A Hogwarts Christmas Carol
Thanks to ybmagpye@attbi.com for the use of this story.
Stab one: Get On With It All Ready
Goyle and Crabbe were dead as doornails. Get over it. The register of their burials was signed by the Headmaster and the chief mourner - the only mourner really - 'Master D. Malfoy'. Hogwarts students from all four houses sent elaborate excuses for their inability to attend the double funeral.
Sorry, Quidditch practice.
H. Potter
O.W.L.s to study for.
H. Granger
As if.
R. Weasley
Got lost on the way to the funeral parlor.
N. Longbottom
This is not to say there were no other attendants at the funeral other than Master Malfoy. The funeral house and burial grounds thereafter were packed. The 'packed house' situation was brought about by Master Malfoy's shrewd business sense. He sold tickets to the double funeral having advertised around the school that for only four Sickles a randy student could attend an 'underground' event that featured BIG BOOBS. The event was a sell out. And no one received a refund of their Sickles, for surely the advertising could not be said to be false for truly, there were no bigger boobs anywhere than Crabb and Goyle.
So it was upon Christmas Eve after the double funeral that Malfoy retired to his Slytherin dorm room. Draco did not remove the names 'Goyle' or 'Crabb' from the dorm room placard, as Draco was too tight to waste a wand wave on the task. Upon this night he was as cold as his features - eyes gray and lifeless as granite, hair as pale yellow as the snows after naughty little boys had pissed upon it, his thin lips blue with a sneer, his walking gait stiff from too tight t-fronts for he was too tight with a Knut to treat himself to a new pair. Malfoy's skin was as white as runny day old Brie cheese with that crusty stuff all over it. Yes, a miserable, witch squeezing, death eating, dark mark worshipping, icicle hearted, Gryffindor baiting, Hufflepuff arse-kicking, Ravenclaw witch pinching... I lost track... and I think I may have repeated myself, hold on... oh yes. Anyway, a covetous young son-of-a-witch was Draco Malfoy.
After the funeral, Draco shut the door to his dorm room and sat by the fire, to enjoy counting the Knuts, Sickles and Galleons he earned by his dishonest endeavors. He counted his earnings taken from his fellow Hogwarts students by the meager flames of the fireplace. The fire was small as Malfoy was too stingy to pay for first class firewood in his dorm room and made do burning the scats of the school owls and the cast offs of the house-elves. No, you do not really want to know what a house-elf cast off consists of.
And there came a knocking at the dorm room, and a rattling of chains and Malfoy was mightily irritated because that damned Peeves was up to no good and you couldn't kill a ghost because he is dead already and more's the pity.
Two large lumps floated through the dorm room door, rattling long chains bound about their arms and legs. The considerable chains were forged of filibuster fireworks, broken Quidditch brooms, stale cauldron cakes, broken Quaffles and dragon's teeth, all wrought in steel.
Malfoy did behold the two lumpy grotty ghosts that were the spectral forms of Vincent Crabb and Gregory Goyle.
And Malfoy did give cry to say, "You idiots can't even get DEATH right? Go back to the graveyard you stupid pillocks."
"Hee, hee, hee," said the visage of Crabb.
"The devil you say!" shouted Malfoy a tremblin' in his anatomies.
"Huh, huh, huh,' said the visage of Goyle.
"Of course I don't believe you are standing before me!" shouted Malfoy. "First of all you two are talking up a storm and that is something that Crabb and Goyle never did. And besides that, my senses are so affected by little things. Only just the other day Blaise Zabini backed me into the broom closet by the Great Hall and after a good healthy snog from that witch or wizard - I can never quite tell with Blaise - anyway after a dashing good shag from Blaise I ... no wait... that is not the story I meant to relate, although, by Salazar's Scrotum, it is a damned good story. Oh well, anyway, I smell more of cement than cemeteries about you two! No... that certainly isn't right... there is more of gravy than grave about you!
"Hee, hee, hee," said the ghostly Crabb.
"I am not obsessed with sex," protested Malfoy, digging a free hand into his trousers. "I am damned near a 'canon Draco', or perhaps there is a bit of 'slut Draco' in me but I AM straight! More or less although only last week I did ingest a modicum of an irresistible poison while trying to make myself invisible but that is another story for another time, and a better author. And what would you know about it? When alive, the two of you had no more brains than some annoying brainless thing. I suspect you are both nothing more but some great quivering blots of sushi settled to do deviltry to me in my upper intestine, or underdone potato settled into rot in the ceacum off my lower intestine, or perhaps a bit of undigested overcooked haggis wedged between my two back molars or perhaps..."
The spirit of Goyle turned translucent green - an attractive shade really - and then promptly threw up.
"And who is going to clean up that mess?" raged Malfoy. "The house-elves are all on strike seeking higher wages because of that idiot mudblood Granger. Now, off with both of you, right now!"
"Hee, hee, hee," said Crabb.
"Rubbish," said Malfoy. "If I haven't time for you two, I certainly haven't time for three more ghosts, no matter how dishy you two think they are. Now out with you!"
"Huh, huh, huh," said Goyle, wiping phlegm from his dead ghostly lips.
Draco sighed. "Blah, blah, blah, yeah, one ghost of Christmas past, one ghost of Christmas presents, and one ghost of Christmas futures? Well the Christmas present ghost sounds friendly enough, one can never have enough presents..."
"Hee, hee, hee," said Crabb.
"Oh, Christmas 'present', not presents? Yes, well, that's different. Well, shag that ghost then. But the ghost of Christmas futures, now we're talking, when the ghost gives me tips on the magical commodities market then I can invest a few Sickles and make a few Galleons ..."
"Huh, huh, huh," said Goyle.
"Damn it! Not futures, just future, like my future then? Rats. Oh well. I don't have time for this. Forget it boys. I'm not going anywhere tonight."
The ghosts of Goyle and Crabb floated out through the door of the room. Malfoy returned to the counting of his Galleons. And when he grew too tired for that pleasurable task, he striped off his clothes and climbed starkers into his four-poster. You are aware that Slytherin do not wear such things as pyjamas, preferring to save a Sickle on the expense of clothing when no one is really around to see them anyway, and if they had someone with them they'd be naked too in any case. Mr. Malfoy fell asleep upon an instant.
In the hallway outside of Draco's room, Goyle said, "We take the time, and use the best etiquette to provide Malfoy with the benefit of our extensive knowledge of the afterlife and he throws it in our faces!"
"Now Goyle," said Crabb. "Malfoy always was a impenetrable, anachronistic throwback to the feudal era when outrageous wealth dwelt alongside outrageous poverty and to expect him to experience significant spiritual growth has always been only an outside chance at best. The philistine, pig ignorant little shite."
"Yeah. Hee, hee, hee," said Goyle
HOME
Page 2
Page 3
Page 4
Page 5
Send E-Mail to: dumbledore1900@yahoo.com
Copyright © 2002 . All Rights Reserved