Happy Christmas to Me

Chapter 12: Happy Christmas to Me

Hermione sank down onto the sofa, disappointment twisting her stomach into painful knots. This wasn't how she'd pictured it. She was supposed to be thrilled to fits right now. She was supposed to be dancing around the room in excitement.

She was supposed to be a published author.

Instead, the letters she clutched in her hand said otherwise:

"Thank you for your inquiry. Please resubmit your suggestion at a later date."

"While we appreciate your efforts, we cannot consider your offer at this time."

She had been so sure, so certain that her book would be embraced as a much-needed revelation. Hermione wondered briefly if it would do any good to go in person and beg a publisher to read her manuscript. Of all the contacts she had made in the wizarding world, none was involved in publishing, and she mentally kicked herself for failing to do any networking in that direction. It would have been invaluable just now to be able to drop a note to someone, some person with the right connections.

Above all, Hermione told herself sternly, she would not cry. It was tempting: on top of this disappointing news, Christmas Day was tomorrow. While her parents were determined to keep her occupied – in other words, to prevent her from dwelling on Ron – she still felt his absence deeply; this Christmas was different, and no amount of Yuletide entertainment would change that. In addition, what had amounted to a budding friendship with Severus Snape had been shattered at the Ministry Christmas party.

It had not been a good year.

Hermione glanced at her watch. It was only six o'clock, and she was expected at Harry and Ginny's at seven. Not that she felt very festive now that she'd checked her mail: the idea of soaking in a hot tub, then climbing into bed and pulling the covers over her head sounded rather pleasant. Or, she could go to her parents' house tonight instead of waiting for the morning, forget that she was a grown woman and hope that her mother would baby her a little...

"Don't be stupid," Hermione said aloud. She'd never been one to allow herself to be babied, or to run to her parents for comfort, for that matter. She would change clothes and go to the Potters' and have a lovely time.

It was not a thought that inspired enthusiasm just now. Hermione spent several minutes trying to convince herself to simply get off the sofa. She had just climbed to her feet when there was a knocking at the door. To her surprise, she found Severus Snape standing there.

"Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," Hermione replied cautiously. Cautiously, because she hadn't seen him since the night of the party. Cautiously, because just after their picture was taken for the Daily Prophet, Hermione had stormed out in disgust.

"May I come in?"

The last thing she needed just now was a dose of Snape's sarcasm. On the other hand, Hermione had been regretting her juvenile behavior for days now, and this was an unexpected opportunity to clear the air.

"Of course," she said.

Snape crossed the threshold to stand in the middle of the lounge. Hermione motioned to an armchair.

"Please, sit down. I'm afraid I don't have any mince pies to offer you. I didn't do any baking this year. Would you like some coffee? Or tea? It would only take a moment."

Severus shook his head. "I won't be staying. I merely wanted to give you this." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a flat package, wrapped with a red ribbon.

Surprised, Hermione took it from him and stared at it for a long moment

"You may open it," he pointed out impatiently.

"In a moment," she said, wanting to apologize and be done with it. "Look, Snape – Severus – I behaved rather immaturely at the party, and I need to apologize."

"Oh?" An eyebrow arched.

"You were correct. I made the mistake of assuming certain things. It was stupid of me, but there was no reason in the world for me to get my nose out of joint." Hermione paused, then: "That's not something I normally do. I'm sorry for behaving like an idiot."

Severus considered this. "You are normally well-informed in whatever you undertake," he conceded. "And over the past few months, I have tried to avoid discussing myself, as you well know. Still, I could have mentioned the change in my circumstances. I rather enjoyed watching your righteous indignation, I'm afraid."

Hermione managed a hint of a smile. It was likely the closest Severus Snape would ever come to an outright apology.

"Are you going to open that?" Snape pressed, watching her absently rub the gift with her thumb.

"Oh. Of course." Hermione paused once more, looking slightly guilty. "But I didn't get you anything..."

"I'm shattered. Open the bloody present."

The retort was classic Snape. The awkward moment past, Hermione broke into a grin, then made short work of the wrappings. She found a stack of parchments inside. "What's this?"

Snape said quietly, "It's my recollection of the war."

Hermione stared at him. "Your recollection of the war?"

"It's what you wanted, isn't it? My point of view?" He looked ready to snatch the parchments back, if need be.

She blinked. "Yes, but –"

"You have proved yourself trustworthy these past few months," Severus stated. "I feel that you will use the information in an appropriate manner."

