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kelly_chamblissHere is my entry for the 2022 edition of ![[info]](https://stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
hoggywartyxmas. It was written for my beloved friend lash_larue -- Lash, I was honored to be able to write for you in the final year of this best of fests.
It's an uplifting, comforting story, I hope -- given the state of the world, we all need it!
Title: Four Christmases Pomona Sprout Loved and One She Hated
Author:kelly_chambliss
Recipient:lash_larue
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~6800
Characters and/or Pairings: Pomona Sprout/Aberforth Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, assorted Hogwarts staff, students, and elves.
Summary: For Pomona Sprout, Christmas is always a wonderful time. Well, almost always.
* * * * *
Pomona Sprout cast a never-wilt charm on a perfect amaryllis and fastened the bloom to her hat. A glance in the mirror showed the bright red flower bouncing jauntily on the brim.
Perfect. Festive, but not overdone.
Pomona usually spent little time fussing with her appearance. "Clean and covered" was normally all she required, and given the demands of her job -- handling all that fertilizer and potting soil and what-not -- she tended to be satisfied as long as she could manage the "covered" part.
But tonight was different. It was her first Christmas as a Hogwarts professor, and this evening, she'd be attending the headmaster's Yuletide gala in Hogsmeade.
And what a grand time it promised to be.
"Albus always rents the gathering space behind Honeyduke's Sweet Shop for Christmas night," Minerva had explained one Friday as they'd sat cosily before the fire in her rooms. Minerva often invited Pomona and sometimes Poppy Pomfrey for a drink after a long week of teaching, and a welcome invitation it was.
Truly, how she would have gotten through this stressful first term without the help and friendship of Minerva McGonagall, Pomona had no idea. They'd liked each other since the day they'd met as Hogwarts students and had kept in touch after leaving school, even as life had taken them in different directions -- Minerva to a job at the Ministry and Pomona to serve as apprentice and then shareholder in a magical seed owl-order business.
But then Elnora, her elderly business partner, had decided to retire, and Pomona had felt the urge to start on a new life path herself. Minerva, by then teaching at Hogwarts, mentioned an open Herbology position; Pomona applied and was interviewed and found herself installed in the greenhouses almost before you could say "bubotuber pus." Since then, Minerva had been a veritable rock of support and helpful advice.
"The room at Honeydukes will be magically expanded," Minerva had continued as they'd sipped their brandy, "because in addition to the staff, Albus also invites the Hogwarts Board of Governors and the merchants of Hogsmeade. And their spouses. Everyone comes -- well, except for Argus and Irma; they always volunteer to remain at Hogwarts to look after the students. But for most of us, it's quite the event of the season. You've been wanting to meet more people, Pomona, and here's your chance."
Yes, and it was a chance that she intended to take full advantage of. As a Hogwarts student, one was surrounded by hundreds of same-age potential friends, and Pomona had never realised how isolating the castle could be for the adults within its walls. She was becoming fast friends with Poppy and with Filius Flitwick, and of course Minerva was like a sister to her, but the fact was, if you were a sociable extrovert, you needed more than three friends, no matter how excellent they were.
Pomona tilted her hat to make her amaryllis more visible and noticed that the edge of the brim was frayed. She was debating whether to try a mending charm when Minerva's sharp knock sounded.
Pushing a flower petal over the frayed bit, Pomona decided not to worry. Everyone would be having so much eggnog and mulled mead that they wouldn't be paying any attention to her hat.
"Ready?" said Minerva from the doorway. "I know it's early, but Filius and I want to give a final check to the decorations."
"If they're anything like the ones in the Great Hall, they'll be exquisite," Pomona replied, accioing her cloak. "What about the food?"
Trees and tinsel were lovely, but it was the food that made a party. It wouldn't be Christmas without mince pies and figgy pudding with custard.
"Oh, the school elves will have the food well in hand," Minerva said. "They're just as efficient at Honeyduke's as they are in their own kitchens. They'll provide every treat imaginable."
Well, that was a relief. Pomona could almost taste the custard already.
She was nearly out the door when she stopped suddenly and sniffed.
"Minerva, you don't catch any whiff of dragon dung, do you? I used every cleaning charm I could think of, but I spend so much time with that fertilizer that eventually I can't smell it any more. I wouldn't want to go to a Christmas gala surrounded by Eau de Dung Heap."
"You'll be fine," Minerva answered. "Between the food and the drink and the pine trees and Madam Puddifoot's perfume, there will be so many odors that no one will notice another."
It didn't escape Pomona's notice that this response tended to confirm rather than deny the fact that she still smelled like a bag of shit. Oh, well. It couldn't be helped now. And probably Minerva was right; no one would notice.
What did it matter, anyway? It was Christmas, and she was going to a party!
Grabbing Minerva's hand, Pomona fairly tugged her along the corridor.
"Come on, then," she cried. "We wouldn't want Hagrid to drink all the eggnog before we get there!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Three hours later, Pomona leant against a holly-wrapped pillar to catch her breath. What fun this was! She'd been in a whirl of gaiety since virtually the moment she'd arrived. Not only had she eaten her fill of figgy pudding (not to mention a turkey sandwich, three mince tarts and two -- or was it three? -- mugs of spiced ale), but she'd also met at least a score of new people.
"Well, I think it's safe to say that you're having a good time," Minerva smiled, coming to stand beside her. "This is the first time I've seen you by yourself since we got here."
"Oh, Min, I've had a simply marvelous evening! Everyone has been so friendly. I had a lovely chat with Dulciana Flume, you know, she and her husband own Honeyduke's. We're going to meet for tea once all the yuletide madness quiets down."
"Better you than I," said Minerva. "Dulcie is nice enough, but I think she'd been permanently affected by a chatterbox charm. Talk you to death, that woman."
Pomona chuckled. "You know I'm no slouch myself when it comes to talking. We'll probably get on like magic."
"I'm sure you will. Don't mind me, Pommie. You know I always get a bit testy after too many days of holiday cheer."
"You'll be right as rain after a good night's rest and some time to yourself," Pomona predicted. "I'll bring you some somnola flowers; their scent will help you sleep."
"That sounds excellent; I've been-- "
But what Minerva had been would remain forever unknown, for at that moment, Headmaster Dumbledore joined them.
"Hello, Minerva. Pomona, my dear, so good to see you," he said. "I hope you're finding the evening entertaining."
He twinkled pleasantly at Pomona's assurances of her enjoyment and then said, "Minerva, I hate to talk shop at a party, but I'm afraid I need to speak with you about, er. . .some developments. Excuse us, please, Professor Sprout." And he led Minerva away.
Pomona bit her lip in vexation. She admired the headmaster, and he was always kind to her, but he worked Minerva too hard, and that was all there was to it.
"He'll have some new job or other for her, mark my words," said a gruff voice in her ear. "Demanding old coot."
Turning in surprise, Pomona beheld a tall, thin, older man with a long beard and piercing blue eyes that vaguely reminded her of someone. Not wishing to criticise the headmaster in front of a stranger, she said merely, "Minerva does a great deal for the school."
"Aye, for the school and for the war effort and for whatever it takes to make Albus's life easier and her own harder," said the man.
Pomona stayed quiet, and he seemed to realise that he'd spoken too strongly to someone he didn't know, for he said, more mildly, "Sorry, shouldn't have sounded off like that, but he does get my goat sometimes, does Albus. Ha!"
He broke off with a laugh, and his smile seemed rather rakish and charming. "'Gets my goat' -- that's actually a joke. I keep goats, y'see? It's me hobby, and you couldn't find a more relaxing one if you tried. When I tend to the wee things, milk 'em and pet 'em, and they give me a friendly little butt with their heads, it seems like all the cares and worries of the day just melt away."
"I feel the same way about gardening!" Pomona confided impulsively. Odd though he was, she liked this man. "Plants are the most soothing things I know." A mental picture of devil's snare and venomous tentacula interrupted her, and she amended, "well, most of them."
"I knew you were a person who loved the natural world," the man said, his smile returning. (Yes, definitely charming.) "I could just smell it."
Pomona burst out laughing. "That would be the dragon dung fertilizer, I'm afraid. It's an occupational hazard."
"And what occupation would that be?" The piercing blue eyes seemed kind and interested now, and obeying another impulse, Pomona held out her hand.
"I should introduce myself properly, shouldn't I? Pomona Sprout. I'm the new herbology professor at Hogwarts."
The man's grip was firm, his callused fingers warm. "Aberforth Dumbledore, goat man and barman. I own the Hog's Head pub."
Pomona felt her eyes widen. "Dumble. . .?"
