A Hogwarts Cliché Carol, Take Two
A sort of Harry Potter meets A Christmas Carol meets Aladdin thang, with a small dollop of fanfic cliché thrown in as extra seasoning. Response to the WIKTT Christmas Challenge 2002, and my attempt to fit all the requirements into a single post. Wish me luck, and please, if you are very easily offended, beware of a couple of minor but potentially offensive suggestive comments at the end. I amended the story very slightly when I realised I'd forgotten Percy *blush*.
Christmas came but once a year and a good thing it was too, Snape groused to himself. The idiot children remaining at Hogwarts over the winter holiday managed to sound even louder than usual over their Christmas fare as they clustered around the single table set for them. Merlin only knew how a tenth of the students managed to achieve twice the noise. If he ever managed to bottle the effect he'd make a fortune.
Add to that the fact that two of the remaining students were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and Snape's Season of Joylessness and Unhappiness was complete. Both students were enough to torture him with their very presence, if for very different reasons. Snape was eternally grateful to his old Potions Master for the one lesson he'd found more useful than any other: "Sarcasm helps keep you from telling people what you really think of them." Potter had always been far too much like his father, but Granger... If she only knew the effect she had on her sour, unpleasant Potions Professor.
Hopefully she had no idea at all. She was eighteen with the seductive powers of a marginally attractive flobberworm, and the thought that a greasy-haired tyrant with a nose that could chop wood found her sexually interesting would probably send her running off to write a thesis on wizardly psychology. The thought that he did find her attractive was worrying in itself. She had the ability to hold an intelligent conversation and simultaneously concoct a successful potion, and the realisation that he found that more provoking than the traditional voluptuous chest and mile-long legs led him to conclude that he was getting old. He was forty-two! He was barely out of his teens by wizarding standards! Yet the only alternative was that he was some sort of deluded pervert: He was looking at a slightly dumpy, frizzy-haired, teenaged bookworm and seeing a sex goddess who flirted with him in class.
At least he had the sense not to act on his unruly feelings. Forget the morality of it- she was of age, after all- the potential for embarrassment was enough to deter him. If only he wasn't going to have to spend the evening sitting facing the unwitting object of his unwanted desires. Hell would be preferable. Not to mention the interruption to a very promising new potion he had brewing down in the dungeons, merely for the opportunity to eat enough sugar- and fat- laden food to ground a dragon, and to drink foul concoctions of alcohol brewed with miserable dried bundles of vegetation that others dared to label 'herbs'.
"Merry Christmas, Serverus!" Professor Sprout called cheerfully as he passed behind her on the way to his place at the decoration-bedecked Head Table.
"Hmph," he grunted.
"Merry Christmas, Serverus!" Madam Hooch hollered, grinning slyly and goosing the Potions Master on his way past.
Snape spun on his heel. The swish of a wand, a swift word, and Rolanda Hooch flew backwards from her place at the table. The chair she sat in rode a trail of blue-white sparks as it arched away from the Head Table. The back wall stopped both seat and occupant. They slithered down the stonework, dragging down a holly wreath that had been draped from the ceiling above, and landed with a solid thunk amid a heap of crumpled, spiky greenery.
Dumbledore was first to break the stunned silence that followed. "Serverus, I know you're not fond of Christmas but was that really necessary?" he asked mildly.
"It had nothing to do with Christmas, Albus," Snape replied, glowering at the Flying Instructor, "and if she tries that again she'll be taking next term's lessons without the use of her hands."
Red faced and attempting to retain a little dignity, Hooch rose and stalked out of the dining hall.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I'll leave you to handle matters then, Serverus, but do try to avoid duelling in the dining hall. It curdles the custard." He waved to the students to resume their meal, and tucked into his roast potatoes.
Snape stalked to his chair, pulling his robes around him as he sat down and glaring suspiciously at his plate. A solitary sprig of holly looked back at him. He picked it up between finger and thumb and dropped it in the single space on the Head Table not already occupied by platters of food.
"Serverus, it won't bite," McGonegall rebuked him with gentle amusement.
Snape glowered at her. "I might."
Professor Vector chuckled suggestively.
"Here," McGonegall said hastily, before Snape decided to hex the Arithmancy Professor right into the New Year. "Try some mince pies." She slid an icing sugar frosted stack of pastry pies towards him.
Snape pulled a face and pushed them away again. "For an entree, Minerva?" He sighed down his nose, ignored the mulled wine on offer, and poured himself a cup of black coffee without sugar.
