For a moment, Severus could do nothing but stare at her, stunned. It was one thing to have fun with these preposterous but quaint ideas, and even someone so socially inept as he could see the romance in whispering suggestive wishes in the wake of shooting stars. He thought the meteorite she'd given him was a delightfully creative gift, and he was especially grateful that it was nothing he'd have a hard time explaining if anyone should happen to see it. But for her to be standing there, telling him that she was going to perpetuate another of these myths rather than spend an evening with him... His heart wrenched in disappointment, and he almost wished he had the words to tell her how much that hurt. Almost. On the other hand, he didn't precisely want her to know it.

"I see," he replied noncommittally. He took a step away from her, trying to regain his lost dignity.

Aislinn reached for his hand. "You are not getting away that easily, Severus Snape," she whispered, closing her fingers around his wrist. He gave her a level look. "I'm hoping that you'll come with me."

He sighed. "Aislinn, how am I to convince children to believe in something I don't believe in myself?" he asked, suddenly tired. "And, in case you failed to notice, I'm not the most talented person with children."

She took a step towards him and reached for his face, but he ducked out of her reach and turned away from her. She sighed and dropped her hand. "You don't have to convince them, Severus. They already believe. We're just making sure that belief doesn't die."

He snorted softly, then started as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He placed his own hand over hers and turned to look at her.

"And I think you'll do fine with the children. Please?"

He knew that the discussion was over as soon as she said please and he saw the pleading in her eyes. "Where are we going?" he asked, resigned, and her eyes brightened suddenly.

"London," she replied, leaning to brush a kiss against his cheek. "And, since you said you'd come, I have another gift for you."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around that one and wavering between amusement and marginal offense. She had a gift for him that was conditional? How… 'rude' came to mind, followed quickly by 'disturbing'. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out another box, long and flat, wrapped in the same emerald paper with a silver bow, and offered it to him. As he took it, he commented dryly, "You must have been very sure I'd agree."

She smiled sweetly and settled herself on the bed, not commenting. "Open it," she instructed.

Pushy, aren't you? He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her at an angle, and placed the box on the mattress, then gave the ribbon a tug. It fell off the box, and two flicks of his fingertip had the tape off as well, the paper staying intact. He opened the box, and stared at the contents, truly surprised for the second time that night.

"What's this?" he asked, touching the dark green fabric. When he looked at her, she was grinning, and leaned forward, picking it up, holding it in front of him. He had only a moment to register that it was a shirt before she placed it against his chest, holding it by the shoulders.

"I knew that color was going to look smashing on you!" she exclaimed.

His eyes were still on the box, though, and he reached into it again, pulling out a sweater. It was also green, and though lighter than the other shirt, it was still rather dark. The color of a cedar tree. He frowned slightly at it, but was reaching into the box again, picking up yet another item—a pair of stiff-feeling blue pants. There was even a pair of socks in the bottom of the box, and a pair of brown shoes.

"What is all this?" he asked, still confused. She stood and leaned over to kiss him again, then winked at him.

"Muggle clothes," she replied lightly. "We'll be in Muggle London, and I was afraid you didn't have anything suitable to wear." She was off to her wardrobe again, and Severus was still frowning at the greens and blues and browns.

"I have Muggle clothing," he protested.

She was pulling something out of the wardrobe, but he couldn't tell much about it other than that it was red. "Black, I presume?" she asked.

"What's wrong with black?" he challenged, unable to deny that with the exception of the green robe he wore to Slytherin Quidditch games, everything he owned was black. At least, it had been until tonight.

"There's nothing wrong with black," she replied. "But that's the last thing to wear on Christmas Eve when you're playing Santa. Now, get dressed."