"Aye." Aberforth gave a small shrug. "I'm the 'greatest wizard's' not-so-great brother. For my sins."
"Why, I'm very pleased to meet you. I had no idea the headmaster had a brother."
"Many's the day he's wished he didn't have one, and I've thought the same about him. But blood is thicker, you know."
"Of course it is. And I must say, I do see the resemblance. I thought when I first saw you that something about you was familiar, and now I know why. It's -- "
"The eyes," they said in unison and laughed.
A pause followed, which ought to have been awkward, but wasn't. Then Aberforth said, "Well, Professor Pomona Sprout, if you ever fancy trying some goat dung fertilizer, I know where you can get a good supply. I could bring you some myself."
"I'd like that," Pomona said. "I can always use new sources of plant nutrition."
They beamed at one another.
An elf stopped in front of them bearing a tray full of steaming mugs of cocoa, and at the buffet table, Hagrid started singing a rousing chorus of "All I Want for Christmas is a Hippogriff."
This, thought Pomona as she took a mug of chocolate, was the best yuletide party ever.
The fire crackled cheerfully, its warmth surrounding Pomona like her favourite stalwart pair of arms. Despite her best efforts to stay awake (she needed to check on the Christmas pudding), she could feel herself beginning to nod off.
"It would help if you got off the sofa, Pomona, old girl," she chided herself, but she was. . .mmmm. . .so comfortable. . .just one. . .more. . .minute. . . . .
The sitting room door banged, banishing sleep and bringing Pomona to her feet. She could hear boots being stamped on the mat, and she turned towards the sound with eager hopefulness.
"Oh, it's you," she said, in such a tone of disappointment that Aberforth, who had come into his flat Levitating several logs in front of him, gave a snort of laughter.
"Glad you're so happy to see me," he said, using his wand to deposit the logs in the box near the fireplace.
"Oh, Ab." Pomona hurried over to kiss his cheek and give his beard a playful tug. "You know you're the light of my life. But I was just hoping. . ."
". . .that this time I was Minerva," he finished. He shook snow off his cloak and wanded it to its peg on the wall. "Brrrr. A proper white Christmas we're having."
"Yes, for a moment I did think you might be Minerva," Pomona replied. "But I see now that it's too early. Christmas dinner at the castle will be just ending. We can't expect her to tea for another few hours at least."
"No." Ab fetched a sausage roll from the laden sideboard (Pomona loved yuletide abundance --she always made sure to leave behind at least a week's worth of food when she spent Christmas with Ab; she didn't think he ate enough). He parked himself in front of the fire and patted the sofa cushions. "Here," he said. "Bide with me a bit."
After she checked the pudding (how nicely it was steaming) and made sure that the brandy butter was firm in its mold, Pomona was glad to settle comfortably next to him, her feet tucked beneath her, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her. He smelt of clean goats and damp wool and made her feel that all was right with the world. She squeezed his hand tightly.
Above the fireplace, the portrait of his sister Ariana smiled at her.
"Thank you for not pointing out the obvious," Pomona said at length. "You know, the fact that Minerva might not come to celebrate Christmas with us at all."
"No need to say what we both ken," Ab replied. "She knows she's welcome. It's up to her to decide if she's ready. She may not be. Her husband's not been dead four months yet."
"Indeed. Well, you know I don't take it personally, Ab. People have to cope with grief in their own way. Min likes her solitude, and I suppose it won't do her any harm. But if I ever lost you the way she has lost Elphinstone, I'd want to surround myself with as many happy people as I could."
Aberforth grinned wryly. "Let's hope that when my time comes, you don't lose me in quite the same way. A venomous tentacula! I ask you. I'd like to think that the lover of Hogwarts's star herbologist would be able to avoid death by poisonous plant."
"Ab, behave!" Pomona punched his arm lightly but couldn't help a smile of her own. He looked so handsome when he was being roguish. "Accidents can happen to anyone, no matter how much they know."
"Oh, aye, I suppose so. I just never cared much for Elphinstone Urquart."
"Ah. . ." Pomona leant over to sneak a kiss. "That's because you were sweet on Minerva yourself in the old days. Admit it."
"I've always liked her, right enough. Mind you, she's mighty foolish when it comes to Albus, but otherwise, Minerva is a sensible woman." He kissed Pomona back. "And I'm fond of sensible women."
"Lucky for you, I'm fond of sensible men. And goats."
Ab pulled her a little closer, and they sat in companionable silence, the quiet broken only when he Levitated another log onto the fire or Summoned a treat from the sideboard. Finally he accio'd a bottle of Ogden's Old, and they toasted each other and the day.
It was after her third dram that Pomona burst out, "I don't care how right it is, it's just wrong!"
Ab pretended to scrutinize the firewhisky. "I must have drunk more of this than I thought, because I don't seem to be able to follow you."
"I'm talking about Minerva. Oh, I know I said she should be able to grieve in any way she pleases, and I believe that, but if she honestly chooses to spend Christmas night alone in that draughty castle, torturing herself with memories, maybe drinking herself into a stupor, when she could be with people who love her. . .well, I say she's making the wrong choice! I don't care how much right she has to make it, she's wrong!"
"Aye," said Ab, his voice solemn but his eyes twinkling. "Far better that she torture and stupefy herself among friends."
"I mean it!" Pomona got to her feet and seized her cloak from its peg. "I'm going to go up to that castle right now and bring her over here."
Ab stroked his beard. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Am I sure it's a good idea? No. Am I going to do it anyway? Yes. I can't stand to think of her being alone."
"Then I'll come with you."
"You don't need to, love."
"No," he agreed. But he stood up and gathered his wraps as Pomona cast a stasis charm on the pudding.
Within a few minutes they were tramping along the snowy high street of Hogsmeade, Pomona's hand tucked in Ab's arm, their breaths crystalizing around them.
"You still think it should be Minerva's decision, don't you?" she said as they reached the path to Hogwarts. After all their years together, she understood his pregnant silences too well. "You think I'm making a mistake, going to get her."
Aberforth strode along for a moment before replying, "I think you're a person who loves and cares about her friends. No mistake in that."
"Why, Aberforth Dumbledore!" She looked at up at him archly. "Since when have you become such a diplomat?"
"It's me work in the Hog's Head," Ab said with great seriousness. "A pub that raucous requires a landlord with a lot of delicacy."
Pomona's answering guffaw rang out through the snowy night; Ab never failed to make her laugh. They went some steps further before she stopped and put her hands on her hips.
"All right, Mr Hog's Head Ambassador. You win."
"Didn't know there was a competition," said Ab.
She ignored this. "You've brought me to my senses. Or maybe I just needed a walk in the snow. But we had it right the first time. Minerva's the one who gets to decide how she handles her first Christmas without Elphinstone. Not us. Not Albus. Minerva. Come on, let's go home."
Without a word, Ab turned back toward town -- though not before she glimpsed the brief smile that crossed his craggy face.
They'd gone only a few paces when they heard ringing footsteps behind them.
"Pomona! Aberforth!" called a sharp voice. "If you've come to be my welcoming committee, you're going in the wrong direction."
It was Minerva, her hat frosted with snow, her normally pale cheeks made nearly as ruddy as Pomona's by the cold.
She arched a sardonic eyebrow as she caught up with them and said, "Or perhaps you've changed your mind about inviting me over for tea, and you're making a run for it."
"Aye, that's it," Ab nodded. "Caught in the act. Pommie, I told you we should have Apparated."
Minerva's chuckle was muffled as Pomona enveloped her in a crushing hug. "Oh, Min, I'm so glad you came," she whispered in her friend's ear.
Then they were all walking arm-in-arm down the path towards their blazing hearth and their Christmas pudding, and Pomona tilted back her head to let the snowflakes caress her face.
"I need to leave," said Pomona.
It was Christmas afternoon, and she lay on the sofa by the fire in Aberforth's sitting room, wrapped in a comfy cocoon made of blankets and of Ab himself. Getting up was not going to be easy.
She shouldn't be here at all, really; she'd intended to spend the whole day at Hogwarts. Since so much was going on -- dozens of students to look after, a big holiday luncheon with all the trimmings, and the grand Yule Ball in the evening -- Albus had asked all the teachers to agree to work on Christmas.
"Not that it will really be work," Pomona had said when explaining all this to Ab back in November. "I'm so looking forward to it. We haven't had an event as exciting as the Yule Ball since. . .well, I don't know since when."
"So I won't be seeing you on Christmas Day, then?" Ab had asked.
Pomona had looked at him with a teasing air of innocence. "That's totally up to you. You know you're more than welcome to come to the ball. We'll be dancing till the wee hours."
