Chapter 5- Home for the Holidays

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Over the ground lay a mantle of white.

Severus stood in front of the brick house in Yorkshire, contemplating the scene. He thought there wasn't enough snow in the world to make his childhood home look festive.

He glanced up and down the street. The rest of the houses were all decorated for the season in some fashion, but his stood out like a sullen child who refused to play with others. It was the one redeeming quality of the home. Muggles displays were garish and ostentatious. Spinner's End was bleak and unwelcoming, but at least it was a proper wizard abode.

"Meowrrr."

He looked at the cat shaking snow off her paw. "You were the one who wanted to play in the snow. Had your fill yet?"

She answered by climbing up his cloak to huddle in his arms. Pursing his lips to repress a smile, Severus held his partner close. With his free hand, he locomotored his trunk toward the house. The hour was late, so there was little danger Muggles would see.

In the window of the lounge, a flame suddenly flickered to life. The sight of the candle was so astonishing; Severus allowed the luggage to drop onto the front step with a thud. Moments later, the door opened.

"Come inside and get warm," his mother urged, looking less old and worn than he remembered. Did the thought of his father's approaching death lift her spirits too?

He greeted her with a slight smile and jerked his head toward the candle. "When did you start that custom?"

"Tonight."

Discomfited by the look in his mother's eyes, Severus said, "Ah. Thank you."

"You are most welcome...and you always will be." Noticing the cat, her eyes opened wide. "Merlin preserve us, a Siamese! Is he yours?"

"She is mine, yes. Her name is Epis."

"Epis, Greek for hope. Lovely. Bring her inside and I'll fix you both something to eat."

The interior of the house had not improved since his previous visit. Furnishings were still threadbare, the paint dull with age. The only thing pleasant about the place was the scent. Eileen had made soap recently. Thinking of the 'tour' he had given Eris, Severus' mouth tilted at the corners. His mother was watching him. Her expression showed she found the memory of 'Snape Manor' amusing as well.

Once he had sent his trunk up the stairs to his room, Severus followed Eileen back to the kitchen and hung his cloak on a peg. "Here, let me take that," he offered, reaching for the tea tray. She shot him a look that made him wonder. Helping Eris was second nature--had he not offered to assist his mother from time to time as well?

"No, no, it's not heavy." Placing the tray on the table decorated with a small arrangement of greenery, she waved him to a seat. "Why didn't you mention gaining a pet in one of your letters?"

Severus poured cream into a saucer. He placed it on the floor before accepting a cup of tea. A shrug accompanied his answer. "I did not think of it. It seemed more pertinent to write of the potions I was brewing."

His mother watched the cat with a faint smile. "She's pretty, isn't she?"

All at once, he remembered a conversation on a train platform. His mother had asked about his potions partner, "Is she pretty?" Resisting the urge to say 'very', he replied off-handed, "I suppose."

"Her eyes remind me of..."

"Mother."

"Sapphires," she finished, before asking, "What did you think I was going to say?"

There was a gleam in her eye. She knew very well. Because she expected him to say 'nothing', he answered, "Eris. Her eyes are that shade of blue. Epis was her cat."

"She gave you her pet," said Eileen, her tone soft and sad. Leaning forward, she examined his face closely.

He could feel her trying to 'see' whatever memory he might have left unguarded. Severus smiled faintly. These days, he let down his guard only in the privacy of his chambers. Redirecting the conversation, he enquired, "How did you manage to convince Father to allow a Healer to examine him?"

His mother stood and walked quickly to a back cupboard. "Your kitten needs more than milk. I'll open a tin of sardines."

"Epis is not a kitten. She is a mature cat."

Eileen placed the dish on the floor and petted the Siamese's downy hair. Smiling a little, she said, "That was a figure of speech, not a veterinary pronouncement. Why did it touch a nerve? Are you planning to breed her?"

"Merlin forbid," he said curtly. Shifting uncomfortably beneath the steady regard of both females, he amended, "One day, in the far future, a single kitten would be tolerable, but for now, that is not an option."

The woman stroked the cat one last time before rising. "Since cats seldom have litters of one, perhaps you are wise. They would be quite a distraction in the dungeon."

