I still don't own Harry Potter, nor anything therein. Daisy and her powers (except being a witch) are my creations.

A thank you to my reviewers, and enjoy!

December 1990

"I'm assuming that your parents have once again wormed their way into your mind," he scowled as he sat down behind his desk. "Tell me, what seems to be the problem?"

"You already know," she scowled, wanting to be left alone.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me," he said calmly. "What happened back there?"

"You saw," she said darkly. "I threw a fit."

"Yes, I see that," he said calmly, "and managed to get over your stuttering as well, and that last one is a good thing. I hope that aspect doesn't change, it's unbecoming of a young witch to stutter."

"Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Halloween, St. Patrick's Day – it's all the same," she scowled as tears ran down their face. "They yell at me and tell me to put up all the decorations for the holiday and then to put it all away before the next day is over or they'll throw me out on the streets."

"Did they?" he asked, and she looked up at him.

"My stepmother threw me in the basement," she said, "I had spiders crawling all over me for a day before she came back down to get me. I didn't get food for a week because I had been begging to be let out."

He sighed heavily before leading her out of his office and to a different room. he whispered a password to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, and it flung open. He jerked his head, and she went in to find that he had led her to his private quarters. He flicked his wand and his chaise lounge chair became a bed, complete with green and silver blankets.

"I refuse to have something without Slytherin representation present in my quarters," he scowled, "I believe that you yourself are a bit of a Slytherin. You are cunning, and stuttered to try to defend yourself and your silence, but that little slip-up just now destroyed it."

"Why does it matter?" she grumbled, "He's just going to keep hating me anyways."

"On the contrary," Snape said calmly, "He braved going to the oversized bat of Hogwarts to calm you down. That took guts, and he's a Gryffindor, which the entire school knows I hate, with one exception that they don't know about. Come, off to bed with you. We wouldn't want to watch Father Christmas come in the night."

"Father Christmas?" she asked, and he blinked at her. "Who's that?"

"Santa, Saint Nicholas, Saint Nick, the fat man in red who gives presents," he said like it was obvious and everyone should know this. "Didn't your- never mind. Simply put, if you hang a stocking on a fireplace or some sort of mantle-like object, he'll come and fill it with presents. Although whether or not he's real, I leave that in your decision. Most would leave out a plate of gingerbread cookies, but I find that a bowl of Lemon drops works much more to my favor in Christmas."

"Dumbledore," she murmured, and he jabbed her forehead.

"Off to bed," he scolded gently. "Don't make me give you a dreamless sleep potion, I wouldn't want to deprive the sugar plums a chance for dancing in your head for the first time."

She gave him another blank look and he rolled his eyes.

"Remind me to explain all the Christmas fables to you in the morning," he scowled, "Good night, Miss Dare."

"Good night, Professor Snape," she called out as he went up to his room. She stared in the dark for a while before turning over and closing her eyes.

OoOoOoOoO

It was odd, Snape considered, that a Gryffindor would choose to trust him more than their head of house, and even more so since he was supposed to be feared by all. Still, he wasn't going to complain since this year he at least wouldn't be alone on Christmas. A first ever since he was fifteen, a long near twenty years alone, but maybe it was about time to try and start anew now that a new millennium was on the way, he considered. What was even odder to him was that this child understood his pain perfectly, more so than anyone in the world could have, and that she was a Gryffindor of all houses to be from.

He was astonished to find a shameful feeling in his trousers, and shook his head to clear it. She was a student for Salazar's sake, a first year! He sighed before climbing into his own bed and almost falling asleep himself. He grabbed a couple presents that he had prepared for Daisy (he recalled the pain of having no presents on Christmas), and quietly tip-toed down to the lobby of his quarters. She was fast asleep, he noted, and cast a powerful silencing charm to ensure she didn't wake up.

"Professor," she said perfectly as if she were awake. He froze, unsure of whether or not she was awake fully. She rolled over in her sleep, and muttered "Professor Snape".

