Fic: A Hogmanay Carol

[therealsnape]

Author: therealsnape
Title: A Hogmanay Carol
Rating:NC-17
Pairing(s):Minerva McGonagall / Rolanda Hooch
Disclaimer: I neither own the Harry Potter universe nor the copyrights of A Christmas Carol in Prose.
Summary: During a Hogwart Christmas, Minerva simply enjoys whatever amusement is on offer. It's Hogmanay she's truly looking forward to, a time for pleasure alone. Her little holiday takes a surprising turn, but still exceeds expectations.
Author's Notes: Kellychambliss and Tetleythesecond were invaluable betas!

This story was originally written for the Yule_balls fest. The recipient wanted a Hogwarts setting for Dickens, the fest demands an NC-17 rating. The problem with Dickens is ... also, the options for femmeslash in the Carol are ... Well, this is the result.



The Ghost of Christmas Past

Professor McGonagall's office, December 19th, 1985

Dear Molly,
Thank you for your Christmas invitation. You really managed to outdo yourself in delicious triteness.

We want to share our warmth with all our dear, lonely Order friends, … Why would we all want to spend Christmas at your place, thinking back to that ghastly time while you bring up endless memories, then tell us to be cheerful because that's what everyone would have wanted? Would Alice and Frank want us to drink to their empty shells before a brisk round of charades, or would they rather have us rage against the dying of their light?

... for no-one should be lonely at Christmas … Well, my dear, I can assure you that I won't be. I've invited quite a number of gentlemen friends: vigorous Mr. Nickleby, smouldering Mr. Darcy, the deliciously wicked Vicomte de Valmont and some more… One of them will probably end up in my bed. I haven't quite decided who, but then, I don't have to limit myself to one, do I?

So you'll understand that I will have to forego the pleasure of meeting that very kind and good-tempered Mr. Thicknesse - whose nephew has just started at Arthur's department - such a very sweet man and still quite strong for his age […] If I remember correctly, I did meet him at one of your dinner parties - or kitchen sups, as you insist on calling them. (Actually, darling, that term is usually employed by people who really do have a dining room.) Would the aptly-named Thicknesse be the very fat octogenarian with a wart on his nose and a long beard with enough soup leftovers in it to feed all of Hogwarts? Oh, dear … I was so looking forward to meeting him again …

Alas, it is not to be. I have to remain at Hogwarts over Christmas, and after that I'm otherwise engaged until term starts.

Yours despisingly,

Professor McGonagall carefully reread the entire letter from start to finish, nodding approvingly. Then, with a rather exaggerated flourish (but it was a Christmas letter) she signed: Minerva and, for good measure, added a few festive touches of red to the capital M. Perhaps some green, too? she thought. But red being the readily available colour on a teacher's desk and restraint an admirable quality, she decided to leave it as it was.
She took one last look at it and rolled the parchment. So soothing and therapeutic to write an angry letter.

With a satisfied smile, she set fire to the roll. Of course, she thought, it's sheer lunacy to send them. It's hurtful, cheap, and worse, ineffective. The writing, however …
She took up a second sheet of parchment and wrote a pleasant, if somewhat bland, refusal to Molly Weasley's annual Christmas invitation.

As she rolled and sealed it, she looked longingly at the pile of books next to her desk. This year's shopping spree had been more than satisfactory. Much has been accomplished today, as Austen's priceless Mrs Bennet was wont to say, she thought.

School business brought her to London now and then, and in the first term she usually planned things so that the London shops were well into Seasonal displays when she had to go. This year too, after settling her affairs quickly and efficiently, she had taken time to enjoy the Charing Cross Road book shops. And then, silently blessing the chance to Apparate and thus avoid public transport, she had made her way towards Harrods.

All purchases would be packed and ready on the morning of the 27th. Christmas and Boxing Day at Hogwarts, yes. She usually stayed, not so much to 'support Hogwarts and me', as Albus called it, but because she really didn't care much one way or another. In Scotland, most people could take Christmas or leave it alone.

Hogmanay, that was different. That was a day for pleasure alone. And 'pleasure alone' was just what she was going to have. Six days of blessed solitude in her cottage: a cheerful fire, music, piles of books, some good wine, tea, and Harrods's delicacies…

In the meantime, she planned to enjoy herself in any way she could. And right now, that meant pouring herself a glass of port and settling down for the annual rereading of A Christmas Carol.

Duty was done; she had dealt with her own Ghost of Christmas Past. If only Molly would forget about the Order days, or at least stop organising 'warm' reunions! Definitely more of gravy than of grave about our Molls, McGonagall thought morosely - and a rather glutinous gravy, too.

