Father Xmas
By
Herman Tumbleweed
A/N: This is a work of fanfiction, all characters of the Harry Potter series belong to people such as JK Rowling who make a lot of money and have really good lawyers, so I claim nothing but to be playing in her sandbox with her tacit permission. I make no money from this, or anything else come to think on it, and claim not to do so in the future.
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24 December 2006
The fanfic author of world renown (at least in his own mind) and investigator of magical and mythological phenomena sat typing industriously at his worn keyboard pounding out another bit of mindless mass magical melange when suddenly he heard noises outside his house which sounded much like bells ringing and voices singing. Suddenly he remembered it was Christmas Eve and that it was probably carollers. Away to the front door he flew like a Moor, wrenched open the portal and threw out the storm door. And what to his wondering eyes should appear, but… absolutely nothing, nada, zip, zilch. No carollers to listen to, no people to shout Merry Christmas to… nope, nothing.
Scratching his head, the author pulled the storm door to, slowly closed the door and was ambling back to his desk when there was a loud thump on the roof, and a great lot of scrambling and sliding and grinding sounds, accompanied by what sounded like more bells and the unmistakable sound of someone cursing like a sailor. He looked up, and what to his wondering, or rather panicky, eyes should appear? But a sleigh, containing one very large dude dressed all in red and white with a big wide black belt and black boots, and one very large sack; and it was falling through his roof and ceiling into his living room. Along with the rather large sleigh, the big red faced guy, who was still cussing up a storm, and the huge sack which was spilling wrapped presents all over the room, came a rather large amount of what appeared to be some sort of animal droppings. It also seemed that the sleigh had some sort of a quick disconnect which had disengaged when the sleigh started going thru the roof. Whatever had been pulling it had incidentally crapped all over everything, and then had taken off without said sleigh, fat guy in red suit, and huge goodie bag.
The author's only comment at this point was, "Holy Shit, Merlin! What the fuck?"
oOoOoOo
Herman Tumbleweed
69 Roundlake Dr
Roundlake, IA 51516 USA
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Dr Drake McLaggen, PHD
44 McLaggen Ln
McLaggen Scotland, UK
14 February 2007
Dear Dr McLaggen,
I do hope you will remember me, sir. We met a few years ago in Edinburghwhile I was attending a seminar on the Mythology of Scotland. You gave a lecture on the magic of the area at that time, and as I recall you are considered the foremost expert on this subject. I was wondering if I might ask a rather large favour of you concerning the reported magic of your homeland. Unexpectedly, I have recently been regaled with stories too fantastic to believe, but from a source almost above reproach.
If I were to send you transcripts of my talks with the individual, would you be interested in commenting upon them and evaluating them for validity? I assure you these are not fanciful tales, sir, but rather the ramblings of an old man who has been my, erm, houseguest for a few months now. If you should like, along with the transcripts, I can tell you briefly how this came about. It would seem this individual has spent considerable time in Scotland as well as many other varied locations around the globe, for a good many years. Not to mention he seems to travel extensively each year, on one day in particular.
In closing, I would greatly appreciate your assistance in this endeavour and assure you that any and all publications to come from this would include, at the least, a well place word of thanks for your efforts.
Sincerely,
Herman Tumbleweed
OoOoOoO
Mr Herman Tumbleweed
69 Roundlake Dr
Roundlake IA 51516 USA
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Dr Drake McLaggen
44 McLaggen Ln
McLaggen, Scotland UK
24 February 2007
Dear Mr Tumbleweed,
I am intrigued by your recent rather cryptic correspondence concerning magical use in Scotland in recent times and would be more than happy to evaluate your transcripts for validity. I do in fact recall making your acquaintance at that conference, and, if I may say so, also recall you made rather a pest of yourself. That aside, any source of tales of magical use in the British Isles, and particularly Scotland always interest me.
If you would be so kind as to ship the documents via FedEx it would greatly facilitate their delivery and allow me to begin the process soonest. If you use a computer with internet access you could, as well, send the documents as e-mail attachments to the address I shall supply below. I would request that should you use the second method you zip the files prior to sending.
