Big thanks to BrittanyPotter, PrincessWitch, Laura Kay, Minnie, petriebird18, Sanguine Quill, Child-of-the-Dawn, Demus, Mistress of the Manuscript, Witch Whoopie and Jestana.

Quick Author's note: Christmas Eve is indeed on the 24th but McGonagall mentioned 'Christmas Eve-Eve' in chapter 2, thus meaning the eve of Christmas Eve, or the 24th. Sorry if that was a bit… weird.

Warnings: Fluff. Out-of-character characters. Christmas carols.

#~**~#

Dumbledore remembered nothing about the kiss.

 McGonagall remembered nothing about the kiss.

It was one of those 'life's a bitch' problems, where something great has finally happened and then it seems destined not to have changed anything after all. Damn! 

#~**~#

"I saw three ships come sailing in,

On Christmas day, on Christmas day.

I saw three ships come sailing in,

On Christmas day in the morning," sang McGonagall in her peculiarly high-pitched nasal voice.

As she sang, McGonagall levitated a pan of Scotch Porridge Oats from the cooker to the table, where she poured the steaming contents into a bowl. Then she added a few drops of firewhisky to improve the flavour. 

          "What did I drink last night?" asked Dumbledore as he entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

          "Happy Christmas Eve, Albus. You drank 300mls of finest Scotch firewhisky," said McGonagall smiling.

          "'Finest' meaning strongest?"

          "No! It's only 45% alcohol."

          "Only 45%!" cried Dumbledore, looking mortified. "I should be dead after drinking that much. Why aren't I dead?"

          McGonagall glanced at Dumbledore impassively. "Maybe you've got a high alcohol tolerance," she suggested.

          "The most dangerous drink I ever have is hot chocolate! How would I have developed a high alcohol tolerance?"

          McGonagall shrugged and went back to her whisky-flavoured porridge.

          "I feel sick," said Dumbledore flatly.

          "Oh?" said McGonagall, who had drunk just as much the previous night and felt perfectly fine.

          "And I can still smell the damned stuff!" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

          "That would be the whisky in my porridge."

          Dumbledore gazed at McGonagall a moment longer before running to the bathroom and vomiting loudly. "Men just cannot take their drink," said McGonagall cheerfully as she finished her porridge and started singing again.

          "God rest ye merry Gentlemen,

          Let nothing ye dismay.

          Remember Christ our saviour

          Was born on Christmas day-"

          #~**~#

          "-To save us all from Satan's power

          When he has gone astray!

          Good tidings of comfort and joy-"

          McGonagall paused in her singing to focus on the tricky task of levitating thirteen shopping bags through the kitchen doorway. It was ten O'clock and she had spent the last two hours shopping.

          Dumbledore came through from the living room. "What have you bought?"

          "Just enough for a spot of Christmas dinner!" exclaimed McGonagall happily.

          "Seriously, what have you bought?"

          "As I said, not that much: melon, smoked salmon, cream cheese, turkey, chipolata sausages, bacon, cranberry sauce, carrots, parsnips, brussel sprouts, three types of potatoes, cheese selection, Christmas pudding, brandy for making brandy sauce, firewhisky for fun, after-dinner mints, chocolate-"

          "I get the picture," interrupted Dumbledore as his stomach began to turn at the thought of so much food (and yet more of that dratted firewhisky!).

          "You don't look to well, Albus. Would a drop of whisky help?" asked McGonagall mischievously, causing Dumbledore to clutch his stomach and run for the bathroom at the very thought.

He was altogether too busy being ill to pay any attention to McGonagall's cheerful singing as she bust into yet another rendition of a happy, light-hearted Christmas carol:

          "This little babe,

          But few days old,

          Has come to rifle Satan's fold!

          All Hell doth at,

          His presence quake-"

          #~**~#

          Christmas day arrived just as it did at Hogwarts- with lots and lots of snow. However, McGonagall could not see the snow when she got up as it was still pitch dark. McGonagall turned on the oven and tool the turkey out of the fridge.

          "What on earth are you doing?" growled Dumbledore from the kitchen doorway. He had the look of a man who has just woken up from a good dream and wishes to kill the one who woke them.

          "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!" cried McGonagall, dashing across the room and kissing Dumbledore's cheek.

          All was forgiven immediately. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Now what is it you're doing up at 3AM exactly?"

          "Putting the turkey in the oven," answered McGonagall innocently.

          "Does the turkey really need eleven hours cooking time?"

          McGonagall nodded and gestured across the room to where the turkey lay next to the sink. It was a very big turkey. In fact, it was the biggest turkey Dumbledore had ever seen. "Are you going back to bed?" asked McGonagall as Dumbledore 'admired' the turkey.

          "No, I don't think so," said Dumbledore offhandedly, his eyes transfixed by the giant fowl.

          "Then why don't you put the turkey in the oven and I'll rustle up a nice bacon sarnie to keep us going until breakfast," said McGonagall happily as she removed some bacon from the fridge. She then began to sing-

          "Jingle bells! Jingle bells!

          Jingle all the way!

          Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh!

          Hey!"

          "Minerva darling," said Dumbledore interrupting her song. "We have a problem."

          "Yes?"

          "The turkey won't fit in the oven."

          "Uh-Oh."

          #~**~#

          "It is a truly wonderful dressing gown," said Dumbledore quietly, admiring the blue dressing gown that McGonagall had bought him. "Far more manly than pink…"

          "It's not as great as the 'Transfigure Your Own Flying Kitten Kit' you gave me," said McGonagall earnestly, her eyes sparkling with delight.

          "You have beautiful eyes," murmured Dumbledore romantically as he wondered what excuse he could use to get McGonagall underneath the mistletoe.

          McGonagall laughed nervously then, with a kind of 'do or die' resolution she leaned forward and pressed her lips against Dumbledore's.

          "Ack!" he squeaked, taken totally unprepared. Then he deepened the kiss to show McGonagall that he wanted this and also, well, because he liked kissing.

          #~**~#

 McGonagall and Dumbledore sat at the kitchen table eating carrots, parsnips, brussel sprouts and three types of potato for Christmas dinner. Their eyes kept meeting across the table and then, with a quick blush and an embarrassed giggle they would look away. Some people might have thought it cute. Others might have found it bloody annoying. 

          As she munched on her parsnips, McGonagall kept envisaging different ways for Dumbledore to propose. On a moonlit stroll along a deserted beach… At a romantic dinner… On a boat ride across Loch Ness…

As he munched on his carrots, Dumbledore wondered exactly how to present McGonagall with her real present- the diamond engagement ring in his pocket.

It was already dark when the two stopped eating and moved into the living room (with a quick snog under the mistletoe on the way).

"Would you like some Christmas pudding," asked McGonagall.

"I'd like your hand in marriage!" blurted out Dumbledore before he could stop himself.

McGonagall gave a squeal of delight and snatched the engagement ring off Dumbledore as he hastily removed it from his pocket. "Of course I'll marry you! I've never wanted anything more! Mrs Dumbledore at last!"

"I love you," said Dumbledore sincerely as his new fiancée started to leap joyfully around the living room, occasionally stopping to bestow kisses on her lover or to observe how that was the most perfect proposal in the whole history of marriage proposals.

And as Dumbledore smiled, McGonagall leaped, the Christmas pudding in the oven began to burn and the turkey-that-wouldn't-fit-in-the-oven roasted on a spit over the open fire, thousands of wizards throughout the world celebrated a truly spellbinding Christmas.

Fini

Review button is located to the bottom left of the screen… Should I change the title to 'Spellbinding'? Or any other [more relevant] suggestions?