"They'd wreak havoc," he said, glancing at his partner. She blinked an eye at him and returned to daintily eating sardines. Abruptly realising his mother had out-manoeuvred him, Severus lifted his teacup in a silent toast and then reminded, "I asked about Father."

"Yes, you did." Pouring herself another cup of tea, Eileen said bluntly, "I brewed a Draught of Docility a month ago and I've been dosing him with it ever since."

A short burst of laughter broke the silence. "I thought you promised on your parents' graves never to use potions against Father again?"

Thin fingers crumbled a biscuit. It revealed the inner agitation unheard in her calm voice. "If he had come to the service, Tobias would've known that after a proper wizarding funeral, there are no graves."

Severus covered her hand with his, stilling her nervous action. Pressing lightly, he said, "Well done, Mother."

She shook her head. "No, it was expedient."

"You were Slytherin, not Hufflepuff. Accept the compliment."

Eileen's face lit up in a fleeting smile. "Thank you, Severus."

He lifted his hand. "Thank you for the tea." Standing, he gathered his cloak. Severus paused in the doorway. "I take it there is no need for me to see Father tonight."

"No, no, he's asleep, and not down to his last breath."

Ah, well, there were still two days left until Christmas. Slightly ashamed of his thought, Severus nodded and left the kitchen. His 'pet' streaked past him, running up the steps to his attic chamber. She meowed when he reached the landing and checked the wards for tampering before releasing them. Finally opening the door, he smirked. "If I had known, I would have let you outside."

Returned to human form, Eris threw over her shoulder on the way to the lavatory, "Ha!"

When she exited a short while later, he said dryly, "You used to laugh at my humour. Is the honeymoon over?"

She kissed him long and hard. "It will never be over." Moving to the bed, she kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jumper. "If you want me to prove it right now," she said while falling back onto the mattress, "I--what the Hades?" The bed had creaked...loudly. Eris moved back and forth. The squeaks were terrible. She began giggling. "Oh gods, could you imagine hearing this below?"

He enjoyed her motions, but the noise was even worse than fingernails on a blackboard. A wave of his wand eliminated the creaking, but the giggling continued. Severus took a seat by the window and bent to remove his shoes. Socks followed. Unbuttoning his shirt, he proposed, "If you transfigure the bed, we can...test...the strength of my spell."

"Is that what you're calling it now?" Eris laughed and tossed him a brushing/flossing mint. Hopping off the single bed and opening the trunk to find her wand, she said, "I chewed two, thanks to the sardines."

Huffing with amusement, he said, "It could have been tuna."

She shrugged. "As long as it's packed in water, not oil, I'll eat it and just keep chewing mints."

"You have my sincerest thanks."

After the bed was enlarged and made with new linens, his partner slid her arms around his waist and said, "Words are nice, but I'd rather you show me how thankful you are."

He demonstrated his gratitude for her love and support in ways that led to the most pleasant of exhaustion. The next morning, he was still deep asleep when his mother knocked on the door.

Bolting upright, he called out in a voice rough with sleep, "What?"

"It's gone nine, Severus, and I need your help to set up my stall at the Festival."

Rubbing a hand across his bleary eyes, he watched Eris wake and stretch beside him and said distractedly, "Festival?"

Eileen's voice turned waspish. "Yes, Severus, the market I sell my soaps at every Christmas. I told you in the last letter that my usual help had a family emergency. You agreed..."

"Yes, yes, I will be down in a half-hour," he replied dismissively.

When his mother left them in peace, Eris said, "How can we be ready in a half-hour?"

He pulled her off the bed and toward the lavatory. "We share a shower."

Forty minutes later, he sat down to breakfast and rubbed his sore shoulder, contemplating whether Eris could enlarge the shower without damaging the plumbing.

"Did you have a bad night? You still look a bit tired."

He accepted a mug of coffee and shook his head. "I am fine." Taking a bite of toast, he said, "Tell me about this festival. A bunch of Muggles out to buy gifts they cannot afford for people who do not deserve them, I suppose." Resignedly, he asked, "Who looks after Father while you're gone and how long do you run the stall?"

"I pay old Mrs. Nesmith from next door and I run the stall eleven to six. The Festival is Dickensian, so your wizard cloak, along with your grandfather's top hat, will suffice as a costume."

