Author's Note: This story is set in the parody universe of Owlbus Humblebore and the Labyrinth of Doom. If you would like to familiarise yourself with the parody universe before reading this seasonal piece, you may do so via my profile. This story is a gift to author Bad Mum. Happy Christmas!


A Very Owlbus Humblebore Christmas


Snow covered every nearly surface surrounding Pigzits, the gigantic palace that four wizened twig-wigglers turned into a school roughly four years before. The few trees that surrounded the normally vibrantly pink and purple palace were now bent over, burdened with the terrible weight of snow. A light melody played on the winds, granting the peaceful ambiance the wildlife would in warmer times.

Here and there small mushrooms would sprout, then grow to absurd proportions only to be plucked away by one of the House Elvises the very second they showed signs of purple spotting. The Headmaster, if such a title could be aptly attributed to the man, was quite fond of them and would frequently consume them in ridiculous quantities. Were someone even moderately competent in the ways of modern medicine to become involved in a case study of the man, they would fear greatly for his health and question his sanity.

The aforementioned man, subject of said hypothetical study, currently occupied the main entrance to the palace, faced with the one of the most daunting decisions of his life. He teetered there for the better part of an hour before slipping a hand into his left coat pocket for a teensy sack of fine white powder. He smiled in amusement that it was still cold. He had made his decision. It was the same one he made at this time every year. He was going to do it. It didn't matter who; it didn't matter where, but he needed to do it. He hadn't done it in nearly a year.

"This snow stuff is brilliant," he mumbled to himself, dancing a little jig of his own. He extracted a large handful of the fluffy stuff and promptly proceeded to snort it. "Circe," he swayed a bit, throwing his hands on the door-frame to keep himself afoot. An intense pain shot through his head. "Brain freeze," he sniffled and wiping water from his face, he smiled and began to hum a song. Every now and again he would shout the word 'coconuts' and cackle maniacally.

He stood there, unaware that behind him stood the figure of a seventeen-year-old male who, until very recently, had blown off the existence of the world of twig-wiggling as mere ludicrousness. Terry Gardner was frozen in his shadow and was now beginning to seriously question whether he had breathed at all in the last fifteen minutes. His fingers were already beginning to go numb. His mind raced. Dare he stay here longer or else run away, risking that the man would hear him and begin with more of his nutty business with him as a likely victim?

In a moment of luck, Terry's eyes caught a glimpse of a large sack. It was frilly and red – and annoyingly festive. As if dumped in a bucket of hot water, all of his senses thawed at once and without a moment's hesitation, he shot into the bag, now cleverly concealed in velvet-covered hemp.

"I suppose it's time I'd best be off," said Owlbus Humblebore. "I've got a world of snow to enjoy." At once, Terry felt himself leave the ground. His feet were suddenly where his head ought to be and he find it mildly annoying, generally frustrating, and rather uncomfortable. "This thing weighs a horse more than I remember," he groaned; his breathing became heavier as he hauled the weight at his side. "I suppose I'm just getting up there in years."

There was a fair amount of packages to accompany Terry, each covered in a very wide assortment of wrapping paper. Moonlight reflected from some presents and merely brightened others. From what he could tell, there were stuffed bears and dollies, piggy banks and singing fish, and all manner of toys to please both girls and boys. As he began to reach for a long, thin, and rubbery purple toy, Terry felt himself slam against something hard. He'd just been set down, rather brutally, in some sort of dark container. He heard a few things close and suspected, but thoroughly doubted the situation that came to mind in his head.

It was silent for only a moment.

"Terry?" It was Harmonia's voice, sultriness dripped from her every syllable, as per normal. He relaxed to hear her speak. Something about that twig-wiggling girl made every ounce of reason shut-off within him on a rather normal basis. "I mean, this is a bit kinky, but I wasn't really going for that. I could do a qu..."

"Harmonia!" Terry gasped in relief, he clawed at his cloth prison. He made no progress except to frustrate himself further. "Get me out of this bag!"

"With my teeth or my pinky finger?" Harmonia began. Though Terry could not see it, she was waggling her eyebrows. "Or, if you give me a minute, I could be ready – "

"Harmonia, I don't care if you use your tongue,"Terry complained, "just let me out of here – and quickly, please. The top is tied shut!"

