Jingle Hells
Hermione Granger felt a headache coming on-the seventeenth or so this week. She was not quite sure whether it came from the tense muscles in her neck or from the constant grinding of her molars. It was either that or hexing whoever crossed her path. The Assistant Head of Law understood why her co-workers at MLE were in such a boisterous mood: it was three days before Christmas after all.
But if she were offered a Santa hat or a mince pie or a charmed card singing `Jingle Bells´ or anything else holiday-themed once more she would react in a way that made Voldemort look like a kindergarden teacher.
The queasiness of her stomach told her that she needed to leave her office for the canteen, or her headache would worsen. A small notice-me-not-charm saved her from more well-wishers on her way to the top floor where the canteen was located. Entering she nearly turned around. The smell of Christmas punch and mulled wine, the laughter, the sight of too many people dressed in red and green assaulted her senses. There, on the far corner Hermione spotted an island of black.
Severus Snape was sitting at a table alone, scowl firmly in place, a cup of tea and some stew in front of him. After his survival and subsequent pardon, the spy had remained at Hogwarts long enough for Minerva McGonagall to recover and since then made his living with research and the brewing of the most difficult potions. The Unspeakables consulted him often enough; therefore the sight of the Potions master was not uncommon at the Ministry. The young woman took her tray right over to his table.
"Do you mind if I sit here, Master Snape?"
The use of his correct title seemed to forestall an otherwise negative answer.
"What do you think you'll gain by sitting here? I will not engage in useless prattle."
"I should hope not. My gain will be the reasonable surety of you neither asking after my holiday plans nor showing me oh-so-cute pictures of your children covered in cookie dough or wanting my advice on whether you should allow Davey from Accounting a kiss on the staff's Christmas party!"
"My, my, Ms Granger, aren't we in a festive mood."
"I do not know about you, but I am not. I might be if anyone around here were celebrating either Christmas or the winter-solstice in the way the holidays were meant, not in this commercialised, bastardidised way they're doing it now."
"Bastardidised? Need I invest in a new dictionary of the English language?"
Hermione chose not to answer, instead stirring her soup before it looked even more unappetising. Snape ate his stew. They had collaborated on a few projects before, mainly about the classification of potions in new laws. While no one would call them bosom friends, their working relationship was perfectly cordial.
As she polished off her lunch Hermione was amazed briefly about Snape's civility of waiting for her to finish. They left the canteen together and parted at the elevators, Hermione's mood remarkably improved.
Nothing would have come of that lunch had the barrister and the Potions master not met three days later. Met, by chance, at the freezer at Bristol's Bradley Stoke Tesco's, reaching simultaneously for the last piece of duck in there. Since they were grabbing from opposite sides of said freezer this resulted in a brief tug-of-war with the dead animal before Hermione recognised Snape's hands. Conscious that she owed him her life several times over and that half of a duck would be the only thing he would accept from her she said, "Master Snape, you're welcome to the duck."
He came around to her side, frozen bird in hand. His Muggle coat was long and black, but under it he wore a dark-green jumper over a grey shirt and jeans.
"It is a rather big duck. We could share it."
Hermione was flummoxed, but not enough to decline the invitation.
"That would be a sensible thing to do, no one wants to eat leftovers for a week. I will bring the wine and pudding. What kind of desert would you enjoy?"
Snape seemed to think about it for a long time.
"Ms Granger, I simply meant for us to divide the duck with magic, but your plan has merit. I am partial to spotted dick, with lots of custard."
Oops, that was akward. But then, Snape was a grown man, he simply would have corrected her, if he didn't want her to come to dinner. Thinking it over for a moment Hermione realised that spending Christmas eve [DD1] with Snape might just be better than every other alternative she had. Her parents were on a cruise, her cousins were insufferable and she would see the Weasleys and Potters on Boxing Day. And she had had too many dates with her iThe Shop Around The Corner/i dvd and a tub of ice cream lately.
"Excellent. 5 pm?"
"Yes. If you will come outside; my home is secret-kept and they have cameras here."
They finished their shopping in tandem and exchanged addresses in a dark corner of the parking lot.
Standing in front of her wardrobe, Hermione was attacked by a severe case of nerves. This was no ordinary working day; it was not the usual Weasley bash where the amount of children under five made her choose clothes for their easy care rather than their fashion value. She was having Christmas dinner with Severus Snape. Due to their misunderstanding over the duck, it might not be a real date, but it deserved her whole attention and her best efforts. In the end, she put on a lovely bronze woollen shift dress that showed off her neck and wrists. In combination with sheer tights and a classic chignon it would show her appreciation of the invitation but would not come over as too much.
