Wassail, Wassail (for myprettycabinet)
Title: Wassail, Wassail
Author: brighty18
Recipient: The entirely wonderful myprettycabinet
Rating: PG
Highlight for Warnings: *extraordinarily long Christmas carols, silly plot, shiny tights, some swearing, and insertion of a very real and awesome real person (who would hardly have been age appropriate) into the R/S world of the First War*
Word Count: about 1,800
Summary: The prospect of a musical mission has little appeal for Remus, but, as a good boyfriend and Order member, he must do his duty. Unfortunately, that duty sometimes includes wearing tights and singing Christmas carols.
Author's notes: This song is based on a real carol, the Gloucestershire Wassail. There are many versions of this and the words vary, but HERE is a sample of what it sounds like. Please note, I took the liberty of inserting house elf names rather that the names of animals.
Happy Holidays to one of my favorite people, myprettycabinet. You wanted hand-holding, whispering, and secret flirting, but I fear I took it way off in a different direction. I hope you don’t mind that you actually appear in this piece. Dorky as that may be, I thought you’d have fun in this situation, and I know that such a mission would be right up your proverbial ally.
Finally, a big thank you to cackling_madly, for the awesome beta. I could never write anything without you.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl , we'll drink to thee.
Remus wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten himself into this mess. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a mess exactly, but this musical mission was hardly his cup of tea - or, rather, wassail. Sirius, of course, was in his element, hamming it up for the guests in his golden mask and flaming red dress robes. Frankly, though he’d be loathe to admit it, Sirius actually enjoyed singing. He sounded quite good, too, his rich bass-baritone echoing boldly across the Malfoys' well-decorated ballroom. Remus, on the other hand, found music nearly impossible, relying on a particularly nasty potion (which he strongly suspected that Severus had made intentionally foul) just to be able to carry a tune.
Originally, Remus hoped that his naturally hoarse voice and utter lack of musical ability would have been enough to disqualify him from this dreadful mission, but Sirius, being his usual Sirius-self, had insisted he join them. “It’ll be fun, Moony,” he’d whined. “We get to sing and dance and rescue a house elf!” Though Remus privately had his doubts that Sirius was really all that excited about rescuing a house elf (in fact, he rather suspected his boyfriend’s enthusiasm has more to do with the fact that their costumes required them to wear metallic-hued tights beneath their old-fashioned dress robes), he reluctantly agreed to take his potion, learn his carols, and pose as a hired holiday entertainer. All of this, of course, was in order to free Mitzy, a Malfoy house elf who, allegedly, had information that could greatly help the Order. As an employee of the House of Malfoy, Mitzy was obligated never to betray her Master, but as a free elf, she would be at liberty to tell many a secret.
And so Remus had come to find himself strolling through the Malfoy’s annual New Year’s Party wearing a bejeweled mask and deep-green dress robes over silver tights whilst struggling to recall the bloody words to the “Gloucestershire Wassail.” Thank Merlin, it was the last song of the evening, for Remus was more than ready to go home. The mask was itchy, his libido was driving him crazy, and the damned, stack-heeled dress boots were killing his feet.
The singers paired off, forming a loose half-circle around the pine-garlanded ballroom. Sprinkled amongst the Malfoys' glittering guest list of Death Eater elite, the hired singers were meant to be in male-female pairs, soaring soprano melding with lush tenor and velvety contralto with deep bass. Sirius, however, had other ideas, and Remus shivered as a warm hand crept into his own. “Just keep singing, love,” Sirius huffed into his ear. “We’re masked, so no one will notice you’re a bloke.” Remus had his doubts, but his lover’s calloused palm felt safe and comforting, and the melody was filling his head with need.
So here is to Broad May and to her broad horn!
May God send our master a good crop of corn,
And a good crop of corn that we may all see;
With the wassailing-bowl we'll drink to thee!
