Notes: For Violet Quill's Make the Yuletide Gay challenge. My prompt was carols. Written as a series of 100-word drabbles to keep myself from being too wordy. Concrit welcome.
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On the first dayWho would send him a gift? Especially now, when friends were few. Minerva? No, not this Slytherin-coloured package. Potter (surprisingly enough, a civil colleague)? No, too tasteful. There were few others. He opened it.
A bottle of obviously high-quality, pear-scented massage oil. But why? A prank? A come-on? A subtle hint to loosen up?
Now he was running late. Moments later, he slid into place next to Potter, who automatically passed the blackberry jam.
The sender would reveal himself eventually. If it were a prank, he'd have an excuse to give an old-fashioned dressing down. He'd missed it. If not…
On the second dayWaking, Snape tried not to be disappointed. No reveal of the sender so far. He dragged himself up for another day.
Another box awaited him. Nestled in blue velvet were two gorgeous turtle-dove quills: long, deep grey with white tips. The giver must be sincere, he concluded; the gift was too expensive for a prank.
That evening, grading papers in the Masters' common room, Potter struck up an intelligent conversation about quills. Coincidence? Would he mind Potter as the mysterious benefactor? He looked his colleague over. Tall, lithe, beautiful… when had that happened? Snape felt warm. He allowed a small smile.
On the third dayNo gift was waiting this morning. His throat filled with bile. How could he have imagined he would be wanted?
Classes were more dreary than usual. The students no longer hated him – he had no license to act like a bastard in the cause of his role – but they didn't love him, either.
At lunch, though, he received a note. "It's coming at dinner." Snape felt mortification that…whoever… had noticed his distress, but also relief.
Dinner proved to be a succulent spread of three guinea hens prepared with butter and citrus juice. Potter shared a shy grin. It was delightful.
On the fourth daySnape awoke to the sound of cooing and chirping. His bedroom was filled with birds. Owls, ravens, swallows, more. A beautiful snowy owl swooped down with a small scroll.
"Each of these has volunteered to be your familiar. You choose, but really the bird chooses you."
Snape closed his eyes again to ward off the tears. Only Albus's first gift of absolution could rival this for generosity. He blinked them away and found one small bird had settled at his right, her long, black tail feathers trailing over his hand. An African widow weaver, he recognized. He named her Theodora.
On the fifth dayHe woke to the sound of Theodora cooing, feeling content for the first time in years. Potter had called her a strikingly intelligent bird with a peculiarly wry twist to his mouth. Snape had to stop himself kissing it right then. Instead he'd kept his silence, to see how far Potter would go.
Today's package was different. Plainer. Inside – oh. A ring. Five gold bands woven together.
"I can't wait any longer. I care for you. Could we make a start?" It was signed.
This far then. He considered Potter's quiet growth into manhood, then carefully slipped on the ring.
On the sixth dayA warm body pressed against Snape's side. He started, then woke more completely, leaning into the sensation. Potter's breath puffed against the nape of Snape's neck and he shivered pleasantly.
"Alright?" came a murmured voice from behind. Snape swallowed, then nodded, sliding his thin fingers down the curve of Potter's lush thigh. He turned over.
"I'm glad you didn't wait," he said, resting his lips against the curve of Potter's throat.
"Me, too," came the reply. "I didn't want to regret not saying something. Plus," he continued, "I don't know what I would have done for the maids a'milking, anyway."