Severus Snape stared into the congealing[DD2] grey-ish mass with trepidation. The perfectly formed dumplings made from potatoe dough had fallen apart as soon as he had put them into the boiling water. This had never happened before. The unappetizing mass looked like a first year's effort at Skele-Gro. He had wanted to make the duck with red cabbage and dumplings, but there wasn't enough time to start again from scratch. It would be an hour later in Salzburg now, and therefore highly unlikely that a supermarket would still be open. As an apprentice there Severus had often made potatoe-dumplings from ready-made dough, and they had always turned out perfectly. Well, they would eat plain potatoes with the bird. There really wasn't a reason to attempt to impress Ms Granger with his cooking, was there?
At one minute past five Hermione was standing on the steps of 42, Spinner's End, Cokeworth, two Tupperware dishes with the spotted dick and custard in her hands and two bottles of Pinot Noir in her backpack. It was one of her favourite wines and she had brought a second bottle, as she was wont to finish nearly one by herself usually. Well, occasionally. One must not go too far with the proverbial 'spinster with cat and chardonnay' image.
Her host was impeccably dressed in black slacks, dark green flannel shirt, grey tie and a black vest. His hair was tied back, and the overall very pleasing impression was only tempered by traces of flour on his shirt sleeve. The smells permeating the two-up-two-down were tantalising.
"Good evening, Ms Granger. Do you mind eating in the kitchen? I'd rather not eat in my library."
"No resistance here from that book-worm. If it tastes as good as it smells I'll eat anywhere."
The kitchen table was laid with linnen and tableware that showed their age but must have been of superiour quality originally.
"My mother managed to take a few of her possessions with her before her marriage. We didn't have a lot but even if it was thin stew for Christmas dinner she always used the fine china."
"It is lovely. One can hardly find things of such effortless elegance any more, whether in the Muggle or the wizarding world."
"Tell that to Narcissa Malfoy. When a house-elf broke her thirty-seventh setting of antique Spode she was quite distraught."
"I will do that on our next ladies lunch."
A small upturning of the left corner of his mouth told Hermione that Snape had got her joke. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had offered her a formal apology after the war and had seemed so sincere that the young barrister had even taken them up on their offer to banish her demons in the newly renovated drawing room. Hermione had gone there, had had tea with her hosts and then had let the relationship go back again to polite acquaintances.
During dinner Hermione had found the source of the smell of cinnamon in Snape's house, which sported thankfully not a hint of seasonal décor otherwise. The crafty bastard had put it into the red cabbage together with apples! The side dish tasted delicious, the duck was neither too dry nor raw in places and the accompanying potatoes were cooked to the point. Severus – they had agreed on first names between the second and third glass of wine – had even shared his mishap with the dumplings, but as Hermione had never tasted them before she did not know what she missed and said so, complimenting the dinner.
Severus was really fond of custard, which made Hermione glad that she hadn't taken any shortcuts and had made it from scratch. Conversation was unforced and interesting and nowhere near Christmas-related topics.
After dinner they relocated to the sitting room, or rather library, with tea first and then a glass of whisky. Snape had received his gift with rather good grace, after his guest had managed to convince him that it was no Christmas gift but rather something to present one's host with.
"Just take it, Severus. It has been sitting on my shelf for nearly ten years. I love my books dearly, even the most obscure ones, but such a book should really be with a Potions master."
It was a rare and brief discussion of Albanian alpine plants and their use in potions making. Hermione had skimmed through it, noticed that none of the mentioned plants were available in British shops and had relegated the book to the highest parts of her shelf, as it would only be of use if one wanted to tinker with variants of potions.
"Thank you, I will find a use for it. And I had planned an excursion to Slovenia anyway in spring, I might just go to Albania as well."
Conversation turned to work and research and when Hermione was beginning to feel tired her host stood up.
"I know you wanted to escape mince pies and Christmas crackers, but there is one tradition I want to share with you, because I think you will enjoy it."
He turned on an ancient record player, not letting her glimpse the sleeve of the record. Hermione waited with bated breath, as she didn't want the evening – which had been her most enjoyable Christmas eve in years – tainted.
When the opening riff of "Back in Black" reached her ears she laughed until tears fell from her eyes.
The relationship progressed as is expected in such cases, with more dinners at her place and at his place, with an excursion to Slovenia together and, after a most enjoyable dinner in an inn in the Soca-valley, to another kind of desert altogether.
The Granger-Snape children also managed to soften their parents view of seasonal delights somewhat, as a badly drawn Christmas card from one's four-year-old will be put on the mantle, even if all other cards are banished on sight.
The End
Author's Note: Lots of thanks and a very merry Christmas to my wonderful beta Dreamy_Dragon! I make my living by teaching guitar. Which means that on 24 December I have six weeks of more or less badly played versions of "Last Christmas", "Jingle Bells" etc behind me. From morning to evening, with no reprieve on weekends, because that's when the Christmas-concerts take place. Believe me, AC DC is about the only way to cope with that. And then watching "Die Hard".