As she spoke, she began unbuttoning her own robes, and he watched for a moment, entranced, as she stripped and then began reclothing herself in a pair of the stiff-looking blue pants (which, he noted with a dry mouth, hugged her hips almost sinfully) and a gold-colored knit shirt that (aside from hugging her breasts even more sensuously than the pants did her hips) came right up under her chin. She cuffed the neck of it and began tucking the tail into her pants, and paused, gesturing at him.

"Hurry!" she commanded, and, seeing no recourse, Severus looked at the clothes one more time, then sighed and began doffing his robes as well. The pants, while stiff, were more comfortable than he'd anticipated, though they were rather tighter than he would have preferred (and he might have been surprised had he noticed Aislinn admiring the way the jeans fit his ass.) He studied the knit shirt for a moment before pulling it over his head, and, feeling a bit incompetent, imitated her, straightening the high neck and cuffing it once. A peek at her revealed that she'd added a crimson sweater to her outfit, and, as she cuffed the drooping sleeves back, he couldn't help but think she looked quite the proper Gryffindor. He pulled on his own sweater as she sat and began pulling on socks, and then she was headed into the bathroom, a piece of cloth in her mouth as she pulled her hair up with her hands. He took his socks to the other side of the bed so he could watch her as he pulled them on, and he was so engrossed in the way her hair shimmered as she brushed it that it very nearly slipped his notice that his socks matched the knit shirt exactly. Something she would do. The shoes reminded him of house slippers; his feet just slid into them and he couldn't believe they'd stay on his feet, but when he stood and walked a few steps, he decided perhaps they would.

She emerged from the bathroom and he thought he heard something musical as she stepped back into the bedroom, but he put it out of his mind as it stopped suddenly. She was putting on her shoes, and he sat on the bed, watching her, idly fingering the sleeve of his sweater and trying to decide if he liked it or not. She stood and walked towards him, and he heard the chiming again, and his eyes ran over her once more, then he felt a laugh bubbling in his throat. She had bells on her ears, and a glance at her hair told him that there were bells on the ribbon she'd used to pull her locks back with. Before he could comment, though, she had his hand again and was pulling him to his feet.

"Turn around, then, let's see." He didn't move, but she didn't seem to care as she walked in a slow circle around him, her hands fluttering over his chest, then smoothing at his shoulders. "The sweater's a touch big, isn't it?" she said thoughtfully, "and the jeans could have been a bit shorter, but it's quite the style to wear them long, so I doubt anyone will notice. They do fit nicely, though, don't they?" She returned to stand in front of him, and his breath caught as her hands slid over his hips and into the pockets on his buttocks. She grinned saucily. "That," she said, leaning closer to him, "is one nice thing about Muggle clothes. They give you all sorts of excuses to touch a person." Her lips touched his, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. After a moment, he drew back and blew softly at her ear, making the bell sway back and forth, chiming softly.

"But they aren't particularly accessible, are they?" he asked, thinking that if they were in their robes, they'd be a shove of fabric away from joining.

She laughed quietly, and cleared her throat, stepping back. "How about the shoes?" she asked, concerned. "That was really a guess. I don't suppose I've ever paid much attention to your feet. Do they fit all right?" Even as she asked, she was dropping to her knees in front of him, her fingers probing at the toes of the shoes. He jerked his foot away from her and took two quick steps back.

"They're fine," he insisted, and she grinned up at him.

"They're a little big, aren't they?"

"They're fine," he repeated and she laughed softly and stood.

"All right," she relented. "There's nothing I can do about them at this point anyway."

She crossed the room again in a jingling clamor, and beckoned him to join her. Next thing he knew, he was seated at her dressing table and she had a comb in her hand, plying it to his hair. "There's not a lot to be done with it, you know," he said softly.

She shrugged and bent to kiss his cheek. "Never stopped me from trying before," she replied happily, and a few moments later she'd added half a dozen things to his hair, and, while still not looking anything resembling what he'd consider good, he had to admit that it didn't look particularly bad. It wasn't as limp as normal, and it looked less greasy, but it wasn't messy either. "What do you think?" she asked him.

