Once Upon A December

by perfectsmuttyvampire

NOT a song fic. Just nicked the song title because it fitted so well. Sort of. Hermione spends new year at a fancy hotel. whoever is that handsome man in the mask and cape?

TITLE: Once Upon A December

SUMMARY: NOT a song fic. Just nicked the song title because it fitted so well. Sort of.

PAIRING: Hermione/Snape

WARNING: Just a cute little smutty one-shot…the best kind.

There is magic in this fic. They are magical.

HPOV

It's snowing outside the window. Great. The day before I leave for my holiday, and look! Sludge. Why can't it snow properly for once? I bottle the Potion I've just brewed, label it carefully and store it correctly. When I turn back to clean up, it's done already. Severus Snape leans casually on the wall, arms folded. I don't even bother wondering how long he could have been there. I survey him thoughtfully, reflecting on the changes he underwent after the War. When the whole double-agent story came out, he dropped the greasy-haired, black-hearted over-grown bat routine. And let me tell you, he's not bad looking.

"Are you off then?"

"Not just yet, Severus," I reply, opening my notebook. I remember when he first asked me to be his partner in Potions to Help, his new company. I said yes, because the other job offer I'd had was working for the Ministry, and I had always insisted upon my reluctance to work there. So I'd said yes, and dropped the "Professor" and started calling him Severus. He'd found it amusing when I stumbled, about to call him Professor, before changing it to Severus. Or Sev, when I'm annoyed, because he hates it and it makes me feel better to have a screaming, swearing row with him.

"What more could you possibly have left to do? Go home, go to that country hotel you've been raving about for weeks. Go on holiday!"

"I just have to make the notes about the Potion and then I will go." He lets me work in silence for a few minutes. And then he's right behind me, watching me write. My heart rate accelerates. I'm hyper-aware of how close he is, how good he smells, how easy it would be to move slightly, and brush my back against his stomach. The lab stool would let me lean back and rest my head on his chest. He watches me until I close my notebook.

"You're done. God, most people can't wait to go on holiday. Most people rush out of the office early to start their Christmas holidays. Normal people go home!"

"It's not really like anybody is waiting for me."

"You need a boyfriend. And that's another thing," he begins, as I collect together my things. "Young girls shouldn't spend so much time hunched over a cauldron, it isn't healthy. They should be out, partying and seducing young men, coming into work late with a hangover. You're here before me some mornings!"

"Severus, really, you don't have to worry about me. And where am I going to get a boyfriend? Have you seen me recently?" I give him a quick hug and turn to go. "Merry Christmas, Severus."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

SPOV

I let out a sigh as she closes the door behind her. She honestly can't see herself. She's happy to sit in a lab and work for her entire life. Normally, I'd be ecstatic. A woman who wasn't going to go all broody and go off, get married and give up a dazzling career to have screaming little snot-rags. But something feels wrong inside me when I think about Hermione growing up and dying alone and childless. She doesn't deserve to die alone. She should be loved, marry a good man and have children. I can see her as a wonderful mother. Admittedly, she's only twenty-three. But sometimes she acts, dresses, talks like she's verging on the early fifties. I ignore the voice in the back of my head that tells me I don't just want to see her married with children: I want her married to me, with my kids. Stupid voice.

I remember standing behind her as she took her notes down, feeling the heat of her body radiate towards me. It took a massive amount of self control not to sweep the desk clear and have her. I can't remember the exact moment I began desiring Hermione. I remember the day I realised she wasn't a school-girl any more. The day she came to work after an over-night encounter, still wearing the outfit she'd worn for the party: sparkly gold dress, skin-tight, and just the right amount of flesh to be sexy instead of trashy. And the heels. Life's greatest mystery: How Do Women Walk In Heels? But that day, I simply stared. She'd glared at me and told me not to say anything. I'd honestly tried very hard not to laugh. I had tried. I had done everything I could not to. She'd changed into the outfit she keeps in case of emergencies. I wish she hadn't. The simple jeans and clingy emerald green sweater hadn't done me any favours - nor had it done my cock any favours, as it insisted on imagining her getting changed out of that golden dress. Then I laughed. She'd glared daggers and thrown her notebook at me.

She never said a word about who he was. But I'd realised that day that she had left the eager, over-intelligent school-girl behind her, and become a very accomplished, very beautiful young woman. That was the first time her face had come into my mind as I'd brought myself off in the shower that night. I smile secretly to myself as I get changed and pick up my suitcase. Then I Apparate to my hotel for my holiday.