"So what did Santa bring you then, Serverus?" Dumbledore asked, his voice bland and his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Would this be Santa 'let's invent a ridiculous story to make the children behave before Christmas' Claus, Headmaster, or Santa 'Let's take pity on the poor present-deprived paupers at Hogwarts and send them a little something so they don't feel left out' Dumbledore?" Snape's voice was a low purr of suppressed rage. It was not calculated to travel, but some of the students heard him anyway. Two of them. Potter and Granger. Who else? Granger was still licking her spoon, eyeing him from under her lashes, and Snape hastily turned his eyes elsewhere. Potter had a little spot of bright red burning each cheek, and was looking sideways at the Headmaster with an oddly apprehensive expression.
"You know perfectly well what I had for Christmas, Albus," Snape continued in the same soft growl, dragging his thoughts back together. "Socks. Every year, you give me socks. I have enough socks to clothe a small refugee camp. This year was a slight change, I admit: the first time that the items in question have not been in Slytherin green and silver. Scarlet and gold, however, are decidedly NOT my colours."
Potter's face had gone completely red now. The boy reached down, hitched up the bottom of his robe, and pulled up one trouser leg. The sock beneath was woolly and striped. In green and silver. Snape shook his head slightly and glanced heavenwards. Granger nudged Potter in the ribs and rolled her eyes at the boy. Potter finally opted for irritated amusement instead of angry embarrassment, offered Snape a sheepishly sympathetic grin, and returned his attention to the serious business of eating.
Predictably unfazed at the muddled presents, Dumbledore chuckled and reached over to select a hot bread roll, which he dunked in the gravy pooled about his turkey and then proceeded to spread with a liberal portion of chestnut stuffing. Snape winced and looked away.
"Surely socks weren't your only gift, Serverus?" Minerva McGonegall enquired from the seat beside the Headmaster.
"Oh no. Of course not," Snape said through clenched teeth. "Albus Claus also saw fit to deliver a pair of brown, furry, antlers. On a headband. With..." he gathered himself up into a pinnacle of disdain... "bells on."
McGonegall made a heroic effort not to snigger. "And you're not wearing them, Serverus? I'm disappointed."
"Do I look like a red-nosed reindeer to you?" Snape snarled.
Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow him. "It could be arranged."
A burst of giggles from the students' table quickly cowered and slunk off into silence beneath Snape's furious glare.
"I'm wearing mine," said Professor Binns as he floated through the Head Table holding a ghostly glass of punch, a set of blue-tinged, see-through antlers nodding gently above his head. "Even Peeves has got a pair. Of course, the rest of the ghosts had to hold him down to get them on him..."
"Was that a smile I saw, Serverus?" McGonegall asked slyly. "Perhaps we can find you a bit of Christmas cheer after all."
"Bah." Snape scowled back down at his plate, and helped himself to a single boiled potato and three Brussels sprouts.
Dumbledore leaved over. "Humbug, Serverus?"
Serverus opened his mouth to snap out a denial, only to stop when a paper bag of striped mints was thrust beneath his nose. "No." His face twitched. "Thank you," he managed with an approximation of good manners. He ignored the proffered sweets, and viciously stabbed a sprout with his fork.
The sprout dropped off the fork when the doors to the hall crashed open. There was a second loud bang, and a burst of coloured smoke. Snape leaped to his feet in a swirl of dangerous black, wand instantly poised and pointed. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger shot up from their places almost as quickly with ready wands and startled expressions, along with a couple of jumpy-looking Slytherin Fifth Years. Several of the other staff were standing too, glancing about for additional threats. Dumbledore and McGonegall, however, appeared supremely relaxed and unconcerned. The students glanced at them and then, one by one, they sat down uncertainly, as did most of the staff. Snape was last to be seated, and he still held his wand ready.
The smoke cleared rapidly to reveal a large, brightly wrapped box sitting on the floor of the Great Hall. It shuddered and rocked for a few moments, then burst open in a shower of sparkling glitter and tinkling bells. Something shapeless and white flapped out of it, a large figure that stretched and swirled across the floor as it circled the tables.
"Hoo!" it said. "Hoo! Hoo! I am the ghost of Christmas Present!"
"Wrong joke, you nutter," it then said in a slightly different voice.
