Thursday, December 24, 1981, Hogwarts

Lily Evans Potter had been dead nearly two months.

That wasn't the reason Severus Snape always wore black. He wore black because it didn't show the inevitable stains from Potions class. As the youngest teacher, wearing all black gave him an air of gravitas. Mourning Lily had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

He glanced at the children making snowmen. The younger children were rolling snowballs and stacking them to make traditional snowmen. The older students were attempting to sculpt a snow-gargoyle. Most of the students had gone home for the Christmas holidays, but a few were staying at Hogwarts. Therefore, some of the teachers had to stay at Hogwarts to supervise them. Including, naturally, the teacher with the least seniority. Snape gave a mental shrug. It wasn't like he'd planned to hop a plane to Majorca or anything.

Why, he asked himself, should he object to staying at school for Christmas? Where did he have to go? Whom did he have to make merry with? Great-Aunt Agatha was long dead, and although the Snape and Kemble cousins still met for Christmas dinner in Cokeworth, he hadn't been invited for the past two years, not since Tobias Snape had managed to kill both himself and Eileen in a drunk driving accident. His grandfather Micah was long dead; his grandmother Lydia was in a nursing home. The only one of his Muggle relations he even sent a Christmas card to was Cousin Lee, and she was in the Caribbean, getting sunburnt. He tried (and failed) to overcome a dash of jealousy. Lee's current sweetheart was the daughter of an earl, and was treating them both to a cruise. She'd promised to send him a postcard from Jamaica.

As for the Prince side of the family, he would attend an awkwardly strained luncheon with his grandparents on Boxing Day, before going on to the Malfoys' annual Boxing Day party. Had he been invited for Christmas dinner, he probably could have gotten Professor Dumbledore to excuse him for a few hours, but neither Lucan Prince nor Jonquil Fitzhugh Prince had condescended to invite him to Christmas dinner. Christmas was reserved for the Prince-Graystone cousins to come and visit their grandparents. The Muggle's son - the Half-Blood Prince, as Kevin had called him - was not welcome on Christmas. As for the French cousins, the LeCroixs, he had yet to meet them, and probably never would.

Snape reached into the pocket of his robe and removed a silver pocket watch. He fumbled a moment; it was difficult to open with his gloves on. "Ten minutes," he announced. "Everyone is going in to warm up in ten minutes."

"Please, Professor, can't we have a little more time?" begged Arabella Parkinson.

"Yeah, Professor Snape, we're not cold yet," insisted Denzil Tremain.

"Professor Dumbledore's orders. You will go in, change out of your damp garments, and warm up in front of the fireplaces. Madam Pomfrey does not wish anyone to be sick over the holidays. I believe," he added, "that the headmaster has arranged for hot chocolate and gingerbread when you come in."

Squeals of delight answered that announcement.

"Besides, those of you going to St. Wealdburg's for the Christmas Eve services will need time to get ready." Despite the fact he was not a church-goer, Dumbledore had already commandeered him to chaperon the children going to church in Hogsmeade.

He closed the pocket watch and put it away. Where else did he have to be? What else did he have to do? Nowhere and nothing.


December 25, 1986, Hogwarts

Snape frowned. Although there were only a dozen children staying at the school for Christmas this year, they made as much noise as three dozen. He took another bite of roast goose. The house-elves had done an excellent job on it, but it wasn't as good as Aunt Agatha had made.

One of the quieter students, a Muggleborn Hufflepuff, approached him, a book in her hand. He hoped she wasn't planning to make him a present of it. He didn't exchange gifts with the students.

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Miss Chesney?"

She held up a paperback book to him: The Earl's Elusive Bride, by Leona Snape. "This was one of my Christmas presents, sir, and I couldn't help wondering ..."

"If I were the author? No, Miss Chesney, I assure you, the only thing I write are articles for The Practical Potioneer and Alchemie Internationale," Snape said dryly.

"Oh, no, sir, I didn't mean to suggest you wrote this. I was just wondering ... if the author were a relative. A sister or a wife," Karen Chesney stammered.

"There is no Mrs. Snape," he informed her. "Snape is a small town in Suffolk. Any number of Muggles and wizards could have ancestors from there. Or this author may have attended the annual music festival there, and chosen the name of the village for her pen name."

"Oh. Of course. Happy Christmas, Professor." She backed away.

"Happy Christmas, Miss Chesney."

It was safer for Lee if no one knew she was his cousin. It was safer for him if no one remembered he had Muggle relatives. Voldemort still had followers who despised him for turning his coat. Many in the Ministry, as well as the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, despised him for having served Voldemort. Denying her wasn't a betrayal. Denying her was safer.


Author's Note: Wealdburg is the Old English version of St. Walpurga's name. St. Walpurga was an 8th century English saint, a missionary, a scholar, and an abbess. Walpurgisnacht is a spring festival in Europe traditionally associated with witches, so she seemed appropriate as the patron saint of the church in Hogsmeade. She was born in Devonshire, the daughter of an under-king of the West Saxons, and died in Germany. Her father, uncle, and two of her brothers were also saints. She was the first - or at least one of the first - female author in both England and Germany. ** Snape, in Suffolk, is home to the Aldeburgh Festival every June.