25 December, 1997

Tears. Tears dripped down his long, hooked nose, as Severus Snape stood in the Headmaster's chambers and stared out at the school he had once felt of as a home. He was disheveled- his authoritarian, black robes were half buttoned, his greasy hair was tangled from aggressively running his hand through it, and dark smudges stained his under eye. No children were skittering around the courtyard or throwing snowballs beside the lake- nor would they. He finally had the position he had longed dreamed of achieving, but instead of the finest wizarding school in Europe, he was forced to oversee a prison. Every time he saw their hate-filled glares, heard their pained screams, or stood by as they ran away in fear, a bit of his heart shattered.

He longed, as a man dying of thirst dreams of water, to fire the Carrows and put up as many wards between the children and the outside world as possible. Severus wanted more than anything for Hogwarts to be safe. He wanted to be known as the greatest Headmaster the school had ever seen; he planned to separate the House Cup from the Quidditch cup, promote unity, and create a summer program for children from families such as his. Yet, he would be known as the cruel man that allowed the cruciatus curse to be used as a learning tool, and upon the takedown of the Dark Lord, he would lose any chance of retaining his position as Headmaster- for good reason. However, this knowledge didn't stop him from dreaming that it could be different.

Even Christmas served to exacerbate his feeling of abject, miserable solitude. His desk stood barren as Dumbledore's trinkets whirled and ticked around it. Dumbledore's eccentrically wrapped gift would never come- his only confidant was dead at his own hand. Minerva's simple brown package would not be waiting to add yet another green, tartan item to his house. Yet even worse, the third gift would not be niggling at his curious tendencies. Hermione Granger could be dead, and he would not know. Or, his traitorous mind reminded him, she could be alive and cursing his name as the man that killed her beloved Headmaster and tortured her friends.

Suddenly, as if a light flicked on in a remote corner of his attic of memories, an idea crossed his mind. Antidotes and Antivenin. It was the gift Hermione had presented to him in her fifth year with the note "I felt that it may help you with your obligations." The book had made him question whether or not she was a seer when Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagani, but he had forgotten about it entirely amongst his growing workload. No, the girl was not a seer, but rather she was a devious young woman.

Severus was no fool, he truly did not expect to see next Christmas, let alone tomorrow. The life of a spy was one in which every second held the risk of discovery, and Severus knew the consequences should the Dark Lord learn his true allegiances. Yet, as he frantically tore through the bookshelves that lined his chamber, hope blossomed in his heart. Why had he not thought of carrying antidotes on his person? The true, dark answer resided in a corner of his conscious he avoided. He did not believe he was worth saving. Yet, this girl- young woman- did. Hermione Granger believed him worthy of living, and that simple thought gave way to a spark of desire. A desire to live.

Severus Snape found, as he scored through the thick volume with a vigor he had not felt in years, that he wanted to live. He wanted to burn Spinner's End to the ground, cackling over the flames like a madman, and start fresh. He wanted just one person to know that he was not a monster- to know that he was a man that grew up in a bad situation, made poor choices, but tried to overcome it all. So, he poured that ambition he thought was long gone into potions. He made lists of antidotes to spells or potions that the Dark Lord would likely use as revenge. Then, at the bottom of the list he wrote Nagani's antivenin in his spiky script.

As he was laying out cauldrons on the dining table of his personal chambers, he heard a pop come from his office. His wand was in his hand in an instant as he crept toward the source of the sound. When, he opened the door to the office and looked down the spiral stairs to the room within, he was stopped by the presence of an object.

On the large, intricately carved mahogany desk that had once sat Albus Dumbledore and every Headmaster before was a vial. Cautiously making his way down the stairs, he saw a note tied to the neck. Ever vigilant, Severus waved his wand and cast every detection spell in his arsenal, yet only one spell came back with a red flash. Poison. Inching closer, he lifted the note with his wand and noticed familiar rounded calligraphy.

Headmaster,

I have to believe there is hope in you still, for if there isn't, I would find myself irrevocably lost.

I hope you have a Happy Christmas.

H.J.G

P.S. I came across this today and believed you could find a use for it.

The vial contained a minuscule amount of a clear, slightly yellow liquid. A liquid that registered as poison.

That incredibly stupid, kind, crafty woman. A myriad of emotions ran through his body like wildfire. He was elated that she held onto hope that he wasn't as villainous as he seemed, terrified at the thought of her "coming across" a large, magical, venomous snake and somehow collecting its venom, and optimistic for a sliver of a chance at having a future. In that moment, determination ripped through his being.

