Fanfiction: Once Upon a Freakin' Time
Christmas Edition!
Severus Snape Discovers the Perils of Re-gifting
At the annual Death Eater holiday gathering, Lucius Malfoy was celebrating his now annual tradition of standing under the mistletoe, singing at the top of his voice. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to miiiiiiiiiind?”
“Lucius,” said Snape, “stop it."
“For auld lang syyyyyyne! For auld laaaaang syne, m’dear! We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet…”
“Lucius, that’s not even the same verse.”
“For auld lang syyyyyyyyyyyyyne!”
“Hey!” Voldemort stepped forward, snapping his long, white, oft-described fingers in Lucius’s face. “That enough. Shut up or I’ll Crucio you into next year.”
Dead silence from Lucius met the room full of Death Eaters. Which most certainly was a first.
“Merlin, I hate Christmas,” said Lord Voldemort, turning away and sipping his nog. “It’s so…happy.”
“How can you hate Christmas, my Lord?” asked Dolohov. “We have mulled wine.”
“The music, the presents, the decorations, the Goodwill Toward Man. What other reasons do I need to hate it?”
“But,” said a mystified Dolohov, “mulled wine!”
Snape eyed Voldemort a little more seriously. “I hope you’re not considering trying to stop Christmas again.”
“No,” said Voldemort, gripping his paper cup a little more tightly. “I learned my lesson last year. Is this party over yet?”
“Well, we still have the Furtive Father Christmas distribution to do,” said Snape. “As soon as we do that, we can all go home.”
“Good. Just give me the stupid thing then.”
Snape sent Nott over to the Christmas tree decorated with black and grey garlands to search out Lord Voldemort’s gift, and hopefully prevent a death in the near future. Nott brought back a gold and red wrapped package, which Voldemort eyed disparagingly. “I also hate wrapping paper. Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know, my Lord,” responded Nott. “That’s why it’s called ‘Furtive’.”
“Stupid,” said Voldemort, raising his wand while his Death Eaters ducked reflexively out of the way. “Scidi!” The wrapping paper tore violently away from a plain cardboard box. Voldemort removed the top of the box and causally tossed it aside. But when he peered into the box, Lord Voldemort, Master of the Mysteries of the Dark, was so shocked that he dropped the box to the ground, spilling the contents at his feet.
Unsure of what to do, Nott dove to the ground to recover the gift and get it out of sight before Voldemort had a particularly violent reaction. Grabbing it, he discovered it to be some type of dark blue garment, made of thick, soft cloth. It appeared to be a sweatshirt. Granted, it was a piece of Muggle clothing, but Nott could not understand why Lord Voldemort would react with such horror. Unfolding the sweatshirt a little further, Nott discovered the true terror. Covering approximately 80% of the shirt’s front was a cheaply done screen of a white rabbit with huge, deep black eyes nestled into a nest of holly leaves bearing bright red berries.
Voldemort finally found the strength to speak. “I really, really, really hate Christmas sweaters.”
“Sweatshirts, sir,” whispered Snape.
“Christmas sweatshirts,” repeated Voldemort, oblivious to correction.
“Wow,” said Nott, holding up the sweatshirt for all to see. “That’s quite the, uh, giant frosted bunny there.”
“Who would dare?” asked Bellatrix. “No, really? Who would dare give the Dark Lord such a gift?”
“Aww,” said Lucius, appearing over her shoulder. “Look at its weeny nose!”
Dead silence from the Death Eaters met Lucius. Which most certainly was not a first.
“Oh, man,” said Dolohov. “Run.”
“No, no,” said Voldemort, rising from his chair with a gleam in his eye. “No. I have a better idea. I know exactly what to do with this. This sweatshirt shall serve me well.”
* * * *
A few days later, at the Hogwarts’ Staff Christmas Party, Snape was suffering from an acute case of déjà vu. Hagrid was celebrating his now annual tradition of standing under the mistletoe, singing at the top of his voice. “Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen…”
“Hagrid,” said Snape, “stop it.”
“…Therefore, Christian men be sure wealth or rank possessing…”
“Hagrid, that’s not even the same verse.”
“…ye who now will bless the poor…!”
“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, coming across the room, “I’m quite thirsty. Would you please get me another eggnog?”
“Aiight, p’fessor,” said Hagrid, stumbling from the room.
“Severus,” said Dumbledore, taking Snape’s arm and leading him back to the main party, “I’m glad you decided to join us this evening. I am so pleased that I have even brought you a gift.” Dumbledore’s eyes gave a little twinkle, as they are prone to do.
“Oh, thank you, Headmaster,” said Snape, feeling suspicious, but not knowing exactly why. “That’s not really necessary.”
“Nonsense. I have been receiving presents all day from people I thought were dead, and several who I am quite certain are. I figure I should pass the good fortune along. Thusly, I have brought you this present. I insist you take it, and spread the generosity yourself.”
Snape, now backed into a corner, took the gift reluctantly. “Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I’ll just…”
“Open it!” said Dumbledore with a smile and his twinkling eyes turned to “high beam.” Snape sighed and unwrapped the present. “Happy Christmas, Severus.”
“Well,” said Flitwick, looking over Snape’s shoulder into the box. “That’s quite the, uh, giant frosted bunny there.”
Minerva McGonagall just laughed and laughed and laughed, and then headed over to dessert table to tell Professors Sinistra and Sprout.
