Chapter One: It's Been A Long Day

Christmas usually put Snape in a rotten mood, and this year was to be no exception.

In the wee hours of the morning after the Yule Ball, Snape wasn't doing some heavy balling of his own with Hermione Granger, celebrating their coming-out party.

She was still in her dress, in her bedroom, wondering where the fuck he was, and Snape was wandering around the grounds in his battered old Alchemist's greatcoat, brooding, smoking, and freezing.

It wasn't his going public with his affair with Granger that was bothering him; Snape was not the sort of man to concern himself with what other people thought of what he considered the Hello! Magazine sort of details of his life. No, he was deeply troubled by the events of the past few days; they had revealed large, insulting chinks in the ironclad armour of his foolproof plan to bring down Voldemort.

One might expect hot-headed grandstanding from red-headed Ginny Weasley. The Killer Queen had a nose for blood and a great dislike of Death Eaters. Properly placed, her bloodlust, bravado and love of the old ultraviolence could be great assets to the war effort.

Also great liabilities. He had seen the seeds of her unholy partnership with Granger and the Ministry Mutiny; the combination of the two was not good. Hermione was brilliant, calculating, clever and ruthless. With a weapon of mass destruction the likes of the Gryffindor lioness at her disposal the two of them could wreak havoc on the enemy, but also on his plans.

They had to be brought to heel.

But can you teach the brightest witch in her year to heel, much less a lioness? And Miss Weasley was second only to Hermione as far as academic standing. If there was one thing a brilliant young woman didn't want to hear fuck-all about, it was what some old man had to tell them.

At least, though, the girls had done something. Snape was happy to discover that Weasley was a great drummer; he wasn't great at anything else except for being Potter and Granger's general dogsbody. He was a brave young man when his back was against the wall, but not having seen some of the worst horrors the world had to offer, he was, understandingly if disappointingly, squeamish at the rather grotesque, prolonged and bloody death of Oliver Crich.

Potter was a different story. Between fighting dragons and dementors, not to mention battling basilisks, and his harrowing years as a drunken, brawling, brutal gutter junkie, he had, regrettably, seen it all. His squeamishness was disturbing. Yes, most blokes aren't too thrilled about seeing their bird turn into a lioness and tear a man to pieces with the same jaw they polish your nob with, but he could have done something besides sit there like a little girl in a pink dress.

Maybe sobriety had knocked the cobblers off of him.

Snape paced and chain-smoked and cursed to himself until he dropped his fag because his fingers were numb, and then he went back into the castle as the first grey fingers of the wintry dawn crept across the wan cold sky.

Fortunately for him, Albus Dumbledore was an early riser, so Snape made for his office.

Dumbledore was cheerily hanging Christmas decorations, and happily whistling Jingle Bells.

He couldn't help but notice that Severus looked half-frozen, exhausted, and extremely pissed off.

"Good morning, Mr. Scrooge! I see you're in your usual Happy Christmas mood." Dumbledore joked.

"I've been thinking over this whole Crich affair, and there are serious problems with the plan, Albus." Snape began.

"I wouldn't call them serious problems, Severus. Still, our young Order members are going to have to get a lot better at following plans, directives and instructions if The Plan is going to succeed. Hermione and Ginny have to be made to realise they can't just go and do whatever they wish, just because they think it might work."

"Precisely. Not to mention that Potter's skills are rusty and Ronald Weasley's are nonexistent. For all their macho posturing, they just sat there and let the women do all the work. All those boys are good as is bluffing and chasing bints. Weasley can't drum his way out of battle and Voldemort is not going to be impressed by the size of Harry's plonker. Potter's not his type. "

"Don't worry, my boy! When you come back from visiting with your family, we'll have to devise an exercise for all of them. I might have something in mind. Now, try to cheer up. You've proclaimed your love for Hermione to all the world, and in a few months time you'll be a free man and the war will be over and won. Now, go get some rest. You look awful, Severus."

Dumbledore went back to orchestrating his decorations with his wand, and humming, so Snape knew the meeting was over.

Snape opened the door to the office and set out, not knowing whether he was going to the Head Girl's room, or to his dungeon when he almost ran into Potter, who also didn't look like he'd had much sleep, and seemed more than a little distressed.

He did sort of a double take upon seeing Snape, then ran up to him, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat.

"Snape, its you! I never thought I'd be so happy to see me snarky Old Man in me life! You've got to hide me! I'm in a lot of trouble!" Harry exclaimed.

Without asking any questions, the Potions Master held his coat open.

"Get in the side pocket." He said.

