This is my feeble attempt at writing humor, which I love to read, but is not my forte as an author, I'm afraid. I hope you enjoy!
Merry Christmas to all, and 'God bless us every-one!'
A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
Chapter 1
Minerva glanced suspiciously at her husband as they made their way from her private chambers down the deserted halls of the castle to the staff room. All morning he had been acting peculiar; his eyes twinkling even more brightly than usual, whistling and twiddling his thumbs nervously behind his back as he paced back and forth in her study, his mouth set in concentration. She had seen this before. Albus Dumbledore was definitely up to something.
She had been unable to ascertain the cause of his good humor, even more jolly than usual. It was the Christmas Season, Albus's favorite time of year to be sure; but when he got ideas at Christmas it didn't always bode well for her, and he was acting for all the world like a three-year-old child with a secret. She continued to eye him from beneath the brim of her hat, becoming more alarmed as he began to chuckle softly to himself.
Suddenly she drew her wand, grabbed his elbow and jerked him forcefully into a broom cupboard, slamming the door behind them. His eyes widened in the glow of her wand, pointing dangerously close to the end of his nose. She advanced towards him, backing him into the wall as he knocked over buckets and pails, paying no attention whatsoever to the racket they were creating.
She peered at him over the square spectacles perched on the end of her nose, mouth drawn into a thin line, wand still at ready.
"Minerva," he attempted to lighten the situation, growing more dangerous for him by the moment, "my dear we just left our chambers. If you wanted to have your way with me we should have taken care of that there. We are bound to be discovered in a hall cupboard."
An eyebrow arched, disappearing into her hairline. "Do not play games with me, Albus Dumbledore. I want to know what exactly it is that you are up to."
"'Up to', my darling? Whatever can you mean?" he asked innocently.
"I know you. You are acting most peculiar this morning. I want to know why."
"I always act peculiar, Minerva. This morning is no different than any other. You are always going on about my acting 'peculiar'." He was stalling for time, trying to think of a way to get out into public view before Minerva could hex him into the New Year.
She jabbed the tip of her wand against his crooked nose. "You're behavior is even more bizarre than normal. I demand to know what sort of scheme you have concocted and what role you are conniving to involve me in."
His eyes grew even wider. "Role?" he sputtered. "Role? How ever did you guess--?"
Her eyes flashed. "I knew it! I knew you were planning something."
Too late he realized his mistake. She hadn't guessed. She had guessed he had a plan, but not what the plan was. He began to back track, hoping she had missed the clue. She hadn't.
"I don't have anything planned, darling. I'm just happy that we—"
"Albus Dumbledore—don't lie to me! You almost spilled it out a moment ago."
"That's not fair, Minerva. You tricked me," he said, looking nervously at the ground. Not for the first time he found himself feeling a bit sorry for Minerva's more trouble making students, that woman could sniff out the truth quicker than catnip in her animagus form.
"So you admit you are planning something. What is it?" She still had the wand pushed into his nose.
"I am a bit afraid to tell you whilst you have your wand in my face. You know how your temper gets the best of you at times." He had hoped for that very reason to reveal his brilliant scheme to her in the safety of the staff meeting, knowing she couldn't curse him in the presence of others. He offered her a weak smile.
She lowered her wand, and backed up a bit, allowing him room. "I'm waiting," she said, her foot tapping.
He was studying the patterns of cobwebs in the corner of the floor behind her, when he suddenly brightened. Looking up at her, beaming, he began, "Min, I had the most brilliant idea last evening." He looked into her eyes expectantly, but they still were boring into him warily. "You know that many of the students are remaining at Hogwarts this year for the Christmas holidays, as the combined threat of Voldemort's possible return and Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban have everyone so worried."
She nodded at him to continue. "Well, spirits have been so low with everything going on, that I thought the staff should do something special this year, something to entertain the students that are staying over."
He looked at her hopefully, waiting for her to say, 'Oh, Albus—that's wonderful!', but knowing that she probably wouldn't. He was right.
"Entertainment?" She blanched. "By the staff?"
"Yes! Isn't it a lovely idea?"
"What sort of 'entertainment'?" She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"I thought we might put on a play."
"A play?" She questioned, a note of panic in her voice.
