Secret Snarry Swap: FIC: I Saw Harry Kissing Santa Snape Title: I Saw Harry Kissing Santa Snape Author:drwritermom Other pairings/threesome: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger Rating: Teen and up Word count: 1650 Content/Warning(s): Mild innuendo, possibly dangerous amounts of caffeine, fluff Prompter/Prompt: No. 37 from maraudersaffair: After the war, Severus opens a bakery (or coffee shop) that goes all out for Christmas. Harry is a frequent, and smitten, customer. Summary: Harry is addicted to the sublime signature brew at Prince’s Perfect Perks, the peppermint mocha. He is head over heels for the Slytherin sex icon brewmaster, Severus Snape. How will Harry snare his snarky Prince when he’s cut off from his favorite brew? A/N: Many thanks to the prompter for this delicious prompt. Thanks to badgerlady, for her generosity, dredging through my digital chicken scratch and making it sing. And thanks to our moderators, who do a tremendous job, jingling those Snarry bells!
Harry Potter was enjoying his third peppermint mocha in a row, in the trendiest coffee spot in Hogmeade, Prince’s Perfect Perks. Together with his two best friends, he was cozily ensconced in a corner booth, safe from the frigid outdoors. He was gazing longingly at his not-so-secret crush, Severus Snape, the proprietor of this fine establishment, when he broke out in song.
“Oh, the weather outside is frightful, But the mocha here’s delightful, And since I’ve nowhere else to go, Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”
The object of his affection, fetchingly dressed in a black oxford shirt, black denim jeans, black dragon hide boots and a deep forest green apron, vacated his post by the register and descended upon Harry’s booth in three powerful strides.
“Mister Potter, must you serenade my customers with that insipid Christmas drivel” he quipped, while delivering his patented death glare. Said glare lost its cutting edge when Harry’s gaze homed in on the Gryffindor red Santa cap jauntily perched atop the erstwhile dungeon bat’s head.
“I sing only for you, Santa Snape-”
“If you call me that again, I shall hex you where you sit. And I really should cut you off, Potter. After three espresso drinks, you’ll never fall asleep tonight.”
“Who said I want to sleep. You can’t mark papers if you can’t stay awake.”
“You’re making no sense, Potter. Why don’t you and the rest of the Golden Trio head home. You’ve had enough caffeine for the day.”
“You always shoo me out the door whenever I work up the nerve to chat you up. Why do you keep sending me away?”
“This is not a discussion I wish to have in the middle of my shop. Go home, Harry Potter, and await my owl.”
Ron and Hermione literally dragged the over-caffeinated wizard out of Snape’s coffee brewery. “Harry, mate, you’ve got to stop stalking the man while he’s working. I think you’re seriously creeping him out.”
“How can I explain to you two, that his presence both soothes my soul and ensnares my senses?”
“Harry, I love you as a brother, but your obsession with Snape is not healthy. Please leave the poor man alone. He deserves a harassment-free workplace.”
“Hermione, how can you accuse me of harassment? I’m trying to get him to see me as a potential partner.”
“Mate, even I can see you are forcing your affection upon Snape, at his workplace, where he can’t escape. You are harassing him.”
“There’s no better coffee in Hogsmeade. Where will I find a peppermint mocha as perfect as his?”
“Harry, I promise that I’ll pick up your coffee when I place my daily order. You’ll have it in hand when you enter the Great Hall for breakfast.”
“I’m really gonna miss him, guys.”
“It’s really for the best, mate. Face it, he’s just not that into you.”
“Ouch, Ron, that hurt. But I suppose you’re right. Let’s go back to the castle. We have exams to grade before the winter holiday, we might as well put this caffeine to good use.”
The three youngest Hogwarts professors trudged a short distance through the snow before wising up and Apparating to the gates. A threstral-drawn carriage took them to the castle entrance, courtesy of Headmistress McGonagall.
After taking dinner in his quarters, Harry Potter, the DADA professor, sorted the fall term final exams by year. He always started with the NEWT levels first, while he was still wide awake and ready for whatever answers the students threw at him. By the time he finished with the last of the first year exams, it was three in the morning, his eyes were crossed, and he bemoaned the idiocy of the younger generation. It was the perfect time for Snape’s raven to arrive with what was most likely a “cease and desist” letter.
Harry fumbled blindly to extract Snape’s post from the haughty, jet black bird’s leg. “Like owner, like familiar”, he grumbled. The onyx beast proceeded to bite his thumb, hard enough to draw blood, when the exhausted professor handed it a paper clip instead of a treat. “Just like the dungeon bat of my youth” the rudely awakened professor mumbled around the thumb he was now sucking, to staunch the flow of blood.
“Oh, Merlin’s tits, first it’s inappropriate stiffies whenever I smell freshly brewed coffee. Then it’s the urge to serenade Snape whenever I’m anywhere near him. Now he’s got me sucking my thumb like a mewling firstie on his first night at Hogwarts.”
