Title: Highly Spirited
Author: K8BNimble
Pairing: Primarily Snarry - HP/DM, HP/SS, SS/TR, TR/DM, Ginny/Neville, Bill/Fleur
Word Count: Approx 31,000
Rating:PG-13
Summary: Albus Dumbledore will do anything to save his ancestral home, Castle Hogwarts. This Halloween that means inventing ghosts to open a Haunted Inn for doesn't sit well with the real ghosts as unhappily married couple, Harry and Draco, and the rest of the guests find out. A Snarry version of the movie "High Spirits".
Warning(s): AU, Character Death (not in a bad way – even the ghosties live happily ever after), Language, M/M relationships, a little OOC for a few characters and rampant drinking.
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Beta: Eeyore9990 - *smooches* Any mistakes remaining are mine and mine alone! I'm kind of greedy that way.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor the movie "High Spirits. I also do not make any cashey money from this.I also do not own poetry by Ben Jonson, or lyrics from the Big Bopper or Michael Jackson. It's all for fun. And just in time for Halloween!
A/N: Definitely AU – Hogwarts is in Ireland not Scotland and is no longer a school. Snape lived at the same time as Tom Riddle. As such – pretty much nothing is the same…
This mostly does not belong to me. Ninety percent of the characters belong to JK Rowling but eighty percent of their actions and dialogue belong to Neil Jordan and the movie "High Spirits". I just thought it was the perfect movie to "Snarry-ize". Rent it or buy it if you've never seen the movie, then somebody will make money on it. It won't be me, but I then again I don't deserve to.
Highly Spirited
Chapter 1 – Apparitions, Spooks, and Ghosts
The castle sat, as most gloomy castles in the UK do, on top of a craggy, desolate hill overlooking a thick forest and icy lake. And, of course, it was raining. The grey stone walls of the castle dampened with the chilling precipitation did nothing to warm the hearts of those inside. A few people wandered around attempting to do chores, but were really more interested in the fire-call the current owner was having. Three people crowded around the hearth in the Great Hall catching bits and pieces. The fire-call system was, like most everything else, a little leaky in the run-down place, and it was easy enough to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, although no one had yet mentioned that to Albus, the current owner of Hogwarts and last descendent of the Dumbledore line. He was, to most people, slightly dotty. He wore his white beard long, almost as long as his hair, and tended to dress in what looked to be traditional wizarding robes that somehow got thrown into the wash with a pot of Skittles® candies. Considering his penchant for sweets, that was an entirely likely scenario.
Albus sat in his office, a large tumbler of Firewhisky in his hand as he leaned his head into the fireplace. If he had been slightly more sober, he might have realized that holding alcohol that close to an open flame was probably not a great idea. He was, however, more concerned about getting rid of the nuisance on the other end of the call and having another glass of Firewhisky. Fortunately his pet phoenix, Fawkes, watched carefully for him, in case of fire. Fawkes could only cry so much and if his master went up in a ball of flame, not even repeated viewings of "Terms of Endearment" could bring forth enough healing tears. Albus never knew of his phoenix's habit of watching old tearjerkers just to keep up with the demands of his rarely sober master.
Albus tried to take control of the conversation. "I assumed you fire-called in regards to the mortgage payment on Castle Hogwarts? Unfortunately, it's still delayed by what seems to be our endless owl post strike." He paused while the party at the other end began speaking very loudly.
After a few moments, he was able to get a word in, "Dear sir, I must once again remind you that my first name isn't "Dick" and my last name isn't "Head". It's Albus. Albus Dumbledore." The caller ignored him and kept talking.
Again Albus interrupted, "No, I am pretty sure my middle name is not 'low-life ass wiping berk'. Nevertheless, I marvel at your colorfully creative butchering of the English language." While Albus hated how the Americans hacked his mother tongue, he was even more appalled when one of their own gentry adapted to American English and its colloquialisms. It was a travesty of epic proportions. Mr. Malfoy had apparently spent far too much time in the Americas. Not surprising though since that's where the best of wizarding society lived now. Wizarding UK had fallen into disarray quickly after the terrible tragedy that happened fifty years prior that forced Hogwarts to close as a school and revert back to private ownership and, more specifically, to the Dumbledore family.