"You wear a costume?"

A slight blush coloured his mother's pale cheeks. "Yes, the entire village transforms every year at Christmas, and the vendors as well as entertainers dress in costume." Her lips curved. "I chose a dress that reminded me of an old professor. Hogwarts always seems to pick the Victorian headmistress type for Transfiguration, don't they?"

"Indeed." He glanced down to find that his partner had paused eating a kipper to stare at him. Defensively, he muttered, "It is only the truth. McGonagall might not have rapped anyone's knuckles, but I bet she would have liked to!"

"You don't have to convince me. I agree wholeheartedly," Eileen said, rising to begin clearing the dishes.

He hastily finished his breakfast. In his mother's current state, she might snatch his food away half-eaten. Severus had never seen her so...energetic...before. It was disconcerting.

"If you're done, I'll just take that, dear."

Raising a brow as his plate was whisked away, he said, "I am now."

"Good, you can chew a mint, go to the lavatory, and we'll be off."

He stood and looked down his nose at the managing female. "Mother, I have not needed such reminders since I was five."

She looked mortified. "Of course not. It is all the excitement. Forgive me."

When he turned to leave the room, she said, "If you're going to use the downstairs lav, the mints are in a tin beneath the sink."

Severus gritted his teeth and nodded, managing to say respectfully, "Let my cat out, if you please."

Returning to the kitchen, he stood in the doorway and watched his mother finish tying a red ribbon around Epis' neck. She said, "Doesn't she look like Christmas?"

"Quite." The cat darted over to twine around his ankles, purring. He bent to scratch behind her ears, asking his mother, "What do I need to carry?"

Severus ended up carrying an enchanted box that contained wares that would fill a dozen of the Muggle variety. It was bulky, but due to the featherweight spell, not a burden. Eileen carried a picnic basket and Epis, who had mewed piteously when the woman suggested the cat stay behind.

They travelled by Floo to a village in the Yorkshire Dales. When pressed, Severus grudgingly agreed with his mother that it was festive. Secretly, he felt the meagre appeal ruined by the presence of Muggles. They were everywhere. Throngs of them crowded the streets and square, gaping at the strolling musicians and entertainers or shopping.

One woman had the effrontery to step in front of them and say, "Are you supposed to be young Ebenezer and his mother? You're just like I always imagined him. May I take a picture?"

"No."

The Muggle's face fell. He would've smirked, but his mother whispered 'Severus, be civil', so instead he used an excuse learnt in Muggle Studies. "I am allergic."

"Grace, have you ever heard of that?" the woman exclaimed to her companion, who shook her head.

"No, Sunny, I haven't."

Turning back to him, the camera-wielding Muggle said, "Are you sure?"

A quote from the one of the few Muggle novels he'd almost enjoyed came to mind. He smiled unpleasantly. "If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about asking to take pictures should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!""

"Oh!" the women gasped, as onlookers spontaneously applauded. "Bah Humbug!" he responded, and pushed through the crowd.

His mother caught up and took his arm. She was smiling. "You made quite an impression back there."

"Did I?"

"Yes. I expect business to double because of it."

The idea seemed ludicrous to Severus, but he made no comment other than to ask the precise location of the stall. It was situated between a local potter's and that of a woman who sold sachets and dried flowers. After setting up, he was surprised to find that his mother's "all-natural, hand-crafted" soaps did a brisk trade. While she attended customers, he kept the display stocked and endured numerous stares from passers by.

As the hours passed, he became envious of his partner. Unlike him, she only had to be admired by the children whose mothers took their time choosing soap. He was subjected to endless prattle.

You're tall.

Are you really Scrooge?

Is your hair like that all the time, or 'cause they didn't have shampoo in olden days?

Even his most curt and snide answers failed to quell the impertinent. Customers and their children left smiling over his 'amazing portrayal.'

He shook his head in disgust. Muggles were daft. His resemblance to a literary character could hardly be that striking.

In the afternoon, his mother encouraged him to take a break. When he assured her he did not wish to view any more of the Festival, she reminded him that his pet likely needed to 'stretch her legs.' He reluctantly agreed.

