January 1

He woke slowly, his head pounding and a cottony feeling in his mouth that he hadn't experienced in more than a decade. When was the last time he'd indulged himself in that much alcohol, that quickly? His mind raced back to his youth, when there was a thrill of living that he was exploring with his newfound friends. Servants of the Dark Lord, they lived and celebrated in ways that would have made the devil cringe. Those had been foolish years in his life, and he'd thankfully put most of them behind him, but last night, he had momentarily relived some of that ecstatic thrill of being alive. And just how much vodka had he drunk, anyway?

The day after Christmas, students had started drifting back to Hogwarts by twos and threes, their numbers slowly swelling until, by the time New Year's Eve rolled around, there were better than two dozen of them. And Dumbledore had hosted a party in the Great Hall. And Severus had seen a trio of Gryffindors hovering suspiciously around the punchbowl, and he'd guessed that they'd spiked the punch, though he couldn't have proven it. And, when he ladled himself a cup of it, he'd sniffed cautiously at it, then sipped it slowly, but had neither smelled nor tasted alcohol in it. He'd certainly felt it, though, within a few minutes, and it somehow didn't seem that important when he saw a pair of Slytherins at the bowl. He'd stopped bothering to notice after a Ravenclaw emptied a vial of something into the bowl, obviously thinking she was being furtive about it. It was Aislinn who told him that she tasted vodka in it, but by that time he had already been feeling the effects of his (fifth cup of) punch.

As he tried to close his eyes against the invasive light, faint though it was in his rooms, Severus took only a slight amount of comfort in knowing that the students were probably suffering more than he was just now. He might not have been accustomed to a night of heavy drinking (and as he moved and his stomach threatened to empty itself all over the floor, he remembered why he'd stopped), but at least he had the benefit of being a drinker of wine, which meant that he had a bit more tolerance than any of the students could have acquired. At least, legally.

He sat on the edge of the bed and waited a moment for the world to stop spinning and for the pain in his head to settle again, and then he stood, and waited again. Bloody hell, he thought sourly, if that was just vodka, I'll… he didn't have time to finish the thought before the world lurched uncomfortably again and he found himself making a dive for the bathroom and emptying his stomach into the toilet. He washed his face, rinsed out his mouth, and with the distant conjecture that he felt better after vomiting, he stumbled back to his bed and crawled in again. Morning could bloody well wait a few more hours.

When Severus sampled consciousness again, he was a bit more successful at it. A glance at his clock told him it was nearly noon, but at least this time the world seemed to have found a more stable axis and his stomach had decided it was prudent to remain inside his body instead of trying to force its way out. His head still pounded to a dull beat, and his mouth felt like a desert, but otherwise, he thought it safe to get out of bed finally.

His feet hit the floor, and he tottered uncertainly for a moment before finding his balance, but after that, he almost felt human. Almost. He shoved a hand through his hair and grimaced at the feel of it—greasy and lank even by his standards, and he felt, in general, as though he could withstand several showers. He settled for one long one, and by the time he emerged, his skin pink from the heat of the water, he might even have passed for alert. He fumbled for clothes, and found himself making plans to get every blasted student who could have possibly added something to the punch into detention and keep them there for the next six weeks.

But, even as he thought that, he found his mind drifting back to the celebration, and he couldn't help but smile as he thought of Aislinn laughing and tripping over her own feet. He, at least, had held his liquor well enough, but she turned out to be quite an entertaining drunk. How she was ever going to face the students again, Severus hadn't the slightest idea, but he felt sorry for her. She was probably having a much rougher morning of it than he was. Poor girl.

He suddenly stopped, midway through buttoning his robe, a look of horror on his face as he remembered that, as the clock had struck midnight, he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Surely the students had already been sent to bed by that point, he tried to tell himself. After all, midnight was past curfew… But what was the point of a New Year's Eve party that ended before midnight? He had a sinking suspicion that he had, indeed, kissed Aislinn that recklessly in front of more than two dozen students, and suddenly he was wondering how he was going to face them when term started again.

He finished dressing and emerged into the corridor outside his room, reapplying the wards. As he made his way to the Great Hall, hoping he was going to be in time for lunch, he fretted over his behaviour, wishing desperately that he could somehow change the past. He was so engrossed in that wishful thinking that he was taken by surprise when a hand suddenly clamped onto his arm.

"Well, good morning, sleepy head!" came a cheerful voice, and he found himself ensnared in a hug.