I would also be quite interested in hearing your tale of how you acquired your houseguest and under what circumstances he remains so. Please feel free to include as much material as you wish. I would strongly caution you not to be spreading tales of this, as doing so often damages the credibility of researchers such as myself and you. Doing so would also allow whatever information can be gleaned from the gentleman to be disseminated prior to publication which would lessen its impact upon the field of mythological research.
I anxiously await your reply and remain
Yours,
Drake McLaggen
dmclag maginet . net . uk
OoOoOoO
from: Herman Tumbleweed htweed gmail . com
to: Drake McLaggen dmclag maginet . net . uk
date: March 7, 2007
subject: Previous correspondence re: Scotland magic mythology
mailed by: zipped .docs
Dr McLaggen,
In response to your kind consent to review my notes and transcripts of conversations I have included all of these, as I have faithfully entered each conversation on my computer since my 'guest' arrived. I sincerely thank you for offering your esteemed services on this project.
As you will see, the individual in question claims to be none other than a magical, and mythical person know around the world by a variety of names e.g. Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Pere Noel, Kris Kringle, etc. I have reason to believe in the truth of this man's identity, as you will see from my notes in the first document. I shall endeavour here to summarize, however.
It would seem that the gentleman was attempting to land his reindeer and sleigh on my roof Xmas Eve last, mistakenly thinking mine to be a magical residence. It also seems that the only beings this person now delivers to are those of magical homes, since the Muggles, as he refers to the rest of us, have become too sophisticated to truly believe in him any longer. Furthermore, it seems that too many muggles, at least in the developed countries, have alarm systems which he has yet to figure out how to bypass; says it's not worth the hassle anyway. So his sleigh broke thru my roof, his reindeer left considerable fertilizer, and I have been host to him ever since. He claims to have injured his leg and to have unspecified internal injures, however it has required me to supply vast amounts of groceries and to cook nearly all the time to keep the man fed. That aside, it was better and probably cheaper than turning him loose to find an ambulance chasing, scumsucking, bottom feeder to sue me out of house and home. Of course, at the rate he's been eating, that may be what happens anyway; may have to sell the house to keep him fed, not to mention me and my three cats and five dogs, who all just love him to death, naturally; the traitors.
On the upside of things, I do have a really cool sleigh as furniture in my living room, which was fairly bare previously, and which gives me a nice place to relax and watch TV and videos. The goodie bag is amazing also. So far I've pulled out a new 56" flat panel TV, high end digital camcorder, vhs/dvd player/recorder, and a whopping wild wowzer of a stereo system. And that's not to mention some of the best chocolate this side of heaven. Seems no end to the stuff, though I'm not too sure about the Chocolate Frog things which keep trying to get away and usually get caught by one of the dogs before I can catch the damn things. The cards in them are cool though.
I have included the stories concerning the British and Irish magical communities and presence of a magical school in Scotland at the beginning of the narrative, as that seemed to be foremost on his mind. It seems he believes in a young man who was quite the hero in the alleged magical world of the U. K. about a decade ago, and that this young hero defeated a wizard of such extreme evilness that people still fear to say his name to this day, instead referring to him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of all things. The young man was purportedly one Harry James Potter, and is said to be a humble young man whose parents were killed by said evil wizard when he was but a tyke and was then raised by Muggle relatives. Those relatives are said to have been nearly as evil as You Know Who, another euphemism for the dark one.
However it would seem that a family who had befriended young Mr Potter while attending the aforementioned school, Hogwarts by name, have in the past few years begun taking a measure of pride in pranking these relatives. Seems two of the family's children, a pair of twin males, have opened a business which sells magical pranks and the family has taken to using said muggles as a testing ground for said pranks, apparently with the assistance of young Mr Potter and his wife a lovely young woman formerly named Granger. If it were true, what the old man says of his upbringing, I'd say I can hardly blame them. Mr Kringle, as he prefers to be addressed, said something recently which sounded interesting about a new gag called a Mr Potato Head, and another called Cauliflower Ears, and yet another called Head of Cabbage, which all sounded rather delightful, at least on other people I suppose.