Against his better judgment, Remus sneaked a peak at Sirius, who was, unsurprisingly, staring directly at his crotch. “Here’s to your ‘broad horn,’ Moony!” he whispered, moving distressingly closer and patting the front of his robes. Remus lacked the will to even respond with a low-pitched, “bugger off.” Circe’s frozen tits! All he really wanted was to shed the robes and the tights and the guise of musicians-for-hire and shag the living daylights out of his boyfriend, but, unfortunately, it was not to be just yet. Not only had they been paid for a full hour’s work, but the mission was far from over. Mitzy the house elf was still in the Malfoy employ and could be seen busily handing out goblets of champagne for the impending midnight toast. “This had better be worth it,” Remus thought sourly whilst singing another bright chorus of good wishes.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.
They’d even recruited other members for this mission; still Magical folk, but witches and wizards who could actually sing. One of them, Jamie, a pretty young American witch studying Magical Art in London, had taken the lead in the musical portion of this (at least in Remus’ mind) highly doubtful mission. Still, she had a lovely mezzo-soprano voice and her frequent solos gave Remus a chance to rest his vocal chords and nurse his resentment against the rest of the singers for dragging him into this festive, festering, holiday hell. With gentle grace, Jamie stepped forward from the group and began to sing:
Here's to our Mitzy, and to her right ear,
God send our master a happy new year:
A happy new year as e'er he did see,
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.“I’d like to nibble your right ear, Moony,” hissed Sirius pressing himself against his lover in what Remus was fairly sure was a very unholidaylike fashion. Remus did his best to ignore this and concentrate, yet again, on singing the chorus. Gods, but he wanted this to be over!
Suddenly, Sirius dropped his hand and moved forward, performing a low bow to Narcissa as he began his scheduled solo.
And here is to Dobby and to his right eye!
Pray God send our mistress a good Christmas pie,
And a good Christmas pie that we may all see;
With our wassailing-bowl, we'll drink to thee!At the word “pie” Sirius reached into the voluminous sleeve of his velvet robes and magically produced an enormous pastry-shell in a silver dish. This he presented to Narcissa along with a small, sterling pie-cutter. Indicating that she should make the first cut, Sirius stepped back, once again took up Remus’ hand, and joined the others in the chorus.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.
With the patient, condescending smile that marked a good Pureblood hostess, Narcissa made a small incision in the proffered pie, releasing a shimmering flock of gold and silver doves. The guests oohed and aahed at the flutterings of the magical birds and Jamie and Lily began their duet, their sweet blend of mezzo and soprano soaring easily above the gasps of the delighted guests.
And here is to Colly and to her long tail!
Pray God send our master he never may fail
A bowl of strong beer, I pray you draw near,
And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear.
“I could use something a tad stronger than beer right now,” muttered Sirius as the singing Order members moved in for the final portion of their mission.
“Like Firewhiskey?” mouthed Remus, keeping a close eye on Mitzy.
“More like a blowjo…OUCH!” Sirius shot Remus a glare as he rubbed his sore ribs. “You’ve terribly pointy elbows, love!” he whined.
Remus opened his mouth, fully intending to remind his boyfriend that they were meant to be singing rather than making inappropriate sexual innuendos, but instead took his own advice and took up the next verse:
Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best
Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small
Then down shall go butler, bowl and all.As masked entertainers sang their verse to the fabled “butler,” Sirius gave Mitzy a great wink and a smile. Wisely taking it all as instruction, the smiling elf approached the singers balancing a great pitcher of spiced ale in her arms.
“Here, sir,” she trilled, handing Remus a pewter mug. Remus grinned and thanked her, gratefully gulping his beverage before he had to join the others on the chorus. Damn! But this was song getting tiring. He was sick of ale and tired of toast, and that damned white maple bowl could go to hell. How many more bloody times would he have to sing this bloody chorus before he could go home and shag his boyfriend?
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.With a flick of his wand, Remus spelled half the fluttering birds to burst into and explosion of rainbow-hued butterflies. The guests applauded thunderously and even Narcissa and Lucius could not help but gaze up at the spectacle.
As the last “thee” faded away, James Potter (another horrid singer well-dosed with Snape’s musical potion) began to sing.