HPOV

I stretch and open my eyes the next morning. The hotel room is light. What time is it? I roll over and look at the clock I brought with me. Ten am. I feel more awake and alert than I have done in a long time. I get up and slip into my dressing-gown, wrapping it's fluffy folds around me, snuggling into it. I go over to the window. It snowed during the night. And it isn't sludge! It glitters enchantingly, making me think it must be frozen over too. I ring down to reception. No, I'm not too late for breakfast. By all means, come on down.

I wear jeans and a white roll-neck sweater. I'm glad to see that I don't have to dress up. Jeans and sweaters seem to be the order of the day. I eat breakfast, wondering who everybody else is. One reason I chose this hotel was that it is exclusively for adults. I love children, I'd like to have some one day: but I needed a holiday minus the noise and chaos. I'm spending Christmas day with the Weasley family, Harry and Harry's mysterious new boyfriend. And I'm spending New Year at the hotel's ball. The dress is safely in my wardrobe. And I'm going to relax. This is a spa and leisure complex. They have everything I need for a holiday that will be entirely about me. I continue pursuing the other people in the dining room. A man three tables over from me is behind his newspaper. I glance incuriously at the picture on the front.

Why am I on the front page of the Prophet? I dash back up to my room. I ignore the half-eaten breakfast that materialises up here for me. I pick up the paper that somebody slid under my door.

"Are They, Aren't They?" Something - or someone - is going to die. It's a picture of me, coming out of Ron's apartment not even a day ago, and him kissing me goodbye. I slept there because I was too drunk to Apparate home. He slept on the couch. He gave me a friendly peck to say goodbye. I hate the press. Sometimes I think Severus is right: I need a boyfriend, if only to stop them photographing innocent touches and turning them into love affairs on the grandest scale.

Then I think of Severus again. I groan. Oh bloody hell. If he sees the picture and thinks it's real, that I am going out with Ron - well, I'm never going to have a chance with him. I bury my head in my hands, cursing the photographer with everything I have in me. Then I sigh, pick up the hotel phone, and call Ron.

"Hey, Ron."

"You saw the Prophet, didn't you?"

"I did. Did you read the article?"

"The first few lines. I learnt that we are having mad passionate sex every night and we are keeping it very, very secret. I also learnt that we are going to get engaged. Apparently I'm bound to pop the question."

"Funny how we are always the last to know, isn't it?" He laughs quietly.

"Mum saw it. She rang me up laughing so hard she was practically in tears."

"I thought Molly would have been ecstatic."

"Yes, but she knows we aren't like that. She thought it was a good picture, is all."

"Well, I didn't ring you up just to talk about our love affair. What time am I arriving at the Burrow for Christmas?"

"If you show up around 12, that will be cool. Only mum will be up any earlier. Dinner will be around one, so we can all have a nice chat and catch up. We haven't seen you for such a long time."

"I've been working Ron. And I'll leave it until 12. Maybe I'll have some moral support from Harry and Harry's new boyfriend when Molly starts telling me I'm far too thin and pale, that skulking in a dungeon with Severus Snape is not good for my health."

"It isn't good for you - I told you that when you first announced that you were going to actually work for the guy."

"The alternative was the Ministry, and you know how I used to feel about the Ministry."

"Would you work for them now, if they asked?"

"If I wasn't already working, possibly. Seamus really has done wonders, hasn't he?"

"Good old Seamus. Anyway, whilst I love chatting to you, Luna is now awake, and we haven't done all our shopping yet. Have you finished?"

"Yes. I'm going to do all my wrapping tomorrow and I will be there for Christmas at half-past twelve. See you then!"

"Bye." I stretch thoughtfully. I dig out the pamphlet that details the hotels activities. I decide to go and have a little session in the Jacuzzi, followed by half an hour in the sauna. Then I will go into the spa and get clay smeared on my face, whilst the crazily smiling assistant assures me that all the impurities in my body will be absorbed by the funny-smelling, glutinous junk on my body. Let's go relax. Severus would be pleased with me.

I pack the pile of neatly wrapped presents into my suitcase. I survey my nails. I could go and get a manicure. Have them painted green, to match the green dress I'm planning to wear. I could get little gold sparkles attached to them, just to be Christmassy. I ring down to Reception. They tell me to bring the dress with me, so the manicurist can match the shade exactly. I could go the whole hog and get a full-scale beauty treatment done. Leg wax, hair washed professionally. I look at my reflection in the bathroom. A cut wouldn't do me any harm either. Why the hell not? Let's indulge. I paid enough, and if it's all included in the price, which I double check whilst I'm on the phone, why not? I'm going to thoroughly spoil myself.

