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Snape hated Christmas. As a child he could always time its approach by the increase in shouting matches and the number of nights his father would come home drunk. There'd be a tense sort of silence on Christmas day as they tried to patch things up for the holiday and a small toy or book at the foot of his bed and they'd have dinner. One year he'd gotten a set of Gobstones from his mother and they'd had to lie to his father and tell him they were a Muggle toy.
The only happy Christmases were the ones he'd spent with Lily. Her parents would have sweet bread and hot chocolate for him and there would be Muggle Christmas records playing as he and Lily sat on the sofa by the Christmas tree and exchanged gifts. Sometimes they were sweets, but there were a few things she'd given him that he'd saved, a luxury quill and his favourite, a book on counter-curses and anti-jinxes that she'd gotten him in their fourth year. Inside the front cover she'd written him a message, in that sprawling writing of hers. Merry Christmas Sev! Love, Lily. He kept it in his bedside drawer with his photographs of her.
Most of the students left for the Christmas holidays, and Snape found the quiet both welcome and unbearable. When his room became too confining and his head too full he'd walk the silent corridors alone, as though all those steps could put some distance between him and his thoughts.
He thought his grief would start to go away over time, but it was like waves, coming and going, sometimes blindsiding him with their ferocity. This Christmas was hitting him particularly hard, and he didn't know why.
He couldn't remember which classroom he'd found the mirror in the year before. He looked into every single classroom he passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of it, to hell with what Dumbledore might think.
He was walking through a seventh-floor corridor two days before Christmas when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned his head he saw that a simple wooden door had appeared in the wall.
He'd always liked these spontaneous, almost sentient bursts of magic, as though the castle had a mind of its own. He opened the door and walked inside and his heart was in his throat.
Lily. She had her arm around him and she was laughing.
Without even really thinking he touched his shoulder. But he felt only bony prominence that was entirely his own. He would have cut off his arms and watched them burn for one more second with her.
He stayed there all day, and the next, until by the next night he was so faint from hunger bright lights flashed in his eyes when he stood up and his head pounded.
I need something to eat.
A plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding appeared on a table behind him and Snape shoveled the food into his mouth before sitting in front of the mirror again. Undoubtedly it was part of the magic of this room, that it would provide whatever he needed. And Dumbledore would never find him, not this time.
He could sit here until he died.
He didn't remember falling asleep. He was swinging with her on the playground, only he was in her, he was her-and he was jumping off and flying into the air-
Crack.
Snape shot up. An elf was standing over him, looking into his face.
"What the bloody hell do you want?" Snape snarled.
The elf's ears drooped back like a scolded dog. "Master Dumbledore sent me to finds you, sir," he croaked.
Of course he would, of course he knew what had happened, the omniscient bastard.
"Tell him to fuck off."
The elf didn't move. "Master Dumbledore says not to leave you alone until you comes out, sir."
Of course he did.
"Well you'll have to drag me out because I'm not leaving."
"If you wish, sir."
Snape had no idea how it happpened, but before he could stop him the elf had grabbed him around the waist and with a sensation like being sucked through a straw he found himself in the seventh floor corridor, the elf's arms still wrapped around him.
"What the hell-"
"Ah, Severus. I was hoping to run into you."
Dumbledore was standing there in robes of bright red and neon green, looking like some sort of psychedelic Father Christmas. That eccentric, omniscient piece of-
"Why don't you join us for the Christmas feast this year, Severus?"
"I-what?"
"I think it would do you some good," he said, with a look that was far too knowing. There was a long pause and Snape tensed, ready to hear the scolding that was undoubtedly coming.
"You know," he went on,"I remember a time when I was a young man, at the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. My friend Nicolas kept asking me to ride camels by moonlight, but I kept turning him down. 'Too much work to do,' I said. Well, somehow he finally managed to persuade me."
Snape was too taken aback by this utterly nonsensical story to be angry. "And you had an enjoyable time?"
"No, I fell off and broke my femur. But I think you would have an enjoyable time at the feast, Severus. So why don't you join us?"
