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A White Christmas…Harry Potter Style
By Spenser Hemmingway

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-DH/PM, Holidays
Characters:All, All
Genres: Fluff, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 9
Summary: "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...just like the ones in Hogsmeade..."
Hitcount: Story Total: 5421



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.





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A White Christmas…Harry Potter Style

By Spenser Hemmingway


“Unless we make Christmas an occasion to share our blessings, all the snow in Alaska won’t make it ‘white’.”–Bing Crosby



“Hey guys, how was your trip?” I asked as I helped Ginny down from the train. Harry grinned at me, but he looked completely exhausted.

“Ron snored for most of it,” he said. “You would think that I’d be used to him after all these years. I don’t know how you put up with it Hermione.”

“Earplugs…very expensive ones.” Her own smile told us she was joking, but that still left the question. “Have Ron’s parents brought the children yet?”

“Crikey Spenser! Where is all the snow?” Ron yelled out as he stepped off the Hogwarts Express. “Are we at the right station? This can’t be Hogsmeade! It’s warm enough here for palm trees?”

Despite any sleep he might have had on the trip, he looked as worn out as Harry did. Ron had agreed to a four-week pre-Christmas tour with the amateur band he had formed after leaving school. The girls, both of whom had wonderful singing voices, enhanced the shows, and everyone was amazed to see Ron and Hermione dance. The whole operation had been a tremendous success, but I knew that both couples would miss their families too much to go professional.

“It hasn’t snowed here for a couple weeks Ron. They’re using the ski lifts to hang out the laundry. Hermione, the munchkins are all still at the Burrow. They’re no doubt being spoiled rotten by the grandfolks. Wait…what did I say?”

Their collective expressions told me they were wondering about something other than the weather and how many cookies their kids were being force-fed.

“Did you say ski lifts? You’re joking…making that up for another story, right Spenser?” Ginny asked this time. She knew me too well…sometimes.

“No, I get horrible writer’s block whenever all of you are gone. You’ve been away for almost a month now, and a few things have changed. The Hog’s Head was bought by this recently retired…gentleman. He’s remodeled it and built a nice Wizarding ski operation in the hills above town. It’s not Aspen, or even Pine Tree, Vermont, but it’s at least as nice as the one we visited down in Glencoe last year.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ron cringed. “I had to spend most of that trip in a Muggle leg cast.”

“Who bought the tavern?” Ginny asked for all of them, trying unsuccessfully to keep from laughing at her brother.

“Let’s keep it a surprise. I’ve arranged to have your luggage handled. We’ll head over there and have some lunch.”

I knew, as we walked, that surprise was going to be a bit of an understatement. The new innkeeper had actually approached me early on with his ideas, so I had a small hand in the project. I had come to Scotland for my last year of school, met a certain pretty girl, and decided to stay. I had no regrets, but I did miss all the skiing within an hour’s drive of my old home in Oregon. Our Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood even occasionally had slopes open year round, and often hosted Olympic team training there.

Walking into the village, and then within sight of what had once been a rundown tavern, I held up in anticipation of the reaction I knew was coming. I wasn’t disappointed. The four of them stopped in their tracks and stared on as if they had just seen a new wonderful toy. In a way, they had.

The building had been completely refurbished almost overnight by Seamus Finnigan (now a carpenter) with a work crew of over a hundred elves. Adjoining buildings had been acquired and combined into an enormous structure. It actually resembled a large gingerbread house more than it did a chalet, but it was well-built, and could comfortably accommodate a great many vacationers at any one time.

“I don’t believe it!” both Harry and Ginny called out before Ron and Hermione could.

All of them were running toward the front door then. Once inside they again stopped dead, no doubt amazed at the sight of their host. Amazed? No, floored would be a more correct word.

“Professor Flitwick?” they each whispered in turn. He merely stood there smiling back at them; a small load of kindling in one arm and a huge mop in the other hand.

“Professor Flitwick…a janitor?” Ron mumbled in disbelief.

“Didn’t think I’d ever achieve such a lofty position did you, young man? Actually, it’s far worse than that. I own the inn now.”

“A landlord! Ouch Hermione! Could you please refrain from punching me in the ribs for just one story?” A quick kiss to Ron’s cheek elicited a smile and served as a full reply.


*****



“No Harry, I must admit that business has been as disappointing as has been the weather. This is the warmest winter I can remember, and believe me, I have seen a great number more than any of you have.”

Harry’s old Charms instructor sat there nursing a cup of hot blackcurrant cordial with a handful of cloves, a stick of cinnamon, and half a vanilla pod. He tried to appear upbeat…even cheerful, but Harry could see past the façade. The small man was apprehensive, perhaps even a bit scared. A skiers’ inn would not attract much clientele with sixty-degree temperatures outside. Looking about the lounge, he saw the same regulars who had always frequented the old tavern, but not a one of them looked as if they were a tourist.