Three hours later, I am back in my room. I am plucked, waxed, polished and preened to the maximum. I am feeling thoroughly spoilt. At least I will look good, even if I felt slightly daft whilst the hairdresser, manicurist, waxer, and masseur rubbed lotions and potions into my skin, telling me I didn't take good enough care. I look down at my nails again. OK, so I can't argue that I don't look good. I'll be back, I have already promised them, before the New Year Ball. They booked me in just before the Ball, assuring me I will arrive on time, and dressed to perfection. It is nice to be pampered every once in a while, I muse, as I get ready for bed. Having everything done for you is not something I could ever get used to, but it is nice to be spoilt every now and again. And this hotel is very good at meeting you on your terms, and pampering to perfection.

Christmas Day is sunny but cold. Very cold. There is bite in the air, and there is a flush of colour on my cheeks almost as soon as I step outside. I wrap my coat tightly around myself, grip my suitcase firmly and Apparate into sheer pandemonium.

"Hermione! Oh, well, don't you look lovely!" Harry says from somewhere behind me and sweeps me into a bone-crushing hug. "Save me," he whispers in my ear. I glance around and see a tall, slim blond man having an argument with Bill Weasley about whether or not the Cannons will win the season. My jaw hit's the floor.

"Harry," I mutter out of the corner of my mouth. "Draco is your new boyfriend?"

"It's a long story. But they won't let me leave the argument and I really have to talk to Molly. Please help. Distract them."

"Bill! Draco! It's been ages!" I announce. Bill charges at me and sweeps me up, spinning me around. I see Harry sneak away.

"Well, Granger, when was the last time I saw you? Ministry Ball? When you turned down Seamus' highly desirable offer as Head of the Potion Research Department?"

"Indeed. And you, you snake, you accepted his offer as Head of Muggle Relations." Draco grins.

"I did."

"Hermione!" Molly hugs me tightly then holds me at arms length. "You," she announces in tones of great suffering. "You are far too thin. Hunching over a cauldron in a room with nobody but Severus Snape for company is not good for your health." Harry catches my eye mouthing Molly's speech in perfect unison.

"Molly, I'm fine, honestly. Where do I put presents?"

"Ah, come with me, dear." My hand is grabbed and I am towed along to the living room. A big tree dominates most of the room. "Just put them under there, my dear." I settle down to unpack the bag full of presents.

Ginny nearly knocks me over when she finds out I'm here. She hugs me, shrieking excitedly.

"Oh I am so pleased to see you! You have no comprehension of how much the testosterone is killing me."

"Hey, Ginny. Good to see you too. So, what have you been doing?"

"Oh, you haven't met him yet!"

"You've lost me." She leads me by the hand into the kitchen, where Molly is fussing over a familiar figure. "Ginny, I met Seamus years ago. Hey, Shay. Hows tricks?"

"They're good. Still not interested?"

"Nope." He grins at me.

"I knew that. Just thought I'd ask."

"Well, one of you, what gives? Why does Ginny think I haven't met you yet?"

"Hermione! God, for someone so insanely intelligent, you can be thick!" Ginny says excitedly. "We're dating!" I look from one to the other of them.

"Well, that's that, then," I say, faking a smile. "Everybody is all paired up!"

Molly pulls me aside after dinner. The others proceed to the living room to open presents and drink wine and talk about old times.

"There's still nobody for you, is there, Hermione?"

"No, Molly. It's just me." I take a deep breath and smile. "Come on - they'll be waiting for us."

I go home with a suitcase full of new things. But the atmosphere of happy couples makes me cry myself to sleep in my hotel room that night.

New Year Eve is an atmosphere of great excitement at the hotel. I arrive on time for my appointment with the over-eager hotel staff and by the time they are done with me three hours later, even I admit that I look beautiful. I put my mask on my face and walk into the hotel's grand ballroom. It's decorated like a masked ball would have been in the middle ages - all silky drapes, flickering candles and roaring log fires. It is a room in which the impossible could happen. It is a room in which two strangers could so very easily get lost in the moment.

SPOV

I wait at the sides of the room. An over-excitable girl with a Christmas piece of tinsel serving as a hair-band persuaded me to go to this masquerade. Having neither the heart nor the necessary sobriety required to refuse, I consented. And now I find myself in the middle of the biggest fire hazard ever constructed watching people in masks through a mask of my own. And I'd shoot myself before I admitted it to anyone, but the romance of the situation even reaches my cold, blackened heart. I watch a young woman in a red, strapless, crystal-detail ball gown with a golden mask as she weaves her way through the crowd towards the side of the room opposite me. A waiter passes her and offers her a glass of champagne. She takes it and twirls it awkwardly in her fingers. A man in a cape and a mask gets up to a dais' and makes the announcement.