According to Mr Kringle, the war with this Voldemort character ended in 1998 when young Mr Potter was able to catch the beast and some of his minions on a deserted moor late one night, and with the help of his young friends, including the two pranksters, outfoxed the old fox rather handily. Seems the twins had a few more lethal things up their magical sleeves than just harmless pranks. They supposedly used something called a Weasley Wildfire Whizboom, a type of explosive firework, to blow up several of the so-called Death Eaters accompanying the so-called Dark Lord. The rest of the dark one's minions were apparently disposed of by other even more radical inventions called a portable swamp, complete with crocodiles. At any rate, young Mr Potter supposedly duelled this Voldemort fellow for a few moments with magic spells, then tired of the game and simply pulled out a Whizboom specially made for the so-called Dark Lord and burned him up in a white hot blaze of phosphorescent, incendiary, spectacular, glory complete with a banner over the pyre saying: This Dark Tosser Downfall Brought to You By Harry J. Potter and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and coming soon to Paris.
At any rate, sir. I hope you can shed some light on the origins of the man's stories and to assist me in proper placement of these articles in the appropriate journals so as to bring these new discoveries, if they are such, to light.
Your humble servant,
H. Tumbleweed
OoOoOoO
from: Dr DrakeMcLaggen dmclag maginet . net
to: Herman Tumbleweed htweed gmail . com
date: 10 March 2007
subject: re: previous correspondence re: Scotland magical mythology
sent via: 1 file oblvt .spl .rtf
My dear Mr Tumbleweed,
It was with great pleasure that I have reviewed the documents you have provided as I myself have heard many tales of the exploits of our young Mr Potter, though not in quite such detail as you have provided. If it were up to me, I would encourage you to continue cultivating this source you have discovered as he seems to be a goldmine of information on the hidden magical world. Alas, such decisions are not mine to make, and you shall shortly be visited by some associates of mine who shall relieve you of the burden of caring for Mr Kringle. He must, to my understanding, be returned forthwith to the home for the aged from which he apparently escapes each year at Christmas time and performs the unlikely feats such as you described having occurred in your home. You have the undying gratitude of the British Ministry, I am told, in returning said gentleman, for whom the Ministry has been searching over the past two months. He apparently was not missed until 26th December, due to a bit of a mix-up at that home on the Isle of Wight.
Take heart though, dear colleague, and continue ever in your quest to find the mother lode of magical or mythological gold. One never knows where one shall find such a trove, and with your luck at having found Father Christmas I am sure you shall find such a treasure once again in due time. Be sure to open the attachment, as you will find I have included something which should be of considerable consolation to you.
Regards,
Drake McLaggen
OoOoOoO
The world renowned (at least in his own mind) fanfic author and investigator of magical and mythological phenomena stared blankly at the screen for a few moments, then gazed uncertainly over at the fat guy stretched out on the couch who was watching a Girls Gone Wild video for the umpteenth time. "Ah well," he muttered under his breath. "Shoulda known it was too good to be true".
With that he promptly downloaded the attachment to his files. Closing his browser and then opening his files he found the icon for the new file marked simple oblvt.spl.rtf and clicked on it. The file opened immediately and contained only one word. In sixty point typeface. OBLIVIATE
A few seconds later, the hard drive of Mr Tumbleweed's faithful computer whirred faster and faster and began making a mild grinding sound, in a mega crash of epic proportions rendering the entire PC a useless pile of silicone and solder, as things on the mother board overheated and turned to silicone goo.
At about the same time as said hard drive was going tits up on the prairie, several men dressed in what most folks would call dresses appeared in the living room of the residence. One of them pointed a stick at the sleigh and a beam of light enveloped the beautiful creation, which promptly disappeared.
Another of the men addressed the old man reclining on the couch and said, "Well Kris, you led us a merry chase this year. Why in Merlin's name must you always take your holiday starting on Christmas Eve and not tell us where?"
"Why do you think?" The jolly old elf smirked back, "How else am I going to get free accommodations in a nice Muggle home with hot and cold running food, plenty of beer and nice girly vids to watch. You blokes sure as hell won't let me have the girly vids. Can I help it if your bloody Brit Minister for Magic thinks that Father Christmas should be above such things? Crikey boys, can't an old man have a bit of fun once in a while. Merlin knows, this thing is so old Viagra doesn't even help any more, but at least a fellow can dream can't he?"