"There's really not a lot of space out here, either," she said. He felt her hands rub against Humblebore's sack. He was out in less than a minute. She was quite skilled with her tongue.

Terry and Harmonia lay for a brief moment in the little space provided them, nestled into one another. It was moments with the beautiful brunette that he truly cherished, though he also found Sola quite entertaining and certainly worth a shag or two when Harmonia felt up to it.

When the momentum of the vehicle came to a sudden stop, both instinctively raced into Humblebore's fuzzy sack. The limited space of the boot made it difficult, but not impossible.

A sound of creaking metal invaded both their ears and within seconds, they found themselves suspended in air with hundreds of wrapped toys. Were it a hint brighter inside the bag, Harmonia would have found a delightful fluffy sock nestled between her knees, a few inches below Terry's left hand.

They had a moment of peace before a light shown from above. Judging by the décor and splendid lighting, the teens realised they were in someone's home. Peeking a little into the room, Terry deduced that this particular dwelling was most certainly not one belonging to Headmaster Humblebore. There was a distinct lack of anything white and powdery.

"Uh oh," Harmonia groaned as she fell out of her cover and onto the floor.

"Me-ow. It would appear the cat is out of the bag," said the Headmaster the moment Harmonia fell from his sack of presents. He stood still for a moment, then sat a handful of gifts down below a poorly decorated Christmas Tree bereft of even a star.

Harmonia glanced behind her, in Terry's direction, as if asking what to do next. Had anyone else seen what was happening, she would appear to them as being afraid that the older man would turn inside out and begin screaming random profanities in French whilst calling for bloated cows and a nifty catapult. She looked utterly crazy as she continued to avoid looking at the man, staring instead at the bag in which her boyfriend resided.

"Oh, dear," Humblebore began, touching his eyeglasses in as sexy a fashion as he could muster. "Surely the gizmos and gadgets are still..."

Harmonia gasped. Owlbus shoved his hand into the sack of toys and instead of grabbing one of his beloved gifts, caught Terry by the hair.

"Another student?" he exclaimed, "Oh, Circe. It seems I've packed all the students instead of presents." He sighed loudly, repositioning his belt buckle. "How did... well, what did I do last time this happened?"

He stood still for a moment before brushing a purple-spotted mushroom against the bridge of his nose. At once, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he danced the Macarena.

Harmonia clang to Terry and held him like a child holding a stuffed bear.

"We've got to get out of here," she whispered softly. To their surprise, Humblebore stopped his dance immediately.

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "I've got a whole world of snow to explore." At once he set for the front door of the house. "Now, I can hardly leave you here. Come on!"


"It's a Mustang?" said Terry, glancing at the yellow-coloured sports car once and again. "You don't have any reindeer?"

"Reindeer don't exactly fly, now do they?" The older man laughed, grabbing a fistful of snow. "Now this beauty, she's got eight cylinders of pure power and plenty of powerful horses to get her moving. They – " he pointed to a group of what could be only described accurately as winged fish with elephant's ears, "get me flying."

"Dingbats?" scoffed Sola. She took a few steps forward to get a closer look at a Dingbat that was missing one of its ears. It was bleeding profusely. "Shouldn't we help him?"

"Nah," Humblebore mumbled after a loud snort. His face was once again covered in white powder. "That's Randolph, the green-eared dingbat. He's ear's always like that. It turns green just as the sun goes down. Great for finding my way in the dark. What? – " He paused. "Oh, that. The bleeding."

He held out his hand for a moment, then punched one of the dingbats in its face. It spun around for a moment, then nearly fell out of the air. It only barely managed to prevent itself from falling into the snow.

"Bytchen, give it up," Humblebore said lazily.

The other dingbat coughed-up the ear. Humblebore picked it up out of a pile of bile on the ground at his feet and merely sat it on Randolph's head. Within a few seconds, it began to meld back into the flesh and glow like a pile of recently polished emeralds.

Terry turned away from the grotesque flying rats to face the older man who now had one foot in the car.

"So, that's how you get all the presents to all the whizzers and whizzerettes each year? You drive around in a sports car?"

"Not just a sports car," Humblebore said indignantly, "It's a 'Stang."

Professor Weaver sat in the passenger's seat, wearing a sexy black dress that revealed as much as it could without leaving her entirely devoid of clothing.