"Oh, right," it said in the first voice. Then it went on in falsetto tones. "I am the Hogwarts Fairy Ghostmother! Each of you may make one wish, and we... ahem... I will grant it! So, boys and girls, tell me, what do you REALLY want for Christmas?"
There was a long silence as everybody looked at one another, wondering how to react to the situation. Dumbledore was smiling and nodding benignly. McGonegall was beaming. The single First Year, a little Hufflepuff girl, was looking as if Christmas had come- which, of course, it had. Potter and Granger, however, both looked dubious, and Snape looked as sour as ever.
"A new greenhouse!" Professor Sprout squeaked suddenly.
The big white ghost fluttered its extremities. "Hoo! A new greenhouse! Hufflepuffs and Horsefeathers!" There was another bang and a second cloud of smoke that filled almost half the hall.
Dumbledore raised both eyebrows and waved away the smoke trying to curl itself into his beard. "I think it might be better outside, next to the rest of the greenhouses," he said, watching the rest of the Hall's occupants coughing and spluttering as the air cleared.
"Hoo!" said one of the ghost's voices. "A moving greenhouse!" said the other voice. "Snapdragons and Spinach!" both voices said together, and the greenhouse that had appeared in the Hall vanished again.
"I'm afraid you just wasted your wish, Albus," McGonegall told him.
"Never mind." Dumbledore appeared unconcerned. "Minerva, any special Christmas request?"
"Hmm." McGonegall sternly regarded the Christmas Ghost over the top of her glasses. "I don't suppose you could arrange for Gryffindor to win the House Cup this year?"
The ghost bunched and spread, fluttering its bottom edges, then bounced up and down. "Gryffindors and Gillyweed, I can't change the future," said the ghost.
"Nor the past," it added in its other voice.
Potter sighed, looking suddenly sad, and pushed a piece of roast parsnip around his plate.
"Ach well. I'll settle for a new scratching post then," McGonegall decided. "In my room, if you please," she added swiftly.
"A scratching post! Pussycats and pumpkins!" the ghost shouted, and there was a very faint, distant popping sound.
Hagrid stirred into life. "A Norwegian Ridgeback!" he said wistfully.
"Not in here!" chorused most of the others, but the ghost was already in motion. "A dragon is for life, not just for Christmas! Creatures and Candy Canes!"
The table in front of Hagrid exploded. Everyone ducked. Slowly, cautiously, heads reappeared. The wary audience was treated to the sight of Hagrid clutching a large cuddly toy dragon and beaming happily. Everyone ducked again when he pressed the red button on the toy's stomach and a four foot jet of flame shot out of its mouth and crisped the remains of the roast turkey.
"Whew," said McGonegall.
"My sentiments also," Dumbledore murmured to her.
"I'd like my parents home for Christmas," said the young Hufflepuff, breathlessly, still wide-eyed after the dragon. "And I want to be home with them!
The ghost snaked itself out and folded itself back together again. "Parents on a Plate! Badgers and Barleycorns!"
When the smoke cleared, the Huffleuff was gone.
Granger blinked at the empty seat, then whispered something in Potter's ear.
Potter brightened immediately. "I'd like Sirius, Remus and the Weasleys all here for Christmas," he announced loudly.
Snape groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Let joy be unconfined," he muttered, savagely.
The ghost seemed to be conferring with itself. Whispers escaped from beneath its billowing, formless shape. "Will it do that?" one of its voices wondered.
"Dunno. Do we try it?" asked the other voice. "What if it doesn't work?"
"We make something up?" was the first voice's suggestion. "Oh, come on, let's give it a go. What's the worst that could happen? Nothing we haven't done already, right? It's Weasley-Lupin-Black Party! Lions and Lemon Drops!"
Most people thought to hold their breaths for the inevitable burst of smoke that accompanied the now familiar bang. The small crowd who had materialised at the center of the cloud were less prepared, and were still coughing and waving hands in front of their faces as it cleared. The group looked around themselves in astonishment, gaping at their new surroundings.
Remus and Sirius were clad only in their boxer-shorts, holding one another up after clearing their lungs of pink-and-blue smoke. Ron and Charlie, on the other hand, were wrapped up so warmly that only their eyes were visible, having been interrupted in their task of opening a box marked 'Acme Dragon Lure'. Bill looked slightly ludicrous in khaki wizard robes and a pointed safari hat. The scantily-clad Egyptian dancing-girl he had his arm round looked bemused. Mrs Weasley had a basting-spoon in one hand and an oven-mitt over the other- caught in mid-turkey, as it were.