He blinked before turning back to the task at hand. He quietly placed the gifts under the tree and then tiptoed past again, glancing at the sleeping child. He yawned before going to his bed and laying his head down to consider all that had happened that night. He frowned at the thought of the first year dreaming of him, and had to visibly force the image of himself wearing a white tutu out of his head, ramming his fists against his head with vehement vigor.

"Damn it, Dare!" he snarled, "Mark my words, I'll make you pay for that image!"

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Daisy looked around her in confusion. She was in the Great Hall, with everything decked out for what she knew could only be the Yule Ball, held once every seven years. She saw a young, teenage Professor Snape, trying to dance with a young red-haired green-eyed girl. She was also being sought out by a member of her own house, however. The boy with the glasses was insulting Professor Snape, who was taking it all in stride, and doing his best to ignore the bigot.

Things went wrong, however, when a hex hit teenage Snape and he was soon wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He yelled in alarm and raced out of the hall, with everyone laughing at him, even those from the other schools. The red-haired girl did nothing, looking between the doors and the boy who had vanished Snape's clothes.

"Oh well," she shrugged and began dancing with the boy with glasses. "James, will you marry me?"

"Of course, Lily," the boy with glasses beamed, "Do you mind if we name our son Harry?"

"If we can name our daughter Ivy," she countered, and he beamed.

Daisy's blood froze as she realized she was looking at Lily and James Potter. She raced out to the teenage Snape, bursting into the office of a rather large Potions Master who was trying to comfort the young teen.

"Professor!" she yelled, and the walrus frowned. "Oh, thank god you're okay!"

"What?" the walrus frowned. "Now listen here, young lady, I don't know what you're-!"

The walrus was cut off as she summoned a spare set of robes from a closet, one that his clothes had been vanished to.

"Here," she said handing them to Snape. "What that boy did was wrong, and you mark my words, I'll be giving that piece of garbage a piece of my mind! And if I ever get my hands on his sorry neck, he'll wish he'd have never been born, Professor Snape!"

The two stared at her as she realized what she'd just done. She gaped back in horror and slapped her hand over her mouth. She began silently panicking, wondering if she'd created some sort of paradox in an alternate world. Snape stood up, boxer shorts graying, and looked at her with shame, his torso riddled with scars.

"Severus," the old wizard said quietly, "Do you know her?"

"No," he said narrowing his eyes. "But something tells me that she'll come to Hogwarts long after you've stopped teaching, sir. If she called me Professor, then I must have followed in your footsteps."

"Please, whatever you do, if you see a first year Gryffindor girl crying in your office one year, don't kick her out!" she begged, "She'll kill herself if you don't!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I will keep that in mind," the younger Snape said calmly before the dream shifted.

He was now older in this scene and drunk off his ass. It was November First, Nineteen Eighty-One, and everyone was celebrating but him. He held a knife in his hand, and stared at it longingly.

"Don't!" she shouted, and he jerked up and brandished the bottle in one hand and the knife in the other at her. "Please don't!"

"You again," he spat, "Where were you when I needed you, huh? Where were you when they forced me to become a Death Eater? Where were you when I gave the Dark Lord the prophecy about the Potters? Where were you when they were killed? Huh? WHERE?!"

"I don't know," she stuttered, "I was probably in diapers somewhere, okay?!"

"That's not possible, you're right in front of me," he spat, "How?"

"I'm dreaming," she said half to herself in realization, "My father used to tell me that my mother would always talk about past events as if she was there. This must have been what he was talking about!"

"Well, if I'm in your time, I obviously don't commit suicide," he snarled, "So what the hell am I supposed to do with my life? Become a spy?"

"If it makes you feel better," she said warily, "That's what I would do, to honor my friend's memories, not that I have any my age."

"You know, I think you're right," he murmured before the scene shifted again.

So, how do you think she's doing this? Don't worry, she's not the only one with this power, I promise.

Please review!