“Don’t worry about me Harry” Flitwick continued. I know that I shouldn’t have attempted all this. It was an outright mental scheme on my part. That’s why I’ve decided to go back to teaching. Yes, I have. In fact, I expect a letter from the Hogwarts Board of Governors any day now accepting me back to the faculty.”

“Letter?” Harry started. “Blast! I’m sorry Professor. I took the mail from the postal carrier twenty minutes ago. You were off in the kitchen helping your new chef. Odd…I’ve never heard supper howl that way before. I’m sure they can reattach the cook’s arm easily enough. Ah, this letter is from the Board in fact.”

“Oh my… Please read it to me Harry. My eyesight is far worse than I let on. I think that’s the only reason why any of the Slytherins could pass my courses. I refused to admit that I couldn’t read their compositions.”

“Certainly sir.” Harry…most students had known about his vision, but never let on. “Let’s see here. Dear Professor it reads, we received your letter, and were delighted with its wit. We all laughed long and hard at the idea that you would ever want to surrender the good life you’ve built for yourself now that you’ve retired. You devoted so many wonderful years to Hogwarts, enriching the lives of countless students, ourselves included. You’ve earned the quiet and ease of…

“Uhm…that’s quite enough Harry. I know what they are trying to say; succeeding in saying in fact. They have no further use for me at the school. I…that is, will you please excuse me. I need to go see about…uhm, a bad batch of firewhisky we just received. I may have to sample some of it to determine what if any of is still drinkable.”

Ginny waited until the professor had walked away before approaching Harry there by the fire. She couldn’t miss how slowly the innkeeper walked with his shoulders noticeably lower.

“Is something wrong Harry?” Ginny asked as she took the seat beside him.

“Quite a bit actually, and it all has to do with there being no snow. I don’t understand it. Magical weather manipulation is highly illegal. We could have a blizzard out there if it wasn’t.”

“I know. Hermione has checked to determine if what we’re seeing now might have been conjured. Apparently, it wasn’t. It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I think perhaps it’s worse than we can imagine Ginny. The desk clerk told me that the professor invested his entire pension in the inn and ski slope. The only other guests here at the moment are a traveling manure salesman and the local piano tuner whose home is being sprayed for fizzgigs. Then Professor Flitwick receives the letter telling him that even Hogwarts has no further use for him. Can you imagine how he must be feeling? Hold on…you have that look Ginny?”

“Look? What look Harry?” she asked while giving him her innocent face (acquired no doubt from close proximity to Fred and George over time).

“Sometimes mischievous…always brilliant…occasionally very expensive.”

“Since when do we care about Galleons Harry, especially if we’re helping someone? Now let’s see…” Ginny drew a pencil and pad from her pocket and began to scratch on it as she mumbled. Harry knew she was extremely bright with numbers. In fact, she had been the practical bookkeeper behind her twin brothers’ marketing genius when they first opened their shop. “Hmm, we’ll need to compensate the band. Perhaps the piano tuner might be hired to play. Travel expenses, extra help here…the professor has let several people go already, and we’ll need them back. There will be decorations and special refreshments and...”

“How much Ginny?” He was grinning at her, demonstrating that he was more curious than concerned.

“Okay, and carry the nine and… Wow!

“Wow? How much is wow Ginny?”

“Actually Harry, it’s exactly halfway between ouch and boing!

“Wow!”


** ***



“So, you see, the idea is to reorganize the musical show from the tour, and stage it here at the inn,” Ginny explained.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Hermione countered. “We had thirty-two people performing with Ron’s band. How many will want to leave their families during the holidays?”

“They can bring their families with them. We’re paying for all of this,” Harry explained.

“There have to be some students from the Hogwarts orchestra staying there for the holidays,” Ron offered. “Could you hand me the mustard Harry? What? I think better when I’m eating.”

We all knew that was true; it was for all the Weasley brothers. I looked around the restaurant area, and I saw that it was as empty as the rest of the Hog’s Head. We had all decided to bring our own families to stay at the inn for Christmas to help a bit, but, even when the kids arrived, the place would still be essentially vacant. If we could get the word out though, that there was going to be a whiz-bang show for them, we might get enough business to keep Flitwick solvent until the snow returned.

“How can we advertise?” Hermione asked. I was anticipating the question.

“You could use the Wizard Wireless,” I suggested. Harry sat up straighter, his chin rose, and his eyes got wider.

“Ah Harry, now it’s your turn to have the look,” Ginny told him. She placed her hand atop his, and I had to wonder if she might already know what he was thinking. Of course, she did. This was Harry and Ginny.

“You have an idea mate?” Ron asked.

“The thing is…the professor is suddenly feeling as if he’s been forgotten. He’s done so much for us over the years. No, I’m not talking about those sadistic quizzes he would occasionally give or making us stay up all night to complete his written assignments, or when he deducted house points because Seamus blew up that box of crystal goblets in class, or…” Harry paused here and smiled. He had made his point.

“You have an idea mate?” Ron repeated.

