Highly Spirited
folder
Harry Potter AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
16
Views:
1,882
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
16
Views:
1,882
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter or High Spirits nor do I make any money on this.
Chapter 3: Getting Settled
Summary: Chapter 3: Getting Settled----------Dinner is served.
Warning(s): See Chapter 1 for warnings and disclaimer. I still don’t own anything.
Chapter 3 – Getting Settled
The soggy guests dripped their way into the Great Hall. Some of them glared at Hagrid, some looked around at the bleak surroundings. It seemed remarkably small and dank for the room to be called “The Great Hall”. Other than the hearth which had a roaring fire, the room had a cold aura about it. The furniture was an odd mix of fine, expensive old furniture left to rot and newer, and much cheaper, pieces that clashed with their environment.
“Merlin's Saggy Balls!” Draco thrust his overnight bag into Harry’s stomach. “This place is a dump.* Azkaban would have been nicer.” The image of the old wizarding prison flitted through everyone’s minds and collectively they shivered.
Albus and Minerva came down the great staircase that led from Albus’ office to the Great Hall. “Best foot forward, my dear,*” he reminded her softly, before the guests noticed them.
Albus opened his arms wide in salutation, “Welcome to Castle Hogwarts!*” and scurried to greet his guests as if nothing was amiss. “You are most heartily welcomed.*”
As he reached the group, he slowed down to survey them. “Ladies, gentlemen, children, you appear to be a trifle moist. May I?”* He reached out to the red-headed man who was standing near a fetching young lady and three children. He assumed this to be Bill Weasley, to whom he had spoken on the phone and his family. He grabbed Bill’s suitcase to take it for him when it opened and its contents spilled to the floor along with several liters of water.
There was a long pause, “Ah, well…yes,*” Albus commented as everyone else stared at the mess.
---
After the guests had been shown to their rooms, they regrouped for dinner in a small formal dining room off the Great Hall. The room was suffused in browns, reds and yellows. It was in better condition than the Great Hall. A fire in the sizable stone hearth next to the table lit the room in flickering orange and yellow shadows.
Albus entered the room decked out in what seemed to be formal wizarding robes except that they were a shockingly bright fluorescent yellow with kneazles frolicking among a field of daisies. Harry couldn’t look too closely as it gave him vertigo. He heard Draco beside him let out a huff of disgust at the wardrobe.
“Good evening, young ladies and gentleman,” Albus said, nodding to Bill and Fleur’s children. He nodded at Harry and Draco. “Mr. and Mr. Potter.” Same sex-marriages were legal in both America and Ireland, but still not common and usually politely ignored by the general populace. Albus greeted the other guests one by one. “Let me take a moment to remind you that on occasion, some of the staircases move, so do be careful in your wanderings.”
Bill pointed to a printed menu sitting in a placard on the table. “Mr. Dumbledore. What is this ‘Whiting en glacé?’*”
Albus nodded and explained, “That would be a lovely Whiting with bread crumbs.”*
“And zhe um..Whiting Ambiture?”* asked Fleur, with her lilting French.
“Boiled Whiting.”*
“So what’s the Whiting Vapor-Stuffed,”* asked the oldest of the children, a girl named Victoire.
“That, my dear young one, would be steamed Whiting.”*
“And what is this?*” Bill sniffed at the liquid in a large silver goblet. “Whiting Bordeaux?*”
“HAHAHAHA – very witty, Mr. Weasley.*” Albus graciously acknowledged.
Louis, their son, looked up at his parents. “Okay, Mom and Dad. You got us here, now where are these ghosts?”*
The other girl chimed in, “Yeah, I want to see one now.*”
“Kids!” Bill snapped. “I’m afraid there are no ghosts here,”* he stated firmly while looking at Albus.
“Oh, a cynic, Mr. Weasley?*” Albus responded, stroking his beard.
“No, a parapsychologist, Mr. Dumbledore*. Duke University.” Albus looked startled at this revelation and even Minerva looked up.
“A para...what?”* she asked.
“A parapsychologist. He’s an expert on ghosts,”* Albus answered. He followed with, “Get the parapsychologist a drink, Minerva.”* Albus promptly left the room to get the dinner staff.
“So, you’re a parapsychologist?” asked a middle aged woman with wild, tangled hair and enormous glasses that magnified her eyes so she resembled a fly. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed here. There are no ghosts in this castle. Not even a whisper,”she said, quite confidently.
“And who are you, may I ask?” Bill responded.
“Perhaps you don’t recognize me in real life. I’m Miss Sybill Trelawney.” The woman smiled as if she expected everyone to know exactly who she was.