Snape opened his mouth to object, but Dumbledore got there first. "Excellent," he said. "Come, we'll go together."
And so Snape found himself walking up the stairs into the Entrance Hall on the way to the feast, and thoroughly enraged about it. He never could understand how the old man did it.
The Great Hall was decorated with twelve enormous Christmas trees, and there were wreaths and poinsettias in the centre of the table. It wasn't unpleasant to look at, but he hated all the memories it dredged up, hated all the forced cheer and trite sentiments that went with it, all that bollocks about peace and goodwill that no one really meant or they'd just be peaceful and good all year long.
"Ah, Professor Snape, a very happy Christmas to you!" said Flitwick, who was wearing a ridiculous hat covered in lurid flowers and ghastly-looking birds of paradise.
"Happy Christmas, Professor," Snape said through clenched teeth, trying not to glare at everyone. The Great Hall was nearly empty; only Hagrid, Filch, Sprout, and Flitwick were sitting with him and Dumbledore at the staff table. Some students had stayed for the holidays, including handful of Slytherins.
Enormous turkeys and plates full of gravy and mash and cranberry sauce and all sorts of other things appeared. Dumbledore, Flitwick and Sprout broke into conversation, as friendly and cheerful as ever, while he sat in an irritated silence and tried to tell them with his body language that they weren't to say a word to him. Sprout was busy admiring the enchanted snow that had started to fall from the ceiling.
"You've outdone yourself with the decorations as always, Filius," she said in her relentlessly cheerful way. "Is that an Atmospheric Charm you've used?"
Flitwick looked chuffed. "It's a special type of enchanted snow," he said. "It'll fade as soon as it touches anything. I didn't want us getting cold and wet by the end of the feast!"
When Snape was younger he and his friends had considered Flitwick a pushover and a lightweight, but he was beginning to wonder if this was really true. It was an impressive bit of magic that he'd done.
"I suppose you used an Herbivicus Charm on these poinsettias?" said Sprout, putting her fork down and pinching them between her fingers.
"I did indeed," squeaked Flitwick.
Snape sometimes used poinsettias in his potions, and he opened his mouth before he could stop himself. "Do you grow them?"
For just a second Sprout looked taken aback that he'd actually spoken to her, then she smiled. "I usually like to keep a few in my greenhouses," she said. "They have healing properties, I believe."
"Yes, they're used in Fever-Reducing Solution," said Snape. Sprout started to talk about her plants and Flitwick and Dumbledore got into a lively discussion about an article in the latest issue of Challenges in Charming and he was starting to become slightly more comfortable sitting there listening to them talk magic, so much he almost forgot the mirror. Almost.
There was nothing stopping him going back there as soon as he was finished.
He was working on his Christmas pudding when he heard Dumbledore clear his throat. He'd stayed for Christmas his sixth and seventh years and had a feeling he knew what this was about, and wondered if there was a way for him to cover his ears without anyone noticing.
"Now that we're all full from that delicious feast, perhaps you'd like to join me in a few Christmas carols," Dumbledore said. He was beaming.
Somehow Snape managed to endure "Good King Wecenslas," "Away in a Manger," and "Joy to the World" and thought perhaps Dumbledore would leave it there.
"Ah, beautiful," he said, and Snape thought his eyes were rather bright and wondered how much he'd had to drink. "And now, a personal favourite of mine, 'I Want a Hippopatomus for Christmas.'"
As Snape sat there trying to hide his irritation he noticed that only a few other people knew the words, including the Corlett girl, who was singing loudly and off-key.
After they'd finished people started stretching and getting out of their seats and it was finally polite for him to leave.
"Severus."
Snape turned around to see Dumbledore. He had something in his hand.
"A Christmas gift for you," he said, with another long look.
Snape was so surprised he didn't say anything, and made his way through the Entrance Hall. Peeves was zooming past, flinging glass baubles against the walls.
When he got to his room he took off his boots and sat down on his bed, absently scratching Paracelcus behind the ears and pulling the book Lily had given him out of the drawer in his bedside table. He traced the words she had written him with his fingers and brought the page close to him, as though he could smell her and breathe her in.