Ab had snorted. "I'll dance till the wee hours when You-Know-Who decides to give up megalomania and join me in the goat business."
Then he'd added, more seriously, "But if it really matters to you, Pommie, I'll come. Not even the thought of Albus waltzing in purple robes will keep me away."
She'd laughed and patted his cheek. "No need for so great a sacrifice, love. We'll just wait until Boxing Day to have our yuletide celebration. Minerva will look after the Badgers for me then."
Well, such had been the plan, anyway. Yet today, after the Christmas lunch ended in the Great Hall, she hadn't been able to resist popping over to the Hog's Head. Her Hufflepuffs could do without her for a couple of hours, and she would be back in plenty of time to put on her cheerful daisy-yellow dress robes and then help the children with hair-styling and bow-tying and figuring out formal dress and all the many little crises of nerves that inevitably came with preparing to attend one's first ball.
The visit had been lovely, but now it was more than time for her to return to the castle. So she slid from Ab's arms and Summoned her cloak.
"I'll come over first thing after breakfast tomorrow," she said, "and we can have the whole day to ourselves."
"Don't let that brother of mine tread on your toes during the two-step or whatever," said Aberforth, accompanying her to the door of the flat.
"Oh, don't worry, Albus is quite light on his feet."
Ab rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. He's perfect, just ask him."
Pomona was too used to Aberforth's carping about his brother to pay any mind to this sort of thing, so she said only, "See you tomorrow, love," and hurried down the stairs.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"You've absolutely outdone yourselves, you and Filius, with these marvelous decorations," Pomona whispered to Minerva a few hours later as they sat at one of the candle-lit tables in the Great Hall.
The walls were shimmering with lovely silver frost that complemented the stars shining through the magic ceiling. Thick festoons of ivy and mistletoe crisscrossed the space above their heads.
"The elves did most of the work; Filius and I were just the designers," said Minerva. "But you must be pleased with how well he charmed your plants."
Filius had asked Pomona to supply the ivy and mistletoe, and she had given him the most perfect specimens she could find: each berry just so, each leaf whole and well-shaped. Then Filius had used his own complex replicator charm to make hundreds of exact copies. The result was a veritable bower of enticing holiday greenery.
"Oh, yes, don't they look fabulous?" Pomona enthused. "So romantic. If I see any students kissing under the mistletoe, I'll make sure not to notice."
"I think at least one romance is already well under way," Minerva said, raising a significant eyebrow towards Hagrid, who was waving at Madam Maxime in a manner that could only be called flirtatious. "And would you look at Severus over there, chatting up Igor Karkaroff?"
"Severus and Igor? Really??" Pomona glanced at them and then giggled into her mulled wine. A less romantic conversation she could hardly imagine: Snape's face was an icy mask of disdain, and the sinister Professor Karkaroff of Durmstrang was looking almost murderous.
"I'm serious," insisted Minerva. "Sneering condescension is probably Severus's idea of foreplay."'
"Min, you kill me," Pomona laughed. "But as long as we're talking about romance, what about you and Alastor Moody?"
"Alastor Moody?" Minerva seemed genuinely shocked.
"Yes, I've seen you two talking together in the staff room more than once."
"Purely academic matters, I can assure you. Frankly, I think that man is a menace." And she glared in Moody's direction so sternly that Pomona was forced to set aside any idea of him and Minerva as potential lovers.
She must have looked disappointed, for Minerva said warningly, "Now, Pomona, don't you start scheming to set me up with anyone. I'm fine as I am."
"Oh, Min, you know I'd never push you anywhere you weren't willing to go." She grinned at her friend. "Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't work, not with someone as stubborn as you! But honestly, would it be such a bad thing if you had someone new to be happy with?"
"Ah, well, we can't all be lucky enough to find love among the goat pens." Minerva finished her wine and stood up. "I think it's almost time for the dancing to start. I need to make sure all the Triwizard Champions are in place. I'll see you later."
She headed off, and Pomona poured herself some more wine.
Minerva was right: Pomona was lucky, and no mistake. Gruff and rough he might be, but Aberforth Dumbledore was a kind and principled man who made her feel like a million galleons. He didn't love to dance, but he did love her. And she wouldn't part with him for all the greenhouses and all the dancefloors in the world.
The first notes of the Weird Sisters' opening set sounded through the Great Hall, and Filius came to ask Pomona to dance. He Levitated himself to her eye level ("I don't want to dance with people's kneecaps," he always said), and they floated joyfully across the floor. He was a dab hand with spins, was Filius.
Ludo Bagman claimed her next (nimble enough, but good heavens, the man never stopped talking about himself), and then it was time for a rollicking polka with Rolanda Hooch. She'd barely straightened her hat after that exuberance when the headmaster bowed courteously before her and swept her back into the dancing throng. He was as graceful as always, a pleasure to stand up with, and Pomona wouldn't have minded if the song had gone on three times longer than it did.
When it ended, though, she found that she was glad of the chance to rest for a minute; gone were the days when she could literally dance the night away. She got herself a mug of refreshing butterbeer and circled the room slowly, making sure that all was well with her Hufflepuffs.
Finally she reached the doors and looked back at the glittering Great Hall. What a splendid evening this had been! Everyone was beautiful in their finery (there was something so mood-boosting about dressing up), and she'd even seen a bit of that "international cooperation" that Albus had promised them when he'd first proposed the Tournament: Miss Granger and Mr Davies (looking dashing, the both of them) had attended the ball with Champions from the other schools.
The evening was winding down; couples were straggling out of the Hall, and the crowd around the butterbeer table had thinned considerably. Pomona took one last look at the festive room and decided to head to her bed. Her prefects would fetch her if anyone in Hufflepuff House needed her attention.
The corridors were quiet, their holly-edged windows gleaming in the torchlight, and Pomona felt surrounded by peace as she opened her door.
But something was wrong. Her comfy sofa and table full of poinsettia plants were missing, leaving a large bare space in the middle of her sitting room.
Before she could do more than register the change, though, she heard soft music start and saw a tall figure emerge from the bedroom.
It was Aberforth.
Aberforth standing there so handsome in his dress kilt with his silver hair and beard trimmed and gleaming.
Holding out his hand, he smiled and bowed.
"Madam. May I have this dance?"
Charmed magical snow fell on the twelve shining Christmas trees that stood in the Great Hall. Wreaths of holly hung on all the windows. The roasted turkeys were served on red and green platters.
It was sickening.
As long as Death Eaters were in charge of Hogwarts, every bit of holiday cheer in the castle was a grotesque travesty. Pomona so detested the whole business that she could barely force herself to choke down even a few mouthfuls of this damnable Christmas dinner.
She had to make the effort, though; Severus Snape was watching her.
Snape was always watching her these days -- watching her and all the other teachers (well, except for his unspeakable toadies, the vicious Carrow siblings). He was hoping to catch the staff in some act of rebellion or resistance, anything that he could use to undermine them, to keep them under his control, now that he (Merlin save them all) was the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
She hated him.
She and the other teachers had been amazed when he'd ordered the castle to be decorated for the yuletide; he'd always despised Christmas. But he'd sneered at their surprise.
"It is what the Dark Lord wishes," he'd informed them in the staff room. "Our Master is a reasonable man; he has no wish to deny his magical people the pleasures of the season. So the castle will be decorated as usual, or you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?"
Everything Voldemort touched was defiled, now even Christmas. How Pomona hated that monster, and how she hated the Death Eater that the monster had installed as headmaster.
Minerva, however, didn't think Snape actually was a Death Eater. She had all sorts of detailed justifications for this view, but Pomona didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. All she could see were the faces of the terrified, abused children she was unable fully to protect. It was true that she had never witnessed Snape hurt a student himself, but he let the abuse happen.
And for that, Pomona did not forgive him, no matter how much Minerva insisted that he had to allow it, that he couldn't risk looking soft in front of the Carrows and having them report to You-Know-Who. She could think only of Snape's effect on the children.
She still sometimes couldn't believe what had happened to their world: "The Dark Lord" in ascendance, the Ministry overrun with his despicable followers, Severus Snape as headmaster of Hogwarts, Death Eaters supposedly "teaching" in the school, spreading their hateful racist propaganda.
Torturing students.
But happen it had; one had to face facts. Yes, the Death Eaters were winning.
For now. They would be overthrown, though. They would. Harry Potter was still out there somewhere, still alive, still fighting for what was right. One day he would return to lead them all into victorious battle against the forces of darkness.
She believed it. She had to. It was the only way she could navigate the hell that Hogwarts had become. Not even her rare trips to visit Aberforth, made by sneaking through the secret passage in the Room of Requirement, could console her for long.
