Chapter Text
It all began in the winter of 1991.
Sadly, Severus Snape wasn’t aware that anything began at all. He assumed the Christmas gift on his desk was a prank. Some immature gag from Zonko’s meant to humiliate him.
So, he incinerated it. Full Incendio, right there on his desk.
It wasn’t the first mistake he’d made on that varnished wood surface, and it wouldn’t be his last.
Of course, the result was anticlimactic. Severus expected the box to explode, or transform, or bubble over into a slimy green ooze.
The gift did none of those things. It just turned to ash. He spent a good three seconds pondering the conundrum, then swept the dust away with a flick of his wand and moved on with his life.
The following winter, another gift appeared on the final day of fall term. A small square box, wrapped in green and white paper and tied with a festive red ribbon.
Perhaps Severus was distracted that holiday season, or perhaps he had mellowed a smidge after growing accustomed to his new normal - spending nine months a year sharing living space with Lily’s son. Whatever the reason, he opted to examine the package before destroying it. So, he bombarded it with Revelio and twelve requisite anti-jinx spells.
The gift, in the meantime, did nothing, as gifts are wont to do.
Hesitant, Severus loosened the ribbon using a modified Accio. He peeled off the wrapping paper the same way.
The box remained a box.
With suspicion painted across his brow, he flicked open the folded flaps and peered inside.
There, nestled in a bed of white tissue paper, was a simple green pin. It was small, circular, and in its centre was a silver, ornate ‘S’.
Severus was unsure if the initial was meant to signify Slytherin, or if it was for his name specifically.
He poked it with a finger, and the ‘S’ undulated like a viper, duplicating itself. Now the circle displayed two smaller, interlocked ‘S’s, both embossed in a deep, polished black.
It reverted to the single silver ‘S’ once his skin broke contact.
Clever.
The pin was, most certainly, a gift. It also was, most certainly, for him. But who was it from? And why hadn’t it been put aside to be delivered with the three others he always received early on Christmas morning?
Severus wrote it off as an anomaly, and, as before, continued on with his miserable existence.
In 1993, a new gift showed up in the same smudged spot on his desk. This time it arrived two days prior to holiday break. It was again a surprise.
Or maybe Severus was just weary from scanning the halls for insane escaped convicts. Either way, his secretive Santa had once again paid him a visit.
He cast Revelio, the twelve anti-jinx spells, and added seven anti-curse spells. Then, because it was never far from his mind nowadays, he scanned it for traces of animal fur.
Nothing.
The trappings were red this time, with green and white accents. Severus opened his gift and found an old-fashioned alarm clock, complete with two brass bells atop it. Unlike his last gift, this one didn’t appear to be enchanted.
It was months later, when Severus opted to use the clock to alert him when the ruddy Wolfsbane potion had finished its curing phase, that he discovered what had been done. In fact, it startled him so much, he’d dropped the Muggle dime store mystery novel he’d been reading and lost his place.
The clock’s brass bells had played ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,’ from the Muggle ballet, The Nutcracker.
Severus decided such a gift deserved a better fate than that of a common egg timer, so he started using it as an actual alarm clock.
On a particularly cold evening in April, Severus found himself jolted awake by yet another nightmare. His bad dreams were increasing in frequency, and his standard calming draught was doing nothing to prevent them. He would need to brew something stronger. With dour thoughts of psychedelics and addiction haunting his mind, he stared up into the darkness.
Until a shadowy movement slithered across his floor.
On high alert, Severus brandished his wand, fully expecting to see Sirius Black hovering over him with a dagger poised to strike.
But it was the alarm clock. Unbeknownst to him, at the turn of each hour, the thing would cast a brief image of Hogwarts for exactly thirty seconds.
And not just any image. It cast reality. The shadows Severus saw were the waxing moonlight reflecting off the Black Lake.
He spent the rest of that evening trying to deduce who his anonymous gift-giver was while waiting, intrigued, for the next hour’s display.
By December of 1994, Severus had remembered his yearly Secret Santa. But his mind was preoccupied with twinges of pain, and the darkening of his Mark. Albus had always sworn Lord Voldemort would return, and it appeared the old blighter was correct.
There was also the added frustration of Potter and his continuing theft of Polyjuice Potion ingredients. Was the insolent brat planning to switch places with someone and have them compete on his behalf? If so, why?
It didn’t make sense. In fact, nothing this entire term made any bloody sense.
Ruddy ridiculous Triwizard Tournament.
It was why, when the gift eventually did appear on his desk, Severus stuffed it into the bottom drawer. Then the Yule Ball happened. Karkaroff had cornered him, and he’d completely forgotten about the rather odd-shaped present.
This was a mistake, as rodents found their way into his desk in early February and devoured half of whatever it was. The house elves were quite put out that Severus left food in his desk, although they did remove the mouldy remains.
He never did learn what that gift was. Some type of dessert, he presumed.