Harry didn't ask questions, either. He put his hand into the pocket and before he knew it, bang-zoom, he was in Snape's coat pocket.

Snape casually buttoned his coat up and headed for the dungeon.

***

He carefully took off his coat and shook it lightly over the couch, and Harry tumbled out of it.

He had Snape's glasses on.

"Far out! These are the same prescription as mine." Harry observed, tearing open a packet of Mini-Chocolate Frogs he had found.

Snape gave Harry his round glasses and put his own square glasses back in his coat pocket.

"Can I open these? Me fags are by me bed."

"Go ahead. So, who wants to murder you? Is it an angry father, an irate brother, or the betrayed boyfriend?" Snape asked.

He sat down beside Harry, and they both lit up.

"Irate brother. Your wonderful godson, Malfoy, thought it would be really funny to send an album of rather large pictures and a pensieve to Bill Weasley showing me and his little sister doing some things that a man should never see his baby sister doing. And I thought I could trust those trees." Harry replied, ruefully.

"You can. But no tree will take a man over a wizard with Elvish blood." Snape reminded him.

"Nice of him to use it against me. I fucking hate Christmas. I hated it when I was a kid. Goddamn Dudley got fucking everything, and I got a card that cost one pound and threepence. I mean I like going to the Burrow and all, but I hate fucking Christmas. All that happy family shit. What if you don't have one? Bah, humbug!" Harry spat.

"I'm not so fond of it meself. Too many bad memories of Chrimble, being beat half to death not being the worst of the lot. Still, they may not be the happy family on the expensive cards, but they are me family, so I'm off. Your family as well, Potter. And the last time they had you for Chrimble you were in diapers."

"Do they know about me? Me grandparents and me great-grandparents? Are they all still alive?"

"They were as of me getting an owl, yesterday. Of course they know about you! You're the only grandchild, and the only great-grandchild. The last, best hope for the survival of the Snape-Prince genome. They've kept schtum all these years, just the way I have. But since I told them that you sussed me out, I've been inundated with owls telling me that if I don't show up wit the firstborn male child I might as well not show up at all. Seeing as how the Burrow might not be safe for you this year, you might as well tag along with me. You and Hedwig seem anxious as I am to get the fuck out of here."

"You don't know the half of it! Are you packed? Can I help? When do we leave?"

"Are you really that chuffed about meeting your relatives?"

Harry lit up, again.

"Well, I've never met anyone as barmy as I am. It'll be good to see where I come from."

Snape laughed in a thoroughly unpleasant way.

"That's what you say, now." He replied.

"I can't believe he did this to me! Who knows what Bill's like when he's mad, now. Goddamn Draco Malfoy. With friends like him, who needs enemies?"

Snape couldn't help it, he started to laugh.

Harry began to laugh, too.

It struck Harry that these months getting to know his wicked old screw of a father were the only happy family memories he ever had.

It made him wonder if Snape had any, considering his childhood, and the grandparents Harry was both wary of and excited to be meeting.

"So, how do you arrange your holidays?"

"We'll be at home until Christmas morning, then we come back here for Christmas dinner . Then their lot goes home and I stay, and get ready for the new semester."

"Who?"

"All of 'em. The whole family. None of them can cook a proper dinner. So Albus lets them eat here. And then we're all together. My dysfunctional, fucked up natural family and Albus and Minerva, my dysfunctional, fucked up foster family. Just like on the telly."

"Do you have any happy memories of your childhood, Snape?" Harry asked.

Snape blew a doubtful smoke ring at Harry.

"Where did that come from? Have you been watching those wretched uplifting Scrooge movies with Albus?"

"Yes, but that's not why. I got a present from Dudley and a rather nice card from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They were really genuinely worried about me."

Snape sighed, resignedly.

"My parents were big fans of Monty Python. They watched it every week. The old man would come outside, or into me room, and come and get me, and we'd all sit on the couch and have fish and chips and watch Monty Python. The old man would give me a few sips of his beer, and during the commercials my mother would show me a new spell, or hex and if I could get it right before the end of the programme, I'd get a Twix bar. Both halves. After the Ministry made me a ward, and I wasn't allowed to see Mum and Dad, anymore, I used to watch Monty Python with Albus and Minerva in his office. Then I'd go back to my room and wait by the window for the family owl to arrive with a Twix bar. The Ministry never found out about that."

Snape didn't look like he was remotely close to tears, but you never knew how he was really feeling.

As for Harry, especially after watching all those versions of A Christmas Carol with Dumbledore, who usually cried through the ending, Harry felt positively weepy.