A young red-headed woman with a remarkable resemblance to Bill dropped the spoon she had been playing with. “Really? You’re the TV psychic? I’ve watched you loads of times. I even called you once. My name is Ginny Weasley. You probably don’t remember.” Bill snorted derisively. That statement and his response confirmed to the group that she was related to the parapsychologist.
“Ah, my dear. I’m sorry. I have so many clients I don’t remember each of them off-hand but how wonderful it is to meet you in person,” the woman replied as she took a sip of water, ignoring Bill’s reaction.
Ginny deflated a bit. "Well, I quit my job like you suggested but the new opportunity didn’t go exactly as you said it would. I ended up losing my apartment.”
“Perhaps, you weren’t listening clearly. Everything happens in its own time,” she said, condescendingly.
“So long as it’s $9.95 a minute,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear. “What a crock.” Harry snickered at his comment.
The young blonde sitting next to the psychic looked at Draco and Harry oddly. Her blue eyes seemed pale and watery in the dim light. “You’re full of nargles,” she said airly. “I mean, your relationship is filled with nargles.”
“Who the hell are you?” Draco snapped.
“Luna, what have I told you about conversing with clients,” Trelawney chided her.
“They aren’t our clients though. I just thought they should know,” she said in a nonchalant voice.
“Nonsense. Their auras are perfectly clear. I’m sure they’ll be happy for many years.” She squinted closer at Harry and then added. “Although, my dear, you should avoid any large black dogs. You could be seriously injured. I see the shadow of a grim hanging over your head.” She squinted. “Or a large black bat.”
Just then the kitchen doors sprang open, and the staff came through with dishes.
Filius was still jumping up to throw herbs and spices into a dish carried in by Argus. “Whiting Bisque, Madame?”* Argus asked Ginny who was sitting at the head of the table. The tip of Argus’s long greasy hair was dipping in and out of the tureen of soup he carried.
“Please,*” she answered. A gray soupy mess was ladled into her bowl. The aroma could only be described as “fishy”.
He moved to the man next to her. “And, for you, Father, the Whiting Bisque?”* The dark-haired and dark suited man nodded.
Ginny looked at the priest with a little smirk. “So, I was seeing this guy that was a devil worshipper, right, well he’s a hairdresser really, but he devil-worshipped on the side.* So we booked this tour ‘cause you know he likes ghost, corpses, dead gerbils, that kind of thing, and my brother was coming here so we thought it would be nice.”
She paused and watched the man for a moment before continuing. “Anyways, he ran off with this Buddhist monk named Sanzo or something. I mean how was I supposed to know he was gay?” She winked at Draco and Harry. They politely ignored her. She leaned back smugly, waiting for a reaction. When she didn’t get one she added, “So what about you, are you gay, too?*”
Nervously, the young man stuttered, ”No...no, I’m not. I’m, I’m chaste.”* He sheepishly looked at Harry and Draco, too.
“Just kidding. Trick question.”* She smiled warmly at him. “So, what are you doing here?”*
He sat his silverware down and said thoughtfully, “I thought I’d take a vacation here and relax before I take my final vows – a sort of spiritual retreat.”*
She nodded, “I’ve sort of taken a vow myself. I’ve sworn off men.”* Bill had a sudden coughing fit. She glared at her brother and returned her calculating gaze to her other neighbor. “So, you’re not a priest, yet?*”
“No, not yet,*” he confirmed.
She nodded knowingly. “Well…here’s to keeping our vows.* Brother…what is your name?
“Brother Neville Longbottom,” he stammered out, a bright red flushing his pale and doughy cheeks.
She lifted a glass to him. “Well, Brother Neville, to us, then.”
---
As dinner proceeded, Harry became distracted by a portrait by the fireplace of a severe looking man with long black hair, dark, intense eyes, and a really hooked nose. All in all, he not a handsome man and yet there was something strangely compelling about him.
When he realized that the owner was standing behind him, he decided to learn more about the stern man in the portrait.
“Mr. Dumbledore, who is that?”* he asked.
“Please call me Albus.” The host said. “And that is Severus Snape – my great, great grand cousin.” he spoke softly and remarkably seriously. “He died right here in Castle Hogwarts about fifty years ago.*”
“He couldn’t take the Whiting either?*” Draco remarked snidely.
“Levity is out of place, sir,*” Albus chided. “Severus was murdered on his wedding night by the hand of his newly-wedded husband, Thomas Riddle, though we don’t usually speak his name anymore. We all refer to him as ‘You Know Who.’”
“That’s just silly,” Luna spoke up. “Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing,” she said.
“Well said, my dear,” Trelawney spoke up.
She tilted her head as if listening to something in the distance and then stated, “And, Tom Riddle should be pitied. His head was probably filled with wrackspurts. I can still see them all around.” Everyone stared at her. She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she said to the room at large, “I hope there’s pudding.”