Mr Weasley was still sitting in his armchair and was peering with interest over the top of the Christmas edition of the Daily Prophet. At a recently-materialised desk beside him, Percy was tucked behind a ceiling-high stack of paperwork and was still dilligently scribbling away with his quill, having failed to take in the change of scenery. Ginny also didn't seem to have noticed her abrupt displacement, but that was because she was still engaged in total lip-lock with Draco Malfoy. Draco was obviously aware of his new surroundings, because he lifted a hand to give a casual wave without bothering to come up for air.
"Sirius! Remus!" Potter pounced on his two friends, heedless of their state of undress, and hugged them both tightly.
"Harry!" bellowed Ron, waddling across in his heavy furred robes and joining the hug.
"Charlie! Bill!" shouted Mrs Weasley, charging her two eldest offspring, rounding them up, scolding them roundly for not owling and then crushing them half to death in a fond embrace.
Fred and George grinned from the puddled mound of enchanted cloth about their feet, and gave a cheeky but affectionate pat to the ornate oil-lamp they held between them.
"Oops, we've been rumbled," said Fred- or it might have been George.
"I think you're right," agreed George- or was it Fred. "But damn it's been fun. You know what? I think there are still two wishes to go."
"I do believe you're correct, my friend," replied Fred (or perhaps George). "Let's spread our last little bit of jolly Christmas cheer and happiness!"
Snape pushed back his chair. "Merlin's pointed hat, the sugar content of this Christmas feast is making me positively ill," he muttered, starting to make an exit. "Haven't you all got something better to do than exchanging sickeningly repetitive platitudes and-" he eyed Draco and Ginny, Sirius and Remus with disgust- "exploring one another's tonsils?"
Granger glared at him. "Oh stop being such a bad-tempered, petty-minded killjoy and have a bit of fun for a change," she ordered, crossly.
"Miss Granger, perhaps you could refrain from organising everybody else for once in your life," Snape told her disdainfully. "If you can think of nothing better to do than participate in unpleasantly public orgies then don't let me stop you. Enjoy yourself. I'm sure Potter or Weasley would be happy to oblige you. I, however, intend to find somewhere more to my liking."
Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. They nodded, and rubbed the lamp. "Potions and Poppy Seed, Spellbooks and Snow!"
The newcomers jumped at the bang, although they did manage to avoid the effects of the smoke. Nothing, however, appeared to have happened, despite Snape's expression of alarm. The Potions Master snorted and whirled out of the Hall. Granger frowned, shook her head, and hurried after him.
"Professor Snape?" Granger queried tentatively, trotting behind him towards the dungeons.
"What?" he snapped, turning so fast that she collided with him.
Hermione Granger grinned and relaxed against him. "Oh good. I shouldn't have spoken without thinking like that. I did say such, though. I really wouldn't like you quite so much if you started being nice."
Snape looked down at her, his eyes shadowed. "That spell worked, didn't it?" He spoke with resignation.
"Mm-hmm," Granger- Hermione- agreed, snuggling closer against his chest. "I hope it's your idea of having fun, because I am definitely finding this enjoyable."
"Miss Granger," Snape said, shocked and therefore angry. "You are eighteen and still a student. I am fourty-two and your professor!"
Hermione grinned up at him, face half-buried in his robes. "What can I say? I'm a pervert. I like older men. But Dumbledore's already taken and Binns is dead."
Snape made a rather unpleasant snorting sound, his eyes widening sharply. "You... and... Dumbledore is 'already taken'?"
"The velvet voice is momentarily speechless?" Hermione teased. "Harry's been tickling Dumbledore's turnips since he turned eighteen. And before you ask, Ron used to be interested, but then he decided he... let's just say he likes taking Buckbeak out for some exercise."
Snape could only stare.
Hermione smiled impishly, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. Snape's arms lifted of their own volition, hands stroking upwards along her arms. His head lowered, tilting to deepen the contact. His lips parted softly, tickling Hermione's as they moved softly. Snape pulled back enough to whisper.
Indignantly.
"...Older men?!"
Main course: 7. A Christmas feast
Veg: 3. Someone playing Santa
Starch: 4. Someone gets socks
Gravy: 9. Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Condiments: 3. Two (or more) people duel
Puddings: 2. Someone gets an embarrassing gift, and 3. Two gifts get switched
Drinks: 4. "Do I look like a red-nosed reindeer to you?" and 5. "Tell me, what do you REALLY want for Christmas?"
