“How did you ever get the Ministry to let us go to a ‘Schools of Magic Conference’ in Hawaii?” asked Professor Snape quizzically, air quoting the words ‘Schools of Magic Conference.’
“Oh, it just took a bit of wheedling on my part,” Professor Dumbledore answered loftily, his eyes twinkling in excitement.
“Ah, yes. Remind me again why we had to fly on those abominable things Muggles call airplanes?”
“The Ministry wanted us to keep a low profile, Severus. We can’t just apparate to Hawaii and hope that no one notices us. And please do refrain from saying ‘Muggles’ in public, we don‘t want anyone to overhear.”
Dumbledore gazed at his surroundings, which happened to be a Muggle airport filled with anxiety-ridden adults and screaming children. “Where has Minerva run off to?” he mused out loud.
“Right there,” Snape said, pointing a finger at the motionless figure lying facedown on the ground. “I suppose she had too many drinks on the airplane.”
Dumbledore looked a bit taken aback, but smoothly collected himself and strolled over to Professor McGonagall. “Come now, Minerva. We can’t spend all day napping in an airport, we have things to see!”
Professor McGonagall groggily raised her head. “What?” she asked in a fairly drunken voice.
“Let’s go, Minerva,” Snape interjected icily. “I want to get to the beach so I can work on my fabulous tan.”
Professor McGonagall unsteadily rose to her feet, a slightly nauseas look on her face that could have been from the copious amounts of mimosa she consumed, complimentary of Hawaiian Airlines, or the thought of Professor Snape lying on the beach clad in nothing but a swim suit.
“All right,” Dumbledore said happily, “on to the hotel!”
The three professors claimed their luggage at none other than the luggage claim and walked outside to hail a taxi.
“How does this work?” queried Professor Dumbledore, glancing around at the other people who were all hurriedly getting into cars, buses, taxis, or vans that were no doubt taking them to the destination of their choice.
“I’ll do it!” slurred Professor McGonagall. “Taxi!” she shouted, waving her arms frenziedly and unfortunately hitting a small child who happened to be within her arm’s reach. “Oops,” she mumbled, and stumbled back to join Professors Snape and Dumbledore, who had winced on impact.
“Good work, Minerva,” Professor Snape greeted her after she tottered back, “that wasn’t conspicuous at all.”
“Thanks, Severus,” Professor McGonagall answered, blissfully unaware of Snape’s blatant sarcasm.
“In any case,” Professor Dumbledore cut in, “it worked. We now have a means of transportation to take us to our hotel.”
The trio hurried forward, tossed their bags in the trunk, and got in the taxi. “Mind if I join you?” asked a polite looking young man. “I’m just going a couple blocks.”
“Yes!” screeched Professor McGonagall, and she slammed the car door in the young man’s face and shouted, “Move!” to the incredulous taxicab driver.
The driver, not knowing what else to do, sped off. After they had been driving for a few minutes, the driver cautiously asked, “Um, where am I taking you nice folks today?”
“To the Hilton Hotel at Waikoloa Village, please,” Dumbledore replied amicably. The driver, who was very relieved he wasn’t dealing with three drunk, irrational people, nodded and turned onto the street that would get them to their destination.
“Here we are,” the driver, here forth referred to as Bryan, said as he pulled up to the front entrance of the Hilton and stopped with a sudden jerk, causing all three passengers to be thrown forward into the seats in front of them, or in Dumbledore’s case, the windshield, as none of them had mastered the art of seatbelt buckling.
“Oof!” Professor Snape said as he peeled his face from the back of the front seat.
“Uh, sorry about that,” Bryan said sheepishly. “That’ll be $23.75, folks.”
“Righty-o!” Professor McGonagall hiccupped.
“Shush,” Professor Snape said quietly, motioning that she should shut her alcohol-related enlarged mouth.
Dumbledore, the only one of the three to have mastered Muggle money, paid Bryan and they trudged inside, Professor McGonagall weaving a bit as she walked.