She reached for the well-worn book and settled back for a spell among Bob Cratchit, Fred, Tiny Tim and, above all, Marley and his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner, the highly entertaining Mr. Scrooge.

The Ghost of Christmas Present

Hogwarts, Great Hall, Christmas Day

Filius had outdone himself this year, Minerva thought as she entered the Great Hall. And Christmas decoration at Hogwarts was a fiendishly difficult affair. It wasn't just a question of combining one beautiful, wood-panelled room, several Christmas trees, and your wildest imaginations. You had to work around the sensibilities of the various Houses, too. Filius could never use red-and-gold: "Bloody Gryffindor is always favoured." Had to avoid green-and-silver: "And what do Slytherins know about Season's Cheer?" At Harrods, she had seen a rather fetching display in blue, but if Filius used that, he'd never hear the last of it: "Just because he's Head of Ravenclaw, it's not fair." At least Hufflepuff (ever the peace keeper) was no real problem, with their un-Christmassy black-and-yellow.

This year, Filius had chosen various shades of purple and some lovely, frosty white baubles. The effect was stunning. So was the full Christmas lunch with all the trimmings. A small clutch of students was already seated. They would have been far more comfortable with a separate students' table, but Albus insisted on cheerfulness and jollity and goodwill all around. "It's Christmas Day, my dear! It's only once a year!" Which was, indeed, a cheering thought, she had to give him that.

As the food was passed round, and the terrified students gave their monosyllabic answers to Albus's hearty questions, she suddenly realised just how much Hagrid reminded her of the illustration of the Ghost of Christmas Present: In easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see. And Hagrid, kind, generous Hagrid, had many of the Ghost's excellent qualities. If Albus ever - Merlin forbid - decided to put on a Christmas Carol play, Hagrid had his part cut out for him.

After lunch, there was the inevitable blind man's-buff. As soon as she could without attracting attention, Minerva ensconced herself in one of the deep window-seats, behind a curtain. To her dismay, it was opened only seconds later.

A slightly flustered Rolanda Hooch slid in, closed the drape, and smiled apologetically. "Hope you don't mind me barging in. I'm just not much of a blind man's-buff person," she whispered. Minerva cast a quick, wordless Silencing spell. "Neither am I," she confessed.
"Do you think they will notice?" Rolanda looked slightly worried. I doubt it, Minerva thought, we're not Topper and the plump sister, no reason to suspect any goings-on between us. There was the usual twinge of regret at the thought of no goings-on with Rolanda.
Still, the best that could come of it was a painful break-up, and the necessity to remain colleagues and to continue working together. The worst was a passionate, loving relationship that had to be conducted in a school where several hundreds of students - and quite a few teachers - seemed to have nothing to do but gossip. And she did value the friendship that had grown since Rolanda had taken up her post. Intimacy between friends isn't reached with the first touch of bare skin on bare skin, she thought. It's achieved slowly, over a necessarily long period of time, during which, bit by bit, you find out how the other one thinks. Each time you think the same, there's a warm glow of recognition. And you can be a bit more yourself, a bit less on your guard.

She suddenly realised that Rolanda was answering her own question. "I doubt they'll notice us," she said, "I'm not Topper and no-one could take you for a plump sister, Min. I mean ..."

Minerva smiled, at Ro, at the Dickens quotation, at feeling exactly that warm glow she had just been thinking of. Did this mean that Rolanda, too, was thinking of being so very confidential together, behind the curtains? No, of course not. It meant, as Minerva knew perfectly well, that she loved reading.

"So you're a Dickens fan, too?" she asked. "I must admit that I reread the Carol annually. Today at lunch I was thinking how well Hagrid would do for the Ghost of Christmas Present, if we were to do a play of it."

"Would you like that?" Hooch enquired.

"Heavens, no. Someone would have to organise the staff, get them to rehearsals, jolly along those who hate the whole acting thing, and soothe the ruffled feathers of the prima donnas. And guess who that would be? The only bit I'd like is the casting."

"Who would you have, then? I think Hagrid is an inspired idea. So logical to think of the Ghosts for Ghosts, but Hagrid is much better. Mind, I think the Baron would make an excellent Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Oh, yes, absolutely. And Present? The Grey Lady is a bit too ... grey, I think."

"Nicholas would be a natural," Rolanda suggested. "But that means that he can't do..."
"...Marley." They had spoken simultaneously and smiled at each other, at the sharing as much as at the idea of Nicholas/Marley.