Something was pressing on her foot under the table -- Minerva, warning her that she had been motionless and silent for too long.
Mechanically, Pomona ate a bite of turkey and somehow managed to get through the remainder of the excruciating Christmas dinner. Luckily, Snape didn't seem inclined to linger at table any more than the staff or students were, and soon Pomona and Minerva found themselves in the rapidly-darkening corridor that led to Minerva's quarters.
Snape had strictly forbidden fraternization among the staff, but they would have been poor witches and wizards indeed who couldn't find ways around such a rule. Minerva had invited Pomona and Filius to her rooms for a drink; they'd mask their magical signatures, and Snape would be none the wiser.
She said as much to Minerva as they neared her door.
Minerva frowned. "Oh, Severus could probably find us if he wanted to. But I'm sure he doesn't want to. It's as I've been telling you, Pom -- the Death Eater nonsense is an act. He -- "
"Don't!" Pomona was nearly shouting. "Don't! I don't want to hear it, Minerva! Not another word, not on Christmas Day of all days, not when Snape and his damned sidekicks have sucked all the joy out of every second of it."
It wasn't often that Pomona showed the ferocious badger side of her Hufflepuff character, but when she did, Minerva knew better than to cross her.
"Very well," she said mildly, "I -- "
But she was interrupted by a terrified cry from the nearby Transfiguration corridor.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drop it!" a student was gasping. "It was an accident!"
"Well, my little pretty, it won't be no accident when I hit you with a Cruciatus curse!" snarled the voice of Amycus Carrow, the Death Easter sadist who pretended to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"No accident at all!" chimed in Alecto, his equally loathsome sister. "When we're through with you, you'll think twice before you sneak food out of the Great Hall again!"
"No, please!" the student begged. "I didn't --"
Pomona and Minerva didn't wait to hear more. With one accord, they headed for the Transfiguration corridor.
Rounding the corner, Pomona drew her wand and shouted, "Stupefy!" at the same time that Minerva yelled, "Impedimenta!"
The Carrows fell together in a jumbled heap on the floor, right on top of the chocolate cake that the luckless student, a Gryffindor third-year, had dropped in her fear.
When she saw her saviours, the child burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall!" she sobbed. "Me and my friends just wanted. . ."
"It's all right, Miss Hutchins. You aren't in any trouble," Minerva said, her voice carefully calm. "Have you been hurt?"
The girl shook her head. "No, I'm all right."
"Good. I'd like you to go to your common room now, if you please."
Miss Hutchins sniffed and nodded. "Y-yes, Professor," she said and began to hurry away. "Thank you!"
Minerva waited until the child's back was turned and then used her wand to send a quiet spell after her.
"Just a light distraction charm," she said in answer to Pomona's questioning look. "So she won't be interested in telling anyone about this little encounter. Best if we keep it to ourselves."
"Right," said Pomona. The she called softly, "Gippy!"
When her favourite house elf appeared with a pop, she said, "Gippy, would you please see that a large chocolate cake is delivered to the Gryffindor common room?"
The elf bowed and disappeared.
Minerva, meanwhile, had turned her wand on the Carrows. After several murmured incantations, she announced, "There. I've Oblivated them and planted a new memory in place of what actually happened."
"Oh? And what new memory is that?"
"When they awaken, they will believe that they duelled each other over the chocolate cake."
They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the insensible and ungainly mounds on the floor.
With a swish of her wand, Minerva added some impressively complicated tangles to Alecto's hair.
"Happy Christmas, Pomona," she said.
Pomona Levitated some more of the smashed cake onto Amycus's robes, then dropped a dollop of frosting on his nose.
"And Happy Christmas to you, too, Min."
The breakfast tray contained the usual array of tropical fruits that Pomona had come to love during this holiday in the Bahamas: mango, sugar apple, sea grapes.
But today, the tray also held a very tiny fir tree topped with a silver star.
Because today was Christmas -- the first since Pomona had retired from teaching at Hogwarts.
Coming to the Bahamas for Christmas had been her idea; she'd wanted a distinctive way to mark such a big change in her life, to draw a sharp line between the "then" and the "now." And she couldn't imagine a starker contrast than one that exchanged the December snow and frost of the Highlands for the sun and sand of the tropics.
So she and Aberforth had booked their stay at a wizarding resort, packed their bags, put the goats in the care of Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, and let their portkey whisk them to the sun-drenched splendour of the Caribbean.
They'd been here for five days and had had a simply marvelous time so far. True, making love on the dunes had turned out to be less comfortable than she'd imagined, and the trip to the Muggle beach might have been ill-advised (the Muggles all stared so; they evidently weren't used to bathing costumes that included bloomers), but on the whole, the trip had been a delight.
She sipped her morning tea and watched Aberforth pad back from the loo to rejoin her under the sheets.
"Tastes like sunshine" was his unexpectedly poetic comment as he helped himself to a cube of mango and then popped one into Pomona's mouth. "Too bad they won't grow in Hogsmeade."
"Well," she pointed out, "thanks to the miracle of modern magical distribution, you can buy them in the shops."
He shook his head. "Not the same as freshly-grown. You ought to know that, woman; you're the herbologist. And it's not just plants; you've often said how much better my homemade goat cheese is than the stuff you can buy."
Pomona laughed. "True enough. But I think it might be a little too much trouble to portkey over here every week to grow mangos myself, tasty though they are." She ate another cube or two and then tried some sea grapes. Delicious.
After breakfast, she and Ab took a leisurely stroll under the palms, Pomona entertaining them by reciting the names of all the tropical plants she'd learnt to recognise.
"If I were still teaching, I'd do a unit on the medicinal qualities of things like phyllanthus amarus and tabebuia bahamensis," she said. "One of the house elves here was telling me that they make very effective tonics and teas."
"You miss teaching?" Ab asked as they reached the end of the path and stopped to look at the beach.
She thought about it. "Sometimes, I suppose. For a minute or two. But I'm not sorry I retired, if that's what you mean. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here right now, getting to see sights like this!" She indicated the white sands and impossibly-turquoise water.
Yet despite the beauty of the scene, she was suddenly assailed with painful longing -- for snow and cold, for tinsel-covered Christmas trees, for the rich voices of carolers, for turkey and flaming puddings and hot cocoa laced with firewhisky.
"Still," she said, and was astounded to realise that she was near tears, "it's not really like Christmas, is it? All this."
Ab looked at her. "Not much, no," he said. "Not like the Christmas we know, anyway."
Pomona stared at the horizon and waited for her unhappy feeling to fade.
It didn't.
"It's still Christmas in Hogsmeade," she heard herself say. "We could go home early. If we activated the portkey now, we'd be there in time for a late dinner."
"Aye, we would. Do you want to?"
"If you do. I mean, I've loved it here, and we could always come back, but. . ."
"But," Ab agreed. "Yes, but. This --" he gestured outward -- "is pretty and all, but it turns out that a bloke wants to be in front of his own fireplace on Christmas."
"Exactly!"
It took less fuss to arrange their leaving than Pomona could have hoped, and in almost no time, they and their valises were standing in front of the chipped milk bottle that was their portkey.
"Three. . .two. . .one," counted down Ab. They touched the bottle together and seconds later found themselves in the flat above the Hog's Head.
The chill welcomed her like an old friend, and Pomona had never been so happy to see the dusty, sparsely-furnished rooms and threadbare carpets. Ariana smiled at them from her portrait above the fireplace and even sketched a small wave.
They were home.
It was a simple matter to cast a warming charm and start the fire. Pomona sank gratefully onto the sofa in front of the blaze.
"D'you think Minerva and Filius might be free to join us for a wee dram on Boxing Day?" Aberforth asked as he busied himself in his kitchen.
"That would be nice. I'll owl them."
"I'm going to go check on the goats," Ab said a few minutes later. "Wilhelmina will have done a fine job, but -- "
"But they're your goats," Pomona said. "I understand."
"Aye. They're my goats." Stepping to the sofa, he handed her a plate. "Here you go, Pommie. A little something to sustain you until tea."
She heard him take his cloak and stump down the stairs.
The plate contained a few crackers and three rounds of Ab's homemade goat cheese. The edges of the cheese had been rolled in green -- thyme and parsley and rosemary -- and a plump red pimento marked each center.
The fire crackled merrily, and the air was full of the scent of herbs and wood and winter.
Pomona smiled.
Now this was Christmas.
hoggywartyxmas. It was written for my beloved friend lash_larue -- Lash, I was honored to be able to write for you in the final year of this best of fests.It's an uplifting, comforting story, I hope -- given the state of the world, we all need it!