"Don't start blubbering, on me, Potter. There's nothing wrong with crying, but you should never do it in front of anybody. Tears are a sign of weakness. Everyone has weaknesses, but you should never show them to others. Not even your father. When a man cries, he cries alone. And that goes double for a woman, if she wants to be taken seriously. Do you understand, Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"I wouldn't cry over anything so stupid. About me going home to meet the family with you. I'm all for it, but won't Voldemort find out?"

"Not if we take Muggle transportation to avoid being noticed. Besides, I always take Muggle transportation when I go home. I don't want everybody on God's Green Earth knowing where the fuck I live."

"Are we going to take the bus, or something?"

Snape looked at him like he was mad.

"No. I have a car. We'll drive."

"You know how to drive a regular Muggle car, Snape?"

"I have been driving a regular Muggle car since the age of eight, Potter. I was always the designated driver. The old man would ring the house up from the pub, and I'd tie the blocks he rigged up with straps to my feet, jump into the Mini he still drives around in and go pick them up."

Snape was smiling at the horrendous but humorous memory, and Harry laughed a little.

"I can help. I've got a Muggle driver's licence."

"No one drives my car but me, Potter."

"Ever?"

"You can have it when I'm dead. Now, I need to go and do the impossible, and shift Granger out of bed and make sure she's packed everything she needs. Which is not going to be fun, considering I stood her up last night. If I want to live to drive our lot 'ome, I'll have to get creative with her Time Turner. Now, you hide out here until after Bill's come to pick up his sister. Get Treacher to bring you your breakfast. Miss Weasley will take care of everything, I'm sure. She's smart enough to blag him, or obliviate him, and then you'll be in the clear. Still, you'd best take one of your Dad's secret passages to Hogsmeade, just in case Bill's on the prowl for you. Meet our Hermione and me at the Hog's Head at noon. Bring your trunk and your owl. Wear Muggle clothes. Don't tell anyone where you're going and wear your Invisibility Cloak so no one sees you until you see me. Especially Bill Weasley." Snape instructed.

Harry nodded, vigorously.

***

It had been quite a morning for Dumbledore, a very early morning, considering that Hermione Granger, still dressed in her Yule Ball clothes had knocked him up out of bed at five in the morning, seemingly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He managed to conduct her to his office, where she actually burst into tears, and he spent a good fifteen minutes hugging her and comforting her.

She was upset because it had only just occurred to her that her feelings regarding Severus Snape went a bit beyond casual fondness and convenience.

Later, he realised she'd been up all night waiting for Severus, and had likely worked herself into quite a state when he failed to appear.

A fine thing for him to do to the poor girl, take her to the ball and announce his intentions towards her to the world and then stand her up and leave her waiting for him all night, wondering where he'd got to. Hoping he didn't have second thoughts. Questioning herself as to whether she'd made the right choice.

But that was Severus for you. About as sensitive as a toilet seat, as Lily Evans had once observed.

Hermione was quite unusually upset when she came to see him, no doubt about it.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I always promised myself I would never fall into the hideous trap of the conventional heterosexual monogamous lifestyle, where I'd be married at 20, a mother at 21 and find myself 35 and divorced with two kids and nothing to show for my life. The very idea that I may be in love with Snape or he with me makes me sick in my stomach. I despise sentiment. I can't get married. I have too much I want to do with my life!" she sobbed.

Dumbledore offered her a meringue from the special pastry drawer in his desk, and his enchanted bottomless Kleenex box.

"You have nothing whatever to worry about, Hermione. Severus knows you are a brilliant witch, and he shares the dreams you have for your future. He's been grooming you for acceptance to the Merlin School, and apprenticeship to him after university. And I must say I know Severus well enough to know he shares your horror of sentimentality, romance, and the conventional middle class lifestyle. I doubt very much that his love for you entails slavery in the kitchen and a Weasley-sized family. You two are quite well matched." Dumbledore assured her.

"But everybody knows about us, now. What if they think I'm, pardon my language, earning my academic credentials on my back?"

"Hermione, everybody knew about you and Severus, before. And no one in the Wizarding World would ever expect Severus Snape to give anyone anything they had not earned or did not deserve. If anything, the general consensus is that he's twice as, er, strict with you than anyone else just to prove to himself he's not playing favourites."
"Do you really think so?" Hermione asked.

"I know so. I know Severus snape better than he knows himself. I raised him, after all." Dumbledore assured her.

"Then maybe you know where he is."