A sort of Harry Potter meets A Christmas Carol meets Aladdin thang, with a small dollop of fanfic cliché thrown in as extra seasoning. Response to the WIKTT Christmas Challenge 2002, and my attempt to fit all the requirements into a single post. Wish me luck, and please, if you are very easily offended, beware of a couple of minor but potentially offensive suggestive comments at the end. I amended the story very slightly when I realised I'd forgotten Percy *blush*.
Christmas came but once a year and a good thing it was too, Snape groused to himself. The idiot children remaining at Hogwarts over the winter holiday managed to sound even louder than usual over their Christmas fare as they clustered around the single table set for them. Merlin only knew how a tenth of the students managed to achieve twice the noise. If he ever managed to bottle the effect he'd make a fortune.
Add to that the fact that two of the remaining students were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and Snape's Season of Joylessness and Unhappiness was complete. Both students were enough to torture him with their very presence, if for very different reasons. Snape was eternally grateful to his old Potions Master for the one lesson he'd found more useful than any other: "Sarcasm helps keep you from telling people what you really think of them." Potter had always been far too much like his father, but Granger... If she only knew the effect she had on her sour, unpleasant Potions Professor.
Hopefully she had no idea at all. She was eighteen with the seductive powers of a marginally attractive flobberworm, and the thought that a greasy-haired tyrant with a nose that could chop wood found her sexually interesting would probably send her running off to write a thesis on wizardly psychology. The thought that he did find her attractive was worrying in itself. She had the ability to hold an intelligent conversation and simultaneously concoct a successful potion, and the realisation that he found that more provoking than the traditional voluptuous chest and mile-long legs led him to conclude that he was getting old. He was forty-two! He was barely out of his teens by wizarding standards! Yet the only alternative was that he was some sort of deluded pervert: He was looking at a slightly dumpy, frizzy-haired, teenaged bookworm and seeing a sex goddess who flirted with him in class.
At least he had the sense not to act on his unruly feelings. Forget the morality of it- she was of age, after all- the potential for embarrassment was enough to deter him. If only he wasn't going to have to spend the evening sitting facing the unwitting object of his unwanted desires. Hell would be preferable. Not to mention the interruption to a very promising new potion he had brewing down in the dungeons, merely for the opportunity to eat enough sugar- and fat- laden food to ground a dragon, and to drink foul concoctions of alcohol brewed with miserable dried bundles of vegetation that others dared to label 'herbs'.
"Merry Christmas, Serverus!" Professor Sprout called cheerfully as he passed behind her on the way to his place at the decoration-bedecked Head Table.
"Hmph," he grunted.
"Merry Christmas, Serverus!" Madam Hooch hollered, grinning slyly and goosing the Potions Master on his way past.
Snape spun on his heel. The swish of a wand, a swift word, and Rolanda Hooch flew backwards from her place at the table. The chair she sat in rode a trail of blue-white sparks as it arched away from the Head Table. The back wall stopped both seat and occupant. They slithered down the stonework, dragging down a holly wreath that had been draped from the ceiling above, and landed with a solid thunk amid a heap of crumpled, spiky greenery.
Dumbledore was first to break the stunned silence that followed. "Serverus, I know you're not fond of Christmas but was that really necessary?" he asked mildly.
"It had nothing to do with Christmas, Albus," Snape replied, glowering at the Flying Instructor, "and if she tries that again she'll be taking next term's lessons without the use of her hands."
Red faced and attempting to retain a little dignity, Hooch rose and stalked out of the dining hall.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I'll leave you to handle matters then, Serverus, but do try to avoid duelling in the dining hall. It curdles the custard." He waved to the students to resume their meal, and tucked into his roast potatoes.
Snape stalked to his chair, pulling his robes around him as he sat down and glaring suspiciously at his plate. A solitary sprig of holly looked back at him. He picked it up between finger and thumb and dropped it in the single space on the Head Table not already occupied by platters of food.
"Serverus, it won't bite," McGonegall rebuked him with gentle amusement.
Snape glowered at her. "I might."
Professor Vector chuckled suggestively.
"Here," McGonegall said hastily, before Snape decided to hex the Arithmancy Professor right into the New Year. "Try some mince pies." She slid an icing sugar frosted stack of pastry pies towards him.
Snape pulled a face and pushed them away again. "For an entree, Minerva?" He sighed down his nose, ignored the mulled wine on offer, and poured himself a cup of black coffee without sugar.
