Day 6...
The sixth of December we celebrate St. Nikolaus' Day in Germany. As kids, we put out our shoes, and in the morning we'd discover them full of walnuts, oranges and chocolate coins, and with a bit of luck, there'd be a small gift too. And if we'd been too cheeky (known to happen), there were threats Knecht Ruprecht would see us suitably switched. (Still, better than Krampus. Small mercies. *nods*) These days we seem to have graduated to using plates, so much tidier, and it makes it a lot easier to serve up cookies, Dominosteine ('Domino stones' - chocolate covered squares of Lebkuchen (gingerbread 😉), jelly and marzipan), Lebkuchen, Kipferln (vanilla cookies), Zimtsterne (cinnamon stars) and Dutch windmill cookies (Spekulatius Plätzchen) are perennial faves.
None of which stops us from continuing to open our calendars. So! Door number six...
Whatever could it be?
Somehow he sounds none too pleased.
'I'm sure I can't imagine.'
He seems to approve of the snark and relents a little.
First Gryffindork flags, now their head. Albus is on the bloody box, so I imagine he's inside somewhere. This is going to turn into a straight up Moggiefest, isn't it?
She hesitates to nod, but her face gives it away. It would seem so. More or less at least.
I thought as much. I don't suppose I'm in there?
'Oh certainly. As Father Christmas no doubt.'
And there goes the eyebrow again.
'I wouldn't know. I haven't checked the parts list...'
But it's not bleeding likely.
Well this is a fine kettle of Plimpies.
'Freshwater?'
Goes without saying.
I going to need a cuppa to deal with this.
'Have at it. A good cup of tea almost never goes amiss.
'But you know, this could have its upside. If anyone stands a chance of transfiguring the Gryffindor standard, ABS notwithstanding, it's Professor McGonagall.'
You realise the obvious error in your logic is that she's also one of the least likely to wish to.
'Hmm. Perhaps a wager?'
Ah, finally! Now there's a good idea. Minerva has always been frightfully fond of a flutter. Leave it to me.
'Aren't you going to tell me what you're going to bet on?'
Absolutely not, he answers and strides off to speak to Minerva while a certain ginger dies of curiosity.
Not long after there's a flash of crimson light and an exclamation of dismay.
'What? What happened?' Aforementioned ginger rushes to the scene.
Ask the bloody minded woman to perform a simple Transfiguration, and she sullies my saucer with flowers. Looks like some of Sybill's tat.
Could have been worse. Could have been roses.
This is unacceptable. If it was too difficult for you, you should have simply said as much.
'Are you sure about that? Looks more like proof of concept to me.'
No... Minerva?
You catch more flies with honey, my dear Severus. You should know that by now. It's not that difficult; even Ms. Bred seems to have grasped the concept.
'Hey now!'
Witches. You have to be kidding me.
None of which stops us from continuing to open our calendars. So! Door number six...
Whatever could it be?
Somehow he sounds none too pleased.
'I'm sure I can't imagine.'
He seems to approve of the snark and relents a little.
First Gryffindork flags, now their head. Albus is on the bloody box, so I imagine he's inside somewhere. This is going to turn into a straight up Moggiefest, isn't it?
She hesitates to nod, but her face gives it away. It would seem so. More or less at least.
I thought as much. I don't suppose I'm in there?
'Oh certainly. As Father Christmas no doubt.'
And there goes the eyebrow again.
'I wouldn't know. I haven't checked the parts list...'
But it's not bleeding likely.
Well this is a fine kettle of Plimpies.
'Freshwater?'
Goes without saying.
I going to need a cuppa to deal with this.
'Have at it. A good cup of tea almost never goes amiss.
'But you know, this could have its upside. If anyone stands a chance of transfiguring the Gryffindor standard, ABS notwithstanding, it's Professor McGonagall.'
You realise the obvious error in your logic is that she's also one of the least likely to wish to.
'Hmm. Perhaps a wager?'
Ah, finally! Now there's a good idea. Minerva has always been frightfully fond of a flutter. Leave it to me.
'Aren't you going to tell me what you're going to bet on?'
Absolutely not, he answers and strides off to speak to Minerva while a certain ginger dies of curiosity.
Not long after there's a flash of crimson light and an exclamation of dismay.
'What? What happened?' Aforementioned ginger rushes to the scene.
Ask the bloody minded woman to perform a simple Transfiguration, and she sullies my saucer with flowers. Looks like some of Sybill's tat.
Could have been worse. Could have been roses.
This is unacceptable. If it was too difficult for you, you should have simply said as much.
'Are you sure about that? Looks more like proof of concept to me.'
No... Minerva?
You catch more flies with honey, my dear Severus. You should know that by now. It's not that difficult; even Ms. Bred seems to have grasped the concept.
'Hey now!'
Witches. You have to be kidding me.