They reached their room without any giant catastrophes, unless one considers Professor McGonagall attempting to get into an argument with a parrot--that was obviously fake--and causing quite a few people to stare a rather large catastrophe.
Professor Snape sighed, “I guess it’s too late for me to work on my tan.”
“Sorry, Severus,” Dumbledore sympathized, “but we can have a nice dinner later. Let me just cast a sobering spell on Minerva and we can be off!”
He waved his wand at the still form of Professor McGonagall, who was snoring loudly on the bed, and mumbled a something no one could hear, there is no point writing what he said.
Professor McGonagall sat up and an enormous yawn escaped her mouth. “Thank you, Albus. I suppose I had one too many mimosas on the airplane, but they made the flight go incredibly fast.”
Professor Dumbledore chuckled, “Just don’t let it happen too often , Minerva. We can’t have the Muggle police banging at our door because you disrupted the peace.” Professor McGonagall nodded fervently.
“Right,” Professor Snape said, “let’s go to dinner, I’m positively starving!”
******
Professor McGonagall was the first one awake the next morning, as she was the only one not bothered by her constant snoring. She threw a glance at the other sleeping Professors and proceeded to make herself a strawberry daiquiri--which she had tried last summer while on holiday--using magic, of course. She had almost finished her second one when Professor Snape awoke. He yawned and blinked owlishly before rising out of bed, wearing nothing but dark green boxers with a pattern of wizard’s hats on them. Professor McGonagall, who had just taken the last sip of her drink, choked at once and spat it all over Professor Snape.
Professor Snape quickly waved his wand and the regurgitated strawberry daiquiri vanished from his face, leaving it livid. “What, may I ask, is so funny, Minerva?” he asked acidly.
Professor McGonagall was not actually laughing; she hadn’t done a very good job of blending the strawberries and a rather large chunk had lodged itself in her throat when she spit the drink in Professor Snape’s face. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Professor Snape asked, regressing to second grade and taunting Professor McGonagall with his tongue sticking out and his fingers waggling in his ears.
Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes and banged her fist down hard on the table, unfortunately causing it to collapse and land on Professor Snape’s toe. Snape let out a howl that sounded precisely like a cat that had just been kicked down a flight of stairs. Professor McGonagall proceeded to violently hit herself in the stomach numerous times before the lump of now very slimy strawberry dislodged itself from her throat, flew across the room, and landed on Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose. Professor McGonagall let out a gasp just as Professor Dumbledore sat up, the strawberry lump sliding onto his nightgown as he did so.
Professor Dumbledore looked down at the shapeless blob of mashed strawberry and calmly magicked it away. Then he surveyed his colleagues, a rather large smile blooming on his ancient face. Professor Snape was sitting on the ground, still clad in nothing but boxers, sucking his hurt toe fervently. Professor McGonagall was still a bit blue in the face and was taking deep breaths to return oxygen to her brain and lungs.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “shall we go out for breakfast?” The others stopped for a moment to stare at him before returning to nurse their respective injuries.
“Fine,” Professor Dumbledore said with a humph, “I’ll go out to eat by myself.” He was just about to walk out the door when Professor Snape stuck out a leg from his position on the floor, got it caught among Dumbledore’s many folds in his night gown, and brought the Headmaster down to his level.
“Ouch,” Professor Dumbledore said, calm as ever.
“Er, sorry about that,” Professor Snape said awkwardly, “but you shouldn’t wear, er, nightgowns that long.”
“It is most certainly not a nightgown,” Professor Dumbledore said mildly, “it is a nightshirt.”
“It’s a nightgown!”
“Nightshirt!”
“Nightgown!”
“Nightshirt!”
Professor McGonagall had had quite enough of this. “It’s a nightgown, you pansy,” she said directly to Professor Dumbledore.
