AN: I should confess from the outset that I have glossed over the details of how Operation Santa is effected on the basis that:

This is from Severus' point of view and he wasn't curious

It wasn't very interesting

It's a secret, and Santa would be upset with me if I told you

I had no idea – Hermione wouldn't tell me either.

If that was why you kept on reading the story, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

If you were looking for almost toxic levels of sarcasm, a bit of snogging, advanced vocabulary, and sight of Grandfa Lucy in his dressing gown, read on.

The Severus Snape who woke the next morning was a happy Severus Snape. He was back on top, his rightful position, and in charge of the situation.

He lay warm and contented in his bed and contemplated the ceiling. There were a number of things he needed to sort out before Miss Granger arrived at lunchtime to take charge of Operation Santa. A large breakfast, and a long soak in the bath were first on the list. There would be a careful scrub of all the places that might be exposed during the course of the night to make sure they were clean and would pass inspection. Miss Granger's attention to detail was renowned, so skimping wasn't an option.

Not that he was assuming, but he was hoping, and it was always best to be prepared.

He also had to sort out some sort of costume for her to wear in their peregrinations that evening. She was Santa's Little Helper and should be dressed accordingly: witches' robes simply wouldn't do.

Sybill's outfit had been something of an eye-opener as to the possibilities of female apparel above and beyond floor-length dresses. He had a vague memory of Albus forcing him out into the Muggle world to do some Christmas shopping one year, and something about Santa's grotto…He remembered sneering at the peculiar ideas that Muggles had about Elves, and thinking that no sensible Elf would be caught dressed like that.

However, he could now see that the costume had its merits, and in a multi-cultural world it was important that people should respect each other's traditions. Since most of the children he was delivering to tonight would be Muggles, it was only right and proper that Hermione should wear something skimpy, erm, similar. She wouldn't like it, not one little bit, so there was also the added attraction of manoeuvring her into wearing it.

You can take the boy out of Slytherin, but you couldn't take the Slytherin out of the boy.

Why would you even want to try?

He levered himself out of bed, and ambled into the bathroom to run a bath. He looked in the mirror and winced. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He needed a shave, and his hair could definitely do with a wash.

A bottle of sandalwood bath oil caught his eye. Minerva had given it to him last Christmas and it was so far untouched. According to the label, it was guaranteed to make his skin soft and supple and lovely to touch, which could only be good. He removed the cap and sniffed at it gingerly – not too bad – and poured it into the running water.

He hadn't realised that it would produce so many bubbles, which he had always considered to be effeminate and made a bloke look like a pillock. But then, that was before he'd tried on a Santa suit and realised what it was like to look like a real pillock; nothing compared to that.

He eased himself carefully into the water, and was surprised to find that sitting in a pleasantly scented bubble bath was rather agreeable. His imagination promptly suggested that bubble baths in company would be even more agreeable, and painted the figure of Hermione at the opposite end of the bath playfully blowing foam at him.

Oh yesssss Miss Granger, he though, and added that to an already impressive To Do list.

He looked and felt immeasurably better once he'd finished his ablutions. He was clean and pink and well-scrubbed and his skin was indeed soft and lovely to the touch, his hair was clean, his teeth were gleaming, and, though there were still dark circles under his eyes, he was hoping that Hermione would be moved to sympathy at the sight of him and allow his head to rest on her comforting bosom.

It didn't take him long to decide what to wear; it was a choice of black robes, black robes, or ooo, black robes. There was his Best Dressing Gown for entertaining Company, which was artlessly draped over a chair, and perhaps his best Pyjamas as well, though he hoped not to need them. He'd give the Elves order to strip and change the bed, and put clean sheets and a better coverlet on, and then the stage was set. It all spoke of sophisticated man of the world, of refinement, and being ever-so-slightly decadent.

Which would be entirely destroyed the moment she saw him in That Suit.

No, it wouldn't be destroyed; it would be enhanced. Because, of course, the reason he looked a pillock in the suit was because he wasn't jolly or Santa-ish at all, and his inherent Snapeyness was showing through. So, if you thought it through properly, it was the suit that was the pillock and not him, and the contrast made him look even more Snapey.

It wasn't very convincing but it was the best he could do.

Now for breakfast and after that, dealing with the only other remaining wrinkle in his otherwise smooth existence: Rudolf. He wasn't going to risk life and limb in a sleigh dragged by a drunken reindeer, not when there was there was a possibility of Romance in the air.

Oooh, something else to add to the To Do list.

Rudolf looked awful. Rudolf was manifestly in a great deal of pain and was suffering the agonies of the damned: he was shaking, his eyes were bloodshot, and he could barely stand upright. Intermittently he would utter a long, low moan that, after the third or fourth hearing, could be recognised as, "Drink."