He snorted softly. "That hardly matters," he replied, "or I wouldn't be wearing any of this. What do you think?"

Luckily, she smiled and, to his shocked and amused horror, she tweaked his nose. "I think you look quite handsome," she replied, and before he could open his mouth again, he found himself sitting in a cloud of some sort of mist. She was patting at his hair again and humming something cheerful and chiming and the humor of the situation suddenly threatened his composure.

She stepped back and nodded, and he felt like a Christmas Tree she'd just decorated, but her cheer was contagious, and he found himself smiling, despite himself.

"Go back to your rooms," she instructed, "and get a traveling cloak, and meet me back here in five minutes." As she spoke, she picked up the meteorite from where it was lying and placed it in his hands again. "Portricus," she instructed after her hands had left the rock, and he almost had the impression that she was speaking to him rather like she would a student.

He didn't let that bother him, though, and, as she stepped back, he murmured "Portricus," and a moment later was in his own rooms again. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror before retrieving his cloak, and he touched his hair lightly. It was stiff-feeling, but he had to admit that it looked better than it normally did, without looking really like he—or anyone else—had put any extra effort into it. "Leave it to a woman to spend fifteen minutes making something look like no one has touched it," he muttered, but there was a smile on his face and in his voice.

He retrieved his cloak and picked up the meteorite again, and once again recited the incantation to activate it as a portkey, and found himself in her rooms again. That was one very convenient rock.

Aislinn was swathed in a voluminous black cloak, the hood pulled over her hair, and he swung his own cloak around his shoulders. "So, where precisely are we going?" he asked as he straightened his hood.

She picked up a golden bowl from the mantle and took a handful of floo powder from it. "The Leaky Cauldron, initially," she replied. "It's just a short trip then."

He nodded and took some powder, and returned the bowl to her. She gestured for him to go first, and he stepped into the fireplace. "The Leaky Cauldron," he said clearly, and after a swirl of activity, he found himself stepping out of the fireplace in the tavern, which was largely empty. He stepped aside and a moment later, Aislinn emerged as well.

She pulled off her cloak, and dusted her hands, and he did the same. "Ready?" she asked, reaching for his hand. He offered his arm.

"If you'll tell me where we're going."

She smiled. "You'll see when we get there. Come on." She guided him out of the Leaky Cauldron, a mark of skill that she could lead him when he was the one offering the arm. They walked half a block, and she led him to an Underground station, and plucked coins into the turnstile for their passage. She led him to a quay, and then directed him onto a nearly empty train, where they settled into a seat against the wall. The train lurched forward, and he tried not to think about where they were.

"You're really not going to tell me, are you?" he asked, and she grinned at him, snuggling closer to him and giving him little choice other than to put his arm around her shoulders. Not that he wanted to be in any other position.

"Wasn't planing on it," she replied, settling her head against his shoulder, and he contented himself with breathing in her softly spicy scent. She smelled rather like apple cider.

He closed his eyes and held her for several minutes, and then she shifted and stood, beckoning him to do the same. He joined her, holding the bar above the door as the train lurched to a stop again, and they stepped onto the platform, and he followed her up the stairs and onto the street again. He looked around, his eyes struggling to adjust; night had wrapped itself firmly around London and a heavy fog filled the air, diffusing the light from the street lamps and bathing the street in a pale golden glow. He felt her hand slip into his, and they set off walking. It was another block or so, and then they came upon a large building, soaring ten floors into the air with columns on either side of the front door. Holly garland wrapped around the columns, and big red bows decorated the door. Tiny golden lights danced around the windows, and a warm glow drifted out from behind lace curtains. The decorations, however, were lost on him. His eyes were focused on the words carved above the door. Saint Aldegundis Children's Hospital, it said, and his hand tightened around Aislinn's.

"Is this where you…" he trailed off, not daring to look at her. She squeezed his hand back.

"Yes," she replied softly.