"That's right. A play. And a muggle-one at that!" he said excitedly, as if that were the best news of all.
"A muggle-play." She said flatly.
"Yes! And I have the cast list all ready. There is a part for everyone, you included, my dear."
"Indeed." She pursed her lips, her hand flying distractedly to her temple, where she pressed her fingers against it, trying to rub away the headache beginning to assault her. "What play have you chosen, might I ask?"
""A Christmas Carol", by Charles Dickens. I have adapted it from the book myself," he said, beaming with pride. "I remember how much you loved the production of it we saw that time when we spent Christmas in London. I knew you'd be thrilled!"
Thrilled was not exactly the word Minerva was thinking of. "Albus, darling," she began, "we aren't any of us actors. A play would be a disaster!"
"But Minerva, it will be so much fun. And some of us have acted before, I was in 'the Ghastly Ghoul of Ghaskinsville' as a lad, and Filius has done his share of amateur productions, and you—well darling you were simply delightful in—" he cut off, suddenly looking at her with concern. "Minerva, my dear, are you all right? You look a bit pale."
"Albus. Please. I don't want to be in it. Please, it is a terrible idea, I…."
"Nonsense, Minerva. The children will love it! You have to be in it, I am making it mandatory for all staff—"
"No!" She cried forcefully, panic setting in. "Albus, I can't…I don't want to, please…" she was almost on the verge of hysteria, her palms were sweating and the stale air of the broom cupboard was getting hard to breathe.
"But, Min, you love it when I take you to the muggle theater in London!"
"I love it as a spectator, Albus. Not as a participant!" She grabbed hold of his outer robes, shaking him. "Albus—don't you remember what happened last time? I simply can not, I cannot!" She was beginning to hyperventilate, and he opened the door and ushered her out into the hallway so that she could get some air. A couple of students were passing by and the look of shock on their faces caused Albus to blush as they stared at them over their shoulders, walking quickly in the opposite direction. Minerva did not seem to notice them, however, as she continued to sputter for breath, a knot of fear constricting in her heart.
"Minerva, you are being unreasonable. I thought you made a lovely Juliet. Now, just think how much fun we shall have and how much joy we will bring to the students!" He had her by the arm and was guiding her along the now empty corridor.
"Is that the purpose of this emergency staff meeting?" she asked, composing herself. Her voice was steady, but her face remained a few shades paler than normal.
"It is indeed. I can't wait to tell everyone and see the look on their faces!" He beamed down at her, "This is going to be the best Christmas ever!"
They were the last to arrive at the staff meeting. Taking their customary places at the long table, Albus standing at the head, Minerva in the first seat at his right, he began speaking, addressing the curious colleagues assembled before him. Minerva didn't hear a word he was saying. She was searching desperately for a way to make him give up this crazy, harebrained idea.
"Everything all right, Minerva?" Filius Flitwick was asking her quietly. "You seem a bit distracted this morning."
"Fine." She answered him quickly. "Everything's fine." She forced herself to pay attention to what Albus was saying. She was Deputy Headmistress after all, it wouldn't do for her to be seen daydreaming. Suddenly she knew he had gotten to the point as she heard the table erupt with mingled groans of misery and shouts of excitement and glee.
Severus was glowering at her from his seat across the table. "You couldn't manage to talk him out of this?" he asked her, more than a hint of dread in his voice.
"I'm afraid not. Believe me, I gave it my best go."
Albus was looking down at them, positively glowing with excitement. "Now, I have parts for you all, no one is to be excluded. We shall need a few students to fill the younger characters, and the castle ghosts have agreed to participate as well." He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a handful of parchment rolls and began passing them out. "Here is a copy of the cast list and your scripts. Our first rehearsal will be Saturday morning, after the students have left for Hogsmeade. Please look over your lines and be familiar with them. Filius, I would like you to act as our director, and I have also cast you in the role of Mr. Fezzywig."
"I'd be delighted, too, Albus! This is a wonderful idea," the little wizard exclaimed, earning him glares from both the Transfiguration Mistress and the Potions Master.
"Argus, would you be interested in being our stage manager?"