"Ladies and gentleman, let the masked masquerade begin. Music!" A hidden gang of musicians strike up a lively dance tune. Couples begin to take to the floor. I practically sense the woman in the red dress roll her eyes. Her mask is fascinating. Obviously, she did not buy dress and mask as a set, and yet they work on her. I give the whole thing up as a bad job and start to go over to her.

"Would you like to dance?" I ask, as I reach her side. She turns her face up to mine, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. My heart leaps into my mouth. Cinnamon eyes gaze through the golden mask, and the soft curl of hair that escapes her neat style is a rich golden brown. Hermione Granger waits just behind that golden mask, and she doesn't even know it's me.

"Sir, I would be enchanted," she responds, in the correct language of the masquerade.

"My Lady, I assure you - I would be the one under the enchantment, for your beauty alone is an enchantment." She blushes and I smirk.

"Sir, your words are nothing less than entirely charming. Let us see whether your dancing is as masterful as your speech." I take her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

An hour later, and she is giggling like a school-girl. I take her hand and lead her to chairs at a small table.

"My Lady, would you grant me the honour and the pleasure of your company for dinner?"

"I will," she murmurs. Music softens and becomes an unobtrusive accompaniment as dinner begins. We order and I watch her eat. I've seen her eat before, but not a proper sit-down, three-course meal with wine and candles. It feels like a date. Or it would - if she knew it was me, if she'd ever for one second consider dating me. But she looks so beautiful in the candlelight. I take one deep breath. I can't keep on pretending I don't know her. I reach out and take her hand.

"Are you having a good evening?" She blushes! Yes!

"The best," she whispers, watching my hand as I brush one thumb over her knuckles.

"Hermione, don't you recognize me?" Her eyes widen behind the mask.

"It is you, then," she breathes. "What are you doing here, Severus?"

"I'm on holiday."

"Yes, I can see that. But here, at this ball. You said you hated dancing."

"Yes, well. I agree to many things when I'm drunk, and Severus Snape never goes back on his word." Her eyes gleam. "Don't even think about it."

Four glasses of wine and a gorgeous meal later, I'm feeling brave. When I lead her out onto the floor again, she sighs happily, melting into my arms. It's slow, this number, slow and seductive. I hold her close, she sways with me, and the candlelight dances off her hair, the decoration on her mask, in her eyes.

"I love that dress, and the mask is beautiful. But, at risk of sounding like a school-boy, they'd look better on my bedroom floor." She looks up at me. I think for one second that I've blown it, fucked up beyond reason. She doesn't say anything, just stares. The silence becomes awkward. "Oh, God, Hermione, I'm -" And then her lips crash onto mine.

She rips her mask off when we get upstairs, tossing it carelessly to the floor, taking mine off too. I scoop her up, crushing her to me.

HPOV

When he picks me up, I try to wrap my legs round him. My damn dress gets in the way, and his hands fumble for the fasteners.

"How the bloody hell do you get this thing off?" He demands hoarsely, his eyes burning. Without waiting for an answer, he mutters a charm, and we're naked. I slam back into him, and he seizes my upper arms in a vice-like grip. He picks me up and we're on his bed, my hips bucking at his impatiently, nails scrabbling at his back. He breaks away form my mouth and I throw my head back as his mouth races to my collar-bone, breath hot against my skin, teeth grazing the bone enough to make me shiver, and whimper his name helplessly. I gasp as he bites, and then it's a rush as I buck one last time and he's sheathed inside me. I cry out, my breath leaving me in a whoosh. He swears, gasps, and pants my name.

"Sev…please…God Almighty…move, you bastard!"

And bless him, he does. God, this feeling of him filling me, rubbing against me in hot, long, hard, firm strokes. This is it. Only him. I must have said it out loud because his kiss is possessive, hard, heated. He takes my breast, with hands, then mouth. He seizes my hips, pulls them upright. He hits something inside me, and I let out a sound that is something between a shriek and a snarl. His name was in it somewhere, his name on my lips as I clench, scream, swear and buck uncontrollably. He tightens his grip, and I feel him tense up. His eyes close, his shout is a gasp through clenched teeth, and he shatters, collapses onto me. I wrap arms and legs around him, and his hands stroke my hair, face, sides.

I'm not entirely sure how the papers got hold of it, and I'm entirely sure I don't care. But work is certainly considerably more fun when he sweeps everything away and we fuck on his desk like there's no tomorrow. And as we raise our glasses to Christmas 2009, I know it'll be another good year, with the man I love.

A/N: I know it isn't Christmas yet. But it seemed a good time to be starting the countdown. 18 days to go people. Speaking of which, I am going to run a little contest. There is NO prize, but I'll set a vote up to get feedback on it. See my profile for full details!!!!!!! Oh, and review please :)