The other man, in the dress, laughed and said, "Yeah Kris, I suppose you're right. Next year why don't you just tell us where you're going to be so we can come join you, or go lay on a Bahamas Beach perhaps, instead of traipsing all over the world like this looking for you. Just lucky for us that bloke over there with the fried brain cells had met Dr McLaggen at a conference."
"McLaggen, you say? Why that young hoodlum! I should have left him on the naughty list, and you can bet your starched underwear he will be next year. That meddling fool has cost me a fun vacation more than once. Hmph. You watch, and see if he ever gets another magical Hollyhead Harpies vid from me again! Hmph, those old bags are getting too old to be ogled with them x-ray specs anyway."
Shortly after, the entire entourage all grabbed hold of a piece of rope which glowed blue for an instant before they all disappeared with a soft whooshing sound. Moments after that the almost, nearly famous fanfic author and investigator of magical and mythological phenomena came back to himself and shook his head as if he'd dozed off.
"Damn," he said, "must have dozed off for a bit." Then he looked at the blank monitor on his desk and realized the sizzling, grinding sound and burning odour was coming from his PC. "Ah shit," he swore vociferously, "I shoulda known that hard drive was gonna slag on me. Oh well, 'bout time to pitch this boat anchor anyway."
Over the next half hour he hauled off the bits and pieces of the old computer, stopped in the kitchen and warmed up the oven for one of those delectable self-rising crust pizzas he loved, and wasn't supposed to eat because of his high cholesterol, and hauled in some cartons from his spare room. After giving the desk a quick cleaning he merrily went about assembling his brand new top of the line, 4oo gig hard drive, super fast, 8k+ RAM, mega fast video card, PC. It had been a gift for Christmas from… hmmm, he couldn't recall, but figured it must have been an admirer of his fanfic work who had more money than sense. He had the feeling there was something he was forgetting as he plugged in the backup power supply and hooked up the Ethernet cable from his cable modem, but figured whatever it was would come to him shortly. Then it occurred to him, that he couldn't recall what he'd been working on that was so important he hadn't hooked up the new comp yet. He'd had the thing for two months, fer cryin' out loud!
When the pizza was done, he hauled it back to the desk and sat it in front of the huge flat panel monitor, which left lots of room on the desk for food, notepads, drinks, pens, snacks, research books, coffee cups, and such. With a gleeful smirk, and a mouthful of pizza, he unhooked the 10 gig memory stick from around his neck and plugged it into one of the USB slots on the front of the machine and started downloading all the files he'd maintained from the old comp. He was, for all his other faults, highly disciplined about backing up his files. He'd know shortly what it was he'd been working on that had kept him too busy to hook up this new beauty.
OoOoOo
Postscript: Later that year, as summer was in full bloom, so to speak, the world renowned (in his own mind, at least) fanfic author and former investigator of magical and mythological phenomena—turned fantasy author—was smiling smirkingly at his bounteous garden and very green lawn. It seemed that magical reindeer fertilizer was extremely excellent for growing things in. As he stood happily regarding his lovely yard and vegetable garden, his thoughts were awhirl with plotting the next chapter of the novel he was writing about a magical school which was hidden in the Rocky Mountains.
The end… of an era…. Or is it?
A/N In case you missed them there are at least three nods to three of my favourite fanfic authors. First, I used a modified version of Kinsfire's Portable Swamps from Family Matters in that I populated them with crocs rather than alligators. That was at the suggestion of my beta Ken. Secondly, I used a couple of devices from the immortal Jeconais in the maginet reference, which was originally invented by Anya in her wonderful Naked Quidditch Match. I also borrowed from Jeconais the idea of attaching spells to emails as he did to m-mails in This Means War. Thanks to all of them, and to you dear reader; I hope you enjoyed this bit of silliness as much as I did in writing it. Thanks also to my beta crew of Keith, Chris, and Ken for making my writing better than it could ever be alone, and to my friend Helen for inspiring the idea for this story while we were chatting on IM one night. Cheers.