(A/N: Merry Christmas, those who can't be arsed to spend Christmas too drunk to read! Rejoice that your mistress took the time to post these lines just before she dashed off to dinner! I hope that this chapter makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and makes your tongue swell up. Season's greetings, your Duchess.)
Chapter 17: Rymer Maschrist
It was Christmas Day, and Severus Snape crawled from the Malfoy Manor fireplace to attend the usual revels there. He dusted himself off, waiting for the clouds of ash to settle, bracing himself for the usual sight: Lucius, inebriated on the sofa, robes half undone, and the rest of his family hanging around him, asleep or passed out. But as the tasteful drawing room revealed itself to him, there seemed to be something off about the scene.
There was Narcissa, empty tumbler in hand, dozing in an armchair; there was Draco, looking disturbingly dishevelled, some robe buttons undone, lying rosey-cheeked on the sofa; there was Mrs Malfoy, eagerly pouring another glass of gin, and knocking it back as she saluted Snape. But no Lucius. Snape wondered where the blond-haired bane of his existence could be.
"Good afternoon." Snape said hastily to Mrs Malfoy, shuffling quickly past her, into the hall. There stood the Christmas tree: a monstrous Gargantuan of the woods, as usual, towering black-needled and glorious over the marble hall and green-carpeted staircase, glittering with silver and green snakes of tinsel, writhing and slithering through the branches, and ancient baubles of exotic shape and colour. Snape paused to look at it for a moment: here, too, something seemed to be off, somehow. It took him a while before he noticed exactly what: halfway up the tree hung something that shouldn't be there. The something, furthermore, appeared to be Lucius Malfoy. Snape raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Lucius," He said. "What are you doing in your Christmas tree?"
"What am I doing in the Christmas tree?" Lucius repeated scornfully. "That's rich. Hanging in trees is what I do: I'm a bauble."
"You're not a bauble, Lucius. You're an idiot, and drunk, but you're not a bauble." Snape said.
"I am! I looked at one of the silver ones, and it had my face!"
"That's because they reflect your face, Lucius. If I looked into them, they would have my face reflected in them."
Lucius gasped. "You are a bauble too: I knew it! Come join me! We'll have a lovely time baubling together." He patted the branch next to him invitingly.
Snape sighed exasperatedly. Right now, even Christmas at Hogwarts seemed like an attractive option compared to standing in a hallway talking to someone who thought he was a bauble. But then he considered who he'd rather be spending Christmas with: Dumbledore, staff, and Potter's spawn, or Lucius, however insane he might be. His choice was made. He climbed up the tree, and chose a snug branch next to Lucius to rest on. "Merry Christmas, Severus. May I just say, you make an excellent bauble." Lucius said to him.
"Merry Christmas, you imbecile." Snape said. But on his lips was a smirk that, in the flickering light of the candles, may have been said to resemble a smile.