"So what did Santa bring you then, Serverus?" Dumbledore asked, his voice bland and his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Would this be Santa 'let's invent a ridiculous story to make the children behave before Christmas' Claus, Headmaster, or Santa 'Let's take pity on the poor present-deprived paupers at Hogwarts and send them a little something so they don't feel left out' Dumbledore?" Snape's voice was a low purr of suppressed rage. It was not calculated to travel, but some of the students heard him anyway. Two of them. Potter and Granger. Who else? Granger was still licking her spoon, eyeing him from under her lashes, and Snape hastily turned his eyes elsewhere. Potter had a little spot of bright red burning each cheek, and was looking sideways at the Headmaster with an oddly apprehensive expression.
"You know perfectly well what I had for Christmas, Albus," Snape continued in the same soft growl, dragging his thoughts back together. "Socks. Every year, you give me socks. I have enough socks to clothe a small refugee camp. This year was a slight change, I admit: the first time that the items in question have not been in Slytherin green and silver. Scarlet and gold, however, are decidedly NOT my colours."
Potter's face had gone completely red now. The boy reached down, hitched up the bottom of his robe, and pulled up one trouser leg. The sock beneath was woolly and striped. In green and silver. Snape shook his head slightly and glanced heavenwards. Granger nudged Potter in the ribs and rolled her eyes at the boy. Potter finally opted for irritated amusement instead of angry embarrassment, offered Snape a sheepishly sympathetic grin, and returned his attention to the serious business of eating.
Predictably unfazed at the muddled presents, Dumbledore chuckled and reached over to select a hot bread roll, which he dunked in the gravy pooled about his turkey and then proceeded to spread with a liberal portion of chestnut stuffing. Snape winced and looked away.
"Surely socks weren't your only gift, Serverus?" Minerva McGonegall enquired from the seat beside the Headmaster.
"Oh no. Of course not," Snape said through clenched teeth. "Albus Claus also saw fit to deliver a pair of brown, furry, antlers. On a headband. With..." he gathered himself up into a pinnacle of disdain... "bells on."
McGonegall made a heroic effort not to snigger. "And you're not wearing them, Serverus? I'm disappointed."
"Do I look like a red-nosed reindeer to you?" Snape snarled.
Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow him. "It could be arranged."
A burst of giggles from the students' table quickly cowered and slunk off into silence beneath Snape's furious glare.
"I'm wearing mine," said Professor Binns as he floated through the Head Table holding a ghostly glass of punch, a set of blue-tinged, see-through antlers nodding gently above his head. "Even Peeves has got a pair. Of course, the rest of the ghosts had to hold him down to get them on him..."
"Was that a smile I saw, Serverus?" McGonegall asked slyly. "Perhaps we can find you a bit of Christmas cheer after all."
"Bah." Snape scowled back down at his plate, and helped himself to a single boiled potato and three Brussels sprouts.
Dumbledore leaved over. "Humbug, Serverus?"
Serverus opened his mouth to snap out a denial, only to stop when a paper bag of striped mints was thrust beneath his nose. "No." His face twitched. "Thank you," he managed with an approximation of good manners. He ignored the proffered sweets, and viciously stabbed a sprout with his fork.
The sprout dropped off the fork when the doors to the hall crashed open. There was a second loud bang, and a burst of coloured smoke. Snape leaped to his feet in a swirl of dangerous black, wand instantly poised and pointed. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger shot up from their places almost as quickly with ready wands and startled expressions, along with a couple of jumpy-looking Slytherin Fifth Years. Several of the other staff were standing too, glancing about for additional threats. Dumbledore and McGonegall, however, appeared supremely relaxed and unconcerned. The students glanced at them and then, one by one, they sat down uncertainly, as did most of the staff. Snape was last to be seated, and he still held his wand ready.
The smoke cleared rapidly to reveal a large, brightly wrapped box sitting on the floor of the Great Hall. It shuddered and rocked for a few moments, then burst open in a shower of sparkling glitter and tinkling bells. Something shapeless and white flapped out of it, a large figure that stretched and swirled across the floor as it circled the tables.
"Hoo!" it said. "Hoo! Hoo! I am the ghost of Christmas Present!"
"Wrong joke, you nutter," it then said in a slightly different voice.
"Oh, right," it said in the first voice. Then it went on in falsetto tones. "I am the Hogwarts Fairy Ghostmother! Each of you may make one wish, and we... ahem... I will grant it! So, boys and girls, tell me, what do you REALLY want for Christmas?"