Title: Four Christmases Pomona Sprout Loved and One She Hated
Author:
kelly_chamblissRecipient:
lash_larueRating: PG
Word Count: ~6800
Characters and/or Pairings: Pomona Sprout/Aberforth Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, assorted Hogwarts staff, students, and elves.
Summary: For Pomona Sprout, Christmas is always a wonderful time. Well, almost always.
* * * *Christmas Day, 1977* * * *
Pomona Sprout cast a never-wilt charm on a perfect amaryllis and fastened the bloom to her hat. A glance in the mirror showed the bright red flower bouncing jauntily on the brim.
Perfect. Festive, but not overdone.
Pomona usually spent little time fussing with her appearance. "Clean and covered" was normally all she required, and given the demands of her job -- handling all that fertilizer and potting soil and what-not -- she tended to be satisfied as long as she could manage the "covered" part.
But tonight was different. It was her first Christmas as a Hogwarts professor, and this evening, she'd be attending the headmaster's Yuletide gala in Hogsmeade.
And what a grand time it promised to be.
"Albus always rents the gathering space behind Honeyduke's Sweet Shop for Christmas night," Minerva had explained one Friday as they'd sat cosily before the fire in her rooms. Minerva often invited Pomona and sometimes Poppy Pomfrey for a drink after a long week of teaching, and a welcome invitation it was.
Truly, how she would have gotten through this stressful first term without the help and friendship of Minerva McGonagall, Pomona had no idea. They'd liked each other since the day they'd met as Hogwarts students and had kept in touch after leaving school, even as life had taken them in different directions -- Minerva to a job at the Ministry and Pomona to serve as apprentice and then shareholder in a magical seed owl-order business.
But then Elnora, her elderly business partner, had decided to retire, and Pomona had felt the urge to start on a new life path herself. Minerva, by then teaching at Hogwarts, mentioned an open Herbology position; Pomona applied and was interviewed and found herself installed in the greenhouses almost before you could say "bubotuber pus." Since then, Minerva had been a veritable rock of support and helpful advice.
"The room at Honeydukes will be magically expanded," Minerva had continued as they'd sipped their brandy, "because in addition to the staff, Albus also invites the Hogwarts Board of Governors and the merchants of Hogsmeade. And their spouses. Everyone comes -- well, except for Argus and Irma; they always volunteer to remain at Hogwarts to look after the students. But for most of us, it's quite the event of the season. You've been wanting to meet more people, Pomona, and here's your chance."
Yes, and it was a chance that she intended to take full advantage of. As a Hogwarts student, one was surrounded by hundreds of same-age potential friends, and Pomona had never realised how isolating the castle could be for the adults within its walls. She was becoming fast friends with Poppy and with Filius Flitwick, and of course Minerva was like a sister to her, but the fact was, if you were a sociable extrovert, you needed more than three friends, no matter how excellent they were.
Pomona tilted her hat to make her amaryllis more visible and noticed that the edge of the brim was frayed. She was debating whether to try a mending charm when Minerva's sharp knock sounded.
Pushing a flower petal over the frayed bit, Pomona decided not to worry. Everyone would be having so much eggnog and mulled mead that they wouldn't be paying any attention to her hat.
"Ready?" said Minerva from the doorway. "I know it's early, but Filius and I want to give a final check to the decorations."
"If they're anything like the ones in the Great Hall, they'll be exquisite," Pomona replied, accioing her cloak. "What about the food?"
Trees and tinsel were lovely, but it was the food that made a party. It wouldn't be Christmas without mince pies and figgy pudding with custard.
"Oh, the school elves will have the food well in hand," Minerva said. "They're just as efficient at Honeyduke's as they are in their own kitchens. They'll provide every treat imaginable."
Well, that was a relief. Pomona could almost taste the custard already.
She was nearly out the door when she stopped suddenly and sniffed.
"Minerva, you don't catch any whiff of dragon dung, do you? I used every cleaning charm I could think of, but I spend so much time with that fertilizer that eventually I can't smell it any more. I wouldn't want to go to a Christmas gala surrounded by Eau de Dung Heap."
"You'll be fine," Minerva answered. "Between the food and the drink and the pine trees and Madam Puddifoot's perfume, there will be so many odors that no one will notice another."
It didn't escape Pomona's notice that this response tended to confirm rather than deny the fact that she still smelled like a bag of shit. Oh, well. It couldn't be helped now. And probably Minerva was right; no one would notice.
What did it matter, anyway? It was Christmas, and she was going to a party!
Grabbing Minerva's hand, Pomona fairly tugged her along the corridor.
"Come on, then," she cried. "We wouldn't want Hagrid to drink all the eggnog before we get there!"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Three hours later, Pomona leant against a holly-wrapped pillar to catch her breath. What fun this was! She'd been in a whirl of gaiety since virtually the moment she'd arrived. Not only had she eaten her fill of figgy pudding (not to mention a turkey sandwich, three mince tarts and two -- or was it three? -- mugs of spiced ale), but she'd also met at least a score of new people.
"Well, I think it's safe to say that you're having a good time," Minerva smiled, coming to stand beside her. "This is the first time I've seen you by yourself since we got here."
"Oh, Min, I've had a simply marvelous evening! Everyone has been so friendly. I had a lovely chat with Dulciana Flume, you know, she and her husband own Honeyduke's. We're going to meet for tea once all the yuletide madness quiets down."
"Better you than I," said Minerva. "Dulcie is nice enough, but I think she'd been permanently affected by a chatterbox charm. Talk you to death, that woman."
Pomona chuckled. "You know I'm no slouch myself when it comes to talking. We'll probably get on like magic."
"I'm sure you will. Don't mind me, Pommie. You know I always get a bit testy after too many days of holiday cheer."
"You'll be right as rain after a good night's rest and some time to yourself," Pomona predicted. "I'll bring you some somnola flowers; their scent will help you sleep."
"That sounds excellent; I've been-- "
But what Minerva had been would remain forever unknown, for at that moment, Headmaster Dumbledore joined them.
"Hello, Minerva. Pomona, my dear, so good to see you," he said. "I hope you're finding the evening entertaining."
He twinkled pleasantly at Pomona's assurances of her enjoyment and then said, "Minerva, I hate to talk shop at a party, but I'm afraid I need to speak with you about, er. . .some developments. Excuse us, please, Professor Sprout." And he led Minerva away.
Pomona bit her lip in vexation. She admired the headmaster, and he was always kind to her, but he worked Minerva too hard, and that was all there was to it.
"He'll have some new job or other for her, mark my words," said a gruff voice in her ear. "Demanding old coot."
Turning in surprise, Pomona beheld a tall, thin, older man with a long beard and piercing blue eyes that vaguely reminded her of someone. Not wishing to criticise the headmaster in front of a stranger, she said merely, "Minerva does a great deal for the school."
"Aye, for the school and for the war effort and for whatever it takes to make Albus's life easier and her own harder," said the man.
Pomona stayed quiet, and he seemed to realise that he'd spoken too strongly to someone he didn't know, for he said, more mildly, "Sorry, shouldn't have sounded off like that, but he does get my goat sometimes, does Albus. Ha!"
He broke off with a laugh, and his smile seemed rather rakish and charming. "'Gets my goat' -- that's actually a joke. I keep goats, y'see? It's me hobby, and you couldn't find a more relaxing one if you tried. When I tend to the wee things, milk 'em and pet 'em, and they give me a friendly little butt with their heads, it seems like all the cares and worries of the day just melt away."
"I feel the same way about gardening!" Pomona confided impulsively. Odd though he was, she liked this man. "Plants are the most soothing things I know." A mental picture of devil's snare and venomous tentacula interrupted her, and she amended, "well, most of them."
"I knew you were a person who loved the natural world," the man said, his smile returning. (Yes, definitely charming.) "I could just smell it."
Pomona burst out laughing. "That would be the dragon dung fertilizer, I'm afraid. It's an occupational hazard."
"And what occupation would that be?" The piercing blue eyes seemed kind and interested now, and obeying another impulse, Pomona held out her hand.
"I should introduce myself properly, shouldn't I? Pomona Sprout. I'm the new herbology professor at Hogwarts."
The man's grip was firm, his callused fingers warm. "Aberforth Dumbledore, goat man and barman. I own the Hog's Head pub."
Pomona felt her eyes widen. "Dumble. . .?"
"Aye." Aberforth gave a small shrug. "I'm the 'greatest wizard's' not-so-great brother. For my sins."