Then here's to the maid in the lily-white smock
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock;
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin,
For to let these jolly wassailers in.Distracted by the butterflies and the remaining birds who, thanks to Sirius’ crass and questionable humor, had just begun releasing jewel-like blobs of faux-poo into the punchbowl, neither the Malfoys nor the guests saw James’s next move. Reaching into his pocket, he, indeed, pulled out a lily-white smock and thrust it over the head of the unsuspecting house elf.
“Clothes!” she squealed. “Mitzy is free!” But her words were lost in the din of jeweled bird poo and the singers’ final chorus.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.
As the singers joined hands to take their bow, Jamie grabbed Mitzy and the group Apparated away.
“Well, fuck,” snapped Remus as soon as they’d reached the Order Headquarters. He tugged off his mask and tossed it to the floor and stomped on it. The others just looked at him questioningly. “No one else actually enjoyed that, I pray,” he continued.
“Well, actually…” began Sirius but he was cut off by a fierce kiss from his lover.
“I don’t even want to hear it, Pads.” Remus snarled, as he broke the kiss. “I’m tired of singing and masks and good wishes and wassail and…”
“But you made me free!” interrupted a breathless Mitzy.
“And you sounded fabulous,” added Jamie.
“And you did a very good deed,” Lily reminded him gently.
Remus gritted his teeth. Hoping at least someone might take his side and see reason, he looked to James, but his friend only shrugged and wandered off to the other room in search of Firewhiskey. “Anyone else want to make it worse?” asked Remus, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth.
“Well, yeah, now that you mention it, you look utterly delicious in those silver tights,” said Sirius. He shook his hips lewdly, sporting a huge grin.
Remus sighed in defeat. There were songs that never ended and battles that could never be won, and sometimes - just sometimes - one just had to give to them. “Well, that’s it then, we’re going home!” he sighed with a small wave of his hand.
Sirius took him by the waist and held him close as they prepared to Apparate. “Good night, all!” he called to the others. “Happy New Year and all that rot!”
The last thing Remus saw before giving into the welcomed tug of Apparition was Jamie waving good-bye as Mitzy bounced up and down in excitement. Perhaps it would be a happy New Year, after all.
Author: brighty18
Recipient: The entirely wonderful myprettycabinet
Rating: PG
Highlight for Warnings: *extraordinarily long Christmas carols, silly plot, shiny tights, some swearing, and insertion of a very real and awesome real person (who would hardly have been age appropriate) into the R/S world of the First War*
Word Count: about 1,800
Summary: The prospect of a musical mission has little appeal for Remus, but, as a good boyfriend and Order member, he must do his duty. Unfortunately, that duty sometimes includes wearing tights and singing Christmas carols.
Author's notes: This song is based on a real carol, the Gloucestershire Wassail. There are many versions of this and the words vary, but HERE is a sample of what it sounds like. Please note, I took the liberty of inserting house elf names rather that the names of animals.
Happy Holidays to one of my favorite people, myprettycabinet. You wanted hand-holding, whispering, and secret flirting, but I fear I took it way off in a different direction. I hope you don’t mind that you actually appear in this piece. Dorky as that may be, I thought you’d have fun in this situation, and I know that such a mission would be right up your proverbial ally.
Finally, a big thank you to cackling_madly, for the awesome beta. I could never write anything without you.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl , we'll drink to thee.
Remus wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten himself into this mess. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a mess exactly, but this musical mission was hardly his cup of tea - or, rather, wassail. Sirius, of course, was in his element, hamming it up for the guests in his golden mask and flaming red dress robes. Frankly, though he’d be loathe to admit it, Sirius actually enjoyed singing. He sounded quite good, too, his rich bass-baritone echoing boldly across the Malfoys' well-decorated ballroom. Remus, on the other hand, found music nearly impossible, relying on a particularly nasty potion (which he strongly suspected that Severus had made intentionally foul) just to be able to carry a tune.
