This was written somewhat hastily at 5 in the morning, but hopefully it's decent.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc.

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Kiss of Death

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The figure in the dark brown peacoat lowered his sunglasses ever so slightly and surveyed the store with a careful attentiveness, the kind born out of surviving numerous double crosses of dark forces and the romantic overtures from randy school librarians (he really did need to have a discussion with Madam Pince about that, it was quite unhealthy for her to sleep on the floor outside his chambers). He searched the booths around him for any sign of his contacts, but was instead greeted only with the sight of an old woman picking pepperoni out of her teeth two tables over and a man in a Members Only jacket at the bar who was far too interested in the barkeep to be of any real danger.

A waitress approached to ask him if he would like something to eat, but he had already sent her away with an order for a soda by the time he'd realized that he was actually somewhat famished. A quick look at the menu diminished his hunger, however.

"They really serve pizza in a cone? D'you suppose there's a large market for that?"

His eyes shot up and he mentally cursed himself for losing focus. Two men in bright red suits stood before him, wearing thick black beards and candy-cane earrings. He swore audibly.

"Rapier and Rudolph, I suppose?"

The one on the right bowed. "At your service. I'm assuming you're Repugnant?"

"Excuse me?" It took him a moment to remember his codename. "Ah, oh. Yes, yes, very repugnant. Sit, you fools, you're making a scene."

They did so, and Rodent – no, his name was Rapier, he'd been very explicit about that in the correspondence – took the menu from Repugnant's hands. "Look, they serve burger in a cone as well. They seem to be fond of putting things in cones and then selling them. I wonder if you can ask for just a cone?"

"You may ask the waitress when she returns," Repugnant growled. That reminded him – where was his soda? It had been nearly three minutes. Bloody waitresses. Probably a university student, too. He hated students. "And do you have no concept of maintaining a low profile? Bright red suits are not becoming of ordinary, unsuspicious people."

"Yes, well, your child molester peacoat looks fabulous on you, darling," Rudolph replied breezily. "Anyway, I've got a date with the bird in the corner over there in thirty minutes, so I'd appreciate it if we could make this snappy."

Repugnant's eyes lit up behind his glasses. "You asked a girl out? What part of 'don't be memorable' don't you understand? Are you completely – oh forget it, I'm wasting valuable moments of my vacation time on this."

"You-Know-Who gives vacation time?"

"Of course, what do you think? That he has no soul?"

It was only in hindsight that the three would recognize the irony of this statement.

"Do you have the package?" asked Repugnant.

"Of course." Rapier pulled a bright green box from within his suit and tossed it on the table. Repugnant hurriedly stuffed the box within the confines of his peacoat. "We gave you twenty. Figure that'll be plenty, but you need to make sure not to neutralize yourself. Don't fancy anyone would want to kiss a greasy git like you."

"Don't worry, I've considered that possibility," he said dryly.

"You also need to make sure you can neutralize anyone who might take it upon themselves to free him. You know who I'm talking about."

He winced. "Yes. I imagine she would jump at the chance."

"Right-o," agreed Rudolph. "And I don't know if you'd noticed, but she's not half-bad looking for a crazy bint. Imagine some of your lunatic buddies might jump at the chance to give her a good snog."

"Mmm, of course." But his mind was somewhere else, turning over the problem in his hands, reevaluating it, searching for any new angles. And then he found one. "You leave that to me. Happy Christmas, boys."

He stood to leave, double-checking the perimeter once more (he had to hand it to Rudolph – the girl in the corner was very fetching, with a rather low-cut blouse for this time of year). He left a fiver on the table and nodded at his two confidants.

"You sure you've got this?" asked one of the two. He'd forgotten who was who already.

He grabbed his cream soda from the waitress passing by, downed it in two gulps, and slammed it on the table next to the five pounder. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

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This was quite possibly the Dark Lord's least favorite day of the year.