"Why, I'm very pleased to meet you. I had no idea the headmaster had a brother."
"Many's the day he's wished he didn't have one, and I've thought the same about him. But blood is thicker, you know."
"Of course it is. And I must say, I do see the resemblance. I thought when I first saw you that something about you was familiar, and now I know why. It's -- "
"The eyes," they said in unison and laughed.
A pause followed, which ought to have been awkward, but wasn't. Then Aberforth said, "Well, Professor Pomona Sprout, if you ever fancy trying some goat dung fertilizer, I know where you can get a good supply. I could bring you some myself."
"I'd like that," Pomona said. "I can always use new sources of plant nutrition."
They beamed at one another.
An elf stopped in front of them bearing a tray full of steaming mugs of cocoa, and at the buffet table, Hagrid started singing a rousing chorus of "All I Want for Christmas is a Hippogriff."
This, thought Pomona as she took a mug of chocolate, was the best yuletide party ever.
* * * *Christmas Day, 1985* * * *
The fire crackled cheerfully, its warmth surrounding Pomona like her favourite stalwart pair of arms. Despite her best efforts to stay awake (she needed to check on the Christmas pudding), she could feel herself beginning to nod off.
"It would help if you got off the sofa, Pomona, old girl," she chided herself, but she was. . .mmmm. . .so comfortable. . .just one. . .more. . .minute. . . . .
The sitting room door banged, banishing sleep and bringing Pomona to her feet. She could hear boots being stamped on the mat, and she turned towards the sound with eager hopefulness.
"Oh, it's you," she said, in such a tone of disappointment that Aberforth, who had come into his flat Levitating several logs in front of him, gave a snort of laughter.
"Glad you're so happy to see me," he said, using his wand to deposit the logs in the box near the fireplace.
"Oh, Ab." Pomona hurried over to kiss his cheek and give his beard a playful tug. "You know you're the light of my life. But I was just hoping. . ."
". . .that this time I was Minerva," he finished. He shook snow off his cloak and wanded it to its peg on the wall. "Brrrr. A proper white Christmas we're having."
"Yes, for a moment I did think you might be Minerva," Pomona replied. "But I see now that it's too early. Christmas dinner at the castle will be just ending. We can't expect her to tea for another few hours at least."
"No." Ab fetched a sausage roll from the laden sideboard (Pomona loved yuletide abundance --she always made sure to leave behind at least a week's worth of food when she spent Christmas with Ab; she didn't think he ate enough). He parked himself in front of the fire and patted the sofa cushions. "Here," he said. "Bide with me a bit."
After she checked the pudding (how nicely it was steaming) and made sure that the brandy butter was firm in its mold, Pomona was glad to settle comfortably next to him, her feet tucked beneath her, her head against his shoulder, his arm around her. He smelt of clean goats and damp wool and made her feel that all was right with the world. She squeezed his hand tightly.
Above the fireplace, the portrait of his sister Ariana smiled at her.
"Thank you for not pointing out the obvious," Pomona said at length. "You know, the fact that Minerva might not come to celebrate Christmas with us at all."
"No need to say what we both ken," Ab replied. "She knows she's welcome. It's up to her to decide if she's ready. She may not be. Her husband's not been dead four months yet."
"Indeed. Well, you know I don't take it personally, Ab. People have to cope with grief in their own way. Min likes her solitude, and I suppose it won't do her any harm. But if I ever lost you the way she has lost Elphinstone, I'd want to surround myself with as many happy people as I could."
Aberforth grinned wryly. "Let's hope that when my time comes, you don't lose me in quite the same way. A venomous tentacula! I ask you. I'd like to think that the lover of Hogwarts's star herbologist would be able to avoid death by poisonous plant."
"Ab, behave!" Pomona punched his arm lightly but couldn't help a smile of her own. He looked so handsome when he was being roguish. "Accidents can happen to anyone, no matter how much they know."
"Oh, aye, I suppose so. I just never cared much for Elphinstone Urquart."
"Ah. . ." Pomona leant over to sneak a kiss. "That's because you were sweet on Minerva yourself in the old days. Admit it."
"I've always liked her, right enough. Mind you, she's mighty foolish when it comes to Albus, but otherwise, Minerva is a sensible woman." He kissed Pomona back. "And I'm fond of sensible women."
"Lucky for you, I'm fond of sensible men. And goats."
Ab pulled her a little closer, and they sat in companionable silence, the quiet broken only when he Levitated another log onto the fire or Summoned a treat from the sideboard. Finally he accio'd a bottle of Ogden's Old, and they toasted each other and the day.
It was after her third dram that Pomona burst out, "I don't care how right it is, it's just wrong!"
Ab pretended to scrutinize the firewhisky. "I must have drunk more of this than I thought, because I don't seem to be able to follow you."
"I'm talking about Minerva. Oh, I know I said she should be able to grieve in any way she pleases, and I believe that, but if she honestly chooses to spend Christmas night alone in that draughty castle, torturing herself with memories, maybe drinking herself into a stupor, when she could be with people who love her. . .well, I say she's making the wrong choice! I don't care how much right she has to make it, she's wrong!"
"Aye," said Ab, his voice solemn but his eyes twinkling. "Far better that she torture and stupefy herself among friends."
"I mean it!" Pomona got to her feet and seized her cloak from its peg. "I'm going to go up to that castle right now and bring her over here."
Ab stroked his beard. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Am I sure it's a good idea? No. Am I going to do it anyway? Yes. I can't stand to think of her being alone."
"Then I'll come with you."
"You don't need to, love."
"No," he agreed. But he stood up and gathered his wraps as Pomona cast a stasis charm on the pudding.
Within a few minutes they were tramping along the snowy high street of Hogsmeade, Pomona's hand tucked in Ab's arm, their breaths crystalizing around them.
"You still think it should be Minerva's decision, don't you?" she said as they reached the path to Hogwarts. After all their years together, she understood his pregnant silences too well. "You think I'm making a mistake, going to get her."
Aberforth strode along for a moment before replying, "I think you're a person who loves and cares about her friends. No mistake in that."
"Why, Aberforth Dumbledore!" She looked at up at him archly. "Since when have you become such a diplomat?"
"It's me work in the Hog's Head," Ab said with great seriousness. "A pub that raucous requires a landlord with a lot of delicacy."
Pomona's answering guffaw rang out through the snowy night; Ab never failed to make her laugh. They went some steps further before she stopped and put her hands on her hips.
"All right, Mr Hog's Head Ambassador. You win."
"Didn't know there was a competition," said Ab.
She ignored this. "You've brought me to my senses. Or maybe I just needed a walk in the snow. But we had it right the first time. Minerva's the one who gets to decide how she handles her first Christmas without Elphinstone. Not us. Not Albus. Minerva. Come on, let's go home."
Without a word, Ab turned back toward town -- though not before she glimpsed the brief smile that crossed his craggy face.
They'd gone only a few paces when they heard ringing footsteps behind them.
"Pomona! Aberforth!" called a sharp voice. "If you've come to be my welcoming committee, you're going in the wrong direction."
It was Minerva, her hat frosted with snow, her normally pale cheeks made nearly as ruddy as Pomona's by the cold.
She arched a sardonic eyebrow as she caught up with them and said, "Or perhaps you've changed your mind about inviting me over for tea, and you're making a run for it."
"Aye, that's it," Ab nodded. "Caught in the act. Pommie, I told you we should have Apparated."
Minerva's chuckle was muffled as Pomona enveloped her in a crushing hug. "Oh, Min, I'm so glad you came," she whispered in her friend's ear.
Then they were all walking arm-in-arm down the path towards their blazing hearth and their Christmas pudding, and Pomona tilted back her head to let the snowflakes caress her face.
* * * *Christmas Day, 1994* * * *
"I need to leave," said Pomona.
It was Christmas afternoon, and she lay on the sofa by the fire in Aberforth's sitting room, wrapped in a comfy cocoon made of blankets and of Ab himself. Getting up was not going to be easy.
She shouldn't be here at all, really; she'd intended to spend the whole day at Hogwarts. Since so much was going on -- dozens of students to look after, a big holiday luncheon with all the trimmings, and the grand Yule Ball in the evening -- Albus had asked all the teachers to agree to work on Christmas.
"Not that it will really be work," Pomona had said when explaining all this to Ab back in November. "I'm so looking forward to it. We haven't had an event as exciting as the Yule Ball since. . .well, I don't know since when."
"So I won't be seeing you on Christmas Day, then?" Ab had asked.
Pomona had looked at him with a teasing air of innocence. "That's totally up to you. You know you're more than welcome to come to the ball. We'll be dancing till the wee hours."