Hermione felt her stomach plunge abruptly. "You know that I already submitted the manuscripts –"

"Of course. But surely you will be allowed to make amendments, if necessary. In any event, the information is yours to do as you will with it."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione retrieved the two letters from the day's post and handed them to him. "These arrived today," she said miserably.

He scanned them quickly. "I see," he murmured, emotionless.

"Look, under the circumstances..." Hermione inhaled deeply and held out the parchments, "you may have these back. I appreciate it so much, you have no idea. But I won't be needing them now."

Snape hesitated before taking them from her. "Are you giving up then?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose. It's not as if I can print the book myself and sell it on the street corners."

"Have you no other options?"

"Other than badgering the publishers? No. Thus ends the writing career of Hermione Granger." Her smile was less than sincere, and her voice cracked just a hair. Hermione had not intended to allow her disappointment to show so plainly; then again, there was little likelihood that Snape would feel sorry for her.

"You might try the wizarding periodicals," Severus suggested, his tone neutral. "While they are not all shining examples of pristine journalism, one or two might be receptive to your story."

The idea had previously occurred to Hermione as a potential last resort, but buoyed by the confidence of the unwary, she had not given it much consideration. Frankly, the prospect seemed no more intriguing now.

"I'll think about it," she said, flashing a none-too-convincing smile.

Abruptly, Snape glared at her. "You were never a quitter, Granger."

"No," she admitted. "I wasn't. I mean – I'm not."

"Then perhaps you should hang onto these." He held the parchments out toward her once more.

Hermione looked from the parchments to Snape, to the determined expression on his face. It occurred to her then: not only was he was expressing his confidence in her, he was making himself known to her in the most impersonal way possible. There was no telling yet how revealing his reminiscences were, but for Severus Snape, any private information willingly shared was priceless.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'll take good care of them."

They regarded each other for a moment, then Snape tore his gaze away.

"I must go. I'm sure that I'm interrupting your plans for the holidays."

Hermione was struck by a sudden, absurd desire to invite Severus to go with her to the Potters'. Then sanity returned, and she said simply, "I'm going to spend Christmas Eve with Harry and Ginny."

The look of revulsion in Snape's eyes was unmistakable. "Of course," he said. "I'm sure that you'll have a pleasant time."

He turned to go, and Hermione blurted, "Tomorrow, I'll be going to my parents' house. Would you like to go with me? If you have no other plans, that is?"

Severus stopped dead in his tracks, startled. A mélange of emotions crossed his face before he finally shook his head.

"I appreciate your offer, but no. Tomorrow is your day to be with your family. Please enjoy it."

Hermione was sorely tempted to ask what his plans were, but chose to keep silent and leave Snape's dignity intact. She suspected that he had no one and no plans, but then again, she'd been wrong about Severus Snape before.

"Thank you. I will." She followed him to the front door.

Severus opened the door and started out into the hall. "I bid you a Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"You, too, Severus." Hermione started to close the door, then paused. "I was wondering..."

"Yes?" Snape paused, regarding her with suspicion.

"Do you have plans for New Year's Eve? Perhaps we could have dinner."

He studied her face, looking closely for motive and intent.

"That would be... satisfactory."

"Very well." Hermione smiled. "Good evening, then."

* * *

Christmas was about as Hermione had expected. Everyone, from Harry and Ginny, to Julia and Lawrence Granger, seemed to bend over backwards to avoid the subject of Ron Weasley. It was the Elephant in the Room; Ron's absence was glaring and obvious, and everyone tiptoed around it as though it wasn't an issue. Presents were exchanged, compliments given, and emotional land mines dodged. It was exhausting, and by the end of Christmas Day, Hermione was ready to scream.

She awoke on Boxing Day, grateful beyond belief that yesterday's awkwardness was past, but wondering what to do with herself now. Several months ago, when she was regarding her writing skills with a much greater degree of optimism, Hermione had scheduled the rest of the year off work in order to talk to publishers. That, of course, was sadly unnecessary now. Then it came to her: why not consider Snape's suggestion? She could spend the next few days investigating the wizarding periodicals published in Britain.

Her enthusiasm had always been for books. Magazines struck Hermione as lightweight entertainment, and as a result, she had tended to disregard them. She knew that the number and variety of Muggle periodicals far outweighed those in the wizarding world, and was already familiar with a handful of titles. Witch Weekly - Molly Weasley's favorite – had been around for years, and Hermione had seen numerous copies floating around Hogwarts. A low-class rag called Teen Witch Today had made the rounds of the girls' dormitories; as a prefect and then Head Girl, she had personally confiscated more than a few of those. Of course, there was the Quibbler: it had saved Harry that time, but Hermione was loath to tempt fate once more by going down that particular path. Then there was the copy of Hotwitch that Ron, blast his hide, had hidden from her one time...