Albus hurried to reassure Malfoy, "The hotel is in fine condition. The renovations are proceeding as…" he paused as he heard the other man interrupt him, "What, what? Why shouldn't I bother?' he asked loudly.
Suddenly, a woman's voice stridently intruded on the call, "Albus? To whom are you speaking?"
"Oh, Mother. Will you please get out of the Floo?" Albus pleaded, hoping his interfering, nebbish mother would not get involved.
He returned to the lagging conversation with Mr. Malfoy as the man had droned on with that annoyingly haughty lilt. "Turn the castle into a theme park? 'Irish World?' I see, what an interesting notion." Albus' voice radiated sarcasm. "In Orlando? What is Or-Lan-Do?" accentuating each syllable remarkably clearly. A moment passed as he listened to the response. "I see. You want to move the castle to Orlando which I am to presume is on a disgustingly sunny and humid corner of those United States." Albus leaned away from the Floo, took a quick slug of his whisky, and not finding any enthusiasm there, went back to the call.
"Mr. Malfoy, if I cannot get your payment to you, how on earth do you expect to transport an entire castle across the seas? The number of stamps alone is mindboggling!" Albus dug very deep into his soul, or, at least, into his whiskey-soaked brain for some semblance of sincerity. "I can assure you, Mr. Malfoy, if it goes on much longer, I will take the cheque I am holding in my hand," he said as he looked back at the half empty glass currently occupying said hand, "and personally ferry it across the water to England and, from there, carry it to those Un-I-Ted States myself. That's how much I care."
Mrs. Dumbledore, still listening in from the Floo in her room, poked her head in, "What owl strike?" she asked very loudly.
"Shut up, Mother!" Albus panicked momentarily and then backed his head out of the Floo a little as Malfoy began a new rant. In a moment he leaned back in. "I don't think that kind of language is necessary, Mr. Malfoy." He paused as he listened to the voice get louder. "Understandable. So what you are saying is that if I don't come up with the money in a month, you will foreclose and take over Castle Hogwarts. I see."
Albus hung his head dejectedly for a moment. "Have you ever heard of 'the quality of mercy', Mr. Malfoy? No? You should catch up on your Shakespeare. Good day, sir." Albus pulled out quickly and disconnected the Floo. Shoulders slumped, he sat quietly for a few moments.
Slowly, Albus stood up. He sat his glass down on his desk then proceeded to stack a bunch of large books on the floor. After stacking "Hogwarts: A History" on the top, he took a long piece of rope and flung it over some old piping on the ceiling. He stepped onto the large tome on top of the stack and looked at the noose he was about to put around his neck.
Just then his mother walked into the room, "Ah, there you are." She noticed him standing on the books with the rope in his hands. He jumped a bit, startled at her intrusion. As he teetered on the now wobbling stack, she glared at him with hands firmly rooted to her hips in apparent disgust.
"Oh! Taking the easy way out, you naughty boy!" Her strident voice belied her fragile appearance. It was evident she had been a very attractive woman in her youth. She still held herself with the confidence of someone who had never had reason to doubt her abilities or her looks.
He finished looping the noose over his head and looked at her grimly. "Mother, please! This is not easy. This is very, very difficult!" He continued adjusting the rope as the elderly woman paced the room.
"Just because you don't have a single guest in the hotel and you're in a tight spot with Mr. Malfoy – ooh…" She didn't finish the sentence. She tried another tactic. "Your father is so worried, he's pulling his hair out." She crossed her arms over her chest.
Albus, standing on his books with a solid braided loop decorated his neck, raised an eyebrow at his mother. She was only slightly more white-haired and wrinkled than he was. They had the same blue eyes, even if hers twinkled slightly more than his did these days. Albus had aged prematurely given his love for booze and his abhorrence for anything remotely considered health food. Sherbet Lemons were the closest thing to fresh fruit he ate. The stress of running a decaying old building like Hogwarts didn't add to his appearance either.
"Mother, Father had been dead for a decade," he stated calmly as if his mother somehow had missed this occurrence.