Ab had snorted. "I'll dance till the wee hours when You-Know-Who decides to give up megalomania and join me in the goat business."
Then he'd added, more seriously, "But if it really matters to you, Pommie, I'll come. Not even the thought of Albus waltzing in purple robes will keep me away."
She'd laughed and patted his cheek. "No need for so great a sacrifice, love. We'll just wait until Boxing Day to have our yuletide celebration. Minerva will look after the Badgers for me then."
Well, such had been the plan, anyway. Yet today, after the Christmas lunch ended in the Great Hall, she hadn't been able to resist popping over to the Hog's Head. Her Hufflepuffs could do without her for a couple of hours, and she would be back in plenty of time to put on her cheerful daisy-yellow dress robes and then help the children with hair-styling and bow-tying and figuring out formal dress and all the many little crises of nerves that inevitably came with preparing to attend one's first ball.
The visit had been lovely, but now it was more than time for her to return to the castle. So she slid from Ab's arms and Summoned her cloak.
"I'll come over first thing after breakfast tomorrow," she said, "and we can have the whole day to ourselves."
"Don't let that brother of mine tread on your toes during the two-step or whatever," said Aberforth, accompanying her to the door of the flat.
"Oh, don't worry, Albus is quite light on his feet."
Ab rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. He's perfect, just ask him."
Pomona was too used to Aberforth's carping about his brother to pay any mind to this sort of thing, so she said only, "See you tomorrow, love," and hurried down the stairs.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"You've absolutely outdone yourselves, you and Filius, with these marvelous decorations," Pomona whispered to Minerva a few hours later as they sat at one of the candle-lit tables in the Great Hall.
The walls were shimmering with lovely silver frost that complemented the stars shining through the magic ceiling. Thick festoons of ivy and mistletoe crisscrossed the space above their heads.
"The elves did most of the work; Filius and I were just the designers," said Minerva. "But you must be pleased with how well he charmed your plants."
Filius had asked Pomona to supply the ivy and mistletoe, and she had given him the most perfect specimens she could find: each berry just so, each leaf whole and well-shaped. Then Filius had used his own complex replicator charm to make hundreds of exact copies. The result was a veritable bower of enticing holiday greenery.
"Oh, yes, don't they look fabulous?" Pomona enthused. "So romantic. If I see any students kissing under the mistletoe, I'll make sure not to notice."
"I think at least one romance is already well under way," Minerva said, raising a significant eyebrow towards Hagrid, who was waving at Madam Maxime in a manner that could only be called flirtatious. "And would you look at Severus over there, chatting up Igor Karkaroff?"
"Severus and Igor? Really??" Pomona glanced at them and then giggled into her mulled wine. A less romantic conversation she could hardly imagine: Snape's face was an icy mask of disdain, and the sinister Professor Karkaroff of Durmstrang was looking almost murderous.
"I'm serious," insisted Minerva. "Sneering condescension is probably Severus's idea of foreplay."'
"Min, you kill me," Pomona laughed. "But as long as we're talking about romance, what about you and Alastor Moody?"
"Alastor Moody?" Minerva seemed genuinely shocked.
"Yes, I've seen you two talking together in the staff room more than once."
"Purely academic matters, I can assure you. Frankly, I think that man is a menace." And she glared in Moody's direction so sternly that Pomona was forced to set aside any idea of him and Minerva as potential lovers.
She must have looked disappointed, for Minerva said warningly, "Now, Pomona, don't you start scheming to set me up with anyone. I'm fine as I am."
"Oh, Min, you know I'd never push you anywhere you weren't willing to go." She grinned at her friend. "Even if I wanted to, it wouldn't work, not with someone as stubborn as you! But honestly, would it be such a bad thing if you had someone new to be happy with?"
"Ah, well, we can't all be lucky enough to find love among the goat pens." Minerva finished her wine and stood up. "I think it's almost time for the dancing to start. I need to make sure all the Triwizard Champions are in place. I'll see you later."
She headed off, and Pomona poured herself some more wine.
Minerva was right: Pomona was lucky, and no mistake. Gruff and rough he might be, but Aberforth Dumbledore was a kind and principled man who made her feel like a million galleons. He didn't love to dance, but he did love her. And she wouldn't part with him for all the greenhouses and all the dancefloors in the world.
The first notes of the Weird Sisters' opening set sounded through the Great Hall, and Filius came to ask Pomona to dance. He Levitated himself to her eye level ("I don't want to dance with people's kneecaps," he always said), and they floated joyfully across the floor. He was a dab hand with spins, was Filius.
Ludo Bagman claimed her next (nimble enough, but good heavens, the man never stopped talking about himself), and then it was time for a rollicking polka with Rolanda Hooch. She'd barely straightened her hat after that exuberance when the headmaster bowed courteously before her and swept her back into the dancing throng. He was as graceful as always, a pleasure to stand up with, and Pomona wouldn't have minded if the song had gone on three times longer than it did.
When it ended, though, she found that she was glad of the chance to rest for a minute; gone were the days when she could literally dance the night away. She got herself a mug of refreshing butterbeer and circled the room slowly, making sure that all was well with her Hufflepuffs.
Finally she reached the doors and looked back at the glittering Great Hall. What a splendid evening this had been! Everyone was beautiful in their finery (there was something so mood-boosting about dressing up), and she'd even seen a bit of that "international cooperation" that Albus had promised them when he'd first proposed the Tournament: Miss Granger and Mr Davies (looking dashing, the both of them) had attended the ball with Champions from the other schools.
The evening was winding down; couples were straggling out of the Hall, and the crowd around the butterbeer table had thinned considerably. Pomona took one last look at the festive room and decided to head to her bed. Her prefects would fetch her if anyone in Hufflepuff House needed her attention.
The corridors were quiet, their holly-edged windows gleaming in the torchlight, and Pomona felt surrounded by peace as she opened her door.
But something was wrong. Her comfy sofa and table full of poinsettia plants were missing, leaving a large bare space in the middle of her sitting room.
Before she could do more than register the change, though, she heard soft music start and saw a tall figure emerge from the bedroom.
It was Aberforth.
Aberforth standing there so handsome in his dress kilt with his silver hair and beard trimmed and gleaming.
Holding out his hand, he smiled and bowed.
"Madam. May I have this dance?"
* * * *Christmas Day,1997* * * *
Charmed magical snow fell on the twelve shining Christmas trees that stood in the Great Hall. Wreaths of holly hung on all the windows. The roasted turkeys were served on red and green platters.
It was sickening.
As long as Death Eaters were in charge of Hogwarts, every bit of holiday cheer in the castle was a grotesque travesty. Pomona so detested the whole business that she could barely force herself to choke down even a few mouthfuls of this damnable Christmas dinner.
She had to make the effort, though; Severus Snape was watching her.
Snape was always watching her these days -- watching her and all the other teachers (well, except for his unspeakable toadies, the vicious Carrow siblings). He was hoping to catch the staff in some act of rebellion or resistance, anything that he could use to undermine them, to keep them under his control, now that he (Merlin save them all) was the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
She hated him.
She and the other teachers had been amazed when he'd ordered the castle to be decorated for the yuletide; he'd always despised Christmas. But he'd sneered at their surprise.
"It is what the Dark Lord wishes," he'd informed them in the staff room. "Our Master is a reasonable man; he has no wish to deny his magical people the pleasures of the season. So the castle will be decorated as usual, or you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?"
Everything Voldemort touched was defiled, now even Christmas. How Pomona hated that monster, and how she hated the Death Eater that the monster had installed as headmaster.
Minerva, however, didn't think Snape actually was a Death Eater. She had all sorts of detailed justifications for this view, but Pomona didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. All she could see were the faces of the terrified, abused children she was unable fully to protect. It was true that she had never witnessed Snape hurt a student himself, but he let the abuse happen.
And for that, Pomona did not forgive him, no matter how much Minerva insisted that he had to allow it, that he couldn't risk looking soft in front of the Carrows and having them report to You-Know-Who. She could think only of Snape's effect on the children.
She still sometimes couldn't believe what had happened to their world: "The Dark Lord" in ascendance, the Ministry overrun with his despicable followers, Severus Snape as headmaster of Hogwarts, Death Eaters supposedly "teaching" in the school, spreading their hateful racist propaganda.
Torturing students.
But happen it had; one had to face facts. Yes, the Death Eaters were winning.
For now. They would be overthrown, though. They would. Harry Potter was still out there somewhere, still alive, still fighting for what was right. One day he would return to lead them all into victorious battle against the forces of darkness.
