"Where is she?" Neville demanded, his wand drawn.

Snape, taken aback at the sudden intrusion, kept his wand within easy grasp and surveyed the youngster. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and even now his breathing rasped in his chest. Something terrible had happened, and probably on the train home for the child to return to Hogwarts so quickly to seek him out. There were no students left at Hogwarts this holiday.

"To whom are you referring?" Snape asked with perfect diction.

"Luna!" Neville thundered. "They took Luna from the train when we were all headed home for Christmas. They put Ginny and me in a body bind."

Resisting the desire to correct the boy's speech, Snape observed him closely. "Put that away," Snape commanded him crisply. "You are not going to use it on me."

"Why not?" Neville demanded. "How do I know that during one of our detentions you didn't glean some sort of information that got her taken?"

"I refuse to speak to you until you lower your wand," Snape told him, arching an eyebrow. Snape was unafraid, he would be able to protect himself if the boy really did try and hex him. Even if it hit him, the boy was not going to use an unforgivable. And perhaps it would be better for their relationship, he was afraid that Neville was far too comfortable with him.

The spell was barely out of Neville's mouth before Snape reacted, and to Snape's surprise the blasting curse barely missed him as he sprang out of the way and cast a shield wandlessly. The boy had been getting better. Within a few seconds, however, he had Neville pinned and his wand taken from him. Snape wanted to yell at the child, shake him, demand to know why he was being so foolish. But instead, he felt the boy sobbing beneath his grasp. He gave long, wrenching sobs without even his hands available to hide his face or wipe his tears. And Snape held him there in a wrestling lock, not a hug by any means but it was . . . contact.

"I'm sorry, sir," Neville sniffed, coming back to himself. "You didn't deserve that."

"Accepted," Snape answered, loosening his hold and sitting beside the young Gryffindor.

"I know you have to punish me for hexing you," Neville sniffed. "I don't suppose I could talk you into expulsion?"

Snape snorted derisively at that, pushing himself up to a standing position. In truth, it could jeopardize his position if he didn't punish Neville severely and it ever got out that the boy had hexed him. But somehow he just couldn't find it in himself to care at that moment. Though he had not been one of Luna's favorite teachers, he had known the fae child from Ravenclaw. And the fact that she was taken brought bile to his mouth - she was a complete innocent, not causing harm to anyone. And her father was a complete looney, why would Voldemort care what he printed? He found himself praying for her safety.

"Have you ever had firewhiskey, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape asked.

"Um, no sir," Neville replied, concerned. "My Gran doesn't really approve . . ."

"Come have a drink with me," Snape told him. "You're of age now, you're allowed."

Blinking, Neville picked himself up off the floor, and straightening his robes he went over to the headmaster's desk. Snape poured them both a small amount of liquid from a crystal decanter behind his desk, and pushed one towards Neville.

"Here's mud in your eye," Snape told him, and then chuckled at the wary and confused expression he got from the boy.

"Huh?" Neville asked.

"Just drink it," Snape told him. "Down the hatch."

Neville attempted to drink it, but as soon as the fiery liquid went down a little he ended up spitting and choking on it. He nearly dropped the glass in his choking, but his fear of Snape managed to help him hold onto it.

"Longbottom," Snape sighed, and snapped his fingers. He ordered two egg nogs with extra rum from the house elf that appeared, and a pitcher for refills. Perhaps the boy could keep that down.

"Here, try this," Snape told him. "This is a festive drink and should be easier on your palate."

Neville fearfully took the glass, feeling wary as the firewhiskey still burned in his throat. He sipped the drink warily, but then a smile spread across his face. This he could drink.

"Thank you, sir," he smiled. And then, he noticed out loud, "It makes my stomach feel warm."

"That is the general idea," Snape told him, quaffing the firewhiskey and then picking up the egg nog. This drink had always reminded him of faculty parties with Dumbledore, and perhaps that what made him want it now. He missed the old coot, and he doubted there would be a faculty party he was invited to this year.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Neville asked in a small voice. "I just attacked you."

"Perhaps I am lulling you into a drunken stupor to interrogate you," Snape told him, sipping the alcoholic foamy sweetness. "Don't underestimate my evil intentions."

Neville snorted. "I don't even know who's evil anymore," he said, sounding depressed. "Do you ever wonder if maybe Voldemort is right and it's us that's wrong?"

"No, I don't wonder that," Snape answered sharply.