He turned to look at her, expecting to see her eyes clouded from a headache, but Aislinn was bright and cheery, and looking as though she'd just passed a very enjoyable night. He slid an arm around her and hugged her gently. "Good morning," he replied, glancing around, suddenly aware that they were going to have to be more careful about their comportment in the corridors now that the students were starting to come back. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, and she grinned her reply.

"Like a log. You?"

He chuckled at the mental image of her as a log—though the image seemed more like a nymph than anything—and replied vaguely, "Well enough, I suppose."

She took his hands and pulled him forward, placing a kiss on his lips. "Come on," she whispered, "let's have lunch."

She slipped her arm around his waist and reached for the doors to the Great Hall. He should have known she'd planned something from the way she was acting, but when he stepped inside to a chorus of "Surprise!" he stopped dead in his tracks, staring.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, brushing a kiss against his cheek. He stared at her, then at the hall, where two dozen students stared back at him uncertainly, as though afraid he was going to give the lot of them detentions. And he couldn't have honestly said it didn't cross his mind.

Shit, he thought, forcing his eyes to move to the staff table. It had taken him ten years to convince everyone to forget his birthday, and he could just feel the next ten years that he would spend waiting for them all to do it again. Aislinn, however, wasn't having any of his just standing there, and she nudged him forward.

"Happy birthday, Professor," came a timid voice, and Severus turned, frowning slightly and recognizing one of the Hufflepuff girls whom he'd frightened into asking a boy to the dance at Halloween. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Happy birthday, sir." This one was a Slytherin. Amber Carlisle, Aislinn's younger sister. For the first time, Severus saw the two of them together, and he couldn't imagine how he hadn't realized they were related. Amber could have been a replica of Aislinn at that age, if a little more composed and polished.

Aislinn had her arm around him again, but this time it wasn't the affectionate gesture he was used to. She pinched him—hard—in the side and hissed in his ear, "Be nice!" And, despite her pinching and hissing, she never stopped smiling.

"Happy birthday, Professor Snape."

"Happy birthday, sir."

"Happy birthday."

It was the Gryffindor trio—Granger, Potter and Weasley—who spoke that time, and, well aware of Aislinn's sharp fingers at his side, Severus gritted out a "Thank you," between clenched teeth, never stopping.

He managed to respond to all the students who spoke to him—all two dozen of them, for it seemed that they were all present—before he finally reached the relative safety of the staff table. Relative being the key word, for even once he made his way to his chair, he found himself being hugged by Minerva and Poppy, then by Dumbledore, and then Hagrid took his hand and shook it until he thought it would fall off. Flitwick was almost as enthusiastic, and even Mickery nodded tightly at him. He endured all of this stiffly, which prompted Aislinn to lean forward as though to kiss him and hiss into his ear, "What is your problem?"

He turned his head and replied in a tight whisper into her ear, "I don't wish to discuss it." And he did not. He wanted to just disappear behind the tapestries and emerge somewhere else, without facing any of this.

"Can't you at least pretend to be gracious?" she asked under her breath as they sat.

"No," he replied tersely. "You went too far this time."

She kicked his ankle under the table. "This wasn't my idea, for your information," she replied out of the corner of her mouth as she bent to stir her tea.

A tension had settled over the hall as everyone seated themselves for lunch, and Severus made a valiant attempt to ignore the stack of presents at the end of the table. He had no intention of opening them. Certainly not here. Probably filled with pranks anyway. "You honestly expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore was carrying on a lively conversation and obviously making an attempt to lighten the mood in the Hall, and Severus listened with half an ear, offering a tight smile at a joke that he didn't find amusing in the slightest. "I didn't say I had nothing to do with it," Aislinn replied in the tone he recognized as her skating around the truth. "Just that it wasn't my idea."

"I suppose it was a student's?" he asked sardonically.

She wrinkled her nose. "Eat your soup," she ordered, pointing with her spoon. He looked at it, and sighed in resignation.

Slowly, students began to talk, and the staff began carrying on their private conversations, and, by degrees, the Hall returned to something of its normal atmosphere, everyone pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary. This pretense actually lasted almost until the end of the meal, and Severus had regained most of his composure when the lunch dishes suddenly disappeared.

"Well, now," Dumbledore was saying, standing, "I believe it is time for you to open you gifts, Severus. Or would you rather the cake first?"

Cake? He mouthed at Aislinn, and she took a very sudden interest in scrubbing at a spot on the table. Cake or presents. Neither was appealing, and he had a mental image of some monstrosity of a cake that would spew bats or something equally appalling. An image that was combatted only by the thought of opening a box in front of the assembled students and finding a bar of soap with careful instructions on how to use it. He hated birthdays, and for good reason.