She continued as if ignoring his remarks, "And what about your grandmother? How do you think she feels?" She began tapping her foot impatiently.
"Mother, Grandmother is dead, too," Albus deadpanned.
"She's stil upset!" his mother cried. She threw her arms in the air and then flopped down into the threadbare walnut Queen-Anne chair which had so recently been occupied by Albus.
Rolling his eyes upward, Albus took a deep breath and tried to placate his mother. He faced the ceiling and announced, "Oh all right. I apologize most profoundly to the ghosts of my ancestors for making a mess of their ancestral home." He leaned down and handed the end of the rope to his mother. "Here, hold this."
"I'm not going to help you," she answered firmly and let the thick rope drop to the floor.
Albus stared at her for a moment. He suddenly got a calculating look in his eyes. "Mother..ermm, how many ghosts are there in the castle?"
She thought for a moment. "Well, there's Great Aunty Nan and Uncle Toby. And there's that nice Moaning Myrtle that died in the toilet. She's quite the 'Chatty Cathy'. Can hardly get a word in edgewise. Oh, and the nun that was walled into a closet. You know I think the Fat Friar did her in," she said, conspiratorially. She pursed her lips in thought before she continued. "There's The Bloody Baron, Sir Nicholas…who am I forgetting? Oh yes, Oliver Faust. You remember, he never left the library. He likes to shriek at people who open his favorite books."
"Mother…what a wonderful idea," Albus smiled broadly, as if his mother had just invented flying broomsticks.
"What darling?"
He whispered, "Ghosts…" He stepped off his pile of books and, wide-eyed, looked around the office.
"Ghosts?" She looked quizzically at him.
Nodding, he confirmed, "Ghosts. Wonderful tourist attraction – ghosts," Albus said thoughtfully.
"MINERVA!" He screamed and suddenly ran out the office door at which his five employees had been eavesdropping. He barely noticed them in his excitement. He raced by them yelling, "Meeting with the staff. Take this down!"
He then looked back at the group, pointing meaningfully back at a thin, tall woman with her dulling black hair pinned up and her normally stern expression changed into one of alarm. "Well?" Albus asked with a raised brow.
"Ooh, oh sorry, Albus". Minerva McGonagall grabbed a small pad of parchment and a quill from the pocket of her long black jacket.
Albus then made the following announcement in a voice fit for a late-night infomercial:
"Castle Hogwarts is a superbly restored castle in the heart of the beautiful Irish countryside! It's known to be the most haunted place in the Emerald Isle."
He began to practically run through the long corridors and down the stairs towards the Great Hall. His employees struggled to keep up. Minerva frantically tried to get everything onto parchment as she hustled along behind him. "The dead outnumber the living. This castle contains more ghosties, ghoulies, long leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night! Magical creatures fill the surrounding landscapes, hoping an unfortunate passerby will get lost in the never-ending fog on the moors." His enthusiasm had finally emerged from its drunken stupor.
Suddenly, Albus turned and ran up one of the moving staircases towards a guest room. Four of the associates managed to get onto the stairs easily, but Poppy Pomfrey, the resident maid, had to take a pretty hard leap to make the last step and almost missed it. Hagrid, the enormous groundskeeper, was able to catch the back of her shirt and haul her up. Albus never noticed. "There is no place in this revolving, revolting, maggot-spinning earth more haunted. We can promise you banshees, poltergeists and ghouls of all descriptions." He opened the door to an unused musty guestroom and jumped onto a moldy bed. A sizable amount of dust billowed into the air.
"What we can't promise you is a good night's sleep!" He took a deep breath as he finished his pronouncement and flopped back against pillow and closed his eyes in satisfaction.
"But there are no bloody ghosts here!" Minerva exclaimed standing next to the bed, waving her hand to get the dust out of her face. A small man beside them sneezed.
Albus looked up at her and smiled, the old familiar twinkle back in his blue eyes. He reached into his pocket, pulled a Sherbet Lemon out, promptly unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. He then tucked his hands behind his head and said, "I know. There will be." He paused for a moment then finished decidedly, "We'll invent them." He grinned sappily, quite happy with himself.