"What if?"
A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students') magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. Darnit.
Pairings: AD/MM; I can't resist. FF/PS; Okay, okay, I'm convinced. Call off the fluffy plot bunnies (just kidding).
Spoilers: Very mild spoilers for The Deathly Hallows.
Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for mild coarse language and implied sexuality).
A/N: a big thank you to "vangoghadmirer", "OSUSprinks", and "landslide" for terrific, albeit inadvertent, brainstorming of ideas! The lovely folks at the Charming Roots boards are very persuasive, indeed.
Chapter 10/??
Squid's Merrie Olde Christmas at HogwartsChristmas Eve and all of her shopping was done; the Great Hall was decorated and all of the beautifully wrapped gifts were left with the house-elves for safekeeping. They would apparate the gifts for Albus to their private quarters, first thing in the morning, and would do the same for Brian's gifts to the Gryffindor common room. All in all, Minerva McGonagall was pleased with what she had found while on her shopping excursions, and had even found the time to secretly knit a few things for her husband and her son.
That afternoon, both she and Dumbledore had been kept busy with school business and correspondences, each in their private offices, but it had been a productive day. McGonagall had finished not one, but three articles for upcoming issues of "Transfiguration Today", and planned to give each final go-over before sending them by Owl Post to the editors in London…but that could wait until after Christmas Day.
It was for these reasons that she decided to reward herself for all of her hard work, and celebrate with a long, hot bath (the Asian spice bath beads that she'd received for her birthday had such a relaxing aroma). Since it was the holidays, she decided to splash out and asked their house-elf, Topher, for a bottle of his elven-made wine that he prepared in the Hogwarts kitchens with his own hands.
Just after nine o'clock in the evening, Albus made his way to their quarters, softly humming a Muggle Christmas carol under his breath (he had become fond of "Good King Wenceslas" over the years). The subtle aroma of the bath beads wafted over him, and he heard the faint music of a piano duet coming from the bathroom suite.
"Hmm," he murmured, trying to guess the composer while he set the privacy charms in place. "Haydn? No, Schubert. Lovely." Now he started humming along with this refined tune, a tiny smile quirking his lips. "Minerva dearest? Where are you?" Albus called out as he cast away his heavy outer robe, leaving his hat beside it, and stopped to grab a conservative handful of licorice snap from the candy jar on the table, noticing a small Christmas tree near the fireplace, decorated simply with enchanted tiny candles of red and green. The sitting area was warm and inviting since Topher had made sure the fire was well stoked for bedtime.
"I'm in here, Albus," Minerva called back at once. "Bring a wineglass, if you like."
The scene that greeted the handsome elder wizard was right out of a Muggle romance novel, and he couldn't help grinning at his wife as she lounged in the bath, bubbles all the way up to her soft, pale shoulders. Her eyes were closed and a few ringlets of hair had escaped a loose bun, damp from the moisture in the room. She held a glass of blood-red wine in her left hand; her right draped languidly over the edge of the porcelain bathtub, nearest to him. Minerva looked relaxed and happy, something that made his heart leap with gratitude. The candlelight served only to enhance this.
"Aren't you a vision of exquisite beauty for my unworthy eyes," he told her, coming to sit on the bench beside the tub. Albus leaned to kiss her softly on the lips, tasting the wine, and he chuckled. "What are we celebrating?" A passing thought of "how much wine already" rattled through his brain, causing a warm tingling to rush all over his body.
She opened her eyes into his twinkling (and somewhat amused) gaze, a shiver passing through her at the deep timbre of his voice. "I got a lot done today, Albus, and decided I deserved a time-out for myself," Minerva explained, taking a sip of the wine. She passed it to him to try, which he did.
"Very nice. Topher's?" Minerva nodded affirmatively and he winked, handing the wineglass back to her. "Ah…less likely for hangovers, or so he assures me."
She made a quiet noise of derision, which made them both laugh. "My shopping is done, my gifts are wrapped for Christmas morning, and I finished three articles to send in to the editor."
He gripped her free hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles. "I am impressed, Minerva. And I too, have news. Would you like to hear it?"
"Of course I would." She waved gently toward the dressing table and the music softened even further so as not to overpower their conversation.
"Well, Aberforth was unable to change his Christmas plans, but he sends you his best and hopes we can get together at New Year's maybe…he and I actually had a pleasant pint together down at the pub. I just now received an owl from Alastor, and he will arrive tomorrow morning," Albus told her. "He said he was overdue for a visit, and I agreed wholeheartedly. I've already arranged for the house-elves to ready the guest suite here just off of our rooms. What do you think?"
"I think it's a fine idea, darling. It will be good to see him again, and Brian can meet him at the Christmas banquet." She finished the glass of wine and placed the empty stem-ware safely to one side. "Moody can meet the Weasley boys too, so it doesn't seem too out of the ordinary; he worked with Arthur for years, after all. It's also nice how these things just work themselves out sometimes, isn't it?"