Sleigh bells, stupid songs, fat men in red suits (new rule – Wormtail was never allowed to be Santa at the Death Eater Christmas party ever again). He'd had to kill four carolers already today, and Nagini had only been hungry enough for two bodies, leaving him to transfigure the last two into plastic reindeer. Then there was the fact that Narcissa Malfoy was absolutely insistent on the fact that they host a Secret Santa, and of course he'd been unlucky enough to draw Bellatrix again. Did that woman know how difficult it was to shop for her lunatic sister, particularly when he didn't want to encourage her already disturbingly sexual devotion to him? He'd been shopping for four days without luck, and he was beginning to feel that he should just bite the bullet and get her a nice Muggle to torture. He knew it was on her list, but he feared getting her too good of a present would predicate a repeat of last year's striptease incident, while if he blew her off with a gift card she'd certainly end up killing at least three of the other Death Eaters in her lovelorn rage.

Yes, Christmas Eve, the day of the annual Christmas party, was most certainly Voldemort's least favorite day of the year. At least on Christmas everyone was too hungover to be particularly merry.

Which raised an interesting point. He gazed at the liquor cabinet with some lust. If he blacked out, he wouldn't remember whatever deeds Bellatrix attempted to do to him. Or what Greyback attempted to do to the couch, citing "animal instincts." He snorted. Even the Malfoys' dog didn't go around humping the furniture.

He surveyed the wreckage with weary, blood red eyes. Yaxley sat on Wormtail's lap with a bottle of absinthe in his left hand, sloppily detailing the different torture devices and types of eyeliner he wanted for Christmas. Draco was dressed as an elf – a real elf, although Voldemort noted with some humor that seeing Draco in a pillowcase would have been endlessly amusing – and he was quite certain that he'd seen the elder Malfoys run off into the cellar with a glint of mischief and deviancy in their eyes. He silently hoped he avoided witnessing firsthand any drunken copulation on this night, but at the very least it couldn't be as bad as last year, when he'd witnessed firsthand Dolohov's love of bondage.

And Bellatrix was – oh dear, where was Bellatrix?

"She's in her room, my lord." He swiveled on his back foot. Snape. "And yes, you said that aloud, my lord."

"Oh." Well, that was embarrassing. "Do you have any idea of her, ah, condition at the moment?"

"Somewhere between Yaxley and Amycus." Yaxley was still blabbering about his love of properly-applied rouge and Amycus had passed out with with his face in between two of the sofa cushions. "She was very excited about something earlier. A gift, I presumed. I personally hope she joins Amycus in his stupor before we see the extent of her joy."

"Seconded," he sighed. "And where is her husband? Perhaps I should speak with him."

Something glinted in Snape's eyes, but Voldemort quickly realized it was just the reflection of Dolohov throwing a knife at the Christmas tree. "Next to the bar, I believe."

Nodding curtly at his second-in-command, the Dark Lord turned to give Bellatrix's husband a piece of advice man-to-half-man-half-monster on keeping his wife away from his employer, but he noticed that after several feet Rodolphus didn't seem to get any closer. He frowned. Perhaps the firewhisky had been a bad idea. With some determination, he stepped forward – but he noticed that his foot wouldn't actually lift. He tried to move his arms to reach for his wand, but to no avail.

Out of instinct, he looked up.

Oh Merlin.

"Severus," he grunted through gritted teeth, "what on earth is above my head?"

A moment's silence from the group, with the exception of Yaxley, who was very intent on making sure Santa knew that he wanted a certain shade of concealer ("Wax-Dead White"). "I believe it's mistletoe, my lord."

"I had gathered. But why can't I move?"

"I am at a loss, my lord." Snape cleared his throat. "Although I do believe the Weasley twins developed something similar during their time at Hogwarts. Their prototype was magical and prevented any movement whatsoever."

"I see." Someone was going to die for this. "And whose idea was this?"

"I am unsure, my lord. I believe it was Narcissa's job to decorate the party."

"And where is Narcissa?"

He thought he heard Draco curse loudly. Snape replied: "She's, ah, getting her wand restrung, I believe. So to speak. Er, yes."

"Before you ask, I am not going and getting her," Draco declared. "Just torture me right now, it's better than the alternative."

"I shall deal with your incalcitrant, foolish girl of a mother later." Voldemort set his teeth, sighed, and braced for the inevitable. "All right. We know the drill. Someone get over here and free me."

He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Please not Yaxley... please not Yaxley... please not Yaxley...

His eyes shot open.

