InsaneJournal

ooo1ooo

Harry would always remember the year he destroyed Voldemort as the year when everything ended, and everything began anew.

It was a year of devastating loss warmed only by a bitter victory. A year of recovery and repair. A year bookended by snowfall and tendrils of hope.

Harry spent Christmas at the Burrow. Molly decorated to cover the empty place in her heart, cooked for an army, and worked her grief into her Christmas jumpers. For the first time, Harry’s didn’t prominently feature a lion, or a Snitch, or even his initials. Instead, his jumper that year was of a grey so dark it was nearly black, made from the finest yarn, the softest wool. It was a jumper that both soothed and warmed, that he would treasure for years to come.

It was a comforting garment, one that reminded him of a mother’s love.

He wore it on Boxing Day when he returned to Hogwarts.

There was a single table in the Great Hall for dinner, and a dozen people, students and teachers, around it. Severus Snape ate silently, ignoring the merry-making around him, and left before pudding was served, pushing back his chair and excusing himself politely, offering no explanation or apology for his early departure.

“Not much for Christmas, is he?” Harry murmured to Minerva, who was sitting beside him.

“No,” she answered. “But I expect he has his reasons.”

ooo2ooo

Harry returned to Hogwarts the next Boxing Day, wearing his new dark green jumper with narrow red and gold stripes in the waistband. Minerva had announced her plans to retire, and Snape, who’d been serving as deputy headmaster beside her for more than a year, would be moving back into the headmaster position. Harry, who’d been hard at work in Auror training, was Minerva’s guest at dinner.

“Christmas cracker, Professor?” Harry held one end of the foil-wrapped tube out toward Snape and smiled in invitation. It was a gesture he wouldn’t have dared a year ago, but a half a year out of Hogwarts had made him feel more an adult and less a student.

Snape lowered his gaze to stare at the shiny cracker, then shook his head slowly, one time, barely moving his neck.

“The last time I pulled a Christmas cracker willingly, Mr. Potter, a baby bonnet popped out and my grandfather made me wear it all evening.”

Harry grinned. “Well, let’s hope it will be a proper wizard’s hat this time,” he said.

But Snape wasn’t smiling. His expression hardened, and his hands remained firmly planted in his lap.

“I don’t do Christmas, Mr. Potter. Christmas does not evoke happy memories for me.”

Harry looked at him a moment longer, then placed the cracker back on the table.

“Not for me, either,” he murmured. He looked down at his jumper, fingering the hem thoughtfully, then around the table at the headmistress and the small collection of students. “But I’m hoping to make some new ones now.”

ooo3ooo

Molly Weasley welcomed two grandchildren the following year, and got so caught up in knitting baby blankets that she made everyone scarves instead of the more time-consuming jumpers.

Harry, newly minted Auror, didn’t get an invitation to Hogwarts that third year, but nevertheless was escorted into the headmaster’s office at half past ten on Christmas Eve. He’d been called out shortly after opening his gift from Molly at the Burrow, and had hastily wrapped the six-foot long bottle-green muffler around his neck, then Apparated to his flat to grab his robes before Apparating again to the gate of Hogwarts. Argus Filch, the unpleasant castle caretaker, had fallen to his death from a moving staircase.

Harry still felt self-conscious in his crimson Auror’s robes, but Headmaster Snape took them in without comment, nodding to the chairs before his desk, and when he met Harry’s eyes, Harry saw neither disapproval nor disdain.

“I’m sorry to have to do this on Christmas Eve,” Harry began. “But the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is required to investigate all incidents of accidental death.”

“I admit I expected your visit after the holidays,” Snape replied. “Argus Filch was a Squib.”

He said it in a matter-of-fact way, with a voice that felt different to Harry - looser.

“Things have changed at the Ministry,” Harry replied with a small smile. He then dispensed with the pleasantries, collected the information he needed, then thanked the headmaster and stood.

“Again, I’m sorry for intruding on Christmas Eve,” he said.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with law enforcement on Christmas Eve,” Snape answered in that same voice, sharing a bit more than he had to. Harry realised then that he’d most likely interrupted Snape having a bit of Christmas cheer.

“But not magical law enforcement, Auror Potter. This, indeed, is new.”

Harry tried to keep the shock from registering on his face. Snape had had run-ins with the Muggle police? On Christmas?

“Not me, you fool.” Snape narrowed his gaze at him, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. When he spoke, the words slurred ever so slightly. “I bailed my parents out of Muggle jail the Christmas I was seventeen,” he said.

Harry’s mouth must have dropped open.

Snape rolled his eyes. “My mother was a con artist – the worst kind. Queen of the three-card monte. All the worse because she was a witch duping Muggles. My father was in on the game from the start – figured he might as well get some benefit from the magic he hated so much.” He paused, and his expression was part smile, part frown. “Close your mouth, Potter, and return to your Christmas celebrations. It can’t be a surprise that my childhood Christmas memories are less than jovial.”

