This story is NOT to be archived anywhere besides Potter and the affiliated trademarks are property of JK Rowling. I am not making money with this so call off the bloodhounds.
The Holiday Spirits
by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6surfeu.fi)
Chapter 7
"Anyways, I think he's just been hit with a Positivety Charm—"
That must be the charming Miss Granger, then.
Potter, on the other hand, did not seem too interested. Instead, he looked as though he was sulking, stabbing his portion of turkey absently with his fork.
"What's with you, anyways?" Weasley asked, mouth full of butterbeer.
"It's just that... Well, you all could've gone home, and... You can't stay here during the summer hols, can you? Nor can I."
Potter was probably thinking about the Muggle-Dursleys. Ah well, time to show him he did not hold a grudge over the pensieve thing. Time to ensure Potter would not give in to hating him after finally being thoroughly convinced that there was no sympathy to his existance in Snape. Time to ensure he said "never" when the suitable moment came.
He wasn't too bad, Potter, on a closer look. After all, the boy indeed felt malice towards his father after finding out about the incident concerning Snape, James and Sirius.
Snake shook his head. Some things were just too cheesy for his taste.
As he passed Potter's table he patted him fatherly on the shoulder, smiling vaguely. "There there, Potter. It can't be that bad. Have a butterbeer," he dryly remarked, and after leaving the scene slid into his seat in the faculty table.
A few yards away, Harry, Ron and Hermione were positively choking on their gravy. Harry began staring at his own shoulder as though it was on fire and Hermione turned his gaze to Professor Snape sitting at the faculty table, now completely engrossed in lively conversation, his usual, unpleasant expression visible.
Ron, on the other hand, soon recovered and began attacking his food again. Hermione and Harry turned to face him, uncapable of understanding how he could so easily dismiss such a world-turning event – Snape, the git, being civil.
"What?" Ron asked them, mouth full of turkey, "He's gone all bonkers. I told you but you wouldn't believe. As for you Harry, you never believe anything unless it's coming from Hermione, and Hermione, stop staring at him as though you fancy him or something, frankly, it's giving me the creeps---". As usual, the volume of his voice had risen to a level where all in the hall could hear him. Poor boy, whose breaking of voice had come early.
Pretending he was listening to Madam Hooch's incessant lecture of Quidditch finesse, Severus Snape suppressed a gleeful smile.
Perhaps this Christmas would be different.
The End
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit work of fiction. I do not own the characters featured therein apart from Artemisia Dollop, but as a gesture of goodwill I donate her to Professor Snape.
Snape was not harmed during the making of this motion pict... fanfic?
I know, I know, it's a piece of fluff, but aren't Christmas stories supposed to:)
And yes, I am aware that this is a shameless Dickens ripoff – and what's worse; it was entirely intentional.
The creation of this story required some 4,6 litres of iced coffee, make-believe parchment, six candles, nine different Christmas albums (four of which I now hate), eighteen pictures of Professor Snape in his elusive black robes, one full Moon, one good idea and some 836 bad ones, Mozart's Requiem (the part 'Rex Tremendae' fit "Voldemort"s ghost just perfectly), one pizza Kotzone (flavour MexiKana), countless cell biology lectures, one metre of red ribbon and a black velvet dress.
A big thanks to Tanja Karpela, Minister of Culture for having absolutely nothing to do with this.
standing ovation
the sound of the crowd dispersing
distant sound of thunder
the curtain falls
Niin ja hyvää joulua.