"Excuse me, I think I asked for someone to come over here and kiss your dear beloved overlord so that he may be freed!"

"I don't do blokes," Dolohov stated, arms crossed. "Sorry, boss. Gotta have principles, you know."

"Fine, then," Voldemort replied, annoyance tinging his voice. "Alecto! Come over and give me a good snog."

There was no immediate reply. And then: "I'm sorry, my lord, but it's just... you see..."

He wished he could see Alecto's face, but she was to his side. "Yes?"

"Well..." He was growing to hate these long silences. "You're just a bit snake-ish for my tastes."

"What?" He scowled. "Snake-ish? Well, yes, I may look a bit pasty, and perhaps my nose could use some work, but resurrecting yourself is hard work. I'd like to see any of you lot try it! We can't all be Lockharts, you know. And I'll have you know that the snake look is all the rage in Albania right now."

"Even so..."

He twisted his head as far as he could to get a better look at the rest of the group. Their eyes were averted from him, and Wormtail had even buried his fake beard into Yaxley's coat, as if he could escape his lord's wrath in such a fashion. Amycus's head still rested between the cushions, although Voldemort supposed that was somewhat less of an act than Wormtail's.

"All right," he sighed. "Severus, you're a bit greasy for my tastes, but I suppose you'll have to do."

"I can't, my lord," Snape replied. He coughed. "I have mono."

"Oh, that's terrible. How long?"

"About a week, I believe."

"Poor thing. Do get better."

"Thank you, my lord."

Moments passed. No one stepped forward to volunteer to plant a smooch on the most evil wizard of his time, and frankly Voldemort felt a little offended. He'd always been a bit insecure about his new look, but he hadn't realized he was that repulsive. On the bright side, he'd avoided anything truly horrifying so far. At least Greyback and Bellatrix weren't around.

"Did someone – uch – need a kiss?"

Of course. Too soon.

"Yeah, our boss," Dolohov said. Voldemort could see the lust in Greyback's eyes. "Although you do realize there's a difference between a hump and a kiss, eh?"

"Don't come near me," Voldemort hissed. "I don't want you gyrating against my shin."

"Don't worry, Lordy," Greyback grunted, stumbling forward with a glass of wine in his hand. He was drooling ever so slightly. "I've got you. I'm gonna save you. I'm gonna save you so hard."

Voldemort blanched. "That's really not what I wanted to hear. Save me softly. I don't need you to do anything hard to me."

And Greyback lurched forward. The Dark Lord shut his eyes, preparing for the worst – oh how he envied the couch now, safely protected from the animal instincts of that bloody werewolf – he waited for the impact – this was going to be humiliating, he'd definitely be Obliviating everyone present – he waited – he hoped that the bastard didn't have rabies or anything equally gross, he probably didn't even floss –

"Shit, Greyback's got himself stuck," Alecto announced.

The werewolf stood shocked not twenty feet from his lord, unable to move. Voldemort groaned. "Not more mistletoe?"

"I'm afraid so," concurred Snape.

"Look on the bright side, my lord," said Dolohov. "Now you can find someone less likely to hump you."

Which was never a bad thing, he had to admit. "True..."

"My lord?"

He moaned in agony again. He really was perfecting this whole "too soon" thing.

"My lord? My lord!" Bellatrix stumbled forward, possibly even drunker than Greyback. Snape had been right, however – she unfortunately was nowhere near Amycus's level. Pity. "My lord! You need saving! I can save you!"

"Ah, you know what, Bellatrix, I think I'm really all right. I think it's wearing off, actually." It wasn't. "Oh yes, yes, I can feel my power returning. Ahhhhh. Power. Mmmm. It feels so good. Best keep your distance, you never know, with all this power rising up in me I might just pop off as soon as the spell is lifted."

"To be fair, I think she'd quite like that, my lord," Alecto snickered.

"I care not!" Bellatrix shouted. She took a tentative step forward, which was probably hindered by the fact that her robes were on backwards. "I shall save you!"

"She's going to vomit in my face, isn't she?" he sighed.

"I wouldn't doubt it, sir," said Snape.

She hesitantly made her way forward, occasionally stopping to balance herself against the railing. As she drew closer, however, the other partygoers began to retch, as if encountered by a terrible smell.

