FIC: Dual Citizenship (Lotrips/HP AU, Viggo, G)
Title: Dual Citizenship
Author: telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: Lotrips/HP (implied Viggo/Bean this section)
Series; Collision
Rating/Warnings: G
Word Count: 1,333
Summary: Being a Squib isn’t easy, even for Viggo Mortensen.
Disclaimer: You get two for the price of one here. 1) Not RL; didn't happen. If you think this has anything to do with the real people involved, then you need to put down the crack pipe. 2) I am not J.K. Rowling. This is her world, not mine. Are we clear here?
Notes: Quite a while ago, airgiodslv came up with the goblins_library challenge, which was to write a Lotrips/Harry Potter crossover. At the time darkrosetiger said we'd do Viggo/Lucius, but then we didn't have the inspiration. Well, inspiration landed on our doorstep in the form of a copy of Goblet of Fire on DVD.
In order to bring some things into parallel, we have messed with the timing of events in the HP universe. There is a timeline, but all you really need to know is that Year One is now 2000. That's also the year this story takes place. It's the earliest in the series and will be followed by a story told from Lucius' POV and then by "Collision" itself, which will be a multi part story.
By the time Viggo Mortensen became a star, he'd come to grips with the fact that he was a Squib. In fact he'd done his best to come to grips with it years earlier, and he'd even learned to deal with survivor guilt. He'd learned to lie to the press and the Muggle world, learned to say that his parents split when he was young and that yes, he was the oldest of three brothers. Cultivating a reputation as a very private person in a public business made it that much easier and if he had nightmares, only his lovers knew. As for the rest of it, only Chris knew everything.
Henry knew some of it, of course, because Henry had gotten a letter, but even before that he knew because one night, in the middle of his own childish nightmare, he'd blown his nightlight into pieces. After that it was Enchantaria Early School and then the letter from the Ojai Academy. No one thought anything of it; both his parents were performers and so, even in the US, a boarding school made sense.
Viggo saw it at times, even after he and Chris had split up. He saw her staring at their painfully ordinary looking son with surprised wonder, and it hurt so fucking much. I shouldn't have named him after Henry, that only makes it worse, he'd think. Or even, very late at night : If I'd been a wizard, maybe she'd have looked at me like that.
But by the time he got the call for Lord of the Rings Viggo had learned to accept the fact that his son looked like the uncle Henry would never meet. He'd learned to listen with interest to Henry's stories of life at the Academy and he didn't even think that Henry was having the life that Viggo could never have. A combination of resentment and bitterness was one family tradition that Viggo did not intend to hand down to his son.
It helped that, like so many American wizards and witches, Henry had been raised in both worlds. He'd learned that his parents were odd by any standard, and that when he needed to talk about the wizarding world, his father understood the language even if he didn't live there. And he spoke his parents' language, and on holidays, lived with them in the Muggle world of movies and music and art and literature.
Which was why, when a director Viggo had never heard of called and offered Viggo a part he knew nothing about, Henry had been able to tell him about Middle Earth and Hobbits and Elves and, yes, even a Wizard or two. "Dad, it'd be so awesome if you took the part."
"This Aragorn," Viggo asked, looking at one of the illustrations Henry had. "He's not magical?"
"Well, he's long lived, but otherwise, no. He's a Man." Henry pointed at the book. "Look, he even looks like you." He hadn't pointed out a fact that Viggo learned after arriving in New Zealand--that Aragorn did have some small bit of magic about him, but Viggo easily forgave his son. By then, he'd been seduced by the twin visions of J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson.
It had been the project of a lifetime and more. Each time Henry, looking more and more like Viggo's dead brother, came to visit, Viggo thanked his son for talking him into the project, for without Henry, he'd have never met Aragorn, and more than any character he'd ever played, Aragorn made Viggo a hero in his son's eyes.
This, Viggo knew, was his own magic; this ability to become someone else so completely that the cold mechanical eye of the camera believed it. And there, in a far away country, Viggo spent close to two years practicing his wizardry.
He hadn't been alone; on a project as large as Rings it was inevitable that there would be others who knew, for one reason or another, of the Wizarding World. Richard Taylor's sister was a witch, and several of the stunties and WETA techs had magic in their families. Viggo learned what he could about the Maori tradition, so different from any he'd ever been around, and once when Henry came for a long visit, Sala took him away to visit Sala's extended family for a weekend. Henry came back looking a little shaken.
"Dad," he said that night as Viggo made dinner. "Tell me about him. Please?"
"Who?" Viggo asked after smashing a garlic clove with the side of his chef's knife.
"Your brother. Henry."
Before Viggo could help it, the knife fell onto the cutting board with a dull thud.
"Shit!" Henry said. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have asked."