"Outside, somewhere, freezing and smoking and pacing. Don't go out looking for him, though, Hermione. He'll come in when he's ready, and not a second before. Now, you have a long trip back to Liverpool ahead of you, and you've had a quite eventful week. And you know Severus. Nothing fazes General Snape. He'll leave sharp at noon with or without you. Why don't you set your time turner back a few hours, have a nice bath and a cup of tea, and go to bed and get a good night's sleep?"

Hermione decided to take Dumbledore's advice.

She returned to her rooms, and set the time turner back to just before she'd left in a huff around two to storm the dungeon. Then she took off her dress and hung it up, took a bath, had a cup of tea and went to bed.

She fell asleep right away, just glad that the night was over.

***

As rough of a night as Snape and Hermione and Harry had, it was nothing compared to the one Moaning Myrtle had.

At first she was overjoyed for Ron when she heard how good the band sounded, coming up through the pipes, but as his usual hour came and went and most of the night came and went and there was no Ron, it occurred to her that now that they knew he was in a band, girls were gong to throw themselves at him. Girls who were still alive and well, all the time.

She really wanted to be noble about it, but coming as it did around the holidays, and considering how she felt about Ron, Myrtle broke down and did some ferocious, school-shaking moaning.

She made such a fuss that the other ghosts sent Nearly-Headless Nick up to the prefects bathroom to see what was the matter with her.

He found that the poor girl was completely incoherent, and he was attempting to comfort her, and assure her that the Weasleys were not that kind of family when Ron made a dramatic entrance, still dressed in his stage clothes.

"I could hear you crying all over the school! Did you think…oh, uh, hullo, Nick."

"You see, Myrtle, my dear? He's right here." Nearly-Headless Nick assured Myrtle.

As he glided out he spoke to Ron in a quiet but firm voice.

"See here, Mr. Weasley, if you break poor little Myrtle's heart the ghosts of Hogwarts will never let you have another peaceful night. We'll send the Baron after you until you're old and grey, and very near a ghost, yourself." He told Ron.

When they were alone, Ron ran over to the shade of Myrtle, and he was surprised that when he touched her, his hand didn't pass through her, rather she became flesh and blood.

"It's four. This isn't supposed to happen."

"Well, you weren't here between 12 and 3. It's always midnight, somewhere. I'm sorry, Ron. You never had women pay attention to you, and boys always went mad for me. I don't mind you having your fun, as long as I know you'll visit me sometimes."

"Visit you sometimes? Myrtle, I'm an old-fashioned bloke. When I love a girl, and she's my girl, she's the only girl in the world. What do I want with Lavender Brown, and that lot, when I have you?" Ron told her.

It looked like there were tears in Myrtle's eyes.

"How did we sound?" Ron asked.

"Amazing! And I love your outfit. A really good band really turns me on." Myrtle replied.

"When I figure out how to make you real again, all the time, you can be our singer. And after every gig, we'll go backstage and you can have your way with me behind the Marshall stacks while the roadies hold up the amps." Ron panted.

"Ooooo, how romantic!" Myrtle giggled.

"I love you, Myrtle. If I have to, I'll come to this fucking bathroom every night until the day I die." Ron promised.

Myrtle kissed him.

They had a lovely time, and Ron was late meeting Bill and Ginny.

He showed up just in time to see Ginny obliviating their brother.

"What was I saying?" Bill asked, quizzically, rubbing his beard.

"I'm not sure, Bill. You just stopped in the middle of a sentence."

She had a sack of some kind behind her back, and thrust it at Ron, who though he wasn't sure what it was, secreted it under his robes.

"Really? I must be getting senile in me old age. There you are, Ron. Ready to go?"

"Sure." Ron replied.

"I'll get your trunk, then." Bill said, still shaking his head.

Ron lingered with Ginny as Bill carried her trunk into the courtyard.

"Was that the evidence?"

"Yeah. I had to obliviate Bill. We'll get that lot home and then burn it. That little motherfucker Draco Malfoy!" Ginny spat.

"He's a right fuckin' cunt! I don't care if he's on our fucking side. When we get back, I'll get him into Myrtle's loo and she'll watch the door for us. I'll hold your coat and you can beat the fuck out of Malfoy. She'll do her bit loud enough to drown out his screams. Hell, I'll take a few shots at the little fucker, meself." Ron promised his sister.

They walked out into the courtyard.

Ginny's face brightened up.

"That's brilliant, Ron!"

"What are brothers for?"

Bill looked over his shoulder, and saw the nature of the grin on his little sister's face.