Professor Dumbledore frowned slightly, then waved his wand saying a few well-chosen words and his outfit changed from a long nightgown to designer jeans, a white polo, and a golf sweater. “Is that better?” he asked. Professor McGonagall nodded silently. “All right then,” Dumbledore said, “let’s go to breakfast.”
He wandered out the door, leaving Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape to wonder how the dignified Headmaster knew what designer jeans were. “He really is a pansy,” Snape muttered to McGonagall as they followed Dumbledore out of the hotel room.
“I heard that!” Dumbledore called back cheerfully.
“He’s bluffing,” McGonagall whispered to Snape, but she wasn’t so sure, so neither of them said a word until breakfast.
****
After breakfast, they set out for the beach, Dumbledore sporting blue swimming shorts with stars speckled on them, McGonagall wearing a modest one-piece bathing suit with a small Gryffindor lion emblem, and Snape donning an unflattering deep green Speedo.
Professor McGonagall, who was trying desperately to not look at Professor Snape said to the small sand crab that was scuttling along the sand next to her, “Really, Severus, do you have to wear that..that thing in public?”
Professor Snape looked a bit miffed, but answered coolly, “Yes. And I might question your choice of beach attire. Do you have to represent your house everywhere you go?”
“Yes,” McGonagall replied, just as coolly.
“Come now,” Dumbledore interrupted serenely, “can’t we just enjoy a nice day at this lovely beach?”
“No,” two voices said flatly.
Dumbledore mumbled something under his breath, but was soon distracted by a child holding a melting ice cream cone.
The three professors had arrived at a satisfactory spot on the beach and Snape immediately laid out his towel saying, “If either of you disturbs my tanning time, you will be very sorry, for I will curse you into oblivion.”
McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged wary glances, they both knew how touchy Snape could be about his skin. He spent nearly all his time in the dungeons and rarely ever got a tan; this was his chance to become a beautiful bronze color and show that snotty Professor Flitwick that he wasn’t the only one who could look sexy.
Professor Dumbledore made his way through the sand towards the ice cream cart he had spotted, his sock-covered feet often slipping out of the sandals he chose to wear. He was only a foot and a half away from the ice cream stand when a seagull hopped by. The odd bird instantly captured Dumbledore’s attention, making him forget completely about the ice cream he had set out to acquire.
“Why hello,” he said warmly to the seagull. “What’s your name?” A few beach goers stopped to stare at this eccentric man with a three foot long beard who was now having an open conversation with the seagull he had named Harvey when the seagull hadn’t responded to his question. The seagull’s name was, in fact, Owen.
Anyways, Dumbledore was happily chatting away to Harvey/Owen, making plans for afternoon tea when Professor McGonagall stumbled over to him, clutching a large Blue Hawaiian tightly in her left hand. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Albus?” she giggled tipsily.
“Where did you get that?” Dumbledore asked McGonagall rather severely, pointing at her half-filled cup.
“Ooo, look at the funny birdy!” she said, ignoring Dumbledore’s question entirely. She bent down to pet Harvey/Owen, hit her head on Professor Dumbledore’s bony elbow, sat down hard in the warm sandy sand, and spilled her drink on the very bird she was attempting to pet.
Harvey/Owen squawked angrily and flew away. “What did you do that for?” Professor Dumbledore demanded in a very childish voice. Professor McGonagall simply hiccupped and stared at Dumbledore blearily from her position on the ground. Then she realized her plastic cup was void of blue fluid.
“What,” she screamed in a rather drunken rage, “did you do to my drink?!”
The rest is a bit fuzzy after that--not to mention a bit violent--but it ended with Professor Snape tearing Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall apart and dragging them back to their hotel.
****
“That was quite a scene you two made,” Professor Snape fumed. “Drawing a Muggle crowd, practically wrestling in public, interrupting my precious tanning time!”
Both the other professors looked down at their feet, ashamed. “I apologize profusely,” Professor McGonagall said quietly, having been sobered up by Snape.