"I seem to remember telling you that there was nothing you couldn't ask me," Viggo said, picking up the knife. "But this time I need to know why you're asking."
"Some stuff came up this weekend," Henry said quietly and he looked down at his hands. "Not supposed to talk about it directly. But there were some things about names and.... They knew my name Dad, and not just because I'm your son."
"No," Viggo agreed, "they would know it because your uncle...didn't get killed by a rampaging hippogriff. He was killed, yes, but by another wizard."
"There was a war, wasn't there?" Henry asked, his face serious.
Christ, but it wasn't fair. Henry was only 12 years old; there was no way he should have to understand this now. And yet...Henry had grown up as the son of a pair of pacifists. He needs to know; it's his world and he needs to know that it's a different place than the one his mom and dad live in.
"They teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts at the Academy, don't they? You know it's dangerous, your world?" When Henry nodded, Viggo took a deep breath and continued. "Back when I was a kid, there was a war in the British Wizarding World, and it spread to a lot of places. That's why we left Argentina and came back to the States; Mom wanted us to be safe, me and Jan and Walt. But Dad, well, you know how I told you about the family in Denmark? They were helping the British wizards fight...." Viggo shook his head.
"It's like something out of Tolkien but what it boils down to is that they were fighting a powerful wizard who had a lot of the same ideas about Muggles that the Nazis had about the Jews. And Dad and Henry went home to Denmark to help." Viggo put the knife down carefully and came to sit next to Henry at the kitchen table. "Henry never came back, and Mom.... I don't think she ever forgave Dad. That's when they split." And when your Dad started playing around with sex and drugs and rock n roll. Anything to forget.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Henry said very quietly.
"I know, kid," Viggo said, pulling Henry close. "It's not easy sometimes; you look a lot like him. But now you know why your old man's a peace lovin' hippy." He shook his head a little. "Thank God it's all over and you don't have to worry about it."
"Is it, Dad?" Henry asked, pulling back to look at Viggo. Something about his son's expression made Viggo's stomach go tight. He had nothing to say, and just pulled Henry back into his arms and held him close.
"Next time you have a difficult question," he finally said, sitting back in his chair, "make sure it's about sex."
"OK." Henry said, reaching for his coke as Viggo stood up and went back to his garlic. He was still shaken, but he felt better about having one less lie between himself and Henry. And that was the big one, he thought, finally getting the garlic into the spaghetti sauce.
"So, Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Is it true that Orli caught you kissing Bean in the Cuntebago?"
"Henry!"
-end-
Author: telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: Lotrips/HP (implied Viggo/Bean this section)
Series; Collision
Rating/Warnings: G
Word Count: 1,333
Summary: Being a Squib isn’t easy, even for Viggo Mortensen.
Disclaimer: You get two for the price of one here. 1) Not RL; didn't happen. If you think this has anything to do with the real people involved, then you need to put down the crack pipe. 2) I am not J.K. Rowling. This is her world, not mine. Are we clear here?
Notes: Quite a while ago, airgiodslv came up with the goblins_library challenge, which was to write a Lotrips/Harry Potter crossover. At the time darkrosetiger said we'd do Viggo/Lucius, but then we didn't have the inspiration. Well, inspiration landed on our doorstep in the form of a copy of Goblet of Fire on DVD.
In order to bring some things into parallel, we have messed with the timing of events in the HP universe. There is a timeline, but all you really need to know is that Year One is now 2000. That's also the year this story takes place. It's the earliest in the series and will be followed by a story told from Lucius' POV and then by "Collision" itself, which will be a multi part story.
By the time Viggo Mortensen became a star, he'd come to grips with the fact that he was a Squib. In fact he'd done his best to come to grips with it years earlier, and he'd even learned to deal with survivor guilt. He'd learned to lie to the press and the Muggle world, learned to say that his parents split when he was young and that yes, he was the oldest of three brothers. Cultivating a reputation as a very private person in a public business made it that much easier and if he had nightmares, only his lovers knew. As for the rest of it, only Chris knew everything.
Henry knew some of it, of course, because Henry had gotten a letter, but even before that he knew because one night, in the middle of his own childish nightmare, he'd blown his nightlight into pieces. After that it was Enchantaria Early School and then the letter from the Ojai Academy. No one thought anything of it; both his parents were performers and so, even in the US, a boarding school made sense.
Viggo saw it at times, even after he and Chris had split up. He saw her staring at their painfully ordinary looking son with surprised wonder, and it hurt so fucking much. I shouldn't have named him after Henry, that only makes it worse, he'd think. Or even, very late at night : If I'd been a wizard, maybe she'd have looked at me like that.
But by the time he got the call for Lord of the Rings Viggo had learned to accept the fact that his son looked like the uncle Henry would never meet. He'd learned to listen with interest to Henry's stories of life at the Academy and he didn't even think that Henry was having the life that Viggo could never have. A combination of resentment and bitterness was one family tradition that Viggo did not intend to hand down to his son.