Sighing like a lovesick schoolgirl, he broke the coffee bean wax seal and slowly unfurled the parchment. Between his trembling hands and blurred vision, he struggled as he deciphered the missive.
I admit, your romantic interest in me over these past few months has been most flattering.
At first, I suspected it was a prank. Given our previous enmity, I worried that your attempts to woo me were a trap meant to humiliate the dreaded “dungeon bat.”
I decided to observe you. A lifetime of espionage lends one time to consider all angles before determining intent. I am most pleased that I chose patience.
I can see that your fumbling attempts at seduction are utterly and clumsily sincere. Do you know you blush from the bottom of your neck to the very tips of your ears when I catch you embracing me with your emerald doe eyes? Just how far does that blush go, I wonder?
Please tell your little friends that I never felt harassed. Don’t bother wondering how I know their concerns, let’s just say that they broadcast their thoughts more obviously than you wear your palpitating heart on your sleeve.
Tomorrow, I will be dressed as Santa Claus for the annual Hogsmeade Christmas Festival. I have taken the liberty of procuring quite the fetching elf costume for you, in hopes that you will be my elf de camp. Please arrive at Perfect Perks at precisely 8:00 a.m. You shall be rewarded for your punctuality.
The lovesick professor reread Snape’s parchment five times, to confirm that he wasn’t hallucinating. He set a Tempus alarm for 6:30, before succumbing to an overwhelming pull to his four-poster bed.
The shrill whistle of the 6:30 alarm had Harry sitting up ramrod straight, wand in hand, poised for an attack, before he remembered the invitation to accompany his heart’s desire to the Christmas festival.
“What does one wear to what could be the first day of whole new beginnings?” he pondered, as he took a bracing shower to shake off his sleep deprivation.
It was seven forty five a.m., a mere fifteen minutes until he was due to meet Snape. Harry had just decided to abandon his efforts to tame his hair and left his quarters, when Ron and Hermione arrived to accompany him to breakfast. Hermione attempted to deliver Harry’s beloved peppermint mocha, as promised.
“I’m sorry, but I have a prior engagement. Severus has invited me to accompany him at the Hogsmeade’s Christmas Festival. I’m his elf de camp!”
“Harry, you’re deluded. He made it clear yesterday that you were to leave him alone.”
Hermione, he posted me at three a.m., he invited me. I’m going. Follow me, if you don’t believe me!” With that, Harry sprinted to the gate before Apparating to Prince’s Perfect Perks.
Severus stood at the entrance to his shop, wearing his Santa hat, apprehensive that his pert little elf would stand him up. He was interrupted from his musings by the pop of Apparition that delivered his Christmas present directly at his feet, on bended knee.
“It is seven fifty-nine and thirty-nine seconds, Potter. You were very nearly late,” he purred, as he helped the young man to his feet.
“I couldn’t shake Hermione and Ron. They followed me out of the castle, convinced I was delusional.”
“I gave Miss Granger your morning cup of mocha, did you not receive it?”
Harry did not have time to answer, for the remaining members of the Golden Trio chose that moment to literally pop in on the soon to be romantic partners. Hermione handed the mocha to Harry before speaking.
“Sir, I am so sorry we couldn’t stop Harry from accosting you. He just won’t accept that-“
“Accept what, Miss Granger?”
“That you’re just not that into him, sir,” mumbled Ron, cowed by the frosty glare Snape was projecting.
“Harry, please hand that coffee back to Miss Granger. You’ll need both of your hands.”
Harry did as he was told. Before Hermione could respond to the perceived slight, Snape gathered Harry in a passionate embrace, snogging him relentlessly.
“What in the name of Merlin is happening here?” Hermione squeaked as she dropped the coffee she had been holding.
“You saw Harry kissing Santa Snape, Miss Granger,” purred the brewmaster.
“Hey, you dropped my mocha,” Harry pouted.
“Never fear, my little elf, I’ll keep you in peppermint mocha for as long as you’ll have me.”
“Forever, then,” Harry murmured. “Indeed,” Snape purred.
“Great. Just great. Harry gets engaged before I can even pick out Hermione’s ring!”
“You great big lump! Aunt Muriel offered you a ring already. So, we’re engaged, too?”
“As touching as this is, Harry has an appointment with an elf costume that won’t wait. The Festival starts at noon. Perhaps we’ll see you there?”
“Noon? Why did he need to come four hours early?”
“Harry must try on his costume. I’ll leave you to imagine what will happen next.”
“It was enough seeing you snog. C’mon Hermione, let’s go pop in on Aunt Muriel.”
A very satisfied Santa Claus, and his practically edible elf de camp presided over a joyous Christmas celebration, the first of many they would host over their long and happy union.