Dumbledore leaned closer to her, smiling roguishly. "Indeed. Alastor asked me to give you something until he sees you tomorrow," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, and then swiftly blowing a soft "razzing" sound into it.
She laughed, delighted. "The cheeky old bugger," she giggled then suddenly reached up to grab Albus' white ruffled shirtfront in both of her deceptively strong hands, and pulled him into the bath with her; Minerva actually startled a mild expletive out of him, and then he started laughing along with her. Bathwater sloshed over a number of the small Muggle-style scented candles, but none of them actually sputtered out.
"Oh bloody hell…Minerva Margaret McGonagall…" He conjured away his soaking wet clothes, and whispered further privacy charms for their quarters as he slid naked behind her in the tub, chuckling. "Father Christmas may only bring you a sack of coal lumps, young lady." Albus grumbled unconvincingly under his breath, but his wife had already seen his body's involuntary response to their skin-to-skin closeness. He smiled puckishly as he removed his glasses, resting them on a fluffy towel nearby.
Minerva reached to refill the wineglass, passing it to him with a naughty smile of her own. "Well, Father Christmas can keep his coal and whatever else he was planning on bringing tonight. You are the only Christmas gift I'll ever need, Albus Dumbledore." She settled back into his chest with a contented sigh, adding more hot water and bubbles to the bath with a subtle flick of her wrist. It was turning out to be the most romantic Christmas Eve in many, many years.
Christmas morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was filled with snow flurries and icy, angry winds outside, but none in the castle gave it a second thought. Up in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, Ron Weasley was the first one awake, a life-long habit, and he raced down to their decorated tree in the common room.
"Wake up, Harry! Wake up, Brian," he called loudly upstairs. "Oi, come on, you guys…it's Christmas!"
Harry and Brian both had gone to bed the night before with no expectations for the day beyond food and fun. Potter had never celebrated a wizard's Christmas that he could recall; and, Rollins had never celebrated Christmas in the U.K. that he could remember. Even at this early hour, it was promising to be an interesting day.
"Merry Christmas," Ron said when they peeked groggily over the banister, yawning and murmuring their replies. "Come down and see."
Casting a happy look of surprise at one another, they raced barefooted along the stairs to the common room. Clad only in their flannel pajamas, ignoring the chilly floors for now, they accepted identically wrapped lumpy parcels from a sweater-wearing Weasley. Ron's sweater looked hand-knitted: maroon with a golden "R" on the chest. He didn't really like the color (even as a Gryffindor), but that wasn't the point at all. All three boys ignored the fact that they still had "bed-head" hair-dos.
Harry opened his first, while Brian plopped down on the hearthrug to unwrap his: a navy blue sweater with a red "B" on the front of it. Harry's was a forest green, emblazoned with a yellow "H".
"I've got presents?" Harry asked, still looking rather dumfounded at the pile of gifts that Ron was scooting towards the armchair with his foot. One year, at Christmas with the Dursleys, he had received a toothpick taped to a rather shabby card. Most years, he just received Cousin Dudley's broken and unwanted items; not exactly happy holiday memories.
"Well yeah, what'd you expect, Sillius Soddus?" Ron replied, grinning. He popped another Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth, finding it to be an acceptable spearmint flavor (as opposed to booger, ear wax or vomit), and went on to explain: "The sweaters are from my Mum, guys. Every year she knits a new one, for as long as I can remember. It's pretty much a Christmas tradition at our house."
"Thanks, Ron. That was really sweet of her to do that," Brian told him sincerely. He pulled the sweater over his pajama top and smoothed it down to admire the fit. "This is awesome."
Ron's ears turned bright pink, pleased at his friends' reactions. "I told her about your favorite baseball hat." He tossed Zoë a wadded-up paper ball from one of his gifts, which she batted before heading back up into the Christmas tree, hoping to destroy a few more decorations before breakfast and her mid-morning nap by the fire.
The Gryffindor first years made short work of the all of the wrapping paper: fudge from Mrs. Weasley; different Honeyduke's sweets to each from Hermione; hand-made carvings from Hagrid; and, so on. Harry received an Invisibility cloak from an anonymous benefactor (it once belonged to his father, James, probably while he was at school), and Brian received several pairs of hand-knitted woolen socks, also anonymously. Each pair was decorated with shooting stars in yellow yarn, racing across fields of blue, green or red.
While Harry and Ron checked out the Invisibility cloak, Brian still had more packages to unwrap, a fact which rather surprised him. One was a tiny jewelry box, and in it he found a traditional gold claddagh ring (with its pair of hands holding a heart and crown) that had his birthstone, amethyst, on the crown. As he read the inscription of "cuisle mo chroi", he assumed that it was from his foster mother, Juliette (the tag had his name on it, but there was no indication of "from"). She sometimes read Gaelic stories to her children, and he knew that it meant "beat of my heart" (or, more simply, "sweetheart").