"We'll think of the Ghost later," Minerva decided. "What's more important, we need a good Scrooge. Actually ..., I realise that he's a bit young for the part ... but I feel that Severus could make something of Scrooge."

"Oh, God, yes. And can we have Filius as Bob Cratchit? And for Mrs. Cratchit ..." Rolanda hesitated, intentionally this time.

"Poppy!" Minerva added. They grinned at each other. "But what do we do with Albus? We can't leave him out; he would be devastated. Perhaps ... the Portly Gentleman ... no, that's too small a part ... That's it: Mr. Fezziwig. Jollying along his employees. Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer! He'll be perfect."

"And if we want to make the students' day, we'll have you as Mrs. Fezziwig."

"Is that rumour still doing the rounds, then? Silly children. He was my teacher once, and besides ...."

"Quite. Wrong age, wrong place, wrong character, I'd even say," Rolanda grinned.

"And wrong gender. Both for Albus and for me." Which was one phrase more than McGonagall had meant to say. Dratted Christmas lunch. Dratted curtains, and the girls' dormitory atmosphere they created. Quickly, she covered her faux pas. "Charity Burbage, I'd say; she dances well, which is all that is required, really."

Quickly, they distributed some more parts. Minerva had to cast an additional Silencing spell when Rolanda suggested Peeves as Tiny Tim. Still chuckling over that image, she regretfully suggested they should head back to the group. Rolanda would make a lovely 'plump sister', she thought; in fact, she'd set a fashion for sparse, well-muscled sisters. Who wants plump, when this is on offer? Stop it, you fool. Friendship, for Merlin's sake; be reasonable.

"Any plans for the rest of the holidays?" she asked casually.

"No, not really. Going to watch a Harpies' match. They play in Scotland, around New Year's Eve," Rolanda answered.

After a brief hesitation, Minerva decided that the notions of 'friendship' and 'being colleagues' could accommodate a casual invitation. "If you happen to be in the neighbourhood, drop by for a drink. You can tell me about the match."

"Perhaps I will," Rolanda answered. They made their way to the High Table, which was now laden with tea and Christmas Cakes.

The Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come

McGonagall's cottage, January 1st

It was a glorious day, with a nice, crisp tang in the air. A day made for a long, brisk walk, which was what Minerva was enjoying at that moment. The previous days had been gloomy and overcast, and she had spent as little time out of doors as possible. But now the fresh air would do her good, she felt. By the time she returned to the cottage, she would truly appreciate its comforts and a strong cup of tea by the fire.

Truly appreciate? she thought. A week ago you were panting to get here. And she was still enjoying herself thoroughly, but she did realise that by now a day of solitary reading and listening to music was just that. The feeling of utter bliss had diminished somewhat.

At this point, she thought, I could probably do with some company. No, not some company, she corrected, as always relentlessly honest and analytical with herself. She knew perfectly well that she would not be pleased if, let's say, Sybill's Inner Eye were accurate enough to see that feeling of loneliness. And Merlin forbid Sybill acting upon it. Luckily, there was little chance of that. The Inner Eye had been singularly myopic so far, and Minerva knew that the few cases of real, authenticated, not-otherwise-explained predictions all involved major issues. This made it all the more surprising that Sybill continued to report such things as predicting that Snape would stay at Hogwarts for Christmas - he did so every year - or that she had foreseen how a first-year would fall in the lake. Not having the Divine Gift, Minerva had to rely on circumstantial evidence such as a small, huddled figure shivering in the dripping folds of his or her cloak.

She smiled at the image. No, she thought, I'm not at a loss for 'company' in general. But I would have liked to see Rolanda. The Harpies' match wasn't so very far from here, she thought. However, the Harpies had won the day before, as she had heard on the wireless - there was nothing remarkable about a known Quidditch-lover listening to the sports results, she tried to convince herself. So Rolanda had probably stayed with her old team, having a terrific time. No-one could be expected to miss that, just to visit a colleague who had issued a casual invitation.

As she walked past the bend in the quiet country lane leading to the cottage, she redirected her thoughts towards tea, a slice of Dundee cake, and one of her books - but which one would she start on now? Debating the respective attractions of Dickens and a more recent whodunit, she reached the cottage gate almost without noticing.

"You're deep in thought," an unexpected voice said. Minerva looked up. This, she realised, was completely the wrong moment to assess just how much of that butterfly feeling in her stomach, and of that very warm - hot, actually - glow could be attributed to friendship.