Suspicious persons, or even a person who had known Snape for more than ten minutes which could amount to the same thing, would have known better to trust the expression of solicitude that Severus was wearing. Rudolf was just hoping that a sympathetic expression would lead to an end to his suffering.

Severus was perfectly willing to put an end to his suffering.

The only thing that stopped Rudolf from having an unfortunate but permanent accident was the clause in the contract that prevented him from harming the reindeer. Fortunately, 'harm' didn't include pinching Rudolf firmly by the nose, and tipping a foul tasting potion down his muzzle, until he had to swallow or choke. It was for his own good after all.

Rudolf finally managed to twist free, and spat the remains of the potion on the floor. "What was that?" he wailed. "It tasted disgusting."

Severus smiled the kind of smile that would have made even Lucius nervous. "Sobrietas potion. I've just cured you of your little drink problem. Permanently. You'll never want to have another drink again. If you try, it'll make you feel very, very sick. Worse than you feel now."

Rudolf stared at him with mute horror.

"There's no need to thank me," said Severus, still smiling.

"You bastard. You bastard. You absolute sodding bastard. Drink was my only friend, my crutch, my support in my darkest hours, and now you've taken it away. You bastard."

"I can assure you that my parents were married when they conceived me." Severus stepped closer to Rudolf, the better to bully him. "Now, let's get things clear. You're going to pull the sleigh tonight, and you're going to be sober, and you're going to get it right, because if you don't there will be more trouble than you know what to do with."

Severus found that vague threats were generally more effective than the specifics. The threatenee, as it were, was always so much better at thinking of nasty things that could happen to them than the threatener, which saved him a lot of time and energy. Whatever Rudolf was thinking of, the expression on his face said it was truly horrible.

"You're a bastard," repeated Ruldolf. "You don't know what it's like being famous. Think of all the pressure there is to perform, to get it right, to know that Old Beardy is relying on you and you alone to get the presents through."

"I know exactly what that's like," hissed Severus, "only I didn't get the bonus of fame, oh no. I just got the hard work and the responsibility of making sure that the boy Potter made it through to his Seventh Year, despite his suicidal streak. Look at you; you're a disgrace to reindeer kind. Stop whining about the price of fame and get out there and start enjoying its advantages."

"What advantages?" scoffed Rudolf. "Stuck at the North Pole for 364 days out of 365 isn't my idea of an advantage."

"You only have to work one day a year; there are people who would kill for that kind of cushy number. That leaves you loads of time to do what you want and not what anyone else wants you to do."

"Such as?" Rudolf asked wistfully.

"You've got seven female reindeer at your beck and call for starters. Surely you can remember what you're supposed to do with them. What about writing your memoirs? You could call it 'Rednose: My Drink hell', that sort of thing always sells well, and then there's the celebrity endorsements. What antler polish you use, what curry comb, what feed, what books you read, the sky's the limit."

"That's not a bad idea," Rudolf said. "It has definite possibilities."

Severus left a very thoughtful reindeer to ponder his future, and went in search of a hot cup of tea. It was already bloody cold out there, so warming charms would be imperative if he were to retain the use of any extremities.

Miss Granger was appeared to have got over the worst of her sulks by the time she arrived at Hogwarts, though she was by no means pleased. Severus had gone done to the apparition point to meet her, as was only polite, and had offered to levitate her bag for her like any well brought-up wizard would.

"I brought a few things for an overnight stay," she said. "I don't think I'll be up to travelling after tonight. That isn't a problem is it? There will be somewhere I can have a bit of a rest?"

"I'm sure we can find room for you somewhere," he replied. His bed, for one. His sofa, the hearthrug, and the desk for another. "I did assume you'd be staying on for Christmas dinner. It's the least I can do in return for your help, unless you've got somewhere else to be?"

"Not really. My parents have gone off on a world cruise for their second honeymoon, so it's Hogwarts or the Burrow. The Weasley's are nice, but there's so many of them, that it gets a bit much after a while. I can always drop in later, and say hello."

"That's settled then, though I should warn you that Hogwarts Staff Parties can get a little wild. There may even be charades."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure I can cope."

"You've never played Wizard charades against Minerva. She's vicious."

"I heard that," Minerva said, waiting for them at the door. "And he's right of course, though it's very much a case of the pot calling the kettle black. I wouldn't worry too much, dear; I'm sure he'll be on his best behaviour with you, won't you Severus?"

Legilimency was nothing compared to the average witch's ability to read a man like a book. Severus didn't like the feeling that his mind was being read, and fervently wished that Occlumency would work against Minerva and her knowing eyes.