He looked at it so long he almost forgot Dumbledore's gift. He picked it up and unwrapped the ribbon on the card that was attached.
I found these among Lily's possessions. She never forgot her old friend.
Happy Christmas,
Albus
Fingers shaking, he fumbled with the wrapping until it was off. Inside was a box.
He didn't want to see what was in it. But he had to.
There were three of them. A photograph of the two of them sitting on her sofa at Christmas. A photograph of them in her back garden with a frog they'd caught. And the last one, a photograph of the two of them in their school robes, standing in the courtyard, arms around each other. The only wizarding photograph of them, the only one that had been taken at Hogwarts. Lily's mouth was moving like she was telling a story, and Snape was bent over laughing, his hair falling into his face.
After all that had happened, she'd still looked at these photographs. She'd still thought about him.
The photographs became too blurry for him to see. He tucked them into his bedside drawer.
The old man must've had some reason for doing this. He must have suspected that his loyalty wasn't absolute. That he didn't understand what he was doing. That he wanted to wake up in another life. That sometimes he just wanted to die.
He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evan's eyes, I'm sure?He gripped his pillow like a piece of flotsam and prayed that her eyes would guide him wherever he needed to go.
The common room was nearly empty, but it didn't sound like it to Graihagh. Fireworks exploded and people shouted and a flock of titmouse birds flew out of a Christmas cracker. She was sitting in her usual spot, Scooter in her lap, eating a piece of Bonnag her granny had sent her. It smelled like her house, and she tried not to think of her too much, tried to remember how much fun the feast had been, especially when Dumbledore had started singing with his ridiculous hat on. She'd gotten a cracker hat too, which had a sad-looking turkey on it.
She'd decided to stay over the holidays and do some more potion brewing, and as she sat and ate she took a skeet at the Wit-Sharpening Potion simmering away in her cauldron. The fifth-and-seventh years were buying it off her like it was Butterbeer. Most of the money she made went into more ingredients, but she still had to swipe some from the student cupboard. Maybe it wasn't entirely honest, she didn't know, but it did increase her profit margins.
She glanced up to see Milo settling into his usual spot next to her. He had stayed over Christmas break too and they'd chatted over the Christmas feast. Graihagh handed him a piece of bonnag and they were quiet awhile, chewing.
"Do you usually go home for Christmas?" she asked him through a mouthful.
"The last two years I did, yeah."
"Did your parents go on holiday this year?"
"No. But they're usually busy around Christmas. Lots of parties and engagements and such."
Graihagh thought she understood what he was getting at. It was quiet at his house, and maybe a bit lonely. She wasn't sure what to say, but she could tell by the way he was sitting on the edge of his chair and looking at her that he was going to ask her something.
"So...have you tried making Strengthening Solution yet?" he asked her, keeping his voice low.
That was a funny sort of coincidence, because she'd been working on it for weeks. It was O.W.L standard but she thought she might be able to do it.
"I've had a crack at it," she said. "I think I might get it soon." She understood him, as she usually did.
He nodded and leaned in closer to her, even though everyone else was making so much noise she doubted they could hear him.
"You know what I've always wanted to do?" he asked her, the words coming faster, louder.
"What's that?" Graihagh asked him, popping another piece of bonnag into her mouth, chuffed that he was confiding in her.
"Play Quidditch. I mean, for Slytherin." Graihagh looked at him in surprise, a bit sorry for him. Unless he had some sort of massive growth spurt, she didn't see how he'd ever make the team. Unless...
"You mean?" she said, giving him a knowing look. He nodded.
"Just, you know, until I get some experience. Then I can do it on my own."
She wasn't sure what to think, at first. But then images flashed in her mind, images of Milo standing up to his bullies, of him walking onto the pitch in his green and silver robes, face flushed with pride, the crowds roaring. She had the power to make it all happen. She grinned at him, and he smiled back at her.
"Do you want to go for a walk with me in the grounds?" he asked.
"Sure. Let me just get my cloak and mitts."
