beautiful view, all over Montmartre. And right in front of him, at the other side of the road, was the notorious Moulin Rouge. He already wished he was succesful and rich, but unfortunately it wasn't yet so.

"Right," he urged himself to get started. From his suitcase came a second-hand typewriter which he had purchased from his last money in back in Ireland. "Let's write. A bohemian play. About love."

Only after two hours he realised he had no inspiration - he had never been in love!

That was when a welcome disturbance made itself known by a knock on the door.

"Hello. I am your upstairs neighbour, Seamus," said a enthusiastic young man with a pair of studious glasses on the brim of his nose.

"Oh, hi, I'm Harry." He shook his new friend's hand.

"You didn't happen to see a man with long dark hair - passing or anything?"

"Euhm, no, I didn't."

"Ah, a pity." Seamus pondered for a moment, but when he saw Harry's puzzled expression, he explained. "Ah, you see, that man is the writer of our play, we were just at it - upstairs, but now he's done a runner, he has."

"Why?" Harry couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to be here and write.

"He has just stumbled upon an old crush of his. Seems like there's only one thing to prevail over bohemianism - love." Harry giggled. Everything was just like he had imagined.

"Yes, love," he said," a many splendid thing."

"Wow, that's deep," Seamus sighed in amazement. "Wouldn't you like to help us with our play? Do you write?"

"Write? I'd love to!" Harry had a big smile on his face. He had just arrived and already oppurtunities were falling into his lap.

* * *

"So, what's our play about?" Harry rubbed his hand together enthusiastically and looked at the three men in Seamus's apartment.

"Love, of course!" said one of them. He had short brownish hair and an enchanting smile. "I'm Oliver, by the way."

"And I'm Ron," said a gipsy-looking redhead with cute freckles all over his face. "I am the star of this play, just so you know," he winked.

"Ah, now I know for whom I'll write the parts. How great." Harry smiled at his newfound friends. "So what is it you have so far?"

"Well," Seamus started," the play is about a Swiss goatherder."

"The mountains - are full - of," Ron started singing.

"No, the mountians are filled with the joy of songs," Oliver sang.

"No-no, both wrong, the hills are full of the pleasure of-" Seamus tried.

"The hills are alive with the sound of music," Harry sang, quite suddenly. He couldn't really sing.

"Wow. That's brilliant."

"Just bloody brilliant," all the men agreed. Harry was going to write their play.

* * *

"So all we need for our play to become a success is make this courtisane like it?" Harry asked.

Ron, Seamus and Oliver nodded.

"That's all. So don't worry, you'll be allright - just use your seductive skills."

Aha. Harry had no experience at all in things like this. But he was a true bohemian and he knew love was the true answer to all problems. So he'd be allright.

"Come on," Oliver pulled Harry's arm," the show is going to start in a few minutes."

And before Harry knew it, he was eye to eye with the interior of the infamous Moulin Rouge. The centre of bohemian love. As soon as the four of them sat down at the table, the lights were dimmed and music started.

"Here's he," Seamus nudged. A swing was lifted down by a trapdoor in the roof, upon which sat a very sexily dressed young man. His longish white blonde locks covered the sides of face, through which Harry saw silver sparks. He was dressed in tight black pants and a white top that revealed large parts of his upper body. And now he started to sing - with the most beautiful voice Harry had ever heard. Diamonds are a boy's best friend.

"Because were are living in a material world, and I'm a material - boy." The blonde blew a kiss into the crowd. Harry was melting.

"Talk to me Lucius Zidler, tell me all about it," he sang loud and drew attention to the Moulin Rouge's director, Zidler. He was almost as blonde as the courtisane, but his hair was much longer. He was dressed in a darkgreen suit and held a silver cane. Both he and the boy started performing a little dance while he continued singing.

"You're to meet the Duke tonight," Lucius whispered to his employé.

"Who's he?" the young man asked. Zidler eyed the room and saw the elderly darkhaired man sitting next to table at which Harry sat.

"Over there," Zidler nudged. The courtisane saw only Harry.

"With the dark hair?" he asked.

"Yes," Lucius confirmed.

"Hm, well, he looks just fine."

"Don't blow it, Draco."

He nodded and continued his act. But instead of seducing multiple random members of the audience, he approached Harry - who he thought was the Duke. He walked up to the young man, who was getting more flushed from every step Draco took. As he stood right in front of him, he whispered.

"Let's make love." He slightly roamed his body with his own hands, accompanied by some overdone panting. That was his job - sexing other men up. And here he was succeeding. Poor Harry didn't know what hit him. This was the courtisane.

"Tiger," Draco groaned.

Lucius yelled and Draco withdrew from Harry to continue upon the stage.

"Wow, Harry." Oliver and Seamus were stunned. Ron had totally not been paying attention, he was eyeing a man in the back of the room.

"Yeah, you can say that again: wow."