“As do I,” Professor Dumbledore agreed. He seemed to have matured instantaneously, or at least become as mature as he used to be.
The three sat in awkward silence for what felt like an eternity before Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully, “What shall we do about dinner?”
Professors Snape and McGonagall exchanged glances before McGonagall replied, “I saw this lovely little seafood place not too far from here.”
“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, nodding his approval.
“I hate to interrupt this happy moment,” Snape interpolated frostily, “but have both of you forgotten that I am deathly allergic to all seafood?”
McGonagall waved her hand dismissively and said, “So you get a small rash, it’s nothing you can’t deal with, Severus.”
Snape spluttered indignantly. “It is much more than just a small rash!” he cried.
“Then what is it?” asked McGonagall icily.
Snape looked around the room, as if hoping something he saw might help him explain his “small rash”. Finding nothing to bolster his case, he turned to Dumbledore, “How about some help here?”
Dumbledore, who had been humming a quiet tune to himself, gave Snape a faint smile, “What was that? Sorry, haven’t been listening. Too busy trying to decide what I’m going to have at this delightful seafood restaurant.”
Snape snarled under his breath. He turned to Professor McGonagall again and said, “How would you like it if I threw Flutterby pollen all around your office again and made you sneeze for hours?” Professor McGonagall remained silent, so he continued, “Well, that’s the same thing as you making me eat seafood.”
“It is not!” McGonagall answered crossly. “You caused me quite a bit of discomfort for hours. Seafood just makes you a little red.”
Professor Dumbledore, obviously tired of imagining the delicious food that awaited him broke up the argument by saying, “Come now, I’m sure they have other types of food you can eat, Severus.”
“But it’s a seafood restaurant!”
“Oh, get over it,” McGonagall snapped, sounding much more like her normal, strict self.
“Right then,” Dumbledore said before Snape had a chance to open his mouth, “let’s go eat.”
*****
Dinner was a fairly decent affair, as both Snape and Dumbledore forbid McGonagall from ordering alcoholic drinks. Just as Dumbledore predicted, there were quite a few non-seafood dishes to choose from, which Snape tore into hungrily.
“You two were right,” Snape said through a mouthful of pasta, “this is good food.”
McGonagall frowned slightly, “But Severus, we never said it was good food.”
“Oh,” Snape said as he swallowed hard. “Well, I’m glad we came here, at any rate.”
“Delighted to hear it,” Dumbledore said merrily as he pried open his crab legs with a satisfying crack.
The three eventually lapsed into peaceful silence until Dumbledore said, “You know, tomorrow’s our last day on this beautiful island.”
The others started, obviously not realizing their sojourn was to end so soon. “Oh yes,” Dumbledore continued, oblivious to the regretful faces of his colleagues, “most magical conventions only last a few days. We don’t want the Muggles to notice strange things happening all at once at one place.”
Professor Snape gave a loud sigh and Professor McGonagall applied herself once more to her large stuffed lobster dinner, ripping out large chunks of meat with her claw-like hands.
Professor Snape snorted. “Don’t hurt anyone, Minerva,” he muttered, watching McGonagall tear into the lobster tail with ferocious glee.
Professor McGonagall most likely would have retorted, had her mouth not been full of lobster meat, the juice running attractively down her chin. Instead, she settled for kicking Snape under the table.
“Watch it!” he hissed angrily. “That came very close to a body part I would not like to have damaged.” Professor Dumbledore, who had been watching with interest, let out a girlish giggle, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Was that you, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked after she swallowed--with considerable difficulty--her mouthful of food. Professor Dumbledore spared himself from answering by stuffing what he thought was a breadstick into his mouth and chewing forcefully. In reality, he had just stuck a large candlestick in his mouth, although he was too busy blushing to notice the odd taste of wax that was filling his mouth.
McGonagall and Snape looked at each other before muttering together, “Pansy.”