"I do," Neville sipped his drink again. "But then I think of what Dumbledore said that time after Cedric was killed. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something about if we were ever wondering if that side was really evil then we should remember Cedric. Harry said that the Dark Lord says that there's no good and evil, only power. I don't want to believe that's true."

"It's not," Snape told him bluntly. "There's good and evil, and evil knows it's on the evil side. But sometimes it doesn't care."

Neville belched softly, and Snape poured him more nog.

"What are your plans, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape asked him. "I mean, as the leader of Dumbledore's Army."

Even in his mildly intoxicated state, Neville recognized the trap. Snape had been drilling him on interrogation tactics, and even tactics to withstand veritaserum.

"Dumbledore's army was a silly club from fifth year," Neville scoffed. "It was just to practice stuff together. We just thought the name was cool."

"I see. And what about your other activities here?"

"What activities?" Neville answered, deliberately obtuse. "I have never made the quidditch team, and they've shut down the herbology club this year. I was president of that last year."

"Tell me about your plans with Harry Potter."

"I want him to come back, I miss him," Neville evaded, though there was a great deal of honesty in that sentiment. "I hope he's safe."

"According to Potterwatch he is," Snape snorted, breaking off the interrogation. Neville was improving. Then, more seriously, he said, "I want you to pretend that I am good. What would you tell me then?"

"Really?" Neville asked. "I thought you never wanted me to do it."

"You're drunk, and I'm going to modify your memory enough that this whole evening feels like a drunken dream," Snape told him. "But I cannot stand the lies and the subterfuge anymore. Tell me the truth."

"We are trying to protect the helpless and keep things together as much as possible until Harry returns," Neville admitted. "And we are actively working against you and the Carrows and trying to undermine your authority."

"That sounds good," Snape smiled. He was glad he was still targeted. "But what can Harry Potter do about this mess?"

"I don't know," Neville replied honestly. "But we in the DA just believe that we need to be ready and available for when he needs us. Right now we're trying to keep Hogwarts, because we think it's important for the end."

"How do you know he'll come back?" Snape asked.

"Dumbledore said he would," Neville replied solidly. "He said that when he did, the final battle would be close at hand."

That was interesting news, Snape didn't know that Dumbledore had told others about that. Dumbledore had told Snape everything he knew, or at least that's what he told Snape. The old man had been wily, Snape would never know exactly what the truth was from him.

"He's going to kill Voldemort, you know," Neville told him with confidence. "Harry's going to save us all."

"It seems a tall order for an unkempt teenager," Severus sneered, but he knew the truth as well. The boy was their best hope.

"And then you can come out of the closet."

"What?" Snape asked, incredulous.

"You can decide if you're good or evil," Neville burped again, but Snape did not pour the boy another. "You know, Harry and Ron both think you're a monster."

"I know," Snape answered, though the answer made him surprisingly sad. He had spent most of his adult life appearing as evil but secretly working for good, but the knowledge that Lily's son believed his subterfuge unexpectedly saddened him.

"And Ginny thinks you're a right git, especially after you caned her that time when she was caught with the prank stuff. Luna doesn't, though," Neville told him, his eyes half-closed and sleepy. "Luna says that there is more to you than meets the eye. She said the Nargles liked you."

"Indeed," Snape arched an eyebrow.

"She told me to trust you," he acknowledged. "She said that you were trying to help, but that you had to keep up appearances."

"She was always a strange child."

"She was my friend," Neville sniffed. "I hope she's okay."

"She has led a charmed life," Snape told him. "And I see no reason why it shouldn't remain so. Now, you need to go home before your grandmother worries."

"What?" Neville said, feeling a spell tingle on his skin.

"I gave you a bit of a posset to calm your distress," Snape told him. "You seem to have reacted poorly from it. I'm sending you home to your gran by floo."

"I do feel strange," Neville told Snape, confused.

"Here, this potion should clear your head," Snape gave him a sobriety potion.

Neville instantly sobered, and looked around the room in surprise.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You were distraught about Luna and I gave you something to calm you," Snape told him. "You had a funny reaction to it, but you're better now.

"Better," Neville repeated. "Did I hex you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Longbottom," Snape answered sharply. "Do you think you would be standing there if you had? The very idea."

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"Go home to your grandmother, Mr. Longbottom," Snape told him. "Here, take the floo here."

Neville obeyed, still feeling dazed, and soon found himself alone in his office, looking at the now-empty fireplace.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Longbottom," he said quietly.