"Rolanda! I didn't expect you! I thought that you had stayed with the team - after that victory - really rather marvellous ... Gwenog must be so pleased ... such a win at the start of her career ... I remember her well from her Hogwarts days ... Hufflepuff doesn't stand a chance now that she's left ... "

You're babbling, she thought. Stop it. "Come in," she added, forcing herself to be calm. "Did you fly? You could do with a rest and some tea, then."

She went in, and, followed by Rolanda, headed straight for the kitchen, where she put on the kettle.

"I certainly could do with some tea," Rolanda said. "And yes, I did fly. I always prefer it, and it's such a lovely day, and ..." she hesitated, looked at Minerva and then added, in a somewhat uncertain voice, "And after the match yesterday, we were making rather merry. Quite frankly, I couldn't even think of Apparition this morning without feeling queasy."

Again, she glanced at Minerva, who suddenly realised that the dear girl was actually worried that her Deputy Headmistress would be shocked at the idea of a Hogwarts teacher being the worse for wear. She laughed reassuringly.

"I can imagine," she said. "And a most sensible precaution it was. I remember staying with a friend and her parents for the Christmas holidays - in my student days, that was - and that friend and I, Amelia Bones, do you know her?"

Hooch shook her head.

"Well, Amelia and I went to a Hogmanay party together. We'd agreed to fly back, but it was rather late, and Amelia suggested Apparition. I knew that I would end up scattered all over the place, so I refused. And she said I could Side-along Apparate with her, she was perfectly sober. Well, not perfectly, but enough to Apparate. So I did. And her parents opened the door for us, talking sternly about the dangers of two young, pure, and innocent girls (we were neither of us innocent, nor all that pure) being out amidst drunken revelry. At that point ..."

"What?" Rolanda asked eagerly. "Oh, Merlin, don't tell me ..."

"Yes. Unfortunately, at that very point, I threw up on Mrs. Bones's shoes."

Rolanda howled with laughter. "How absolutely priceless. You poor dear. You must have been so mortified; I do feel for you."

"I can see that you do," Minerva remarked drily. "If we ever produce a play, I had best give you a non-speaking part. Your motivation in this scene would come across more strongly if you were not screaming with laughter. But there is worse to follow.

"I was, indeed, as you so feelingly put it, mortified. And my befuddled brain told me that I should undo the damage at once. Unfortunately, instead of performing a simple Scourgify, I felt the need to do something extra-special, to show the depths of my regret. So I wanted to Transfigure the shoes into elegant lace-up boots."

"And?" Rolanda was hugging herself in gleeful anticipation.

"And you may have noticed that one's speech may get a trifle slurred on such occasions. The poor woman was up to her ankles in booze."

Rolanda, having given up all pretence of pity and fellow-feeling, was holding her sides laughing. Minerva was glad to see that her own story of drunken revelry had put Ro at ease and had made her realise that she was with her friend, not her Deputy Headmistress. She joined in the laughter. As soon as they safely could, they Levitated the tea tray to the sitting room and made themselves comfortable in front of the blazing fire.

Several hours later - wine, some pâté, and cheese had replaced the tea and Dundee cake, and finally a small tumbler of an excellent Single Malt had replaced the wine - Minerva looked at the clock.

"I must go, I've already overstayed my welcome," Ro said, noticing the look.

"Certainly not, I love having you here. I was just thinking that it was rather late for you to fly anywhere - and perhaps Apparition is, again, not the best option. Why don't you stay here?" With a slight feeling of regret, she added: "I have a spare room."

"Wouldn't that be a frightful nuisance? You probably had other plans ..."

The mixture of eagerness and uncertainty was very audible, Minerva thought, slightly amused. You really never should attempt acting, Ro. Or perhaps, she corrected herself sternly, I'm just hearing things I'd like to hear.

"Not at all. I'd really like you to stay," she replied. "Let me show you your room."

Together they walked up the narrow stairs to the first floor. Minerva opened the door of the spare room. "It's only a small one," she said apologetically, "and there isn't an en-suite. But it'll do, I hope."

"It's lovely. Sprigged muslin, just what a room like this should have. It's so kind of you to invite me," Rolanda answered. She turned around to see the rest. It was tiny indeed, with a small chest of drawers and an even smaller wardrobe. But it had everything a guest could need, and the bed looked comfortable and inviting.

"It's lovely," she repeated, turning to look at Minerva. Turning slightly too quickly, she found to her dismay. Minerva's hand steadied her. Their eyes met.

I can't kiss her, Minerva thought. I can't, she's one of my staff, what if I read her wrong? She'd be so embarrassed; it could ruin her career.