* Verbatim dialogue from the movie 'High Spirits'. * inside the quotation marks means just that sentence. Outside the quotation marks would indicate everything inside the quotation mark, not just the individual sentence.
Warning(s): See Chapter 1 for warnings and disclaimer. I still don’t own anything.
Chapter 3 – Getting Settled
The soggy guests dripped their way into the Great Hall. Some of them glared at Hagrid, some looked around at the bleak surroundings. It seemed remarkably small and dank for the room to be called “The Great Hall”. Other than the hearth which had a roaring fire, the room had a cold aura about it. The furniture was an odd mix of fine, expensive old furniture left to rot and newer, and much cheaper, pieces that clashed with their environment.
“Merlin's Saggy Balls!” Draco thrust his overnight bag into Harry’s stomach. “This place is a dump.* Azkaban would have been nicer.” The image of the old wizarding prison flitted through everyone’s minds and collectively they shivered.
Albus and Minerva came down the great staircase that led from Albus’ office to the Great Hall. “Best foot forward, my dear,*” he reminded her softly, before the guests noticed them.
Albus opened his arms wide in salutation, “Welcome to Castle Hogwarts!*” and scurried to greet his guests as if nothing was amiss. “You are most heartily welcomed.*”
As he reached the group, he slowed down to survey them. “Ladies, gentlemen, children, you appear to be a trifle moist. May I?”* He reached out to the red-headed man who was standing near a fetching young lady and three children. He assumed this to be Bill Weasley, to whom he had spoken on the phone and his family. He grabbed Bill’s suitcase to take it for him when it opened and its contents spilled to the floor along with several liters of water.
There was a long pause, “Ah, well…yes,*” Albus commented as everyone else stared at the mess.
---
After the guests had been shown to their rooms, they regrouped for dinner in a small formal dining room off the Great Hall. The room was suffused in browns, reds and yellows. It was in better condition than the Great Hall. A fire in the sizable stone hearth next to the table lit the room in flickering orange and yellow shadows.
Albus entered the room decked out in what seemed to be formal wizarding robes except that they were a shockingly bright fluorescent yellow with kneazles frolicking among a field of daisies. Harry couldn’t look too closely as it gave him vertigo. He heard Draco beside him let out a huff of disgust at the wardrobe.
“Good evening, young ladies and gentleman,” Albus said, nodding to Bill and Fleur’s children. He nodded at Harry and Draco. “Mr. and Mr. Potter.” Same sex-marriages were legal in both America and Ireland, but still not common and usually politely ignored by the general populace. Albus greeted the other guests one by one. “Let me take a moment to remind you that on occasion, some of the staircases move, so do be careful in your wanderings.”
Bill pointed to a printed menu sitting in a placard on the table. “Mr. Dumbledore. What is this ‘Whiting en glacé?’*”
Albus nodded and explained, “That would be a lovely Whiting with bread crumbs.”*
“And zhe um..Whiting Ambiture?”* asked Fleur, with her lilting French.
“Boiled Whiting.”*
“So what’s the Whiting Vapor-Stuffed,”* asked the oldest of the children, a girl named Victoire.
“That, my dear young one, would be steamed Whiting.”*
“And what is this?*” Bill sniffed at the liquid in a large silver goblet. “Whiting Bordeaux?*”
“HAHAHAHA – very witty, Mr. Weasley.*” Albus graciously acknowledged.
Louis, their son, looked up at his parents. “Okay, Mom and Dad. You got us here, now where are these ghosts?”*
The other girl chimed in, “Yeah, I want to see one now.*”
“Kids!” Bill snapped. “I’m afraid there are no ghosts here,”* he stated firmly while looking at Albus.
“Oh, a cynic, Mr. Weasley?*” Albus responded, stroking his beard.
“No, a parapsychologist, Mr. Dumbledore*. Duke University.” Albus looked startled at this revelation and even Minerva looked up.
“A para...what?”* she asked.
“A parapsychologist. He’s an expert on ghosts,”* Albus answered. He followed with, “Get the parapsychologist a drink, Minerva.”* Albus promptly left the room to get the dinner staff.
“So, you’re a parapsychologist?” asked a middle aged woman with wild, tangled hair and enormous glasses that magnified her eyes so she resembled a fly. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed here. There are no ghosts in this castle. Not even a whisper,”she said, quite confidently.
“And who are you, may I ask?” Bill responded.
“Perhaps you don’t recognize me in real life. I’m Miss Sybill Trelawney.” The woman smiled as if she expected everyone to know exactly who she was.
A young red-headed woman with a remarkable resemblance to Bill dropped the spoon she had been playing with. “Really? You’re the TV psychic? I’ve watched you loads of times. I even called you once. My name is Ginny Weasley. You probably don’t remember.” Bill snorted derisively. That statement and his response confirmed to the group that she was related to the parapsychologist.