Walking through the crowd once again, he discovered the Muggles had increased in number since the morning. They strolled casually when he wanted to stride quickly and seldom watched where they were going. An un-occupied stretch of grass was hard to find. Overall, the outing was vexing in the extreme. Returning to the stall, he told his partner unequivocally, "If you need to stretch your legs again, I'm conjuring a litter box."

By the end of the day, Eileen had sold three quarters of her stock. She was pleased at the prospect of not operating her stall the following day. "We can spend Christmas Eve however you'd like," she said in a satisfied tone.

"Then we'll stay home reading books and brewing potions."

"If that's what you'd prefer."

Glancing at his partner, Severus amended, "Perhaps we could walk downtown and view the lights tomorrow night."

"You always did love fairy lights." Smiling wistfully, Eileen shared, "I tried to hang some up in your room one year, but your father tore them down. He's always hated Christmas."

Severus waited until they had returned to the house and Mrs. Nesmith had departed to ask, "I have heard you say father despises this time of year many times, but you have never said why. Is there a reason he hates Christmas?"

His mother looked toward the stairs and gestured to the kitchen. Inside, she applied a warming charm to the pot of soup she had conjured earlier and then turned to face him. When she didn't speak, Severus jibed, "My birthday is not until January, so I cannot be held to blame."

"You're not, dear. I am." Her smile was brief and bitter. "Tobias and I were married on Christmas Day."

He felt a chill shudder through him.

"What can I say to explain?" she asked.

"Nothing. I want to see it." Severus turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

He said without stopping, "The library."

Severus swept out of the kitchen and down the corridor. The answers he wanted, his mother could no longer supply. The reason for the marked difference in her appearance and personality was obvious now. She had extracted her most painful memories and deposited them into Grandfather's Pensieve.

The bowl sat on the desk, cloud-like strands of thought obscuring the runes cut into the stone. Silvery-white, the glowing thoughts swirled lazily until he touched them with his wand to search for what he wanted. The wisps became dervishes, transforming the bottom of the bowl into a window. Severus wanted more than a glimpse into the past, so he ignored his mother's pleading and bent to immerse his face and self into a memory.

-

He was in a Muggle chapel of some kind. It was decorated with candles and greenery for Christmas. A couple stood before a clergyman, speaking vows. Severus almost did not recognise them. His father was young and startlingly handsome. His mother had a blush on her cheeks and love in her eyes. She looked almost attractive. After the couple was pronounced husband and wife, the old cleric shuffled off, leaving the pair kissing passionately.

Tobias held his new wife's face in his hands and said, "I'm the luckiest man alive. How could a mill-owner's daughter compare to a wizard's daughter? I can barely remember what Claudia looked like. You're all I think about, all I'll ever need." Laughing, he said, "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Snape!"

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Snape. Shall we drink a toast?"

Severus walked up to his mother and saw her add something to his father's champagne while the man was signing the register. Stomach twisting, he watched her hand it to her husband with a determined smile before picking up the Muggle quill and signing her name. She then touched her glass to Tobias'.

-

He was pulled out of the memory by his mother's hand. It gripped his arm tightly.

"I never wanted you to see that," she said dully, fingers releasing their hold on his sleeve.

Severus placed his hands on her thin shoulders. "I always suspected you had entranced him, Mother." Her mouth twisted in pained acknowledgement. His lips tightened into a thin line. "What I had not known was the true reason for Father's bitterness."

"It was my misuse of..."

"No. It was not." Leaning down, he softly kissed his mother's cheek. "Keep Epis with you."

"What are you going to do?" she asked as he made to leave the room.

He paused in the doorway. "I am going to have a talk with Father."

-


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A/N: Sleigh-bells ring, but Severus isn't listening! He's got other things on his mind that brings a whole new meaning to "Counting down to Christmas." The Dickensean Christmas Festival was based on one held in the village of Grassington, near Skipton in the Yorkshire Dales. Sounded like fun to me, but I could easily imagine Severus quoting Scrooge! The wonderful readers who counted as blessings with their reviews last chap were…♥ 40/16 cupcakeswirl die Loreley Dipper ElspethBates FNP GraceRichie katieweasley Libeku Taganashi Machiavelli Jr MollyCoddles NazgulGirl Slipknot-3113 Slytherin Love Goddessand sunny9847