Filch frowned, but he was secretly pleased to be included. "I reckon I could, Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Hagrid positively glowed with happiness when he read his name on the list, as well, written in Dumbledore's loopy scroll. "I'm ta be the 'ghost of Christmas Present', thank you, Perfessor Dumbledore." He was thrilled. Years ago he had been in his Muggle-studies production of "Romeo and Juliet". He had loved every minute of it, but unfortunately it only ran for one performance. There had been an accident on stage when Minerva McGonagall as Juliet had—
"Fred? The nephew." Snape's appalled voice rang out, breaking through the chatter. "Described as: 'a cheerful lad, dressing in colorful garments who loves Christmas."
This caused a round of laughter to break out around the table, and even Minerva had to smile at his discomfort. He was staring with wide-eyed shock at the parchment in front of him, as if it were a deadly snake about to strike.
"That's why they call it 'acting', Severus," Rolanda Hooch said seriously, between her fits of laughter.
Remus Lupin the current Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher was cast as Bob Cratchit, with Pomona Sprout as his wife. Professor Binns would be the 'Ghost of Christmas Past', and the Bloody Baron the 'Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come'; Nearly Headless Nick was thrilled to be filling the other spirit-role of Jacob Marley. There were indeed roles for everyone, and the staff members were discussing their particular parts with various degrees of enthusiasm.
Minerva found herself feeling a bit more relieved when she saw that she was cast as Belle, Scrooge's past love interest that he had lost due to his greed and cold hearted ways. If her memory served her correctly, that character was only in two short scenes when they had seen the play performed in London. Perhaps she could handle that.
"Albus is going to play the part of the miser, Ebenezer Scrooge?" Rolanda asked incredulously. "Albus is nothing like that!"
"That is why they call it acting, Rolanda." Snape said, his voice deadpan.
This caused another uproarious gale of laughter, and Albus was feeling quite pleased with himself for bringing such delight to his staff members. All of them seemed enthusiastic save Severus, who was shooting daggers at him, and his wife and Deputy, who was chewing her bottom lip, eyeing the script nervously.
"Well, shall we adjourn?" He asked. "Remember, Saturday morning, 10 o'clock sharp!"
Severus stood to exit first, sweeping past him with a glare that could have killed a lesser wizard, his robes billowing behind him. Albus chuckled inwardly, sometimes it was fun to have all the power, he thought. The others exited alone or in pairs, everyone buzzing about the play and the work to be done.
Minerva was the last to rise, and he waited for her, to escort her to her next class. They walked in silence to the Transfiguration classroom, Minerva a little less pale, but still looking very distracted. Before he left her at the door he asked her, "So what do you think, my dear?"
"About the play?" she asked, being summoned from her brooding. "Perhaps it won't be so bad," she said hesitantly. Albus did seem so happy, and she hated to dampen his spirits.
"So you don't think it is a bad idea after all?"
She gave him a grudging, half-smile. "I suppose it isn't the worst idea you've ever had."
Chapter 2, later that night
After the evening meal they retired to Albus's sitting rooms for a quiet evening by the fire. Minerva was curled up with her legs beneath her across from him on his plush, over-stuffed sofa. Both were examining the scripts and reading over their roles. She had decided to make the best of it, and even convinced herself that she could handle two very tiny scenes, that couldn't be so bad. But as she read page after page her eyes widened with growing alarm. She looked up at him, offhandedly jerking off her glasses, "Albus! This can't be right."
"What is that, my dear?" he asked, glancing up at her over his spectacles.
"This!" she shook the parchment at him. "My lines!" There was a look of mingled terror and anger in lighting her emerald eyes.
"What about them, darling? Did I misspell something?" He knew Minerva was very picky where grammar and spelling were concerned, and he had checked and double-checked the script for such errors.
"No!" She cried, exasperated. "There are too many! Too many lines!"
Albus took the script from her trembling hand. Peering at it intently, trying to see what she was going on about. He certainly didn't want Minerva upset. Handing it back to her, he gave her a puzzled look, "I don't see anything wrong with the lines, Minerva."
She took a deep breath. "Albus, when we saw the play, Belle—she only had a few lines. She was only in two scenes. You have me in six scenes, Albus! Six! And I have pages of dialogue! Pages!" She shrieked the last word, 'pages' and Albus was growing concerned that she was going to draw her wand on him again.
"Well, that was in that adaptation. When I wrote my version, I wanted to expand her part a bit." He said innocently.