"Well, hop on in, then," chuckled Owlbus. "And stop your gawking, unless you'd rather ride in the boot again."

Terry opened the side door for Harmonia. She looked terrified at riding in such an odd-looking Muddy contraption. In her life she had only ever traveled what she argued were "the normal" ways. Apparently riding around on mops for shorter trips and using copious amounts of S.N.E.E.Z. powder for longer journeys was the norm for twig-wigglers of all ages. Not to mention a certain network of interconnected toilets...

Harmonia slipped inside sliding against the leather seats smoothly. Her hands shook slightly as she repositioned herself. In one quick, forceful motion she pulled Terry in beside her. She refused to be here alone.

Terry closed the door behind him. As he did, the car lifted into the air with such a speed that he and Harmonia found themselves atop one another on the rear windshield of the Mustang. As Harmonia began to relax beneath him, her eyes began to widen and glow with intense desire. The sudden stop sent the couple flying into the backs of the front seats.

"Well, then," said the Headmaster, pulling a small pouch of a vibrant violet powder from his pocket and inhaled its contents quickly. In a matter of seconds, his once loose-fitting fluffy red and white robes became a little snug against his belly, his cheeks went rosy, his hair grew even longer, and his beard fluffier. In many ways he looked quite like a hornless rhinoceros in a Santa Claus outfit.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Humblebore smiled and rubbed his eyes. "Now that's Swedish Toe Missile."

"Mistletoe?" Terry laughed interestedly, "Surely..."

"Oh, no. Definitely Toe Missile." He paused for a moment, "Now, now, I'm sure Lottsa would like us to drop in.

As they stepped inside, a man only slightly taller than a Yorkshire Terrier lay upon a wooden floor. He was fast asleep, surrounded by copious amounts of a creamy salad dressing one could only assume was ranch, with a several large rolls of duct tape resting on his stomach and several more on other parts of his anatomy. He wore a swanky green top-hat and very holey shorts.

"Is this," Terry whispered, "But... Didn't he die?"

"Nonsense," said Sola, appearing out of nowhere. At once she took Terry's free hand (something he rarely ever had with these ladies around). "He's the villain," she smiled and gave Terry a very wet kiss. "They always make a return." She cleared her throat softly as she found a way to tuck herself against Terry. "Don't worry. I've got us protected." Harmonia looked ready to steal her own kisses but was rudely interrupted by a large rock falling on the floor. One of the Dingbats flew out through the open door. Somehow, the Snark Lord did not wake.

"Our job is done here."

"Coal?" Terry chuckled. "He gets coal," he shook his head as the group was sucked out of the house and into the streets via the toilets – the Poo Network.

"So why the coal?" asked Harmonia as Humblebore motioned them to come near. He stood, hands in his pockets, next to poorly built snowman covered in dried rose petals.

"It's not actually coal," Humblebore said simply, waving at them with his left hand. It was suddenly less puffy and festive. The allergic reaction Owlbus was having to the purple powder was beginning to fade. "If we've lost one of the gifts in the ride, the Dingbats leave their own... presents behind so no one feels left out!" He grinned widely. "I think it's quite generous of them."

Terry grimaced. He was quite certain that this Mr. Claus had little understanding of greedy, toy-grubbing children.

Harmonia looked at Humblebore, then at the pile of chocolate biscuits he stuffed into his pockets. "And the biscuits?"

She was clearly unfamiliar with Muddy traditions surrounding Christmastime.

"The children leave them for me," the man said merrily. "The milk, too."

"And what special ingredient do they use?" she asked, anticipating something white and powdery to be the response.

"Chocolate," he said merrily, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. He did a little dance before taking a biscuit and jamming it whole into his mouth. Crumbs fell everywhere. "Truly a drug for the soul. Marvelous stuff." He swallowed, then offered a biscuit to his students. "Biscuit?"

As Terry took a bite of the biscuit, there was a whirr of colour. When he could see clearly again, he was naked, but not cold. He was sandwiched by two warm beauties. Sola was fast asleep beside him and Harmonia was wrapped tightly in his arms.

"Happy Christmas, Terry," mumbled Sola in her sleep. The soft skin of her left cheek was pressed delicately against his back.

"Happy Christmas, love," echoed Harmonia, kissing him firmly on the lips.