“Partly. I need to think it out completely. Now about the show, Ginny and I were thinking the girls could do their Sisters act, you and Hermione could do a few dance routines…I mean when you’re not playing with the band. I might even try my hand at performing, at least when I’m not dealing with the lights and scenery.”

“That might work Harry,” I said. “How about if you take off all of your clothes, and stand on stage doing a dramatic scene where you’re talking with a big white horse?”

“Who would ever want to see that Spenser? No, in fact I was thinking of trying a musical number, maybe a Christmas song.”

Silence then. You could suddenly hear a pixie burp.

“Harry…it’s not that we don’t appreciate it and all,” Hermione began. “It’s just that your singing voice is…”

She didn’t finish, and the table grew quiet again. For a full minute Harry looked puzzled and the rest of us extremely uncomfortable. I couldn’t do it to them. I decided to be the one to throw myself on the sword.

“Good buddy, you might not know this, but Bing Crosby’s real first name was Harry. We’ve heard you sing, and…you were not named after him.


*****



“Good evening Miss Granger,” Professor Flitwick offered, passing her on his way to the Hog’s Head lounge.

“It’s Weasley now, remember sir. Ron and I have been married for a few years.”

“Of course, you have. How foolish of me. Would you care to join me at the Wireless? The Wolfman Jacque Programme is about to air, and I never miss it.

“Actually Professor, Chef asked me if you could help us in the kitchen for a few minutes. The Healer was able to do an excellent job with him, but he is still having a bit of trouble getting supper into the oven.”

“Why is that my dear?”

“The wildebeests are still alive. He prefers fresh meat.”

“Ah, well then it will be even fresher if we wait until after the broadcast won’t it?”

As he started off, Hermione frowned in frustration. They had to keep him away from the Wireless until Harry had gone on the air. She glanced over to Ginny at the foot of the stairwell and nodded, indicating that it was her turn.

“Professor Flitwick! Come quickly! My brother Ron has fallen off the roof! His leg may be badly broken!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! What was he doing up there?” he asked in return.

“One of the magical Christmas lights burned out, and he climbed up to fix it. He’s lying outside, and he’s in a great deal of pain sir.”

“Give him two aspirins and have him call me in a half an hour Miss Weasley…I mean Mrs. Potter…Ginny. Now, please excuse me. My show is about to begin.”

Seeing him walk away, Ginny slapped her head, and waved to Hermione. It was her turn again.

“Professor! Professor! It’s an emergency…a real one!”

“Hermione, what is it?” he shouted back. There was no doubt he was at the end of his patience.

“It’s Spenser! He’s found your power tools, and he was saying something about making some repairs upstairs.”

The innkeeper dashed off as fast as his little legs would carry him.


*****



“I really am sorry about the bathroom Professor. I just thought that a large picture window might add to the atmosphere.”

“Mr. Hemmingway, how often do you shower with an outside audience? Now will you please stop apologizing. Everyone seems to be doing it this evening. I still cannot believe that my fool housekeeper sent all my dress robes to the cleaners on Christmas Eve.”

“I think you look fine in your Hogwarts’ robes sir.”

He did too. Harry had been successful with broadcasting his message, and the response had been beyond all our expectations. Our host though wasn’t in the best of moods as we walked toward his makeshift ballroom. He was probably just expecting a good meal and some nice Christmas music off the Wireless. Opening the doors for him I had to reach over and grab his arm as he reeled back in shock. At least two hundred former students, their families and several of the school staff came to their feet. A moment later Ginny and Hermione who were up on the stage began to lead them in Gee, I Wish I was Back at Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall took my place then, and I went to join Luna at our table. I was astounded with the energy in the room. Harry’s idea to invite the school alumni had been inspired. I didn’t believe that the magic of the moment could be topped…that is until I felt Luna tug at my sleeve. As she pointed to the window I saw that it was now snowing…heavily. We had our white Christmas.

After the opening number had ended, and the applause died away, the band started a series of lively tunes, which had several people immediately out on the dance floor. As supper was served, the entertainment shifted to songs from the girls, as well as a couple of choreographed performances from Ron and Hermione. Harry attempted a few jokes, and later tried his hand with juggling, and well…he went down in flames.

For a good hour the show continued, until Ron signaled his band to play the final song before returning to the dance music. Naturally, it was the Irving Berlin classic we always associate with Mr. Crosby. I saw Harry join the group on stage then. I knew the others didn’t have the heart to exclude him from that last number. Maybe so many people there would drown him out. Maybe it wouldn’t. The room suddenly went quiet, and poor Harry looked mortified.

“Well Harry, we still need a big bang finale,” Ginny told him, and offering him a soft smile. He instantly returned it.

“What do you have in mind Mrs. Potter?”

Not waiting for a reply, he took his wife in his arms, and delivered a very special Christmas kiss.

“Just a moment Harry. We’ll join you,” Ron told him, and then he and Hermione did just that. It drew a standing ovation.

Mischief managed!

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