Harry glanced around the office. There wasn’t a fairy light or a Christmas bauble in sight. Not a trace of ribbon. Not a single pine bough. He thought of his own flat with its over-decorated Christmas tree and fairy lights, a stack of presents waiting to open, another stack to be delivered. He thought of the biscuits he’d made with Andromeda and little Teddy, and the bottle of scotch – his very first – that Minerva had sent over.

He glanced at his watch.

“How about having a drink with me? I know Aberforth is….”

Snape didn’t say a word but the look on his face stopped Harry in his tracks.

“Right. You don’t do Christmas.”

“Go, Potter. Enjoy the evening.”

Harry sighed, then turned and walked to the door. He looked back at Severus before stepping out the door to the stairway. Snape had opened a journal on his desk and did not look up.

Harry took a breath of courage.

“And for the record, I don’t have a single happy Christmas memory from the first half of my life. But I have a hundred since coming to Hogwarts. Someday, I’m going to have so many good ones I won’t even remember those first eleven years.”

Harry waited for Snape to look up from his journal.

“Happy Christmas, Headmaster,” he said, then closed the door behind him.

ooo4ooo

Harry stood at the door in the quiet ward, taking in the surprisingly garish Christmas decorations and thee web of fairy lights illuminating the room with an overly cheery mishmash of colour.

He checked the bed again. Yes, definitely Snape. Not the wrong room at all.

He’d left his Auror robes at home – he wasn’t on call tonight. He’d made his rounds earlier in the day delivering his gifts, and had spent a very happy two hours playing with Teddy before stopping in at the Burrow for Christmas dinner. He’d made sure to leave the evening free – he’d volunteered to fill in tonight so everyone else could spend Christmas evening at home with their families.

He stepped inside the room.

Snape, eyes and hands bandaged, was lying on his back, sleeping.

He hadn’t been on the investigation team after the incident that put Snape here three days ago, but was reasonably convinced, as was the team, that it had all been a colossally stupid accident. A potions ingredient contaminated then misfiled by a student. A worn-out headmaster, brewing for the infirmary following a break-out of Wizarding flu at Hogwarts, short of ingredients and borrowing from the student potion stock.

Fortunately, Snape had been alone when the explosion occurred. Fortunately, it had been loud enough for Poppy to hear, and she’d been near enough to act quickly and save his eyes.

Well, at least Snape wouldn’t be rolling his eyes at this year’s Weasley Christmas jumper. Percy’s wife was due to deliver on New Year’s, and everyone put in their guess on the gender. Molly created Team Blue and Team Pink jumpers – matching, of course – and had insisted they wear them for the group photo.

Harry, naturally, had bet on a girl.

He sat beside the bed and picked up the Daily Prophet from the table, left just where Minerva had said it would be. Snape’s breathing hadn’t changed, so Harry assumed he was still sleeping. He glanced around the room again, shaking his head.

Snape hated Christmas. He wouldn’t want to see – well, this - when the bandages came off in a couple days.

A single flick of his wand and the decorations were gone.

“Thank you.” The voice was faint, scratchy.

“Headmaster – How…?”

“My eyes are not sealed under the bandages, Auror Potter. The glow was annoying during the day when the other ambient light was sufficient, though I admit it was somewhat reassuring at night.”

Harry understood. Reassuring to know he could still see.

“I remembered you aren’t much one for the holidays,” Harry said with a shrug Snape couldn’t see. “But am I wrong in thinking you’ll take a warm fire on a snowy night?”

“Is it snowing, then?” Snape replied, carefully using his elbows to ease himself up so he was no longer flat on his back.

“Nearly a foot in Hogsmeade – only an inch or two here, but enough for a white Christmas – for those of us who enjoy that kind of thing.”

“Ah.” Snape sighed. “I wouldn’t complain about a fire – or a glass of Minerva’s best scotch. She enlisted you, I suppose? So she could spend the holiday with her sister?”

“She said you get cranky when you don’t get your reading in. Said you were driving the staff here mad.”

Snape snorted. He lifted a bandaged hand in a get on with it, then gesture. Minerva had informed Harry that they’d left the bandages on his hands even after they’d healed to keep him from scratching at his eyes.

“Fire first, don’t you think?” asked Harry, raising his wand with a smile and casting an Illusion spell to create a crackling, glowing fire with dancing flames and radiant heat.

The glow across Snape’s face softened his harsh countenance.

“We’ll talk about how you knew it was me later,” Harry said, opening the Daily Prophet, shaking it to make sure Snape knew he was getting on with it. “I assume you want to start with the front page and not the sports?”

The fact that Snape could manage a glare with his eyes covered spoke volumes.

“Alright then. The main headline is ‘Father Christmas Spotted Over Hogsmeade.’” He chuckled. “Guess we’ll skip that one, eh?”

“This isn’t the first Christmas I’ve spent in hospital,” Snape said, filling the silence as Harry scanned the articles on the front page, looking for something more interesting than a Father Christmas sighting.

Harry folded the paper and lowered it onto his lap. He wasn’t sure how to respond to this unexpected bit of sharing.

“In case you needed additional justification for removing those odious decorations,” Snape added.