She got up abruptly and began to pace quickly back and forth in front of the fireplace. "I can't say all of those lines, Albus! I can't. You have to cut some of it out."
"Minerva, they aren't all your lines, my dear. Some of that dialogue is mine," he said soothingly.
She whirled on him. "Albus Dumbledore! I can't do this! I can't go on stage in front of everyone! Please! Listen to reason!" she begged, her head was pounding and she was feeling light headed and faint.
"Minerva, you stand in front of a classroom all day, teaching. You address hundreds of students daily. You speak at staff meetings, Board of Governor's Meetings. You have addressed the Wizengamot, the Ministry of Magic—you preside over the sorting ceremony at the start of term feast---"
"That's different!" she snapped. "Then I am being me. I know what I'm doing. I know what to say—"
"You know what to say now! You say your lines. It's very easy." He was getting worried about her. He had never seen her so panicked about anything. The way she was acting, you'd think she'd rather duel Voldemort single-handedly than get up and recite lines.
"Albus," she said slowly, as if talking to a child. She had stopped pacing, and was standing with her back to the fire, her hands clasped behind her, "Do you remember when I played Juliet in my seventh year? Do you remember what happened?"
"Yes, of course I do. You were a wonderful Juliet. Minerva that accident wasn't your fault—"
"I know the bloody accident wasn't my fault!" Her voice was rising steadily. "But do you remember what happened to me when I fell off that bloody balcony?!" The room was beginning to spin as the humiliation came back to her. Jean MacNair, the Muggle-Studies teacher had decided to put on a production of Romeo and Juliet. She had chosen Minerva to play Juliet, and Tom Riddle, then a sixth year to be opposite her as Romeo. The would-be Dark Lord detested Muggle-Studies, but seemed to be pleased to be cast in the lead role, lapping up all of the attention it earned him from all of the female students in Hogwarts. The rehearsals went off without incident, and then on opening night—oh god. The humiliation.
The Great Hall was packed with both students and staff; many of the cast members' parents were in attendance, along with a reporter from the Daily Prophet. Both Minerva and Tom were going over fabulously, and then it had happened, during the famous balcony scene. She had just said her line, "O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb—" when from behind the set there was a rumble, and the sound of swearing, and Hagrid's body hitting the back of the wall she was standing upon, and then falling—falling, and her head hitting the stage floor with a crack. And then the prophet, oh Merlin—the next day on the cover of the daily prophet. Her picture. A picture no one would have known was her, save for the caption. A picture of her lying on the stage, with her dress over her head with her underwear exposed, legs askew. And a caption that read: "Minerva McGonagall takes a not-so-graceful fall from the balcony during the Hogwart's student production of Romeo and Juliet, a play by renowned Muggle author William Shakespeare. Miss McGonagall fell ten feet and also managed to knock out her co-star, handsome sixth year student, Tom M. Riddle. The audience was treated to a view of Miss McGonagall's pretty pink silk underwear, and 'the show', as they say, 'did not go on'."
Her face grew hot as she remembered. Everyone had seen the picture. The male students at Hogwarts had cut it from the front page and posted it in their dormitories, and she was taunted about her excellent taste in sexy knickers for years. Never again, she had vowed. And now here, the man she loved, her husband—who had been witness to that horrid event years ago, wanted her to go out on stage, and make a fool of herself again.
"Minerva, love," Albus was saying, an arm around her, guiding her back to sit beside him on the sofa, "that won't happen this time. There is no balcony in this play, and even if there were, we are going to conjure real scenery, not use those flimsy muggle-front facades." He pulled her into him, his other hand stroking through her long dark hair, her bun having come loose in her frenzied pacing.
She began to calm a little, relaxing against him. "Albus, must I be in this?" her voice was pleading. "Can't I be in charge of costumes or transfiguring the set?"
"No." He said firmly. "You need to overcome your fear. This unfounded stage fright." Then he added, "I have made Sybill your understudy. If you don't play Belle, then she will, and I shall have to kiss her under the mistletoe at Fezzywig's party."
She shot straight up, giving him a look of death. "Sybill?" she quipped. "You chose Sybill Trelwaney to be my understudy?"