She believed it. She had to. It was the only way she could navigate the hell that Hogwarts had become. Not even her rare trips to visit Aberforth, made by sneaking through the secret passage in the Room of Requirement, could console her for long.
Something was pressing on her foot under the table -- Minerva, warning her that she had been motionless and silent for too long.
Mechanically, Pomona ate a bite of turkey and somehow managed to get through the remainder of the excruciating Christmas dinner. Luckily, Snape didn't seem inclined to linger at table any more than the staff or students were, and soon Pomona and Minerva found themselves in the rapidly-darkening corridor that led to Minerva's quarters.
Snape had strictly forbidden fraternization among the staff, but they would have been poor witches and wizards indeed who couldn't find ways around such a rule. Minerva had invited Pomona and Filius to her rooms for a drink; they'd mask their magical signatures, and Snape would be none the wiser.
She said as much to Minerva as they neared her door.
Minerva frowned. "Oh, Severus could probably find us if he wanted to. But I'm sure he doesn't want to. It's as I've been telling you, Pom -- the Death Eater nonsense is an act. He -- "
"Don't!" Pomona was nearly shouting. "Don't! I don't want to hear it, Minerva! Not another word, not on Christmas Day of all days, not when Snape and his damned sidekicks have sucked all the joy out of every second of it."
It wasn't often that Pomona showed the ferocious badger side of her Hufflepuff character, but when she did, Minerva knew better than to cross her.
"Very well," she said mildly, "I -- "
But she was interrupted by a terrified cry from the nearby Transfiguration corridor.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to drop it!" a student was gasping. "It was an accident!"
"Well, my little pretty, it won't be no accident when I hit you with a Cruciatus curse!" snarled the voice of Amycus Carrow, the Death Easter sadist who pretended to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"No accident at all!" chimed in Alecto, his equally loathsome sister. "When we're through with you, you'll think twice before you sneak food out of the Great Hall again!"
"No, please!" the student begged. "I didn't --"
Pomona and Minerva didn't wait to hear more. With one accord, they headed for the Transfiguration corridor.
Rounding the corner, Pomona drew her wand and shouted, "Stupefy!" at the same time that Minerva yelled, "Impedimenta!"
The Carrows fell together in a jumbled heap on the floor, right on top of the chocolate cake that the luckless student, a Gryffindor third-year, had dropped in her fear.
When she saw her saviours, the child burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall!" she sobbed. "Me and my friends just wanted. . ."
"It's all right, Miss Hutchins. You aren't in any trouble," Minerva said, her voice carefully calm. "Have you been hurt?"
The girl shook her head. "No, I'm all right."
"Good. I'd like you to go to your common room now, if you please."
Miss Hutchins sniffed and nodded. "Y-yes, Professor," she said and began to hurry away. "Thank you!"
Minerva waited until the child's back was turned and then used her wand to send a quiet spell after her.
"Just a light distraction charm," she said in answer to Pomona's questioning look. "So she won't be interested in telling anyone about this little encounter. Best if we keep it to ourselves."
"Right," said Pomona. The she called softly, "Gippy!"
When her favourite house elf appeared with a pop, she said, "Gippy, would you please see that a large chocolate cake is delivered to the Gryffindor common room?"
The elf bowed and disappeared.
Minerva, meanwhile, had turned her wand on the Carrows. After several murmured incantations, she announced, "There. I've Oblivated them and planted a new memory in place of what actually happened."
"Oh? And what new memory is that?"
"When they awaken, they will believe that they duelled each other over the chocolate cake."
They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the insensible and ungainly mounds on the floor.
With a swish of her wand, Minerva added some impressively complicated tangles to Alecto's hair.
"Happy Christmas, Pomona," she said.
Pomona Levitated some more of the smashed cake onto Amycus's robes, then dropped a dollop of frosting on his nose.
"And Happy Christmas to you, too, Min."
* * * *Christmas Day, 2008* * * *
The breakfast tray contained the usual array of tropical fruits that Pomona had come to love during this holiday in the Bahamas: mango, sugar apple, sea grapes.
But today, the tray also held a very tiny fir tree topped with a silver star.
Because today was Christmas -- the first since Pomona had retired from teaching at Hogwarts.
Coming to the Bahamas for Christmas had been her idea; she'd wanted a distinctive way to mark such a big change in her life, to draw a sharp line between the "then" and the "now." And she couldn't imagine a starker contrast than one that exchanged the December snow and frost of the Highlands for the sun and sand of the tropics.
So she and Aberforth had booked their stay at a wizarding resort, packed their bags, put the goats in the care of Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, and let their portkey whisk them to the sun-drenched splendour of the Caribbean.
They'd been here for five days and had had a simply marvelous time so far. True, making love on the dunes had turned out to be less comfortable than she'd imagined, and the trip to the Muggle beach might have been ill-advised (the Muggles all stared so; they evidently weren't used to bathing costumes that included bloomers), but on the whole, the trip had been a delight.
She sipped her morning tea and watched Aberforth pad back from the loo to rejoin her under the sheets.
"Tastes like sunshine" was his unexpectedly poetic comment as he helped himself to a cube of mango and then popped one into Pomona's mouth. "Too bad they won't grow in Hogsmeade."
"Well," she pointed out, "thanks to the miracle of modern magical distribution, you can buy them in the shops."
He shook his head. "Not the same as freshly-grown. You ought to know that, woman; you're the herbologist. And it's not just plants; you've often said how much better my homemade goat cheese is than the stuff you can buy."
Pomona laughed. "True enough. But I think it might be a little too much trouble to portkey over here every week to grow mangos myself, tasty though they are." She ate another cube or two and then tried some sea grapes. Delicious.
After breakfast, she and Ab took a leisurely stroll under the palms, Pomona entertaining them by reciting the names of all the tropical plants she'd learnt to recognise.
"If I were still teaching, I'd do a unit on the medicinal qualities of things like phyllanthus amarus and tabebuia bahamensis," she said. "One of the house elves here was telling me that they make very effective tonics and teas."
"You miss teaching?" Ab asked as they reached the end of the path and stopped to look at the beach.
She thought about it. "Sometimes, I suppose. For a minute or two. But I'm not sorry I retired, if that's what you mean. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be standing here right now, getting to see sights like this!" She indicated the white sands and impossibly-turquoise water.
Yet despite the beauty of the scene, she was suddenly assailed with painful longing -- for snow and cold, for tinsel-covered Christmas trees, for the rich voices of carolers, for turkey and flaming puddings and hot cocoa laced with firewhisky.
"Still," she said, and was astounded to realise that she was near tears, "it's not really like Christmas, is it? All this."
Ab looked at her. "Not much, no," he said. "Not like the Christmas we know, anyway."
Pomona stared at the horizon and waited for her unhappy feeling to fade.
It didn't.
"It's still Christmas in Hogsmeade," she heard herself say. "We could go home early. If we activated the portkey now, we'd be there in time for a late dinner."
"Aye, we would. Do you want to?"
"If you do. I mean, I've loved it here, and we could always come back, but. . ."
"But," Ab agreed. "Yes, but. This --" he gestured outward -- "is pretty and all, but it turns out that a bloke wants to be in front of his own fireplace on Christmas."
"Exactly!"
It took less fuss to arrange their leaving than Pomona could have hoped, and in almost no time, they and their valises were standing in front of the chipped milk bottle that was their portkey.
"Three. . .two. . .one," counted down Ab. They touched the bottle together and seconds later found themselves in the flat above the Hog's Head.
The chill welcomed her like an old friend, and Pomona had never been so happy to see the dusty, sparsely-furnished rooms and threadbare carpets. Ariana smiled at them from her portrait above the fireplace and even sketched a small wave.
They were home.
It was a simple matter to cast a warming charm and start the fire. Pomona sank gratefully onto the sofa in front of the blaze.
"D'you think Minerva and Filius might be free to join us for a wee dram on Boxing Day?" Aberforth asked as he busied himself in his kitchen.
"That would be nice. I'll owl them."
"I'm going to go check on the goats," Ab said a few minutes later. "Wilhelmina will have done a fine job, but -- "
"But they're your goats," Pomona said. "I understand."
"Aye. They're my goats." Stepping to the sofa, he handed her a plate. "Here you go, Pommie. A little something to sustain you until tea."
She heard him take his cloak and stump down the stairs.
The plate contained a few crackers and three rounds of Ab's homemade goat cheese. The edges of the cheese had been rolled in green -- thyme and parsley and rosemary -- and a plump red pimento marked each center.
The fire crackled merrily, and the air was full of the scent of herbs and wood and winter.
Pomona smiled.
Now this was Christmas.