Ah well. It was for the best. He never really fancied sweets.
In the second week of December, 1995, Severus opened his class each morning with an eagerness he struggled to suppress.
He remembered. And he was, dare he admit it, excited.
What would his anonymous patron have in store for him this year?
But as the days continued to dwindle, and no gift appeared, Severus found his hope slipping.
His first thought was that the Umbridge bitch did something to hinder his mysterious Santa. But it was also possible he’d offended the person. He offended people daily now. Narrowing down the list of recently affronted candidates to determine which might be his gift-giver was an exercise in futility.
Severus’s mood went from bitter to morose as more days passed without his special gift. Then, much to his delight, a rectangular package appeared on his desk during the early morning hours on the day students left for the holidays. It was far larger than its predecessors, and, in a new twist, wrapped in blue paper rather than the traditional reds and greens. The ribbon was thick and white.
Severus still cast the appropriate scanning spells, and, like always, the gift remained inert. However, when he touched the ribbon, sparkling silver snowflakes appeared along its length. They spread out from the point of contact, travelling like dominoes across the white surface. Once they reached the centre bow, the blue paper glowed, revealing a scene of different sized snowflakes drifting and twirling about.
Severus knew at once his gift-giver was a student. Likely a fifth year. Flitwick had taught them the Animation Charm three weeks ago.
Clearly, this particular student had already mastered it.
He opened the box to find a black hand knit scarf with silver and green tassels. He lifted it out of its box and found it … incredibly long. And clearly crafted by someone who had just learned how to knit.
Severus draped it around his throat anyway, finding the yarn soft and warm.
He wore it all winter, but only when he travelled alone. He didn’t want the student to see him enjoying it, as he had a niggling suspicion who it might be.
Although why she, of all people, would be kind to him, was a mystery.
He was never kind to her. By design.
Events later that year made him dismiss her entirely. There was no way that irritating little swot could ever be fond of him.
By the time the holidays arrived in 1996, Severus’s tolerance for damn near everything had been worn away to nothing but threads. Draco was a loose cannon. Albus was dying. The Dark Lord kept summoning him at odd hours. And Potter and his friends were as insolent as ever.
Severus was done with this war. The headmaster swore the end would come within the next two to three years, but Severus didn’t think he could suffer through it much longer. Oftentimes he debated between falling on his proverbial sword by coming clean with Potter, or just impaling himself on an actual one. It wasn’t like Hogwarts lacked for medieval weaponry.
His death would force a confrontation between the two omnipotent men that used and abused him. Of this, Severus was certain. Albus would be furious if the Dark Lord ended his life, and Voldemort would be equally enraged if the infamous Dumbledore destroyed his precious Hogwarts spy.
Would they haggle over his mangled corpse? Or would the pair find other toadies to do their bidding?
Mired in his bleakness, he’d forgotten about his Secret Santa until the moment the Hogwarts Express pulled away from Hogsmeade Station.
He’d hurried back to the Potions classroom, only to find it dim and deserted.
It’s over, then.
He’d pushed the student too far in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Or some other such nonsense.
Severus retreated to his quarters, and remained there, sipping watered down Ogden’s Finest from a clear glass tumbler while staring into the low flames inside his fireplace. At some point tonight, either Albus or the Dark Lord would summon him, and like the good little servant he was, he’d come running.
May they both rot in the depths of Hell. And may it be soon.
Much to his surprise, a house elf appeared midday the next day, Christmas Eve. “Is for you,” the androgenous elf had stated, handing him the large square box. “From an admirer.”
Severus had no admirers. Especially not this year.
He followed proper protocol, of course, and scanned the ruddy thing. This year’s wrappings were more ornate than ever, the box draped in silver and gold with semi-transparent images of festive potions vials floating across it.
With a lightness in his heart, and perhaps a hint of a grin on his dour face, he carefully removed the ribbons and paper and flicked the box open. Inside was a set of three copper cauldrons, each nested inside the other.
Wow.
These were costly items. Waving his wand, Severus levitated the smallest inner cauldron out from within its sibling, only for it to immediately expand to normal size. He did the same with the second one, which also grew slightly, and the third remained as it was.
There were etchings on each, and Severus barked out a laugh when he figured out what his talented gift-giving student had done.
He tapped the small ‘S’, and the third cauldron shrunk to the smallest size. He tapped the ‘M’, and it grew to the mid-sized volume. Tapping the ‘L’ returned it to normal.
The box rattled, and, for the first time, a note popped out.
‘These cauldrons have been altered by both a Protean charm and an Extendable charm. Tap the letters to change their sizes.’
Below that text, in smaller, familiar script, was the following:
‘It’s obvious you enjoy teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts, Professor. But Potions isn’t the same without you. Enjoy. — HG’
The small square of parchment fell from Severus’s fingers and drifted to the floor.
His Secret Santa was, and always had been, Miss Hermione Granger.