There was a long silence as everybody looked at one another, wondering how to react to the situation. Dumbledore was smiling and nodding benignly. McGonegall was beaming. The single First Year, a little Hufflepuff girl, was looking as if Christmas had come- which, of course, it had. Potter and Granger, however, both looked dubious, and Snape looked as sour as ever.
"A new greenhouse!" Professor Sprout squeaked suddenly.
The big white ghost fluttered its extremities. "Hoo! A new greenhouse! Hufflepuffs and Horsefeathers!" There was another bang and a second cloud of smoke that filled almost half the hall.
Dumbledore raised both eyebrows and waved away the smoke trying to curl itself into his beard. "I think it might be better outside, next to the rest of the greenhouses," he said, watching the rest of the Hall's occupants coughing and spluttering as the air cleared.
"Hoo!" said one of the ghost's voices. "A moving greenhouse!" said the other voice. "Snapdragons and Spinach!" both voices said together, and the greenhouse that had appeared in the Hall vanished again.
"I'm afraid you just wasted your wish, Albus," McGonegall told him.
"Never mind." Dumbledore appeared unconcerned. "Minerva, any special Christmas request?"
"Hmm." McGonegall sternly regarded the Christmas Ghost over the top of her glasses. "I don't suppose you could arrange for Gryffindor to win the House Cup this year?"
The ghost bunched and spread, fluttering its bottom edges, then bounced up and down. "Gryffindors and Gillyweed, I can't change the future," said the ghost.
"Nor the past," it added in its other voice.
Potter sighed, looking suddenly sad, and pushed a piece of roast parsnip around his plate.
"Ach well. I'll settle for a new scratching post then," McGonegall decided. "In my room, if you please," she added swiftly.
"A scratching post! Pussycats and pumpkins!" the ghost shouted, and there was a very faint, distant popping sound.
Hagrid stirred into life. "A Norwegian Ridgeback!" he said wistfully.
"Not in here!" chorused most of the others, but the ghost was already in motion. "A dragon is for life, not just for Christmas! Creatures and Candy Canes!"
The table in front of Hagrid exploded. Everyone ducked. Slowly, cautiously, heads reappeared. The wary audience was treated to the sight of Hagrid clutching a large cuddly toy dragon and beaming happily. Everyone ducked again when he pressed the red button on the toy's stomach and a four foot jet of flame shot out of its mouth and crisped the remains of the roast turkey.
"Whew," said McGonegall.
"My sentiments also," Dumbledore murmured to her.
"I'd like my parents home for Christmas," said the young Hufflepuff, breathlessly, still wide-eyed after the dragon. "And I want to be home with them!
The ghost snaked itself out and folded itself back together again. "Parents on a Plate! Badgers and Barleycorns!"
When the smoke cleared, the Huffleuff was gone.
Granger blinked at the empty seat, then whispered something in Potter's ear.
Potter brightened immediately. "I'd like Sirius, Remus and the Weasleys all here for Christmas," he announced loudly.
Snape groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Let joy be unconfined," he muttered, savagely.
The ghost seemed to be conferring with itself. Whispers escaped from beneath its billowing, formless shape. "Will it do that?" one of its voices wondered.
"Dunno. Do we try it?" asked the other voice. "What if it doesn't work?"
"We make something up?" was the first voice's suggestion. "Oh, come on, let's give it a go. What's the worst that could happen? Nothing we haven't done already, right? It's Weasley-Lupin-Black Party! Lions and Lemon Drops!"
Most people thought to hold their breaths for the inevitable burst of smoke that accompanied the now familiar bang. The small crowd who had materialised at the center of the cloud were less prepared, and were still coughing and waving hands in front of their faces as it cleared. The group looked around themselves in astonishment, gaping at their new surroundings.
Remus and Sirius were clad only in their boxer-shorts, holding one another up after clearing their lungs of pink-and-blue smoke. Ron and Charlie, on the other hand, were wrapped up so warmly that only their eyes were visible, having been interrupted in their task of opening a box marked 'Acme Dragon Lure'. Bill looked slightly ludicrous in khaki wizard robes and a pointed safari hat. The scantily-clad Egyptian dancing-girl he had his arm round looked bemused. Mrs Weasley had a basting-spoon in one hand and an oven-mitt over the other- caught in mid-turkey, as it were.