Originally, Remus hoped that his naturally hoarse voice and utter lack of musical ability would have been enough to disqualify him from this dreadful mission, but Sirius, being his usual Sirius-self, had insisted he join them. “It’ll be fun, Moony,” he’d whined. “We get to sing and dance and rescue a house elf!” Though Remus privately had his doubts that Sirius was really all that excited about rescuing a house elf (in fact, he rather suspected his boyfriend’s enthusiasm has more to do with the fact that their costumes required them to wear metallic-hued tights beneath their old-fashioned dress robes), he reluctantly agreed to take his potion, learn his carols, and pose as a hired holiday entertainer. All of this, of course, was in order to free Mitzy, a Malfoy house elf who, allegedly, had information that could greatly help the Order. As an employee of the House of Malfoy, Mitzy was obligated never to betray her Master, but as a free elf, she would be at liberty to tell many a secret.
And so Remus had come to find himself strolling through the Malfoy’s annual New Year’s Party wearing a bejeweled mask and deep-green dress robes over silver tights whilst struggling to recall the bloody words to the “Gloucestershire Wassail.” Thank Merlin, it was the last song of the evening, for Remus was more than ready to go home. The mask was itchy, his libido was driving him crazy, and the damned, stack-heeled dress boots were killing his feet.
The singers paired off, forming a loose half-circle around the pine-garlanded ballroom. Sprinkled amongst the Malfoys' glittering guest list of Death Eater elite, the hired singers were meant to be in male-female pairs, soaring soprano melding with lush tenor and velvety contralto with deep bass. Sirius, however, had other ideas, and Remus shivered as a warm hand crept into his own. “Just keep singing, love,” Sirius huffed into his ear. “We’re masked, so no one will notice you’re a bloke.” Remus had his doubts, but his lover’s calloused palm felt safe and comforting, and the melody was filling his head with need.
So here is to Broad May and to her broad horn!
May God send our master a good crop of corn,
And a good crop of corn that we may all see;
With the wassailing-bowl we'll drink to thee!
Against his better judgment, Remus sneaked a peak at Sirius, who was, unsurprisingly, staring directly at his crotch. “Here’s to your ‘broad horn,’ Moony!” he whispered, moving distressingly closer and patting the front of his robes. Remus lacked the will to even respond with a low-pitched, “bugger off.” Circe’s frozen tits! All he really wanted was to shed the robes and the tights and the guise of musicians-for-hire and shag the living daylights out of his boyfriend, but, unfortunately, it was not to be just yet. Not only had they been paid for a full hour’s work, but the mission was far from over. Mitzy the house elf was still in the Malfoy employ and could be seen busily handing out goblets of champagne for the impending midnight toast. “This had better be worth it,” Remus thought sourly whilst singing another bright chorus of good wishes.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.
They’d even recruited other members for this mission; still Magical folk, but witches and wizards who could actually sing. One of them, Jamie, a pretty young American witch studying Magical Art in London, had taken the lead in the musical portion of this (at least in Remus’ mind) highly doubtful mission. Still, she had a lovely mezzo-soprano voice and her frequent solos gave Remus a chance to rest his vocal chords and nurse his resentment against the rest of the singers for dragging him into this festive, festering, holiday hell. With gentle grace, Jamie stepped forward from the group and began to sing:
Here's to our Mitzy, and to her right ear,
God send our master a happy new year:
A happy new year as e'er he did see,
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.“I’d like to nibble your right ear, Moony,” hissed Sirius pressing himself against his lover in what Remus was fairly sure was a very unholidaylike fashion. Remus did his best to ignore this and concentrate, yet again, on singing the chorus. Gods, but he wanted this to be over!
Suddenly, Sirius dropped his hand and moved forward, performing a low bow to Narcissa as he began his scheduled solo.
And here is to Dobby and to his right eye!
Pray God send our mistress a good Christmas pie,
And a good Christmas pie that we may all see;
With our wassailing-bowl, we'll drink to thee!At the word “pie” Sirius reached into the voluminous sleeve of his velvet robes and magically produced an enormous pastry-shell in a silver dish. This he presented to Narcissa along with a small, sterling pie-cutter. Indicating that she should make the first cut, Sirius stepped back, once again took up Remus’ hand, and joined the others in the chorus.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.
