Sorry for how short this chapter is. You other writers know how it is sometimes- a story just tells you, "Hey, this is where I need to end," and you have to appease the almighty story Gods.
Hermione loved Christmas. She loved the snow, the decorations, buying gifts for the people she cared about, and most of all the general happiness surrounding the holiday.
She had managed to spend Christmas Eve and the morning of Christmas day with her parents, and the rest of the holiday at the Burrow with her best friends and second family. Overall, she felt it was the perfect way to spend her favorite day of the year.
Despite all the warm tidings, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity. She was sure that Snape was at Hogwarts, alone, with no presents and nobody to wish him a happy holiday.
With a sigh she turned to examine the happy faces around her. Shrugging off the thoughts as underestimating the Slytherin's capabilities of making friends, she pushed away the thoughts and continued to enjoy the day.
Severus Snape hated Christmas. It was the one time of year he had to be reminded that he had no close friends or family. It was freezing and leaky in the dungeons due to the excessive amounts of snow. He had to spend money on people he barely knew just to keep things civil between them. Worst of all was the general happiness surrounding the holiday.
It drove him mad.
He sat by the fire in his private quarters, nursing a bottle of firewhiskey and contemplating how he could've done things differently to perhaps bring himself a small amount of cheer on the supposedly wonderful holiday.
He chuckled bemusedly at the thought. He had received gifts from the other professors, mostly books dealing with potions that he'd read numerous times already and that he'd probably take back to Flourish and Blotts for a refund.
He swirled the contents of the bottle and looked into the fireplace. "I wonder how Granger's holiday is going," he muttered to himself. He imagined she was surrounded by laughter, her face full of joy, and opening gift upon gift from people who knew exactly what she liked.
Cursing himself for thinking about the blasted girl, he gulped down some of the amber liquid in his hand and made his way to bed.
"Damn Gryffindor. I hope she got coal," he growled before falling into a restless, drunken sleep.