Their thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore, who had attempted to swallow the candlestick and was now choking rather loudly. McGonagall quickly looked back at her plate and started shoveling copious amounts of food into her own mouth again; Snape sighed and sarcastically said, “Don’t get up, I’ll handle this.”
*****
The trio had a late night, which was largely due to Professor McGonagall and her inability to stop eating. She had eaten her way through three stuffed lobsters, two boiled crabs, half a roasted chicken, and an enormous bowl of pasta, then looked up and asked, “What’s for dessert?” Needless to say, the other two had simply stared at her in amazement.
“Where do you put it all?” Snape had asked, completely aghast.
“You never eat this much at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore had added, awestruck.
“Well,” McGonagall said, a smile small playing about her lips, “I don’t often like to be considered a pig by those I must see every day. As for where I put it, I have no idea.”
“You could take on Crabbe and Goyle with an appetite like yours!” Snape exclaimed, almost excitedly.
McGonagall sniffed. “I do not think my eating habits should be publicly displayed for all to see,” she said coldly, though a Dumbledore-like twinkle was gleaming in her normally frosty eyes.
The next morning, all three of them woke up late, though none of them were bothered in the slightest by McGonagall’s noisy snores. The aforementioned sat up, yawned hugely, and queried, “What’s for breakfast?”
Snape actually stopped mid-yawn to gape at her. “You’re hungry? After all that gorging last night? How do you make it through school? I mean, you never eat as much as you did last night, but you’re hungry this morning!”
McGonagall smiled mischievously. “Oh,” she said loftily, “I find the house-elves quite accommodating.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “Honestly, Minerva, you’re as bad as some of the students,” he said sternly, although the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Snape shot a glance at the clock hanging on the wall. “What time did you say we had to be back by?” he asked Dumbledore, who was carefully doing up his shoelaces.
“I didn’t,” Dumbledore said to his shoes, “but we’re supposed to be back at ten o’clock.”
McGonagall blinked owlishly and said, “Then we’d better get a move on if we want to catch those confounded airplanes.”
Dumbledore shook his head, long silver hair swaying gently. “No, we don’t have to worry about those this time. We can just Apparate back to Hogsmeade.”
The other professors gave audible sighs of relief, as neither of them enjoyed the airplane flight very much and it was already nine fifteen.
“So,” McGonagall said slowly, “what about breakfast?”
“Still thinking about food?” Snape asked while buttoning a Hawaiian shirt covered in rainbows.
“Naturally,” McGonagall answered unperturbedly. She turned to look at him, caught sight of his shirt, and gave a loud, harsh laugh, which she hastily turned into a hacking cough. When she had composed herself enough to speak, she asked, in a rather strangled voice, “A-are you wearing a gay pride shirt?”
Snape frowned and looked down at his choice of attire. “No,” he said unhurriedly, “it’s just a shirt with rainbows on it.”
“Oh,” she replied, and wisely chose to say no more about the matter at hand.
“All right then,” Dumbledore said, straightening up, “let’s pack our stuff, shall we?”
“I’ll do it,” Snape volunteered, and with a complicated wave of his wand, all their belongings--which had become strewn about the room--flew neatly into their bags.
“All right,” Dumbledore said yet again, “I’ve already called the front desk to check us out, so we can leave whenever we please.”
Snape looked once more at the clock. “We’d best be off soon,” he told the others. “Don’t want to be late; they might not let us go to another ‘conference’ if we are.” The three professors exchanged guilty, but very pleased looks.
“Okay, let’s head out,” Dumbledore instructed, once again becoming the ever-so-wise and dignified Headmaster.
“But, what about breakfast?” McGonagall protested feebly.
“We’re headed back to Hogsmeade, Minerva. I’m sure there’s food there,” Dumbledore assured her.
“If you say so,” she responded dully. And with a loud crack, the three professors vanished and appeared almost instantly in Hogsmeade. They traded secretive smiles and marched up to the castle, reverting back to their roles as teachers and Headmaster of Hogwarts, though all of them were thoroughly tanned.