He smiled into the beard he'd grown to cover up some of his scars. He hadn't the heart to tell Ginny that he knew four different mental techniques to block attempts to obliviate him. Poor Harry was nowhere in sight. What did they think he was going to do, murder him? Of course, Bill knew that Harry and Ginny were together, and although he hadn't given it any thought, he assumed they didn't send all their evenings listening to Quidditch matches on the radio. He'd only looked and one picture, briefly, and packed the lot of it away. He'd brought the album and the pensieve to give back to his sister to let her dispose of it, or complain to the Headmaster abut Draco's tricks, but she didn't give him the chance.

She just smiled and pointed her wand at him before she even said hello.

Ginny was elaborating on what she was going to do to Draco, and Ron seemed all for it.

Bill decided that he wouldn't want to be Draco Malfoy for all the tea in China.

***

If Snape thought that he'd turn her Time Turner back about four hours and peacefully lie down beside Hermione and get a few hours of the deep and dreamless without her being any the wiser, he had another think coming.

She woke up when he got into the bed with her, and at first just happily rolled over to snuggle up, out of force of habit.

Then, she woke up.

"You berk! I'd be fucking furious with you if I wasn't so gobsmacked you'd try to pull a cheap trick like this on me? Where did you go all night, then?"

"What are you on about, Granger? It's only four. It took me an hour or so to put me suit and all away, proper like, and then I must' ave dozed urf, but as soon as I woke up, I come up to see you." Snape lied, mustering up some righteous indignation of the highest calibre.

"Bullshit! It's 4AM because you came in 'ere and used me Time Turner to make it 4AM! I was in Dumbledore's office at five or six, and it was around seven before I used the Time Turner to make it 2 so I could get some sleep! And you likely waltzed in around seven and tried to trick me into thinking it was 4!" Hermione accused him.

After being up all night, the numbers that Hermione rattled off swam around in Snape's head like the fleas in a miniature circus.

"Awright, you got me! Hermione, you're giving me a fucking horrible headache. I need to get some fuckin' sleep, I do have to drive us home…at some point." He confessed.

"You're just going to go to sleep?" she asked.

"You can have five minutes and I'll fall asleep on top of you, now, or you can wait until morning and have a proper shag." Snape explained.

"Good point. G'night, Sev." Hermione decided.

"This fucking day. It'll never end." Snape grumbled.

They went to sleep.

***

Snape was as good as his word. Lying back with a satisfied and far less crabby Hermione around nine, he was thinking that, thanks to the Time Turner, unless the parallel universe theory was sound, he was in the dungeon having a smoke with Potter at the same time as he was lying in bed with Hermione.

Or had that already happened.

Snape decided not to think about it. At any rate, his gear was packed into his car.

"Granger, what say I call Treacher and have him pack up your kit, and we roll over and go back to sleep?' he asked.

"You're awfully sleepy today, Snape. You're not coming down with flu, are you?"

"No. I haven't slept since the beginning of the week, so I'm knackered."

"How can you stay up that long?"

"Practise. TREACHER!"

The house elf apparated with a loud crack.

"There you are! Treacher has been looking for you everywhen! You should tell Treacher when you is fooling around with that Time Thingy!"

"Sorry. Could you pack up Miss Granger's kit, quietly? We need to get a few more hours of sleep." Snape asked.

"Certainly." Treacher agreed.

After his Master and Miss Granger fell asleep, Treacher crept into the bedroom and turned the Time-Thingy back to 4:30.

They needed their rest, and it would give hi the opportunity to clean Miss Granger's room, and Master's rooms, and pack.

If Master was going to give himself the odd extra hour here and there, so was Treacher.

After he did his extensive cleaning, laundry, folding and so on, Treacher went back to pack Miss Granger's trunk.

He wasn't sure how to pack for a lady, so he got Winky to come and help him.

"Is Treacher going with Master Snape in the car? Winky would like to ride in a Muggle car,"

"Muggles might Treacher. Treacher just apparates to the house. Do you think Miss Granger has this stuff out because she wants to pack it?"

"Yes. Look, Treacher has not packed any panties! Womens don't go places without their panties! Let Winky take over from here. Why is they making so much fuss?" Winky asked.

"Treacher doesn't know. Master should not worry that he has done something wrong. Why hide when there is no shame? Miss Granger is still young, and young people makes more of things than there is. She gets over it, you see." Treacher said, confidently.

"Winky thinks you is right. Winky thinks Miss Granger will be Treacher's mistress, someday." Winky ventured.

"Treacher hopes the gods hears Winky say that." He confessed.