It helped that, like so many American wizards and witches, Henry had been raised in both worlds. He'd learned that his parents were odd by any standard, and that when he needed to talk about the wizarding world, his father understood the language even if he didn't live there. And he spoke his parents' language, and on holidays, lived with them in the Muggle world of movies and music and art and literature.
Which was why, when a director Viggo had never heard of called and offered Viggo a part he knew nothing about, Henry had been able to tell him about Middle Earth and Hobbits and Elves and, yes, even a Wizard or two. "Dad, it'd be so awesome if you took the part."
"This Aragorn," Viggo asked, looking at one of the illustrations Henry had. "He's not magical?"
"Well, he's long lived, but otherwise, no. He's a Man." Henry pointed at the book. "Look, he even looks like you." He hadn't pointed out a fact that Viggo learned after arriving in New Zealand--that Aragorn did have some small bit of magic about him, but Viggo easily forgave his son. By then, he'd been seduced by the twin visions of J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson.
It had been the project of a lifetime and more. Each time Henry, looking more and more like Viggo's dead brother, came to visit, Viggo thanked his son for talking him into the project, for without Henry, he'd have never met Aragorn, and more than any character he'd ever played, Aragorn made Viggo a hero in his son's eyes.
This, Viggo knew, was his own magic; this ability to become someone else so completely that the cold mechanical eye of the camera believed it. And there, in a far away country, Viggo spent close to two years practicing his wizardry.
He hadn't been alone; on a project as large as Rings it was inevitable that there would be others who knew, for one reason or another, of the Wizarding World. Richard Taylor's sister was a witch, and several of the stunties and WETA techs had magic in their families. Viggo learned what he could about the Maori tradition, so different from any he'd ever been around, and once when Henry came for a long visit, Sala took him away to visit Sala's extended family for a weekend. Henry came back looking a little shaken.
"Dad," he said that night as Viggo made dinner. "Tell me about him. Please?"
"Who?" Viggo asked after smashing a garlic clove with the side of his chef's knife.
"Your brother. Henry."
Before Viggo could help it, the knife fell onto the cutting board with a dull thud.
"Shit!" Henry said. "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have asked."
"I seem to remember telling you that there was nothing you couldn't ask me," Viggo said, picking up the knife. "But this time I need to know why you're asking."
"Some stuff came up this weekend," Henry said quietly and he looked down at his hands. "Not supposed to talk about it directly. But there were some things about names and.... They knew my name Dad, and not just because I'm your son."
"No," Viggo agreed, "they would know it because your uncle...didn't get killed by a rampaging hippogriff. He was killed, yes, but by another wizard."
"There was a war, wasn't there?" Henry asked, his face serious.
Christ, but it wasn't fair. Henry was only 12 years old; there was no way he should have to understand this now. And yet...Henry had grown up as the son of a pair of pacifists. He needs to know; it's his world and he needs to know that it's a different place than the one his mom and dad live in.
"They teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts at the Academy, don't they? You know it's dangerous, your world?" When Henry nodded, Viggo took a deep breath and continued. "Back when I was a kid, there was a war in the British Wizarding World, and it spread to a lot of places. That's why we left Argentina and came back to the States; Mom wanted us to be safe, me and Jan and Walt. But Dad, well, you know how I told you about the family in Denmark? They were helping the British wizards fight...." Viggo shook his head.
"It's like something out of Tolkien but what it boils down to is that they were fighting a powerful wizard who had a lot of the same ideas about Muggles that the Nazis had about the Jews. And Dad and Henry went home to Denmark to help." Viggo put the knife down carefully and came to sit next to Henry at the kitchen table. "Henry never came back, and Mom.... I don't think she ever forgave Dad. That's when they split." And when your Dad started playing around with sex and drugs and rock n roll. Anything to forget.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Henry said very quietly.
"I know, kid," Viggo said, pulling Henry close. "It's not easy sometimes; you look a lot like him. But now you know why your old man's a peace lovin' hippy." He shook his head a little. "Thank God it's all over and you don't have to worry about it."
"Is it, Dad?" Henry asked, pulling back to look at Viggo. Something about his son's expression made Viggo's stomach go tight. He had nothing to say, and just pulled Henry back into his arms and held him close.
"Next time you have a difficult question," he finally said, sitting back in his chair, "make sure it's about sex."
"OK." Henry said, reaching for his coke as Viggo stood up and went back to his garlic. He was still shaken, but he felt better about having one less lie between himself and Henry. And that was the big one, he thought, finally getting the garlic into the spaghetti sauce.
"So, Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Is it true that Orli caught you kissing Bean in the Cuntebago?"
"Henry!"
-end-