“Ah, my dear. I’m sorry. I have so many clients I don’t remember each of them off-hand but how wonderful it is to meet you in person,” the woman replied as she took a sip of water, ignoring Bill’s reaction.
Ginny deflated a bit. "Well, I quit my job like you suggested but the new opportunity didn’t go exactly as you said it would. I ended up losing my apartment.”
“Perhaps, you weren’t listening clearly. Everything happens in its own time,” she said, condescendingly.
“So long as it’s $9.95 a minute,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear. “What a crock.” Harry snickered at his comment.
The young blonde sitting next to the psychic looked at Draco and Harry oddly. Her blue eyes seemed pale and watery in the dim light. “You’re full of nargles,” she said airly. “I mean, your relationship is filled with nargles.”
“Who the hell are you?” Draco snapped.
“Luna, what have I told you about conversing with clients,” Trelawney chided her.
“They aren’t our clients though. I just thought they should know,” she said in a nonchalant voice.
“Nonsense. Their auras are perfectly clear. I’m sure they’ll be happy for many years.” She squinted closer at Harry and then added. “Although, my dear, you should avoid any large black dogs. You could be seriously injured. I see the shadow of a grim hanging over your head.” She squinted. “Or a large black bat.”
Just then the kitchen doors sprang open, and the staff came through with dishes.
Filius was still jumping up to throw herbs and spices into a dish carried in by Argus. “Whiting Bisque, Madame?”* Argus asked Ginny who was sitting at the head of the table. The tip of Argus’s long greasy hair was dipping in and out of the tureen of soup he carried.
“Please,*” she answered. A gray soupy mess was ladled into her bowl. The aroma could only be described as “fishy”.
He moved to the man next to her. “And, for you, Father, the Whiting Bisque?”* The dark-haired and dark suited man nodded.
Ginny looked at the priest with a little smirk. “So, I was seeing this guy that was a devil worshipper, right, well he’s a hairdresser really, but he devil-worshipped on the side.* So we booked this tour ‘cause you know he likes ghost, corpses, dead gerbils, that kind of thing, and my brother was coming here so we thought it would be nice.”
She paused and watched the man for a moment before continuing. “Anyways, he ran off with this Buddhist monk named Sanzo or something. I mean how was I supposed to know he was gay?” She winked at Draco and Harry. They politely ignored her. She leaned back smugly, waiting for a reaction. When she didn’t get one she added, “So what about you, are you gay, too?*”
Nervously, the young man stuttered, ”No...no, I’m not. I’m, I’m chaste.”* He sheepishly looked at Harry and Draco, too.
“Just kidding. Trick question.”* She smiled warmly at him. “So, what are you doing here?”*
He sat his silverware down and said thoughtfully, “I thought I’d take a vacation here and relax before I take my final vows – a sort of spiritual retreat.”*
She nodded, “I’ve sort of taken a vow myself. I’ve sworn off men.”* Bill had a sudden coughing fit. She glared at her brother and returned her calculating gaze to her other neighbor. “So, you’re not a priest, yet?*”
“No, not yet,*” he confirmed.
She nodded knowingly. “Well…here’s to keeping our vows.* Brother…what is your name?
“Brother Neville Longbottom,” he stammered out, a bright red flushing his pale and doughy cheeks.
She lifted a glass to him. “Well, Brother Neville, to us, then.”
---
As dinner proceeded, Harry became distracted by a portrait by the fireplace of a severe looking man with long black hair, dark, intense eyes, and a really hooked nose. All in all, he not a handsome man and yet there was something strangely compelling about him.
When he realized that the owner was standing behind him, he decided to learn more about the stern man in the portrait.
“Mr. Dumbledore, who is that?”* he asked.
“Please call me Albus.” The host said. “And that is Severus Snape – my great, great grand cousin.” he spoke softly and remarkably seriously. “He died right here in Castle Hogwarts about fifty years ago.*”
“He couldn’t take the Whiting either?*” Draco remarked snidely.
“Levity is out of place, sir,*” Albus chided. “Severus was murdered on his wedding night by the hand of his newly-wedded husband, Thomas Riddle, though we don’t usually speak his name anymore. We all refer to him as ‘You Know Who.’”
“That’s just silly,” Luna spoke up. “Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing,” she said.
“Well said, my dear,” Trelawney spoke up.
She tilted her head as if listening to something in the distance and then stated, “And, Tom Riddle should be pitied. His head was probably filled with wrackspurts. I can still see them all around.” Everyone stared at her. She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she said to the room at large, “I hope there’s pudding.”
* Verbatim dialogue from the movie 'High Spirits'. * inside the quotation marks means just that sentence. Outside the quotation marks would indicate everything inside the quotation mark, not just the individual sentence.