"What?" he wondered aloud. "What is it?"

"You don't smell that?" wheezed Rodolphus.

"Hahaha, we get it, I have a tiny snake-like nose, very funny. No, really, what is it?"

"My lord –" Snape coughed "– pardon my saying so, but our friend Bellatrix smells like death. And I mean that unfortunately in the most literal manner."

Bellatrix giggled. "How'd you guess? Has the Dark Lord been bragging about his Christmas present to me? It was so very thoughtful of him! So very... what was the word? Yes, thoughtful."

"Pardon?"

"Your Christmas present," she repeated. "Secret Santa."

"I hadn't gotten you one yet."

"Yes you did!" she exclaimed with a rather attractive hiccup. He leered at Rodolphus. Keeper, this one. Girl you could really write home about. "The perfume! Eau de mort! Your favorite!"

"What? I didn't get you any perfume." He furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait, did you seriously think I liked the smell of death? You realize I'm still a person, don't you? I have feelings. I can be offended, you know. Between this and the snake-face thing..."

But Bellatrix's drunken march had also been stopped not ten feet from Greyback's statuesque position.

"Oh great Merlin, not this again." He glared at Rodolphus. "Free your wife from that blasted mistletoe. She may be insane, but I'd like to be freed sometime before the new year."

Rodolpus made no move to obey. "I don't know, my lord, she smells... terrible. I'm afraid to get any closer. And I quite like her when she's unable to move. It's far less dangerous."

"Pansy," Voldemort grumbled. He glanced at the rest of the crowd. "Seriously. Someone either free Bellatrix, no matter how she smells, or free me. I'd prefer you just skip onto me, I think Rodolphus has a point about limiting her movement."

No one attempted to aid him. He really hated Slytherins sometimes.

"I hope you realize this insolence will be included in your year-end performance reviews." He smiled primly. "This will have an effect on your holiday bonuses, I assure you."

There was some mumbling at this, and he grinned. The bonuses were always a path straight to the figurative jugular. Should have gone for that from the beginning.

Before anyone could step forward to free him, however, there was a flash of red light and Dolohov went down. Suddenly everything was very bright – a chandelier fell, possibly on Amycus, but it was impossible to tell since the idiot didn't wake up, and there was yelling and shouting and oh Merlin Bellatrix's smell was just now reaching him and she smelled positively dreadful, did she actually think he would like that? More pressingly, though, Rudolphus and Alecto were now down as well, and he could see Wormtail running away from that half-breed Lupin, although the fact that Yaxley had clambered onto his back was severely slowing the party's Santa Claus down.

"Potter's here, isn't he, Severus?" he asked dryly, cursing his luck.

There was no reply from Snape.

"See, told you it would work."

Two men with irritatingly bright red hair stood before him, identical in looks and posture. Snape stood next to them, observing his lord with a hint of humor in his black eyes. "I never should have doubted you."

"That'll be twenty Galleons, by the way." The twin on the right tripped Rabastan as he drunkenly attempted to run away, and the Death Eater fell flat on his face. "You can pay us later, though. Terrible smell, too. I'm guessing that's how you neutralized dear old Bellatrix? Wow, they're incredibly wasted. You weren't lying about that."

There was a bang from the direction of the cellar and a very naked Narcissa Malfoy stood before them, staring in horror at the wreck that was her living room, her husband trailing behind her. Draco threw down his wand at the sight of his nude parents and gave himself into the Auror Shacklebolt without a fight, and the Dark Lord thought he heard the boy ask to be knocked out. Either way, Shacklebolt obliged him.

"Narcissa!" Voldemort shouted. "Narcissa, my dear – hang on, why are you wearing plastic wings? You know what, never mind that. Come over with your wings and give me a kiss!"

"What? How dare you talk to my wife like that!" Lucius Malroy roared, and he stormed forward completely starkers, fury evident in his posture. Voldemort scarcely had time to wonder why the man had a studded collar around his neck. "I've had it with you, I swear I have!"