He knew his words had achieved their desired effect. Minerva despised Sybill, and he knew she would never admit defeat if it meant possibly being shown up by her. He merely nodded.
"Over my dead body is she kissing my husband on stage." Her stage fright momentarily took a back seat to her outrage of the thought of Albus kissing another woman, even if it were only pretend.
Albus was secretly overjoyed at her display of jealousy. The entire reason he had cast himself in the unlikely role of Ebenezer Scrooge was so he could finally, for the first time in all their secret, married life, kiss his wife in public. He smiled into her hair as she retook the script and her glasses, and snuggling into him began to go over her lines.
Chapter 3, Christmas
They stood off stage behind the darkened curtain, waiting for Filius to give the cue to take their places. Minerva stood, her stomach churning, her nerves on alert. She was grateful that she did not go on for another half hour, but a part of her wished she could just blunder on out, and get this nightmare over with.
They had been working hard the past three weeks, and the Great Hall was filled with the students who had stayed at school for the holiday. They did seem genuinely excited to see the play their professors were putting on, and a few even volunteered to help with things. Hermione Granger had become assistant director, a great help to Filius who was up to his ears with grading, his Head of House duties, and of course directing the play.
Collin and Dennis Creavey were playing the Cratchit boys, with Dennis perfect in the role of tiny Tim. She grudgingly admitted that Albus made a decent Ebenezer Scrooge, and Remus and Hagrid were fulfilling their parts with enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves for that matter, everyone except poor Severus, and herself.
Argus drew the curtain open, the lights came up, and the play began. She watched from the side lines, and found herself enjoying the production very much. She felt her heart swell with pride at how well Albus was doing, she had never known that he could act.
It was all she could do to stifle her laughter when Severus, as Fred, stalked out on stage, churning out his lines through clenched teeth. The students were on the floor clutching their sides, and hoots and whistles sounded as Severus's eyes widened in dismal horror as his black robes turned into bright purple ones. He glared at Dumbledore, but the crotchety Ebenezer Scrooge ignored him, never missing a beat, though Minerva could see his left hand discreetly placing his wand back into his pocket.
Cheers of applause went up for Nearly Headless Nick as he rattled up the stairs as Jacob Marley, giving Albus the warning to change his ways or be condemned eternally. Then Professor Binns appeared to take Scrooge through the Christmases of his past, and she found herself on stage, waltzing with Albus, and then, to her surprise, delivering her lines flawlessly. When Albus brought her under the mistletoe, her fears had vanished, and she found she was actually enjoying herself. He bent down and kissed her, tenderly and passionately and to her utter astonishment, the students leapt to their feet, ovating and whistling, causing her to blush and Albus's eyes to twinkle, and he picked her up and kissed her again.
Hagrid had to be passed a handkerchief when during the scene at the Cratchits he was moved to tears at Tiny Tim's crutch and prayers for the 'kindly Mr. Scrooge'. When he exited the stage he continued to blubber into Minerva's shoulder, and Rolanda slipped him some fire whiskey while she pretended not to notice.
Even Peeves behaved himself as he had been reluctantly granted permission to assist the Bloody Baron in foretelling Christmas future. The curtain call was received with ovation after ovation, and to Minerva's private delight, Mistletoe appeared draped above her head once again, and this time even the staff applauded when Albus kissed her.
When the curtain finally closed for the last time, Albus vanished the set and a great feast materialized. Afterward there was dancing and caroling in the hall before the last of the tired staff and students retired to their beds.
As Minerva slipped under the covers next to her husband she gave him a tender kiss. "It really has been a nice Christmas, Albus." She snuggled close to him, her head on his chest, making a pillow of his soft beard.
"I'm glad, my dear. You were a big hit with the students, you know."
"Mmm. As were you," she said sleepily. "You know, darling, I was thinking, perhaps we should do this every year. Make a tradition of it."
This time it was Albus who raised an eyebrow in response. "Yes, that would be lovely," he agreed.
She raised her head so that she could look into his eyes. "Merry Christmas, Albus." As she lowered her lips to his she felt something brush the back of her head, and looked up to see vines of mistletoe intwining the canopy of their bed.
"Merry Christmas, Minerva," and giving her an impish grin, cupped her face in his hands and pulled it down to his.
the end.