"Let's begin with the cake, headmaster," he was saying formally, his voice tight with the effort of controlling it. "And then let the students be off to their mischief."

Dumbledore nodded his head, and he clapped his hands once. A cake appeared on the table in front of him, with white icing and green letters spelling out 'Happy Birthday, Professor Snape' in a looping script. Candles burned in a ring around the edge of it, and he was suddenly aware of Aislinn behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, "and make a wish, and blow out the candles."

You and your bloody wishes, he thought sourly, but he closed his eyes, vaguely aware of her gathering his hair away from his face. He took a deep breath and thought desperately, I wish this was all over. He blew at the candles, and when he opened his eyes, they were all extinguished, save one. He ignored the snickers from the students as he blew at the one candle and it flickered out, only to reignite a moment later. Bloody hell, he thought irritably and reached to pinch out the flame. It sprang to light again, and there was a twitter of amusement from the students. With a low growl that only Aislinn would have been able to hear, he plucked the candle out of the cake and dropped it into his teacup, watching it sizzle and silently daring it to reignite while under the liquid. He felt a hand on his thigh and glanced at Aislinn, who smiled uncertainly.

You're really not being very fair to her, he thought. She wouldn't let anyone do anything to humiliate you. The candle sizzled for a moment, as though trying to ignite again, and he scowled at the cup. Charmed candles not withstanding.

She handed him a knife, and smiled tentatively. "You get to cut the first piece," she told him, and he frowned, looking at the cake and trying to figure out how to start it. He'd never tried to cut a round cake before. "Start in the middle, and make a cut to the edge," she was suggesting quietly, "then make a perpindicular cut to the edge, however big you want it."

He glanced at her, then nodded and followed the instructions, holding his breath slightly as he pressed the blade of the knife into the cake. Nothing happened, though, and he drew it to the edge. Still nothing happened, and he began to relax a little. His hands were almost shaking from relief as he deposited a slice of the cake onto his plate, and then Aislinn kissed his cheek again. We're really going to have to discuss that, he thought, but the bitterness didn't even make it to his reflection. Oddly enough, he wasn't sure he did care, after all, if the students saw.

She moved the cake away from him and took the knife. "We were going to sing," she whispered, "but I think we'll skip that, if that's all right?"

He nodded, relieved that she'd decided to forego that particular humiliation. She began deftly slicing the cake, flopping slices onto plates and passing them out. The students were filing up to the table, getting their cake as well, and Severus found himself watching, entranced, as Aislinn plucked candles from the edge of the cake and deposited them on the plate, slicing off pieces and serving everyone who came by. He'd never really thought of her as being that… domestic.

He took a thoughtful bite of the cake, and then blinked, looking at it for the first time. Two layers of chocolate, with vanilla frosting on top and on the sides, and peanut butter between the layers. He suddenly found himself chuckling.

"What?" she asked, her smile easing a bit for the first time since they'd entered the Great Hall.

He took another bite of the cake and shook his head. "I was wondering why you were looking so thoughtful when we were talking about chocolate," he replied. She had the grace to blush and he laughed again, smiling and nodding at the pair of Ravenclaws who were staring at him like they were seeing something slightly unbelievable. Then, it probably was unbelievable to them that he knew how to laugh.

By the time she settled with a piece of cake for herself—a small piece, he noted, remembering that she'd said she never particularly cared for chocolate cake—he was finishing his last bite, as was Dumbledore. With a wave of his hand, the headmaster cleared a section of the table, then murmured 'Accio', bringing the stack of presents to settle in front of him.

"Happy birthday, my boy," Dumbledore said softly, patting his shoulders.

As he looked at the stack of gifts, some of Severus' apprehension returned. It was one thing to trust Aislinn about a cake, but something else entirely to willingly open what looked to be more than a dozen wrapped boxes. A glance at the tags told him that some of the gifts were from students, and his uneasiness crested. His keen eyes sought out Dumbledore's handwriting, and he reached for that one first, hoping that he was right that the Headmaster wouldn't sink to malicious pranks.

As it happened, he was right; inside the box was a pair of bookends, a pair of snakes elegantly carved of silver-veined black marble. If he knew Dumbledore, there was more to them than what they appeared, though, so he was careful not to disturb them overly much. (He would later find his suspicions confirmed; the book ends were charmed to create the illusion of a row of books between them when placed facing each other, they were, and were powerful enough to conceal almost anything.) "Thank you, Headmaster," he said formally. Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

Severus' eyes swept the gifts again, and he settled on the one from Poppy next, hoping that his judgement of his colleagues wasn't lacking. It was a small box, and he opened it, and then caught himself just before he scowled at her, and managed a smile and a tight 'thank you' to her as well before he put the lid back on the box. A pair of black gloves. He didn't dare meet Aislinn's eyes.