And that she'd shut up before she ruined his chances.

"I do hope note," Hermione replied. "I wouldn't recognise a well-behaved Professor Snape at all. I'd be worried that it was an impostor, or that he was sickening for something."

"Severus, be a dear and sort out Hermione's luggage for her, so we can have an opportunity to talk about you behind your back," Minerva said, putting an arm on Hermine's elbow to guide her towards lunch. "We don't eat in the Great Hall out of term time, no need really, and it's bloody cold. So we'll be eating in the Staffroom today. The Elves have put up some tables, and even made an attempt at decorations. Albus would be very disappointed: they're all very tasteful."

One of the good things about having a romantic interest in one of your ex-pupils was that she already knew what you were like, and so whatever Minerva said would be unlikely to do any harm. There was no point in artless revelations that he was a bit irritable, but meant well, to someone who had seen him frothing at the mouth with rage.

The worst she could do, would be to bring out the photos of him as a student. They conveyed a general impression of black robes, a mass of black hair, and a long nose peeping from behind it. They weren't flattering, but neither were they too far away from his present appearance. It wasn't as if he'd been wearing pink robes. (Those pictures had been destroyed, he'd seen to that, and he'd always checked his drinks for added extras after that).

Severus summoned a House Elf. "Miss Granger will be spending the night. She'll be wanting a guest room as close to my quarters as possible."

"Yes, your Professorship. Sprotty is wondering what Miss Granger is doing here."

"Is Sprotty?" Severus said grimly.

"Sprotty is, sir, and so is Spigot. We'se both wondering what she's doing here."

"Well, it's none of your damned business," he snapped.

"Spigot is making it his business. Spigot is reminding the professor of his promise."

"All Spigot needs to know is that Miss Granger will be leaving the Department for Elvish Affairs in the New Year, and won't be troubling the House Elves again. So he'd better live up to his side of the bargain."

Sprotty wrinkled his nose, and, seemingly appeased, disappeared with the luggage.

He didn't know what Hermione and Minerva had been talking about before he entered the Staff Room, and he knew better than to ask. Whatever it was, they'd certainly found it entertaining – Minerva elbowed Hermione in the ribs and shushed her, before greeting him in an overloud voice.

"Everything sorted then," she said in a deliberately cheerful voice. "Good."

Severus sat down and helped himself to some soup. "Sprotty is sorting something out for you, though I doubt we'll be getting much sleep tonight. There's far too much to get done."

Hermione made an irritated noise. "I expect to get most of it finished by midnight actually. If we portkey the Elves to key locations round the country, and then use a combination of time-delayed translocation spells, coupled with invisibility spells the presents can be delivered early. Otherwise we'd have had to stop time for a couple of hours, and the charms for that are a bit tricky and I couldn't be sure that they'd work. Shame really, as I've always wanted to give them a try."

"So you don't need to take the sleigh out at all?" Minerva asked. "Very wise if you ask me, that head reindeer looks unreliable to me."

"No, you see if you couple the translocation spells with the…" Hermione began.

"Erm, actually we do have to take the sleigh out," Severus interposed. "Because I sort of promised a personal visit from Santa for one little girl. Well, not so much promised, as had the commitment forced out of me at wandpoint."

"Lucius?" Hermione asked, living up to her reputation as a very bright witch indeed. She shrugged. "You can be seeing to that whilst I crack on with the rest of it. If we divide the labour like that, it'll be more efficient.

Bugger that, thought Severus. He wasn't going to all this effort to lure an innocent maiden into his evil clutches to have her snatched away again in the name of efficiency. "I can see that," he said. "But Lucius was very clear in his instructions to me. He wants both Santa and a Little Helper in Chloe's bedroom at midnight. And it's no good sending a House Elf to be a Little Helper. It's not as if she hasn't seen those before. No, what is needed is someone human, someone dressed up to look like an Elf."

Hermione sighed. "And I supposed you'd like me to volunteer to do that as well?"

Severus nodded. He decided to postpone the issue of the costume until later when Hermione might be more amenable due to exhaustion; timing was everything in these matters.

"I didn't know you'd volunteered to help Severus," Minerva said.

"I didn't," Hermione said darkly. "I was conned into it. I just hope that this is the last of his little surprises."

Severus just smirked, and kept eating his soup.

Once lunch was over, Hermione asked to be shown the List and Presents. "There's no margin for error now, if I've got to show up at Malfoy Manor at midnight, so I may as well crack on."

"I've got the stuff set up in one of the spare dungeons," he replied. "It's a bit chilly in there I'm afraid, but then it's a bit chilly everywhere."

