Neville sat inside the empty Greenhouse Three, looking out at the blanket of snow. The flakes danced lazily down from a darkening sky. It was almost time.

Neville sighed before looking down at the small bushel he'd been cultivating for months. It sat in front of him drooping and sad. The red berries seemed listless and the green of the plant seemed paled as if it hadn't seen sunlight. It had been an arduous, tedious project that he had decided upon the first month he'd returned to Hogwarts to complete his final year.

Along with him was Hermione Granger, Christine Rowan and a few Ravenclaws that they didn't speak much to. Of course Ginny and Luna were finishing their final year as well, so it was always nice to have a bit of overlap with old friends.

Hannah Abbot had also come back for her final year with strong interest in Herbology as she fancied a career as a Healer. Having a strong background in Herbology would help with salves and more. With her light dusting of freckles and golden silken hair often put into plaits that framed her lovely face, she was a lovely sight.

During their first day of Herbology, Hannah had chosen to sit herself next to Neville and offer him a shy smile. The two bonded over their hesitation to resit their final year, but that they were glad they'd done so. When Professor Sprout announced they would be extracting flobborworm pus to be grafted along with some cedar sprouts, Hannah was delighted having had extensive experience in doing so in her earlier years to help the other students with acne. By the end of the lesson which included much focus, hand bumping and bashful smiles, Neville was utterly smitten.

And so was the case of this large sprig of enchanted mistletoe in his possession. He'd been working on it since early September trying to get it to operate how he wanted. And combined with the rare mistletoe plant he'd found to start it, it was sure to be effective. It was worth all the galleons he'd spent ordering from the rare plants catalogue.

Despite the easy way that he could speak with Hannah, Neville was entirely too nervous to actually do anything about furthering their relationship into something romantic. But this –this would help. This mistletoe would be sure to set the two of them together. And now, tonight at the Christmas dance was his chance.

All he had to do was catch her under it. True feelings couldn't be denied under such a powerful spell. It was ancient magic – a spell he'd found. This spell ensured whomever stood under the mistletoe and was well matched would be compelled to kiss. And not just any kiss - a kiss of true passion!

Neville was certain that Hannah was right for him. She was brilliant and sweet and she seemed to fancy spending time with him. And if for whatever reason she declined, then he could laugh it off as general Christmas merriment without being humiliated. She didn't need to know that he'd been the one to create it.

He brought his wand up then, making a small sideways 8 overtop the mistletoe as he spoke in the incantation.

"Osculum A promiserat," he whispered. The plant seemed to shimmer under the spell, growing a deeper shade of green, it's berries turning into plump red delights before his very eyes. He smiled toothily, imagining what would happen when Hannah and he kissed. If the mistletoe worked, it would be a kiss of the passion he had only dreamed about.

Something caught his eye then, a tall and solemn figure marching about the grounds with his black robes billowing behind him. Even now, after all they'd been through and seen Neville suppressed a shudder at the sight of the man.

Severus Snape was still alive and still as embittered as ever. Forced to stay on as Potions professor after the war under the thinly veiled threat of Minerva McGonagall going to every press outlet in the country to announce him a hero of Byronic proportions.

And now, forced to chaperone a ridiculous Christmas party that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Him and his redheaded fop of a friend would be attending. A celebration of both seasonal tidings and a chance for Harry Potter, Auror-in-Training, to have plenty of photo opportunities.

Snape sneered at this thought, his eyes dark and narrowed as he moved into the busy hallway. He had done right by Lily and now the obsessive thoughts of her seemed to have been ebbing. He was ready to start moving on with his life. But how was he to do it stuck inside the hellish landscape? Where every brick reminded him of her and the life he'd led? One of Minerva's little punishments, he mused. The woman was far more Slytherin than she let on.

As he contemplated the subtle evil ways of Minerva McGonagall, a figure of dark cloak and bushy hair rushed by him, shouldering him rudely and causing the figure to drop the armload of books she had been carrying. They went flying across the stone floor and she immediately winced as she saw who she'd run into.

"Oh Professor Snape, I'm so sorry."

Hermione Granger bent down to retrieve her books that had fallen. Snape stood watching this silently, his hands at fists at his sides. Would this girl ever not be a thorn in his side? Hands up in the air every time a bloody question was asked. Those wide, hopeful eyes just waiting for his praise – which would never come. Even now at eighteen she was still desperate to please her Professors, ardent in her desire to impress.

She annoyed him in every possible way and she was by far his most exhausting student. She was the type of student to rattle off an answer to make herself look clever – never giving her classmates a chance. And when he pointed out such a fact she seemed to take it personally, as if by observing her need to show off was a personal attack and not a chance for her to take stock in what he was saying.

"I'm afraid I was in such a rush I didn't see you standing there. I was just on my way to return these before the party," Hermione said, scrambling to her feet with the books. Parts of her wild hair stuck to her damp temples. "I don't want Madame Pince-"

"Do you really think I care what your evening activities consist of, Miss Granger?" Snape bit in, secretly enjoying the embarrassed red that suffused her cheeks. Served the chit right. She bit the inside of her cheek in irritation before speaking.

"No sir."

"Then why are you boring me with such trivialities?"

Hermione was silent, watching him from under her fringe with a silent irritation. After all they had done for him – championed him at the Wizengamot so that he'd not rot away in Azkaban- and this was how he repaid them? By being the same, sour miserable git he always was? What point was there in even saving the tosser?

"I apologize sir," Hermione said through clenched teeth, not meaning a word.

What was it about him that irritated her so much? Perhaps that she had always defended him! Even in his worst moments through the years and yet he gave her no indication that he cared. If anything he seemed to resent her. Resented that she and Pomfrey had found him dying in that shack the night Voldemort fell. Angry that she'd help to shove the beazor down his throat. Furious that she'd helped Pomfrey with salves and potions and more for the next twenty-four-hours to ensure that he'd survive.

And yet now here he stood, giving her the most supercilious of looks down that ugly nose of his. He'd never even thanked her! It made her want to throttle him. And yet she stood there under his heavy gaze, outwardly polite even though her simmering frustration must have been palpable.

Without a further word to her, Snape gave a darkening look before stalking down the hall and around the corner. When he was fully out of her sight, Hermione gave a small relieved sigh and turned her attention to more enjoyable pursuits. With Ron and Harry attending the Christmas party, they were sure to all have a wonderful time of catch up and fond remembrance of happier times.

And no one, not even Snape the Scrooge was going to spoil that!