There were reputable magazines out there, of course, including a large number of trade journals. Hermione couldn't imagine how her book could possibly be used by a publication such as Transfiguration Today or Ars Alchemica. There was only one general interest magazine in the wizarding world – This Week in Wizarding Britain – and she already subscribed to that. It was mostly hard news, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't recall any first-person stories ever being included.

She set out for Diagon Alley and headed immediately for Flourish and Blotts. The street was packed with shoppers – the post-Christmas sales always drew an enormous crowd of determined bargain-hunters – and Hermione found the shops just as crowded. The bookstore had been almost a second home to her for all these years, but this was the first time that Hermione had limited herself to the periodicals section. Glancing over the racks of magazines, she was heartened to see that there was more of a variety than she had expected.

Recipe Favorites: From Grandmums to Houses-elves offered the best dishes from around Britain. The cover of Genealogy for the Next Generation caught Hermione's eye with an article entitled "Mixed Genes: Why Pure Blood is Overrated"; it had been twelve years since the war, she thought unhappily, and still the issue of race continued. Fabulous Fix-Ups: Be a Wizard at Home Improvement promised to turn anyone's home into a castle. Financial Times insisted that everyone could learn to handle their Galleons, Sickles and Knuts like a professional: "Outthink the Gringotts Goblins", it advertised. There was even a periodical for collectors of Muggle artifacts, and Hermione wondered briefly whether Arthur Weasley subscribed. She had a brief mental vision of Arthur poring intently over every page, and was struck by a pang of sadness. No matter how well she maintained her relationship with the Weasleys in the future, Hermione would miss having Arthur as a father-in-law.

She went through magazine after magazine, to discover that most were – as she had always suspected – fairly lightweight reading. Trade journals took up most of the rest of the shelf space. Only a quarterly periodical called Our World and a magazine known as The Thinking Witch and Wizard looked remotely like candidates for Hermione's story. She bought the two and headed for the Leaky Cauldron, intent on reading both over a warm lunch.

"Hey, Hermione."

Hermione looked up at the mention of her name and discovered that she had almost walked past Harry without even seeing him. "Harry! Hello! Sorry I didn't see you. I was deep in thought."

"I could tell. You were in another world," Harry teased, shifting an armful of boxes from one side to the other.

"Going to all the big sales?" she teased.

"Ginny is doing all the big sales," he pointed out immediately. "I am merely the beast of burden, as you can see."

Hermione laughed. "Obviously. How was Christmas Day at the Potter household?"

"Wonderful. We loved every minute of it."

She knew that as a result of his deprived childhood, Harry insisted that his children know all the delights of the Christmas season; according to Ginny, he was as big a kid on Christmas morning as their two daughters.

"You're shopping as well?" Harry continued.

"Not exactly. I wanted to see what magazines are in circulation. Possibly send my story to one. Maybe it could be published that way." Hermione made a face.

"I can't believe that none of those publishers would work with you. What's wrong with those people?"

"It doesn't matter, Harry. It just wasn't meant to work out that way. When Severus suggested that I submit it to a periodical –"

"Whoa." The pleasant expression fled from Harry's face. "Severus? You're on a first-name basis now?"

"Well – yes, more or less." Hermione glared at him. "This is the twenty-first century, you know. People are less formal. He doesn't want to be called 'Professor Snape,' and it sounds silly to call him 'Mr. Snape.'"

"And does he call you 'Hermione'?"

"Sometimes. What exactly are you implying?" Her indignation was hampered by the blush rising in her cheeks.

Harry sighed, readjusting the stack of boxes in his arms once more. "Nothing. Look, forget about it, okay? It's just that I can't imagine why anyone would want to spend time with Snape."

Hermione couldn't help but grin. "You and Severus couldn't spend five minutes in one room together without hexing each other into oblivion."

"My point exactly."

"Look, I was just heading for the Leaky Cauldron for a bowl of soup or something. Would you and Ginny like to join me?"

"If I knew where Ginny was, that might be possible," Harry pointed out wryly. "I'm not even sure which shop she's buying out right now."

Hermione laughed. "Well, if you two need a break, come and join me, all right?"