The next package, also namelessly given, was considerably larger and as he pulled the packing tissue from the box, he had to show the other boys what it was: full dress robes, in a dark blue-black silk. The outfit also had a matching wizard hat, just his size. "Whoa, this is, um…interesting looking. When would I get to wear this?" he asked Ron, who had more experience with wizard-worldly stuff. "School fancy-schmancy-dos?"
Ron, admiring the color of the robes, grimaced in sympathy as he recognized them for what they were: Molly and Arthur Weasley had robes such as these for attending Ministry functions. "Unfortunately, yeah, dances and things like that. It's dress robes."
"Why do you say unfortunately?" Harry wanted to know. He had to chase after a chocolate frog he'd just opened, catching it before it leapt into the blazing fireplace.
"Can you dance?" Ron grinned, raising both eyebrows at his friend. All three boys shook their heads and laughed out loud at the very idea, but suddenly Brian paused in holding the dress robes up to his chest.
"Oh, dammit. I bet these are from my Mom…" he said, a somewhat pained look on his face.
Ron and Harry snickered. "So you think you can dance?" asked Harry, incredulous.
Rollins blushed, redder even than a Weasley boy (which was saying something). "Shit," he whispered, then laughed along with them. "Okay, Fred and George and the rest of those guys do not need to know this, alright?" He waited for them to nod, ignoring their teasing facial expressions.
"When I was about six, I lost a bet with my mother. I had to pick: either piano lessons at the neighbor's—Mrs. Bouvin—or dance lessons as Mom's partner," Brian explained, shaking his head and trying to glare at them. He failed miserably, and couldn't help giggling too. Ron actually had tears in his eyes, he was laughing so hard.
"Your Dad didn't want to take the classes?" he asked, a little breathless.
Brian sighed. "My sister, Kelly, lost the same bet. She was Dad's class partner."
Ron got wide-eyed as realization dawned. "It was posh ballroom, wasn't it?" His classmate nodded, still embarrassed.
"Oh shit, is right, mate," said Harry. "You can borrow this if need be." He held out the Invisibility cloak, grinning.
Brian ate a chocolate frog, recovering his good mood quickly, and was pleasantly surprised with the last three packages he opened: a fresh box of Oreo cookies from his siblings (which he planned to share in the coming days); a new pair of brown snow boots and ski overalls from his parents; and, the largest tin of lemon drops he'd ever seen. He guessed the last was from Headmaster Dumbledore, though it too, had arrived unsigned.
Fred and George Weasley made an appearance in the common room shortly thereafter, each wearing their home-made and individually-lettered sweaters proudly. Even Percy joined them, though he had to be "helped" into his sweater by the twins. He protested feebly when they manhandled him, but didn't seem to mind too terribly when they offered him a fresh egg and ham buttie that they'd liberated from the kitchens (an entire tray of breakfast sandwiches appeared soon after on the long wooden table; the boys hadn't realized how hungry they were until they saw the platter of food). Brian watched the rough-housing fondly; the Weasley brothers reminded him of his own family back home in Maine. He and Harry were eventually dragged into the fray, to balance things out; three on three.
Christmas morning in Hufflepuff tower was dark and peaceful, especially in the private quarters of its Head of House. Even the ghosts were quiet, but only the Fat Friar and the Gray Lady ever came up here. Not a creature was stirring, save one. Filius Flitwick reluctantly left the warmth of his sleeping wife because he had to go to the bathroom. He smiled to himself as he was washing up, deciding to go ahead and brush his teeth while he was there.
His whole body, all 3'6" of him, tingled with anticipation as he tip-toed back to the four-poster bed. The only sound now was the scritch-scratch of his pajama pants legs; the only light was a faint glow in the hearth as he whispered a charm to illuminate the Christmas tree in their sitting room. It was tastefully decorated in tiny red, green and yellow candles. Filius whispered another charm, this one of his own creation, to allow the heavy bedroom drapes on the eastern window to open slowly, at the same pace as the rising of the Sun. Both he and Pomona Sprout had always had a romantic thing for sunrises and sunsets.
He cuddled against her back as he eased under the blankets, quiet as a mouse. The Charms Master planned to wake her softly, slowly and tenderly; and nearly chuckled out loud as he reached to caress the creamy skin of her neck with his lips, brushing aside the thick brown curls. He loved her hair: it always smelled of vanilla and tickled his nose. Flitwick thought it was her best feature.
"Mmph," she mumbled. "Filius, what time is it?"
He looked toward their alarm clock, his eyes adjusting easily to the dim light coming from the Christmas tree. "Half past six, dear. Plenty of time until the banquet."