He swallowed hard as she opened the door, and he was expecting… well, he didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he found. His own admittedly limited experience with hospitals was that they were solemn, somber places. Very serious, austere, comfortable but silent and smelling of antiseptic. This place was… bright. The walls were painted with fanciful scenes of forests and gardens, lakes shimmering in the sunlight, swans on the waters. There was a castle painted white on a mountain of pale blue clouds, pink and purple banners streaming from the turrets. There was an entire corner that was painted to look like a jungle, with broad-leafed plants and colorful birds, and half a dozen swings descending from the ceiling, the ropes wrapped in artificial flower vines. There was a slide, and shelf after shelf of toys and books, furniture that barely reached his knees in one area and comfortable-looking sofas and bean bags in another. It looked less like a hospital than a playroom. It was… "Enchanting…" he breathed, not realizing he'd spoken aloud. Everywhere he looked, his eyes landed on something more breathtaking than the last, and now it was a rowboat, right there in the middle of the room, filled with stuffed animals and books that caught his attention.

Aislinn wrapped her hands around his arm. "Just because they're ill children doesn't mean they aren't children," she whispered. "Come on." She tugged him towards a door with a rainbow arching over it, and they stepped into another, still larger room that reminded him almost of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The tables here were round instead of long, and draped with red, white, and green tablecloths, bouquets of lollipops in the center of each of them. At the back of the room, there was a tree that stood as tall as any tree that ever graced Hogwarts at Christmas, and he estimated it to be at least twenty feet tall. It was obviously a work in progress, as there were many jeans-clad people around it, on ladders and scaffolds, bedecking it with glittering ornaments and twinkling lights.

"Hannah!" came a voice, soft and soothing yet firm. Just hearing the voice, Severus would have guessed that it belonged to a nurse, for all nurses had that same calm, soothing yet no-nonsense voice. The woman who was walking towards them reminded him a bit of Minerva McGonagall, tall and thin, with glasses perched on the end of her nose and her hair pulled back tightly.

"They know me as Hannah here, still," Aislinn whispered, as though he couldn't figure that out for himself.

"I gathered," he replied, intending it to be a dry retort but the sarcasm dissolving somewhere between intention and manifestation.

"Mrs. Humpbert!" Aislinn was saying, stepping forward and reaching to hug the woman. The two of them embraced for a moment, then pulled apart.

"Ah, I see you've brought a friend." The older woman had taken off her glasses and was peering down her nose at Severus.

"Yes," Aislinn was beaming. "Mrs. Humpbert, this is a dear friend of mine, Severus. Severus, Mrs. Humpbert is the Head Case Worker."

The woman dropped her glasses, and Severus realized they were attached to a chain around her neck. "Pleased to meet you, Severus," she said, extending a hand, which he took, momentarily surprised at her firm handshake. "And please, it's Nancy. I can't convince Hannah here to call me that, but she can at least not spread her bad habits to others." There was a dry humor to the woman's voice that appealed to Severus and he smiled slightly.

"She isn't very good at doing what she's told. I noticed that long ago."

Nancy snorted softly. "Indeed." She turned back to Aislinn, who was grinning unapologetically. "So, you're here for the Miracle, I take it?" Aislinn nodded enthusiastically, but Severus' expression must have been as confused as his thoughts, for Nancy clucked her tongue. "Honestly, Hannah, you didn't even explain to him? Well, come with me, and let me tell you a bit about what we're doing." Nancy took his arm and began steering him towards one of the tables.