They made their way outside the castle. The moon was out and the snow was glowing.
"It's nice, isn't it?" said Graihagh, looking out over the grounds.
"Yeah, it is," said Milo. "Does it snow in the Isle of Man?"
"Sometimes. But it doesn't usually stick."
She was quiet awhile, remembering the time when it snowed so hard they closed all the schools, and her granny braved the icy footpaths to spend the day with her, baking ginger cake and drinking hot chocolate and swapping stories about how much they hated school. She and her dad hadn't sounded too disappointed in their letter, but she knew they were, and she was starting to wonder if she should've gone home.
"Does it snow where you live?" she asked him, trying to distract herself.
"Not like this."
They made a path through the snow as they walked to the lake, not saying much, just enjoying the quiet and the sight of the moonlight on the snow. She heard a noise in the distance, the stamping and snorting of one of Hagrid's Hippogriffs maybe, and it reminded her of something.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What's that?" They'd stopped by the frozen lake, and Milo looked out over it.
"Is there a reason you can see Thestrals?"
Milo was quiet so long she didn't think he was going to answer. "My grandfather," he said.
"I'm sorry," she said. She put her hand out but thought better of it and kept it at her side. "Were you close?"
"We did stuff together all the time."
"You must miss him then."
"Yeah." He shifted a bit. "So did you find out the score of that Wasps vs. Bats match?"
"Oh yeah. The Wasps flattened them," said Graihagh, keeping her voice as casual as she could, without a hint of pity, because she knew he just needed to feel normal. "Total fluke, if you ask me," she added, catching his eye and smiling a little. The Bats were her favourite team.
They made their way back to the castle, talking Quidditch, and by the time they'd gotten back to the common room and Graihagh had taken off her mitts and cloak she was tired, so she turned in.
As soon as she'd dressed the next morning and made her way down to the common room she scooped up the Wit-Sharpening solution and siphoned it into vials, and got out the ingredients for Strengthening Solution.
She loved the work, as she always did, but she wasn't the only one up. There was already a game of Exploding Snap on and lots of loud talking. She had trouble focusing when there was noise in the background. Snape had never said whether or not they could use the Potions classroom outside of class, so she tucked her potions kit into her robes and made her way through the dungeon corridors. The classroom was absolutely still.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been working when she saw a swish of black out of the corner of her eye. Snape was standing there in his black robes, dark circles under his eyes, hair dishevelled, looking like her goth cousin when he stumbled home at 7 in the morning after an all-nighter at the Batcave.
"What are you doing in here, Miss Corlett?"
Graihagh tensed. Snape had looked so miserable during the feast she thought he'd just hole up in his room the rest of the holiday. "I was just making some potion, sir," she said, trying to sound offhand.
He stepped over and looked down into her cauldron. "Strengthening Solution?"
"Yes sir."
He looked at her in that intense way of his, but his expression was hard to read.
"And where did you get the ingredients for this?"
She glanced towards the student cupboard. "Well, I thought it was okay to take things from the student cupboard..."
"I suppose it is," he said. "So long as you take only what you need."
He'd put a bit too much stress on those last four words. Graihagh nodded and tried to look innocent.
"Did you know that's an O.W.L standard potion you're attempting?" Graihagh nodded. "Well, we'll see how it turns out." He sounded skeptical, which made Graihagh all the more determined to get it right, and all the more afraid she wouldn't.
He sat down at his desk, and Graihagh knew it was so he could watch that she didn't swipe more ingredients from the student cupboard. She tried to tune him out.
She was bent over her cauldron adding powdered griffin claw when there was a soft mewling, and she looked up to see a raggedy-looking cat standing in the doorway. To her amazement, it walked right over to Snape's desk.
"Is that your cat sir?"
"Just a stray," he said without looking up.
The cat jumped into his lap and started purring. Graihagh stared at him.
"What are you looking at, Miss Corlett?"
"Nothing," said Graihagh quickly. Snape was weird.
But there was no getting around the fact that he knew what she was making. She wondered how she'd ever get away with it now.