Mr Weasley was still sitting in his armchair and was peering with interest over the top of the Christmas edition of the Daily Prophet. At a recently-materialised desk beside him, Percy was tucked behind a ceiling-high stack of paperwork and was still dilligently scribbling away with his quill, having failed to take in the change of scenery. Ginny also didn't seem to have noticed her abrupt displacement, but that was because she was still engaged in total lip-lock with Draco Malfoy. Draco was obviously aware of his new surroundings, because he lifted a hand to give a casual wave without bothering to come up for air.
"Sirius! Remus!" Potter pounced on his two friends, heedless of their state of undress, and hugged them both tightly.
"Harry!" bellowed Ron, waddling across in his heavy furred robes and joining the hug.
"Charlie! Bill!" shouted Mrs Weasley, charging her two eldest offspring, rounding them up, scolding them roundly for not owling and then crushing them half to death in a fond embrace.
Fred and George grinned from the puddled mound of enchanted cloth about their feet, and gave a cheeky but affectionate pat to the ornate oil-lamp they held between them.
"Oops, we've been rumbled," said Fred- or it might have been George.
"I think you're right," agreed George- or was it Fred. "But damn it's been fun. You know what? I think there are still two wishes to go."
"I do believe you're correct, my friend," replied Fred (or perhaps George). "Let's spread our last little bit of jolly Christmas cheer and happiness!"
Snape pushed back his chair. "Merlin's pointed hat, the sugar content of this Christmas feast is making me positively ill," he muttered, starting to make an exit. "Haven't you all got something better to do than exchanging sickeningly repetitive platitudes and-" he eyed Draco and Ginny, Sirius and Remus with disgust- "exploring one another's tonsils?"
Granger glared at him. "Oh stop being such a bad-tempered, petty-minded killjoy and have a bit of fun for a change," she ordered, crossly.
"Miss Granger, perhaps you could refrain from organising everybody else for once in your life," Snape told her disdainfully. "If you can think of nothing better to do than participate in unpleasantly public orgies then don't let me stop you. Enjoy yourself. I'm sure Potter or Weasley would be happy to oblige you. I, however, intend to find somewhere more to my liking."
Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. They nodded, and rubbed the lamp. "Potions and Poppy Seed, Spellbooks and Snow!"
The newcomers jumped at the bang, although they did manage to avoid the effects of the smoke. Nothing, however, appeared to have happened, despite Snape's expression of alarm. The Potions Master snorted and whirled out of the Hall. Granger frowned, shook her head, and hurried after him.
"Professor Snape?" Granger queried tentatively, trotting behind him towards the dungeons.
"What?" he snapped, turning so fast that she collided with him.
Hermione Granger grinned and relaxed against him. "Oh good. I shouldn't have spoken without thinking like that. I did say such, though. I really wouldn't like you quite so much if you started being nice."
Snape looked down at her, his eyes shadowed. "That spell worked, didn't it?" He spoke with resignation.
"Mm-hmm," Granger- Hermione- agreed, snuggling closer against his chest. "I hope it's your idea of having fun, because I am definitely finding this enjoyable."
"Miss Granger," Snape said, shocked and therefore angry. "You are eighteen and still a student. I am fourty-two and your professor!"
Hermione grinned up at him, face half-buried in his robes. "What can I say? I'm a pervert. I like older men. But Dumbledore's already taken and Binns is dead."
Snape made a rather unpleasant snorting sound, his eyes widening sharply. "You... and... Dumbledore is 'already taken'?"
"The velvet voice is momentarily speechless?" Hermione teased. "Harry's been tickling Dumbledore's turnips since he turned eighteen. And before you ask, Ron used to be interested, but then he decided he... let's just say he likes taking Buckbeak out for some exercise."
Snape could only stare.
Hermione smiled impishly, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. Snape's arms lifted of their own volition, hands stroking upwards along her arms. His head lowered, tilting to deepen the contact. His lips parted softly, tickling Hermione's as they moved softly. Snape pulled back enough to whisper.
Indignantly.
"...Older men?!"
Main course: 7. A Christmas feast
Veg: 3. Someone playing Santa
Starch: 4. Someone gets socks
Gravy: 9. Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Condiments: 3. Two (or more) people duel
Puddings: 2. Someone gets an embarrassing gift, and 3. Two gifts get switched
Drinks: 4. "Do I look like a red-nosed reindeer to you?" and 5. "Tell me, what do you REALLY want for Christmas?"