“When – I mean – how old were you – when - ?”

“I was ten years old – the Christmas before Hogwarts. My father had the abysmal idea of spending Christmas Eve with his brother, who had eight children. While the adults drank themselves into oblivion, my cousins, who thought all proper boys should know how to use their fists, taught me how to box. I ended up in Muggle hospital with a concussion and a broken nose.”

Despite having been Dudley’s target for all of his childhood, Harry didn’t quite know what to say.

“It never happened again,” Snape continued. “By the next Christmas, I had my wand and my father lost any affinity that may have remained for mingling our families together.”

“The Dursleys didn’t like my wand much either,” Harry said. He didn’t think about the Dursleys often these days.

They were both quiet for some time, then Harry unfolded the newspaper.

“French Ministry to Modernize Beauxbatons Uniforms.”

Snape sighed in resignation and Harry smiled and continued reading.

ooo5ooo

The next Christmas, Harry didn’t see Severus at Hogwarts, nor at St. Mungo’s.

This Christmas, they weren’t just polite acquaintances. They’d crossed paths a half dozen times – at the Three Broomsticks, at the Ministry of Magic, at Malfoy Manor and on the occasion of Draco’s stag night, in a loud and rowdy London pub.

That Draco Malfoy counted Severus as a friend and mentor was not exactly surprising to Harry. More surprising was that Malfoy had fallen helplessly in love with Ginny Weasley, and that things had moved so quickly that this Christmas Eve, Harry was at the Burrow wearing a rented suit and escorting Aunt Muriel and Madame Delacour and the owner of the Holyhead Harpies and even Minerva McGonagall to their seats under the rented pavilion while the snow fell in the moonlight.

He slid in beside Severus as Bill led Molly to her seat and, while he smiled just as broadly as the rest when little Victoire and Teddy, holding hands and looking extremely serious, proceeded down the aisle, and wiped a tear away when Ginny appeared on her father’s arm, his mind was on Severus, and on this thing, this most surprising friendship, they’d forged these last few months.

And when it was all over, when they’d eaten, and laughed, and danced, when Draco and Ginny had appeared in their new Weasley jumpers, cashmere cardigans with felt-covered buttons and fur-lined hoods, and they’d toasted the happy couple, Harry led an only mildly protesting Severus to the dance floor as the music slowed.

It was too easy to press a little closer as the dance floor filled with couples, to press his lips close to Severus’ ear to be heard over the music. It was only natural to linger in his arms when the music died, and to take him by the hand to weave their way back to their table.

And when the music finally stopped and family and friends began to take their leave, to walk through the snow in the moonlight, and kiss him in the garden where he’d laughed as a boy, tossing garden gnomes with Ron and Ginny.

Severus’ lips were cold, but his breath was warm, and his arms encircled Harry, perhaps with a bit of surprise, but certainly without trepidation, and held him close.

“Happy Christmas, Severus,” Harry breathed, rubbing his cold nose against Severus’ cheek.

“The first of many, I hope,” Severus said in return, his voice catching in his throat.

“I knew I’d bring you over eventually.”

And they walked together back to the pavilion, Harry leaning against Severus as snow began to fall again.

“And stop using me as a windbreak,” Severus said. “It’s not very chivalrous of you.”

Harry grinned, and leaned in even closer, and they melted into the crowd without fanfare, but certainly not without notice.

ooo6ooo

“I still hate Celestina Warbeck, and Father Christmas, and most definitely mistletoe,” Severus complained as he bent to remove his socks and rubbed his toes. “Or chasing your godson through the snow when he took off on that supposedly child-safe broom you bought him.”

Harry planted a sleepy kiss on Severus’ raspy cheek, then settled down into the pillows. “No mistletoe, eh? Even when it’s hung over our bed?”

“I don’t need an excuse to kiss you,” grumbled Severus.

“You don’t have to love Christmas,” Harry said, snuggling into Severus’ side. “You just have to love me.”

“And Weasley jumpers,” continued Severus, eying the green monstrosity on the dressing chair. Molly had worked in a black cauldron over his belly. It looked as if he’d been shot through with a cannonball when he wore it. He settled back on the bed and quietly added, after a moment of silence, “Though a fine cashmere cardigan under my robes might serve me well in the winter.”

Beside him, Harry’s sleepy eyes opened in surprise.

“Cashmere?”

“Most certainly. Rather similar to the one Draco received at his wedding last year. In black, of course.”

“I’m not much one for white,” Harry chanced.

“Then matching black for you.”

“So – is that a proposal, then?” Harry propped himself up on one elbow, smiling rather stupidly down at Severus.

“It is. But don’t think I’ll be trying to top this next Christmas.”

And if Celestina Warbeck was crooning on the wireless in the background as Harry kissed Severus to seal the deal, Severus didn’t hear, or didn’t mind. The ghost of Christmas past was banished, replaced with warm fires and snowfall, moonlight and dancing, and soft cashmere cardigans with hoods lined with fur. Severus was drowning in a sea of new holiday memories.

Memories of Christmas, of Harry, of love.