A/N-don't own em. Wrote this whole thing during midnight mass, on the backs of prayer cards. Which would explain the slight religious undertones. But I can see Snape to be the type to find himself at home in an old gothic Cathedral. Enjoy!
The snow fell down, silently, coating the earth in a layer of pale grey. He didn't notice though, as he cut through the grass and up to the large oaken doors, opening them and sliding inside, away from the cold. The stone walls didn't do much to stop the cold, but it was at least a shelter from the biting wind. He customarily grabbed the program from the man standing at the door, and found his way into one of the intricately carved wood pews at the back.
He didn't know why, but he felt-comfortable here. Like he belonged. That no matter what, he was accepted, everything he had done in his past had melted away. No matter that he didn't believe anything that was said, that he only got up and knelt down out of rote memorization. But there was something about being in the ancient stone building, surrounded by stained glasses and high vaulted ceilings that made him feel at ease.
It reminded him of Hogwarts, of a home that he had not ventured to in too long. It had been the better part of the decade since he had last set foot in the Scottish castle, preferring to live his life away from the memories that the place held. He'd lost nearly everything good associated with the castle. The only thing that it held was the homey feel that was here, in this building as well.
There was a brass quartet stowed away in the choir loft, playing some Bach prelude as more and more people filed in. He paid them no heed, barely mumbling a response when someone asked if the seat next to him was taken. Any other day of the year, and he'd have told them to bugger off, but the Christmas season couldn't help but rub off on him just a little. It was only a seat next to him. It wasn't as if he had offered to buy them Christmas dinner. Only to give them a place to sit for the service.
He ignored the nods of greeting, of people that he'd seen before, of people that he didn't acknowledge, that seemed to know him. Some of them did, he supposed. He'd only been going to this place for much of his life. His father had been a staunch member of the church, dragging him along every week. Going to school had been a welcome reprieve, for once, he could spend his Sundays laying in bed past eight, without having to spend two hours in an itchy ill-fitting suit.
He had all but abandoned the place after he graduated. No longer forced to come home over holidays, he had no reason to attend, and he didn't. Until ten years after he had last crossed through the doorway he found himself seeking shelter from a battle raging outside. It was here he licked his wounds, gathering his strength back, avoiding a certain death had he remained in the thick of things.
And so, he found himself falling back into a habit of sorts. Every so often returning to this place, if only to be in someplace that felt like home. He looked around at the flowers covering the great stone pillars, the alter up front, if nothing else, the place was gorgeous. "Beautiful, isn't it professor?" He hadn't even noticed the woman that had sat next to him, until now.
It took a second for the name to register in his mind. Bushy, uncontrollable hair, teeth that despite best efforts to have been shrunken down were still slightly too large, and a composure that reeked of confidence. "Yes, I suppose you could say that Miss Granger." She smirked slightly at him.
"I'm surprised, you remembered me." He shrugged slightly.
"I'm afraid I could never forget the horrible things that you and your dunderhead friends happened to put myself-and the school-through." to his surprise, she laughed, a rich full laugh. One that encouraged others around to join in, and he found himself having to force himself not to.
"You know, you never struck me as the Christmas type. I'd have figured you for the Good Friday sort of fellow. Christmas seems too cheery for such a dour man as you." He couldn't help the smirk. She'd grown to be every bit as scathing as he was.
"And you don't seem the type to set foot in a church at all, seeing as religion and rational thought seem to contradict each other."
"Not always, professor. More often than not, they do go hand in hand. Besides, I may say the same for you. Why are you here, seeking redemption?" Her comment rankled, him, but he wouldn't let that show.
"A man can admire the architecture, now can't he?" She smirked at him.
"And a woman can enjoy singing, now can't she?" Any further banter was cut short by the clanking of the thurible and the sharp scent of the incense foretelling the beginning of the service. He stood when he was supposed to, mumbled his way through the prayers, and knelt where was appropriate, and saw her doing the same. They weren't that much different, the two of them.
Although he couldn't help but wonder what had turned the naïve, optimistic bookworm into the same cynical, scathing man that he was. More than likely the demise of the golden trio. After all, the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-pain-in-his-ass had died, ironically, after the final battle amidst a celebration gone wrong. And he'd heard through his sources that the Weasley boy had put as much distance between the two of them, surely that could not have been easy on the girl.
He spent much of the sermon turning her words over in his mind. Had he come here for redemption? Not on a conscious level, on that he was sure. But he had led enough of a life to need redeeming. Maybe she was right. Even if he didn't believe in it, there was something hopeful about the place.
He stood up in the shuffle of people starting some new hymn, and listened to her sing. She had a pretty voice, he supposed. And she was staring him down, challenging him silently to join in. He smirked, and leaned over her shoulder to read the hymnal that she held. She seemed surprised that he even met her challenge, and even more so when he began singing.
That was one of the few good things about his father dragging him here. He'd been a choirboy for enough of his youth that the voice had stayed with him. Not that he used it often, but when he did, it did have the ability to stun people. And she was stunned. He smirked at her as the hymn finished and she stood there, staring. "I never knew you could sing." He merely shrugged it off.
"There's plenty of things you don't know about me Miss Granger." she said nothing in response, sitting next to him, watching the lines of people make their way up to the altar rail, both of them sitting and observing in silence. It wasn't until the organ began to start the line of Silent Night that she spoke.
"This is beautiful-the only thing that keeps me coming back here." he nodded. It'd been something that had been going on as long as he'd been here, and she was right about how stunning it was. As each verse went on, the lights of the church slowly faded dimly away until all that was left was candlelight, and the melody echoing out from the bell tower atop the church. He looked over at her to see a tear tracing it's way down her cheek.
If you were to ask him later, he wouldn't be able to give a reason why he did it, but he reached out with a gentle hand and brushed it away. Rather than drawing away, the reaction he expected to get, she smiled at him, a genuine smile that drew the corners of his own mouth up involuntarily as she leaned against him.
They sat like that as the lights came back up for the last few lines of the service, content. They were the last ones out, despite being nearest to the doors. It wasn't until the other patrons, the clergy, and the choir had all processed out, and the altar boys were putting out the candles that they finally got up and walked out in companionable silence.
They stood outside the door to the church for what seemed like an eternity, carols ringing from the bell tower above them, neither of them speaking, before she leaned up and kissed him gently. "Merry Christmas Severus." Before he could react enough to form a reply, she had disappeared, leaving him with grin on his face.
He hadn't smiled, not a real, genuine smile, in-he couldn't even remember when. And she had drawn it out of him. Maybe she had been right, maybe some subconscious part of him had come tonight seeking redemption. And if he had come seeking it, he had found it in her. As he walked back down the streets to the little house at Spinner's End, he smiled to himself and muttered a "Merry Christmas Hermione" to the air around him.