Minerva gave him a paperweight of a lion wrestling with a serpent, and he couldn't have missed the message if he tried. Interestingly, though, which one was winning depended on which way you turned the block. He had a feeling that he would be fighting a life-long battle to keep it standing so that the serpent was defeating the lion, but the thought never crossed his mind to put it in his personal rooms and deny her the pleasure of flipping it when he wasn't looking. They had long held a certain rivalry between them, though a friendly one.

One by one, he opened the packages, feeling easier and easier about it as he went through them. Hagrid gave him a rather suspicious-looking glass box containing something that looked disturbingly like a cross between a pinkywink and a ligiwand, and Severus was very careful to place it gingerly aside, making a mental note to never open the box or let it fall and break. The gifts ranged from the practical (Professor Sprout gave him an Halaritus plant, a leafy thing that absorbed foul odors in the air and would be most welcome after potions classes where students let their brews bubble over and burn.) to the whimsical (Flitwick gave him a feather suspended between two pieces of willow, and poking at the feather made it morph into different types of birds; Severus didn't know what he was going to do with that, but thought it was interesting.) Sybill Trelawney gave him a slab of obsidian, which she swore would reveal the answers to his heart's most burning questions if he studied it while burning a purple candle behind it (he doubted he would ever try that, but the obsidian had a pleasing appearance, gleaming glassily in the light.) By the time he reached the end of the packages from his colleagues, he had nearly forgotten all of his misgivings.

Until he picked up a package with a tag from Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. That one he almost put back in the pile to open alone, fearing it was going to be something dreadful, but he took a deep breath and opened it. And, to his relief, found it was a fairly benign gift, after all—a desk set that he doubted he would ever use but graciously thanked them for. The collection of things from the students were, by and large, impersonal and unremarkable. Most of them were from two or three students together (a fact for which he was grateful as the collection of dust-catchers seemed to be growing at an alarming enough rate as it was), but there was the occasional gift fromone alone. He snorted softly when he opened a flat envelope from one of the Third-year Gryffindors—it contained a homework assignment that had been due before the holidays. "Nice try, Bennet," he commented dryly. "You still have a detention the first day of class." He was rewarded with a sheepish grin and a shrug. Neville Longbottom had given him a scale, with a scrawled note that it was to replace the one he'd broken at the beginning of term. He was surprised to find a second gift from Hermione Granger, alone this time, a handsome, leather-bound journal. He'd never kept a journal in his life (having too many things on his mind that he didn't need to write down), but as he flipped through the blank pages, he thought he might use it somehow.

When he reached the end of the gifts, there was a round of uneasy applause, and Severus found two thoughts combatting in his head: there had been no gift from Aislinn, which hurt more than he wanted to let on, though he couldn't blame her, given that he'd not given her anything for Christmas; and secondly that while the collection of things varied in their appeal to him, none of them had seemed to be given with the intent of malicious ridicule.

Taking a deep breath, he stood. "Thank you all," he said, addressing students and staff alike. "You've made this a memorable day." It was short as far as speeches went, but it was more than anyone was expecting, and he was rewarded for the effort by Aislinn slipping her hand into his.

As the hall began to clear and Severus gathered his gifts—already wondering what he was going to do with most of them—Aislinn leaned her head close to his and whispered softly, "My gift is in my rooms."

"You didn't have to…" he began, but she waved his concerns away with a smile.

"I know," she replied. "I wanted to." She was helping him pick up the gifts, giving the enchanted feather a poke and giggling as it turned into a parakeet. She picked up the gloves and shook her head slightly, and he noticed she didn't meet his eyes.

"Happy birthday, Severus," came a voice behind him, and he turned to look at Poppy, her eyes twinkling almost as brightly as Dumbledore's were prone to. Severus pulled her into a hug, stunning her as he planted a kiss on her plump cheek, making a sudden imitation of Aislinn's over-the-top cheer.

"Thank you, Poppy! And thank you for the gloves. They look quite warm." As he turned back to the task of gathering the various gifts, he felt a surge of humor, and thought he could understand why Aislinn so often shocked people with such displays. The look on Poppy's face was worth it.

Aislinn picked up one box laden with gifts, and Severus picked up another, and the two of them walked in companionable silence to his rooms, and, once they were inside with the door shut, and his arms were sliding around her, the boxes of gifts lying forgotten at their feet, he found himself wishing that the moment could last forever.