"Every year, at the beginning of December, we bring an actor in to play Santa for our children, and for their siblings, a familiar enough custom for them, to sit in his lap and tell him what they want. Our Santa, though, and his staff of 'elves' make detailed notes of which children want what, and Santa prods at them until they come up with realistic and specific ideas. And, armed with that information, we mobilize a veritable army of shoppers to make those Christmas wishes come true." She gestured at one of the tables, and Severus nodded, moving towards it and trying not to get too caught up on her words and to listen to the general idea of the plan. "We have many contributions from toy stores and candy stores, and from individuals and corporations all over London," she was continuing, "and then, on Christmas Eve, after the children have gone to bed, our Miracle Workers gather here to make Christmas unforgettable for these children. We do our best to fulfill every Christmas wish," she told him, patting a chair, which he sat in obediently. Aislinn sat beside him. "So, you're here tonight, and hopefully Hannah has at least told you this much!"

Don't count on it, Severus thought, but any resentment over the clothes and being kept in the dark was quickly evaporating.

"You're here tonight to help organize the event. You can see we have people decorating the tree, and there are volunteers over there," she gestured across the room with her glasses, "wrapping gifts. I'm putting you and Hannah here to work on the stockings. The stocking stuffers are in boxes, there," she pointed with her glasses again, "and you just fill them, and put a tag on them with the child's name. Finished ones can go in that box over there." She patted his shoulder, and leaned down to kiss Aislinn's cheek. "Enjoy yourselves," Nancy told them, "and thank you for coming to help us."

As Nancy walked away, Severus looked at Aislinn, an eyebrow raised. She was already reaching for a box, though, and she plunked it on the table in front of him. "Put the candy in the bottom," she suggested, "and anything like toys, leave sticking out the top. Oh, and leave the candy canes hanging on the outside, like this," as she spoke, she was demonstrating, filling the toe of the stocking with candies wrapped in brightly-colored foil and then tucking a small bear into the top, hanging over the edge, its arms reaching upwards as though it wanted to be held. There was a bright green scarf that she let drape over the side of the stocking, and then she hooked a candy cane on the edge of the stocking, and then picked up a tag, and a felt-tip pen from the middle of the table and wrote a name on the tag, then tied it onto the stocking with a length of ribbon, then held up the result.

He nodded and began filling a green stocking with candies and a rag doll. His eyes skimmed the boxes, and he found that most of them contained a stuffed animal or doll of some sort. And most of them had scarves. "Why…" he began as he picked up a bright yellow scarf and placed it in the stocking.

"The scarves?" she asked, and he nodded. Her smile nearly broke his heart. It was not happy, but not sad, and not mocking. It seemed… sympathetic somehow. "These children have cancer," she said softly, "and the treatments make their hair fall out."

"Oh," he whispered, tucking a candy cane into the stocking, then picking up a tag and a pen. "And the dolls and things?" he asked. "I find it hard to believe that all the children asked for dolls or stuffed bears."

Aislinn dotted the 'i' in the name she was writing, then looked at him again, this time no smile on her face. "The treatments can be painful," she said softly. "At best they leave you feeling like you're going to vomit your toenails up. Hugging a stuffed animal against your stomach helps."

"Oh," he whispered again, placing the finished stocking into a box. "I'm…"

Aislinn's foot brushed against his, and she smiled at him. "It's okay," she said softly, and then grew quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion. "These kids are some of the bravest you could ever meet," she told him. "I don't know if I could face it again, knowing now what it entails."

Silence settled between them, not particularly awkward, or even uncomfortable, but weighty. He didn't know what to say to her, or if he should say anything at all, and she seemed lost in her own thoughts, so they worked quietly for an hour or more, filling stockings and placing them in the box. Around eleven, someone came and placed two cups of hot cocoa and a plate of cookies on the table between them, and Aislinn paused, selecting a dark brown, white-frosted cookie and nibbling at it. Severus took a hesitant sip of his cocoa, expecting it to be sickeningly sweet, but it really wasn't that bad, actually.

"Have a cookie," she offered, nudging the plate towards him. There were half a dozen varieties of cookies on it, and he stared blankly at them. "Come on, Severus, don't tell me you've never eaten cookies."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not since I was a child," he replied evenly.