With a fervor that bordered frantic, Severus brewed. He used his bubbling cauldrons as an escape from the pain and guilt he felt at the sight of the students. He took solace in the faint churning sounds of the potions, the heat of the flames, and tinkling of crystal as he ladled out each new potion into small vials with the name Master Severus Snape engraved onto the bottoms.

24 December, 1998

Severus stared down at the blank parchment laying, unfulfilled on his desk. His quill was sharpened and the tiny pot of ink was full, yet he hesitated. His entire being screeched at him to toss the letter and avoid the consequences that would inevitably unfold. Yet, a small voice in the back of his brain that sounded annoyingly like Albus Dumbledore told him that he had wasted enough of his life meticulously thinking out every action. He reached for the quill, but rather than writing, he twirled it around his fingers and laid his gaze on the room he occupied.

The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves stuffed to the brim with new and old tomes sorted first by subject, then alphabetically by author- truly the only logical way to organize books. In the center of the room, he sat at a large, dark walnut desk. Vines crawled up its edges with carved woodland creatures dancing underneath their leaves, and the drawers were decorated with gently waving branches that swayed under a nonexistent breeze. Sometimes he would find himself running his finger along the intricate carvings when he was focusing on a particularly difficult problem or musing over the events of his life thus far. It was by far the most expensive piece of furniture in the room, but he could not find it within himself to part with it's beveled edges and polished curves. In the corner sat a pair of forest green, wing backed chairs on either side of a dark, round end table with a simple lamp atop. Over one of the chairs lay a green tartan blanket with a worn paper back forgotten in its folds. The room was his new sanctuary.

The room was one of many in his new home. After the war, he burned his childhood home to ashes, and it felt just as liberating as he imagined. While he did not stand around laughing manically over the remnants of his house, as he had a very fragile reputation to maintain lest he end up in Azkaban, he did toast the moment with an entire bottle of 30 year scotch. After leaving Spinner's End behind, he turned his attention to the old Prince Manor. The title to the dilapidated manor was transferred to him upon the death of his last cousin five years previous, but he was too preoccupied at the time to devote his time to restoring the property. The roof was sunken in from water damage, half of the windows were broken, and a family of chimeras had taken up residence on the bottom floor, but he was a wizard- and a talented one at that- and made quick work of the place. It was not as grand as it once was in the prime of the Prince family, but it was comfortable and functional.

He had stepped down from his position as Headmaster at Hogwarts almost immediately after the Final Battle. Despite the heart wrenching feeling of deliberately walking away from the job he had dreamed of for so many years, he knew that the children would never feel safe with him as Headmaster. Severus spent many sleepless nights stalking the halls of Prince Manor as he once did Hogwarts before he finally came to terms with his new future. After surviving Nagani's bite thanks to a healthy dose of antivenin and a blood replenishing potion (and a very clever witch), Severus was met with suspicion. The Boy Who Refused to Die announced his true allegiance to the world, affording him some degree of forgiveness from the general public, but even a proclamation from Boy Wonder couldn't keep Wizengamot at bay.

His trial was the first on the docket and lasted two full days. Most of the Elders were good buddies of Dumbledore and were hard pressed to believe that their friend would make such a careless mistake let alone arrange his own death. However, with sufficient evidence in the form of memories and testimonies from Harry Potter and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, they were persuaded to believe that perhaps Severus Snape was acting on orders, even if they did not like his dark demeanor. The other Elders, the ones that had not known Albus, held firm to the belief that everyone with the Dark Mark ought to rot in Azkaban until the end of their days- that was until Minerva McGonagall testified. She read a letter, with watery eyes and a pinched brow, which proved that Albus had not left Severus alone with the his knowledge of his own innocence as he had once thought. Upon the death of Voldemort, a letter appeared on Minerva's desk with Albus' magical seal. In the missive, he explained his plan. He told of machinations of the Order, Severus' role as spy, the curse on the ring and its consequences, and his plan to preserve Draco's innocence while affirming Severus' place among the Death Eaters to better help him assist Harry Potter in defeating the Dark Lord.