Happy Holidays to all!
Severus Snape Discovers the Perils of Re-gifting
At the annual Death Eater holiday gathering, Lucius Malfoy was celebrating his now annual tradition of standing under the mistletoe, singing at the top of his voice. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to miiiiiiiiiind?”
“Lucius,” said Snape, “stop it."
“For auld lang syyyyyyne! For auld laaaaang syne, m’dear! We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet…”
“Lucius, that’s not even the same verse.”
“For auld lang syyyyyyyyyyyyyne!”
“Hey!” Voldemort stepped forward, snapping his long, white, oft-described fingers in Lucius’s face. “That enough. Shut up or I’ll Crucio you into next year.”
Dead silence from Lucius met the room full of Death Eaters. Which most certainly was a first.
“Merlin, I hate Christmas,” said Lord Voldemort, turning away and sipping his nog. “It’s so…happy.”
“How can you hate Christmas, my Lord?” asked Dolohov. “We have mulled wine.”
“The music, the presents, the decorations, the Goodwill Toward Man. What other reasons do I need to hate it?”
“But,” said a mystified Dolohov, “mulled wine!”
Snape eyed Voldemort a little more seriously. “I hope you’re not considering trying to stop Christmas again.”
“No,” said Voldemort, gripping his paper cup a little more tightly. “I learned my lesson last year. Is this party over yet?”
“Well, we still have the Furtive Father Christmas distribution to do,” said Snape. “As soon as we do that, we can all go home.”
“Good. Just give me the stupid thing then.”
Snape sent Nott over to the Christmas tree decorated with black and grey garlands to search out Lord Voldemort’s gift, and hopefully prevent a death in the near future. Nott brought back a gold and red wrapped package, which Voldemort eyed disparagingly. “I also hate wrapping paper. Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know, my Lord,” responded Nott. “That’s why it’s called ‘Furtive’.”
“Stupid,” said Voldemort, raising his wand while his Death Eaters ducked reflexively out of the way. “Scidi!” The wrapping paper tore violently away from a plain cardboard box. Voldemort removed the top of the box and causally tossed it aside. But when he peered into the box, Lord Voldemort, Master of the Mysteries of the Dark, was so shocked that he dropped the box to the ground, spilling the contents at his feet.
Unsure of what to do, Nott dove to the ground to recover the gift and get it out of sight before Voldemort had a particularly violent reaction. Grabbing it, he discovered it to be some type of dark blue garment, made of thick, soft cloth. It appeared to be a sweatshirt. Granted, it was a piece of Muggle clothing, but Nott could not understand why Lord Voldemort would react with such horror. Unfolding the sweatshirt a little further, Nott discovered the true terror. Covering approximately 80% of the shirt’s front was a cheaply done screen of a white rabbit with huge, deep black eyes nestled into a nest of holly leaves bearing bright red berries.
Voldemort finally found the strength to speak. “I really, really, really hate Christmas sweaters.”
“Sweatshirts, sir,” whispered Snape.
“Christmas sweatshirts,” repeated Voldemort, oblivious to correction.
“Wow,” said Nott, holding up the sweatshirt for all to see. “That’s quite the, uh, giant frosted bunny there.”
“Who would dare?” asked Bellatrix. “No, really? Who would dare give the Dark Lord such a gift?”
“Aww,” said Lucius, appearing over her shoulder. “Look at its weeny nose!”
Dead silence from the Death Eaters met Lucius. Which most certainly was not a first.
“Oh, man,” said Dolohov. “Run.”
“No, no,” said Voldemort, rising from his chair with a gleam in his eye. “No. I have a better idea. I know exactly what to do with this. This sweatshirt shall serve me well.”
* * * *
A few days later, at the Hogwarts’ Staff Christmas Party, Snape was suffering from an acute case of déjà vu. Hagrid was celebrating his now annual tradition of standing under the mistletoe, singing at the top of his voice. “Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen…”
“Hagrid,” said Snape, “stop it.”
“…Therefore, Christian men be sure wealth or rank possessing…”
“Hagrid, that’s not even the same verse.”
“…ye who now will bless the poor…!”
“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, coming across the room, “I’m quite thirsty. Would you please get me another eggnog?”
“Aiight, p’fessor,” said Hagrid, stumbling from the room.
“Severus,” said Dumbledore, taking Snape’s arm and leading him back to the main party, “I’m glad you decided to join us this evening. I am so pleased that I have even brought you a gift.” Dumbledore’s eyes gave a little twinkle, as they are prone to do.
“Oh, thank you, Headmaster,” said Snape, feeling suspicious, but not knowing exactly why. “That’s not really necessary.”
“Nonsense. I have been receiving presents all day from people I thought were dead, and several who I am quite certain are. I figure I should pass the good fortune along. Thusly, I have brought you this present. I insist you take it, and spread the generosity yourself.”
Snape, now backed into a corner, took the gift reluctantly. “Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I’ll just…”
“Open it!” said Dumbledore with a smile and his twinkling eyes turned to “high beam.” Snape sighed and unwrapped the present. “Happy Christmas, Severus.”
“Well,” said Flitwick, looking over Snape’s shoulder into the box. “That’s quite the, uh, giant frosted bunny there.”
Minerva McGonagall just laughed and laughed and laughed, and then headed over to dessert table to tell Professors Sinistra and Sprout.
Happy Holidays to all!