It didn't take them long to reach the dungeon, and it was just as cold as Severus had predicted, and his swiftly cast warming charms seemed to make very little impression against the chill.

Hermione was impressed with Santa's sack. "That's a clever bit of magic, to hold all those presents in that space. A variant on the Schrodinger charm I suspect. You keep the presents in a state of uncertainty as to whether they exist or not, and they only pop into being when you look in the bag. Very nifty."

"Here's the List of Good Children. That seems to be less than reliable, but there's no provision for striking names off even if you know a child is a little sod to his teachers." Severus was determined to Have a Word with Santa's representatives on the matter, and suggest that teachers should have a much greater input into the preparation of the list. It could revolutionise the education of children once that particular piece of information got out; the threat of no presents if they were naughty would work wonders with the behaviour of the junior classes.

"Oh good, it's a simple referral charm," she said, once she'd looked the paper over. "That makes it easier. All I need now is a couple of hours of peace and quiet to get all the charms sorted out. Some of the cross-linking is going to be finicky, but I still think it's doable. And then I'll need the House Elves at about 5pm. If I send them out in relays, we should be done by ten."

"That should give us time for a quick bite to eat, before take off. I'd thought that if we left at about 11pm, we should get there in plenty of time."

Hermione just nodded, her mind on the job at hand, so Severus slipped away and left her to it.

When he returned, just before ten, there was an orderly queue of House Elves formed up outside the room. They looked exhausted, to an Elf. Hermione wasn't looking much better: her voice was hoarse from issuing orders, and her hands were shaking from the effort of casting so many spells in quick succession.

Severus felt a twinge of guilt at the amount of work he'd dumped on her, and an immense sense of relief that he hadn't had to do it.

"Nearly finished," she croaked. "Just another ten loads to go, and then I could really do with a cup of tea."

"More like brandy and Pepper-Up, if I'm any judge," he replied.

"God yes. That sounds wonderful." A House Elf shuffled its way reluctantly into the room, and waited for orders. "Right, Freemy. You're for Manchester. You know the drill by now. You portkey to your destination, open the bag, recite the incantation, and then come back here to confirm you've done it. That's your last load for the evening, so thank you and well done."

Severus selected an Elf at random and sent it off to fetch the tea, brandy and Pepper Up potion. It was pathetically grateful to be spared another trip and returned in double quick time with the items requested, and then made itself scarce even more quickly.

It needn't have worried, the last Elf had been despatched; Operation Santa was over.

All that remained was Operation Lucius and then, after a suitable rest, Operation Hermione and Severus which would hopefully take an awfully long time to complete.

Hermione perked up noticeably once she'd had a cup of tea. The cure was completed by the brandy and Pepper-Up, which she gulped down in three swallows. "Uergh," she said, steam coming out of her ears. "That's disgusting. Why do Potions have to taste so vile?"

"The simple answer is that sugar reacts adversely with most ingredients, " he replied. "But the truth is that I enjoy the look of suffering on peoples' faces when they take them."

"I can believe it."

"I've also brought you a plate of stew and some bread. I thought you'd need a bit of ballast for the flight."

"You are a life saver. I take back everything bad I ever said about you this afternoon. That's just what I need." Hermione cleared a space on the desk, and settled down to eat with the enthusiasm of someone who had been starving for days. It took barely five minutes for the stew to disappear, and another two minutes to use the crusty bread to mop up the last traces of gravy. She burped discreetly, and muttered 'pardon'.

Severus liked to see a woman enjoy her food. It was a sign of a determination to enjoy the finer things in life that boded well for other pleasures. No woman who picked at her food would ever have wild sex first thing in the morning, because they were too busy worrying about putting their make up on, or whether they were being seen at an unflattering angle, to ever be able to let go and enjoy themselves. Someone who attacked their meals with gusto would be just as likely to pounce on their boyfriend and ravish them to within an inch of their life.

His opportunity to put that theory to the test would have to wait until later though. He glanced at his pocket watch. "I'm sorry to have to hurry you, but it's nearly half past ten and I think it's time we got changed into our costumes. Your costume is on your bed, and Sprotty here will show you the way. Let's meet at the front entrance in say twenty minutes? That should give us enough time."

"OK, fine," Hermione said, rising to her feet and staggering slightly. Severus put out a hand to steady her, and she flushed a little. "Thanks."

Hermione followed where Sprotty led; Severus wished he could be a fly on the wall when she saw her outfit. He'd probably be able to hear her howls of outrage from here. Any tendency to smile at the thought of Hermione's indignation was squelched at the thought of the costume he would have to wear.

Ah well, on with the motley.