She sighed, rolling onto her stomach and sleepily crushing the pillow in her forearms. "Oh good. Merry Christmas, my darling," Pomona said, still half asleep.
Filius stifled a laugh, sheer joy bubbling out of him as he kissed her ear. "Merry Christmas to you too, my darling." He smoothed away more of her hair, clearing a path for him to kiss or nibble at her neck and ear.
Thoroughly enjoying his task, he rubbed her back, digging in slightly at the places he knew were often sore from gardening, and continued to place tiny, tickling kisses on the back of her neck. He was finally rewarded by a low groan of pleasure that escaped her lips, barely muffled by the feather pillow.
"Filius? What are you doing?" she asked, raising her head a bit off the pillow to speak more clearly, involuntarily groaning again as he utilized light scratches of his fingernails on her lower back. That was one of her few weak spots, and he knew it: after thirty years of marriage to this kind-hearted witch, he had willingly memorized her body's responses (and she his, if the truth be told).
"Who, me? Nothing dear," he murmured into her shoulder. "Shall I stop?"
Her whole body shook when she giggled, a sound and sensation which made the little wizard's knees go weak. "I didn't say that, sweetness." Pomona reached over to the nightstand and popped a butter-mint into her mouth. Thundering hippogriffs couldn't have chased her out of their bed now, and thoughts of checking on the greenhouses before breakfast swiftly vanished from her mind.
Careful not to crush her husband or his talented hand, she rolled over onto her back and opened her arms to embrace him. "I have been very good this year, Santa," she continued, her dark eyes sparkling. A flick of her wrist and both her nightgown and his pajamas disappeared.
It took all of his self-control to not squeak with surprise, instead chuckling softly into the smooth skin of her upper chest. "Indeed? Why yes, I believe you have, my dear."
Christmas morning in the private quarters of the Headmaster of Hogwarts found him tip-toeing quickly, still pajama-clad, to gather a breakfast tray while his wife (and Deputy Headmistress) busied herself in their bathroom suite. He grinned when he heard her humming his favorite Muggle Christmas carol. Looking down at the tray of hot coffee, scones and raspberry jam on their card table, he decided it was perfect. Whispering the appropriate charms, Dumbledore unlocked the privacy wards on their rooms: they were expecting a firecall from Alastor Moody any time now, letting them know he was on his way by the Floo-network.
As promised, Topher had arranged for the gifts to be placed under their decorated tree (which, this year, had been re-decorated for Christmas morning with tiny fluttering phoenixes being chased by little tabby cats). Albus resisted the urge to check the tags and shake his gifts to try to guess their contents. After last night, which started in the bath and moved sometime later to their bed, he decided to wait and see if he needed to order in a bigger breakfast; at his age, he needed to keep up his strength, after all.
Minerva had brushed her hair and tucked it into her usual bun, but he was happy to see that she'd decided to stay in her PJs for a while longer…usually she was awake and dressed for the day before he was. She padded over to him in their warm sitting area, smiling and relaxed.
"Merry Christmas, Sunshine," she said, snaking her arms around his neck and reaching up for a kiss.
His heart skipping a beat or two, Albus grinned down at her. "Merry Christmas, Tabby. Are you hungry?" He held her slim waist as they danced on the hearth rug to whatever music was playing in their heads.
Minerva grinned back. "Ravenous, actually," she said with a chuckle. "Have you been reading that Muggle magazine on men's health again? I think that's the title…"
He pulled her into a shallow dip, gently easing her back to her feet (Dumbledore was an excellent ballroom dancer). "Who, me? Shall I stop?" Albus asked innocently, but the sparkling in his crystal-blue eyes was positively pornographic.
"I didn't say that, sweetness." They both giggled, coming closer for another kiss. A cough from the fireplace got their attention.
"You two lovebird slug-a-beds up yet, or shall I come back later?" They immediately recognized the gruff voice as one Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
Minerva laughed, delighted to see his face. "Alastor! Come in, come in. We were about to sit down to breakfast." Behind her, she could hear Albus conjuring a third place setting at the table, and could smell the sausages that had arrived.
"That's not what I saw, McGonagall darlin'." He raised one eyebrow suggestively while his magical left eye whirred in place.
Dumbledore held up a coffee cup so he could see it from the fireplace. "We need to get you a lady friend," he teased. "Come on in, lad."
"Who says I haven't got one?" was the growled reply. "Aye, back in a flash. That oughtta give you plenty of time for a quick shag, you randy buggers." With that, he was gone in a quick burst of orange flames and Minerva didn't have time to throw anything at him. Yet.
TBC
A/N: up next, Christmas banquet in the Great Hall. Thank you for reading this far, and for sticking with "Brian" and me in this slowly developing story. More to come!