Minerva McGonagall wasn't in the habit of spying on students while in her animagus form. While Headmaster Dumbledore suddenly thought it to be the greatest idea known to man, she seemed to think it the worst thing the barmy old codger had come up with yet.

"I will not spy on my students in such a way, and quite frankly I'm astounded you would even suggest such a thing, Albus. Such an act would suggest secrecy and deceit, and I will not exploit their privacy that way."

Dumbledore, damn him, only smiled wider, his eyes twinkling maddeningly behind his half-moon spectacles. Why they hadn't dragged him away in a straight-jacket yet, Minerva wasn't sure. "My dear Professor, you've misunderstood. I'm playing Saint Nick this year for the first-years, remember? Only… I don't know what the children want, for reasons beyond me, they refuse to sit on my lap."

Minerva's face twitched. "The fact that you asked me to be Missus Clause is yet to be apologized for, and I might add that the house-elves do not appreciate being reindeer, they tell me the antlers interfere with their cooking and cleaning."

Dumbledore laughed merrily, lumbering around his office in the ridiculous Santa-Clause costume he'd been wearing since the day after Halloween. Minerva was glad he didn't seem too dreadfully upset that she'd refused to wear the matching female version of the suit. She just didn't have the legs she used to, and she was horrified by how much cleavage would have been shown.

"The fact remains, my dear Professor, that the children think I should already know what they want, however their letters to Saint Nicholas are halfway to the South Pole by now, with me none the wiser to their hearts desires."

"North Pole," Minerva corrected irritably. "And what does this have to do with you wanting me to spy on them?"

"Spy on them, good heavens no, my dear woman. I want you to simply watch and listen, perhaps with your charm as a cat, you could coerce them to share their secret wishes with you. I want to make their smiles light up the Great Hall this fine Christmas. We haven't any time to lose, either. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve."

Barely restraining from lashing back at the senile man, she allowed herself to ponder the looks on the children's faces should they wake up on Christmas morning without presents. Of course their parents might send some gifts, but it wouldn't be the same.

"Oh… fine, but I'm only going this once, and if they don't tell me what they want, I'm not trying again."

Dumbledore clapped childishly, his face a merry pink. "Bless you, Minerva, bless you indeed. Hurry on now, dear, and don't forget the festive costume I picked out for you!"

Minerva cringed as she stormed out of Dumbledore's office, her face reddening considerably. That bloody man.

Minerva spent the rest of the day sneaking around in her animagus form, a tabby cat. Thanks to her theatrics at the start of Potter's year, he and many others in the third year knew it was Professor McGonagall just by the markings on her face. The first years, however, were none the wiser. She purred and she rubbed against them and spent time with them, and lost dignity while doing so.

It worked with the girls, she quickly realized. They all hugged and petted and laughed and would always end up whispering a secret or two, oftentimes being what they wanted for Christmas. Minerva, to the girl's sadness, would always bolt right then, to write down the name of the girl and what she wanted most. The boys always seemed to pet her once, maybe twice, and then shoo her away. She was at a loss of what to do.

"Well…" Dumbledore sighed, looking down the long list of girls and the empty list of boys. He smiled and looked up at a blushing Professor McGonagall, whom he'd practically stuffed into the tiny red-and-white Santa suit she now wore, and winked at her. "I suppose that, will have to be the boy's Christmas present this year."

AN: Lol. Let me know what you think.