With the patient, condescending smile that marked a good Pureblood hostess, Narcissa made a small incision in the proffered pie, releasing a shimmering flock of gold and silver doves. The guests oohed and aahed at the flutterings of the magical birds and Jamie and Lily began their duet, their sweet blend of mezzo and soprano soaring easily above the gasps of the delighted guests.
And here is to Colly and to her long tail!
Pray God send our master he never may fail
A bowl of strong beer, I pray you draw near,
And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear.
“I could use something a tad stronger than beer right now,” muttered Sirius as the singing Order members moved in for the final portion of their mission.
“Like Firewhiskey?” mouthed Remus, keeping a close eye on Mitzy.
“More like a blowjo…OUCH!” Sirius shot Remus a glare as he rubbed his sore ribs. “You’ve terribly pointy elbows, love!” he whined.
Remus opened his mouth, fully intending to remind his boyfriend that they were meant to be singing rather than making inappropriate sexual innuendos, but instead took his own advice and took up the next verse:
Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best
Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small
Then down shall go butler, bowl and all.As masked entertainers sang their verse to the fabled “butler,” Sirius gave Mitzy a great wink and a smile. Wisely taking it all as instruction, the smiling elf approached the singers balancing a great pitcher of spiced ale in her arms.
“Here, sir,” she trilled, handing Remus a pewter mug. Remus grinned and thanked her, gratefully gulping his beverage before he had to join the others on the chorus. Damn! But this was song getting tiring. He was sick of ale and tired of toast, and that damned white maple bowl could go to hell. How many more bloody times would he have to sing this bloody chorus before he could go home and shag his boyfriend?
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.With a flick of his wand, Remus spelled half the fluttering birds to burst into and explosion of rainbow-hued butterflies. The guests applauded thunderously and even Narcissa and Lucius could not help but gaze up at the spectacle.
As the last “thee” faded away, James Potter (another horrid singer well-dosed with Snape’s musical potion) began to sing.
Then here's to the maid in the lily-white smock
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock;
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin,
For to let these jolly wassailers in.Distracted by the butterflies and the remaining birds who, thanks to Sirius’ crass and questionable humor, had just begun releasing jewel-like blobs of faux-poo into the punchbowl, neither the Malfoys nor the guests saw James’s next move. Reaching into his pocket, he, indeed, pulled out a lily-white smock and thrust it over the head of the unsuspecting house elf.
“Clothes!” she squealed. “Mitzy is free!” But her words were lost in the din of jeweled bird poo and the singers’ final chorus.
Wassail! Wassail! All over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.
As the singers joined hands to take their bow, Jamie grabbed Mitzy and the group Apparated away.
“Well, fuck,” snapped Remus as soon as they’d reached the Order Headquarters. He tugged off his mask and tossed it to the floor and stomped on it. The others just looked at him questioningly. “No one else actually enjoyed that, I pray,” he continued.
“Well, actually…” began Sirius but he was cut off by a fierce kiss from his lover.
“I don’t even want to hear it, Pads.” Remus snarled, as he broke the kiss. “I’m tired of singing and masks and good wishes and wassail and…”
“But you made me free!” interrupted a breathless Mitzy.
“And you sounded fabulous,” added Jamie.
“And you did a very good deed,” Lily reminded him gently.
Remus gritted his teeth. Hoping at least someone might take his side and see reason, he looked to James, but his friend only shrugged and wandered off to the other room in search of Firewhiskey. “Anyone else want to make it worse?” asked Remus, regretting it as soon as it was out of his mouth.
“Well, yeah, now that you mention it, you look utterly delicious in those silver tights,” said Sirius. He shook his hips lewdly, sporting a huge grin.
Remus sighed in defeat. There were songs that never ended and battles that could never be won, and sometimes - just sometimes - one just had to give to them. “Well, that’s it then, we’re going home!” he sighed with a small wave of his hand.
Sirius took him by the waist and held him close as they prepared to Apparate. “Good night, all!” he called to the others. “Happy New Year and all that rot!”
The last thing Remus saw before giving into the welcomed tug of Apparition was Jamie waving good-bye as Mitzy bounced up and down in excitement. Perhaps it would be a happy New Year, after all.