"Lucius –"

"No! Don't 'Lucius' me!" He could smell vodka on the other man's breath from fifteen feet away. There was also the aroma of peanut butter, but he didn't want to question that for fear of a repeat of last year's Dolohov incident. "I've had it with you! First you take my house, then my wand, and now my wife? I assure you, this manor shall always belong to the Noble House of Malfoy, and my wife shall always belong to me! And the only one that I want handling my wand other than myself is my wife, thank you very much, and I'll have you know she's quite good at it, so bugger off!"

He heard another moan from Draco, who apparently wasn't as knocked out as the boy had hoped. Shacklebolt took mercy on him and Stupefied him again before doing the same to both his parents.

"Well this is probably the best day of my life," came another girlish voice, and Voldemort resisted the urge to groan. Harry effing Potter, and his stupid redhead friend and the freckled wench with the bushy hair. Of course. "Nice idea, Fred, George."

"It was all Snape, really," said one of the two twins. Greyback grunted, and the twin gave him a wary look.

"Yeah, well." Potter looked pained. "Good work, Snape."

Snape smiled. "Don't worry, I'm already pretending this conversation never took place."

"Good."

Bellatrix screamed something about letting her lover go and Potter and his stupid friends snickered.

He really hated the Christmas party.

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"I'd always said that love was the power he knew not! Granted, I hadn't assumed that to come in the guise of an enchanted piece of mistletoe, but still, give an old man some credit where credit is due..."

Harry grinned back at Dumbledore's portrait as he finished his recounting of Voldemort's ultimate defeat. He turned back to the desk at the center of the office, where Snape sat, hands folded in his lap, and a pensive look on his face.

"Thanks for letting me come by," Harry said with some civility. "I just wanted to let Dumbledore know how it ended."

"His portrait, you mean," Snape said softly. His eyes locked with Harry's. "It's a portrait of him. Not him."

"Ah, Severus, always so delicate not to hurt my feelings," sniffed Dumbledore's portrait.

"Yeah. That's what I meant." There was an uncomfortable silence between them before Harry finally remembered the second purpose of his visit and rummaged in his bag for several seconds before retrieving the object he had been seeking. "Also, I was wondering if I could finish decorating the tree?"

Upon seeing the object that Harry held Snape smirked and nodded his assent. "Of course."

Harry carefully maneuvered past the desk, well aware of Snape's eyes on his back, and held the object before him, making sure not to drop it. He leaned forward and –

"Potter, if you place that blasted star on my head I swear to Merlin I will end you and turn every single one of your future mutt children into Horcruxes," Voldemort growled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. The star isn't going to hurt. It goes well with the tinsel and lighting, and I think it really complements the ornaments. I particularly like Lestrange's. Are those actually her knickers?"

"I'm just warning you."

"Whatever." Ignoring the former dark lord's protests Harry carefully affixed the star atop the man's head, latching it in place with a simple binding spell. "There. He makes a rather good tree, doesn't he? I think the fact that he's already green helps."

"Oh haha. Go on, make a nose joke, I dare you."

"Don't stand too close, you might get caught by the mistletoe," Snape warned, and Harry obediently backed away.

"Don't worry, I'd rather spend the rest of eternity as a Christmas tree than kiss Potter," Voldemort said.

"I can live with that," Harry responded. He looked at Snape and hesitated for a moment. "Er, happy Christmas."

"Ditto, Potter," Snape replied, to Harry's surprise. His lips curled into a sneer. "Now please get out of my sight. I have work to do, and you're aggravating the tree."

"I would appreciate it if you stopped pretending I'm a tree and not a person."

"Be quiet."

Harry hid his grin and threw his bag over his shoulder. He was almost out of the office when he remembered something and turned around to face his former professor. "Oh, I almost forgot. Madam Pince is waiting outside with a bunch of books. She said they were yours and she wanted to come up and reshelve them...?"

If possible, Snape's face paled. "If you see her, I wasn't here. I was out on urgent business and won't be back until after the holiday."

"Oh." Harry nodded. "Sure."

And so, whistling to himself, he exited the office and hopped down the winding staircase, eager to share the holiday with his friends and hopefully avoid any upstart dark lords until at least the new year. Smiling, he held the door open for a flushed Madam Pince.

"Yes?" she said breathily.

"Go on in," he stated, beaming at her. "Professor Snape said he'd be thrilled to have you, and that he thinks he might have a few extra books for you to take care of..."

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