Suddenly, she was pulled into Ro's arms and kissed thoroughly. She felt her body tense in surprise. Ro's really had too much to drink, Minerva thought, she'll realise what she's doing and be utterly embarrassed. But in the meantime ... I have this ... let's make the most of it.

Which she did. And 'the most' was quite something. More and more. And more. As she relaxed and leaned into Ro's embrace, she felt her whole body respond to Ro's kisses.

When they finally came up for breath, neither of them quite knew how to look. Or where.
She's as insecure as I am, Minerva realised. But I'm the hostess - what a ridiculous notion that seems. Still, I must...

"Sorry," they both said. They smiled.

"You ..." again, simultaneously.

We could become a decent Greek choir, Min realised. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "Not that ... well, I loved ... I wanted ... but ... " It was an impulse, she thought, Ro regrets it already, I can't say 'I'm in love with you'... it would make everything so awkward for her ... She saw Rolanda take a deep breath. Here comes, she thought, act graciously, make a mild joke out of it, make her feel comfortable with it...

"I think I'm in love with you."

"What?" Minerva gasped.

Never say 'what', dear, say 'pardon'.. Minerva heard her mother's voice, at this most inappropriate of moments. She nearly giggled. Nerves, of course.

"You can't mean that. I mean ... I'm so much older ... and ..."

"Not so much. Not much at all. And you're spectacular."

Rolanda took a deep breath. Then the words rushed out. "And I'm in love with you. Felt attracted at first sight, wanted you, and when I really got to know you ... I...

"I'm sorry," she added, as an afterthought.

"Sorry? You're sorry?!" Minerva stared at Rolanda's flushed face, at the muscular body, at the spiky hair. She finally did what she had often longed for and caressed it gently. So soft, she thought wonderingly. You think 'spikes' ... but it's silk ... She leaned forward and kissed Ro again. And again.

"Erm ..." The old, impish look and the cheeky grin were back. "Does this mean that you think you might feel something for me, too?"

"Oh, God, yes. I ... when I first saw you, I thought you were ... well ... sex on legs. But ... what with the job and all that ... and I was so glad that we were friends. I liked you, as well as ... But I wanted you. I missed you, these last few days. And ... I think ..."

They kissed again, not soft and exploring this time, but hard and deep and urgent. Minerva felt Ro pull her closer. She pressed against her, let her hands glide along Ro's back, her strong, square shoulders. She pulled back just enough to feel Ro's breasts. "Oh, Merlin, I want you ...' she whispered. "Bed," was the only answer. Minerva pulled her wand to Transfigure the small single bed. But with the last vestiges of common sense, she took in the size of the room. "My room," she said, her voice hoarse with longing. Together, still holding, still feeling, they stumbled across the landing.

Ro started to unbutton Minerva's robe, kissing her as she went along. As soon as the garment was unbuttoned enough, she let it slip to the floor. "I told you, you're spectacular," she whispered.

"Let me," Minerva said. With trembling fingers she started on Rolanda's clothes. "Let me, I want ..." I want you now, she thought, curse that dratted flying outfit. She reached for her wand, which was in the pocket of her robe, which was in a heap on the floor.

Rolanda followed her movements with her eyes, grinned, and pulled her own wand. "Better now?" she asked, as the clothes disappeared, and Minerva felt herself being pushed back on a soft mattress.

And then there were only Ro's kisses, and Ro's hands on her shoulders, and Ro's breasts touching hers, setting her whole body afire. She arched into Ro's touch, needing her, needing everything, needing it now. Needing her kisses and the tantalizing, butterfly touches on her hip, her leg, her inner thigh, and then, finally, Ro's fingers caressing her, softly first, then more and more urgently.

She felt the tension rise in her body, felt her own hands grasp the sheets, and a voice said "Oh please, yes, now ..." and that was right, she did need Ro now, inside her. "Please .." she heard and she found that the voice was her own. She heard Rolanda laugh delightedly, and then felt Ro's hand on her breast and her fingers inside her and a wave of pleasure that drowned all thought.

Later, much later, when Rolanda had fallen asleep, curled up against her, she stared at the small, moonlit window. Rolanda's taste still on her lips, the smell of her arousal still on her fingers, which, for that very reason, she held close to her face.

And she thought that for the first time, she fully realised the meaning of the words 'at home'. Not walls, not furniture, not a mortgage, not even her books. This. Ro's arms. Would this be how they would spend their Christmases Yet to Come?

Smiling, she fell asleep.