If the letter did not fully convince the remaining few of his innocence, the final witnesses did. Harry Potter waxed poetic on Severus' everlasting love for Lily Potter and the sacrifices Severus had made that he had only recently come to realize. The whole while, Severus ground his teeth with fury as the few remaining details of his personal life was laid bare for the Wizarding world to pick apart and judge him for. He was an intensely private man, and having both his most treasured and darkest moments revealed in a public trial by none other than Harry Potter was humiliating. He endured through the his public mortification, though, with no more than a scowl because of Hermione Granger. The woman- who was much thinner and worn than the last time he saw her- did not look at him with pity, unbridled curiosity, or destain, but rather she looked at him as if he was proof that there was light in the darkness. That stare of reaffirmed hope brought him strength when he needed it most. When she stood witness before the court, she didn't blather drivel about his past or reveal their interactions over Christmas, but rather she told them of his actions. She smiled ever so slightly when she described his wound he received from the affectionally named Fluffy while trying to keep Quirrell away from the Stone and the counter curse he was muttering to keep Harry on his broom when she lit his robes on fire. Her eyes grew distant and wet as she recounted his arms pulling her behind him as he stood protectively between her friends and a werewolf.

Her testimony drew the trial to a close, and the next day, he was declared a free man.

The months following passed in a blur of house renovations, estate settlements, and avoiding attention from the reporters that wanted to know the dirty details of his life as a spy for their gossip rags. Suddenly, Severus found Christmas approaching and felt a sense of impending change. He had planned for years to reciprocate her present with one of his own once the time was right, and now that the time was upon him, and he was terrified. Her gift was sitting quietly on the corner of his desk wrapped neatly in silvery blue paper and tied with a simple brown string. The letter he planned on sending in addition had been sitting blank on his desk for nearly a week.

Finally admitting that it was both decidedly cowardly to be afraid of the repercussions of a simple letter and idiotic to have put it off for so long, he put his quill to the page.

Miss Hermione Granger,

It is my wish that you find this Christmas a day of good cheer.

Yours,

Master Severus Snape

The note was painfully short, yet every time he set to explain the depth to which her presents meant to him over the years, he found himself held back. It felt like admitting weakness to tell her that a simple gift from his student was sometimes the highlight of his year, and he had never received gifts so thoughtful as hers. He held back writing about her intelligence, and how he wished he could have given her a better environment for her to fully discover the extent of her abilities. He did not write about his growing affection for her wit and vivacious personality. Instead, he folded the brief letter neatly and slipped it snugly under the twine around the present.

Gathering the last scraps of his courage, he tied the string to the foot of his black great horned owl named Lenore, and told her to take the gift to Hermione Granger. With a blink of her large orange eyes, she flew off into the night in a flutter of dark wings.

25 December, 1998

Frantic knocking coming from the front door shook Severus from his Christmas routine. He was in the middle of an article on alternative uses for newt's eyes when the incessant sound tore his attention away. Grimacing at the thought of yet another journalist rapping at his door for an interview, he stalked toward the entry way. Wrenching the door open with a barb readied on his tongue, he found himself suddenly swallowed in a mass of chestnut curls and vanilla scented shampoo with arms wrapped like vises around his shocked form. "Wha-" he began, but was cut off by a feminine voice.

"Thank you so much! I can't tell you how much that meant to me," she nearly sobbed into his chest.

As quickly as he was attacked, she pulled back, but still kept her small hands resting on either side of stiff arms. "I've never received such a magnificent gift," Hermione Granger whispered, staring up at him with gratitude and a hint of something deeper in her eyes.

He looked down at her, shock still wracking his mind, as if he was finally seeing her for the first time. Her eyes were a colour of polished copper with just the tiniest hints of blue near her pupils. Freckles lightly dotted her nose and cheeks accenting the roundness of her bright eyes. Her cheeks were thin, but stretched into a brilliant smile that was made all the more enthusiastic by the bouncing, corkscrew curls that sprouted from her head at odd angles. She wore a baggy, lavender sweater that hung off her thin frame and made her seem impossibly small. She was radiant.

Glancing down at the bag that was strung across her shoulder, he saw a small box wrapped in silver paper with a green bow and a familiar worn book with flaking, gold letters emblazoned across the cover "Hogwarts: A History." First Edition.

"Would you like some tea?" He offered casually, as if he wasn't terrified she would say no.

Her grin could have outshone the sun. "I would love to."

A.N/ Merry (slightly late) Christmas. For all those that wanted a sweet ending to the story, I hope you enjoyed this final chapter. Editing took a bit longer than expected, but I hope that you'll forgive me for being a couple of hours late.

If you want this story to remain cheerful, your journey ends here. Thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a review with comments, critiques, or criticisms. I have one other completed Christmas story and three active stories if you want more. I hope you have had a lovely holiday.

For those of you that enjoy the masochistic feeling of empathetic heartbreak, the second epilogue is for you.