"Well, those are good," she said, pointing to the ones like the one she'd selected. "They're gingerbread. And these," she pointed at some that were cocoa-colored with a dusting of white cracked over them, "are wonderful. And so are those. Snickerdoodles. Think I'll have one of those," she said, picking up one.

He considered the plate for a moment, then took one of the snickerdoodles as well. He took a small bite of it, and was momentarily surprised to find it tasted more of cinnamon than anything else. After a moment's contemplation, though, he couldn't imagine why he was surprised; after all, this was the woman who seemed to like everything spicy.

"What do you think?" she asked, brushing off her hands and picking up a stocking again.

"I'm not sure I like it," he admitted, taking another bite and frowning in concentration.

She laughed softly. "Try the chocolate chip then," she suggested, pointing. He took her advice and bit unto the rich, sweet cookie and then stared at it. "Well?" she prompted.

"That I like," he replied, finishing it off in a bite. Aislinn was studying him for a minute.

"You like chocolate, then?"

He shrugged a bit. "I don't know that I ever really thought about it," he replied.

"Well, think about it," she said, picking up another stocking. He thought about it.

"Yes," he replied after a moment, "I suppose I do like chocolate. And vanilla. And peanut butter." She was nodding thoughtfully, and when he looked at her again, he could almost swear she was making mental notes. "Why?"

She shrugged innocently. Too innocently. "No reason," she replied. Aislinn was a horrible liar now that he'd figured out her signs. But, knowing that she was lying (or at least evading the truth) didn't give him any clues as to what she was after.

"What about you?" he asked after a moment.

"Hrm?"

"Do you like chocolate?" He didn't have the slightest idea why she'd asked him, but it seemed a safe enough thing to talk about, something that didn't seem as emotional as what they were doing.

"Sometimes," she replied vaguely. "Certain kinds sometimes. But I'm not a 'chocoholic'."

"A what?"

She grinned. "A chocoholic," she repeated.

"What's that?"

"Do you know what an alcoholic is?" she asked, and he scowled.

"Of course but… oh."

She nodded. "It's a Muggle trend," she explained, "people can be shopaholics, chocoholics, workoholics…"

"I get the concept," he said tersely, and she giggled. He tried to scowl, but couldn't help it and found himself chuckling slightly. After a momentary silence, he steered them back to the question. "Then what do you like?" he asked.

"Caramel," she replied promptly. "And butterscotch. And cinnamon." As she said 'cinnamon', her eyes glowed momentarily, and he had to laugh again. She grinned sheepishly. "And fruity things. Never was much for chocolate cake, but banana bread…" she licked her lips, and he wasn't sure if that was suggestive or innocent, but it had the effect of the former.

"I like chocolate cake," he offered. "Never did like the smell of cooked bananas, though."

She reached for his hand. "You realize, don't you, that we have absolutely nothing in common."

He smiled at her, squeezing her hand. "I think we have a few things in common," he whispered, leaning towards her and flicking a kiss against her cheek. She blushed prettily, and he went back to the stocking he was working on.

Author's Notes:

Hm. I still don't own any of this, so that hasn't changed. I also note for the record that I made up St. Aldegundis, so any similarity to real or fictional places is purely coincidental. St Aldegundis is a patron saint of cancer patients, childhood diseases, sudden death… I thought very appropriate for a children's hospital. And, I guess I'm basing part of my idea for the place on St Jude's and part of it on the pediatric wing at the hospital where I work, among other places… The idea of the Miracle… I made that up, though I'd love to hear that it's real, because I think it's a beautiful idea. As a side note, my office adopted a family for Christmas last year, and it was one of the most singularly fulfilling things I've ever been a part of, so I am basing part of the Miracle on that and part of it on the Children's Miracle Network (a program I know is in the US and Canada, though I don't know how much more widespread it is…)

Anyway. That was my disclaimer. I now return you to your regularly scheduled reviewing. ::hint hint::