Uma Prenda Perfeita

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the famed JKR. Ladyinthecloak deserves more than a shout out for beta-ing this monstrosity!! ; ) Thanks, girl!

Chapter Fourteen: Uma Prenda Perfeita

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The flames roared gloriously in the fireplace, and little embers danced above and away from the hearth as Severus Snape put the grate back into place. This was one thing he liked to do sans magic.

There was a certain calming quality to fire making...gathering dry wood from Hagrid's hut, taking the month's Prophets and tearing them, methodically, into wide strips of paper, then pushing them under the andiron to light with a match or two. It gave him something to do with his hands, other than foolish wand waving, while he thought about things.

He hadn't actually made a fire in a long time, he noticed. The bellows and poker lay where they were used last, propped up and dusty in the corner beside the fireplace. He brushed them off, motes swirling in the wind of his breath, and then he saw a large crack in the paint on the wall.

About time this place had a paint job, he thought. And he did just that, taking his wand and swiping it across the room to freshen the colour. It was a deep burgundy, like his Rossese di Dolceacqua left abandoned on the coffee table. A good Italian wine from the region of Liguria...best drunk at room temperature.

Picking it up, he surveyed his quickly drying work and wondered where he got the idea that a Slytherin would enjoy red. It was either Christmas... or the girl.

She was getting to him.

And he might just like it.

Severus Snape felt lighter than he had in the past six months, and it wasn't because he was tipsy. She, through her forgetfulness, had given him the nudge so he would get off his sulky, solitary arse and walk out the door. He hadn't socialized for more than two hours at a time since he himself had been in school, and never had he enjoyed it so damned much.

Yes, Gringotts was a bit of a drag, and Madam Malkin's wasn't much better, but he had had some time to peruse his favourite sections in Flourish & Blotts, and then they'd had a nice time in that Thai restaurant near the international bookstore, although he'd rather not have that soup again, anytime soon. It was too spicy, for his tastes, and he didn't much like transfiguring his robes into turtleneck sweaters and pea coats, no matter the amount of cashmere and camel fur he could conjure...

-The Fourteenth-

"What will you have, sir?"

"Yes, coming straight away."

-Later-

"Christ woman, this is spicy!" Severus hissed after slurping far too much for a first taste.

But this time, Severus was the one to blush, and he cleared his throat, saying, "You know what I meant, Miss Granger."

"Of course, Professor." She smiled, innocently enough.

-Later-

"Well, that Pad Thai was decidedly less spicy than that sorry excuse for a soup you forced me to eat."

The waiter looked frightened, and then scurried away as Hermione fought through her teary eyes to fill out a substantially larger tip.

-In the Bookstore-

"I've never heard you laugh, Professor. Sneer... or chuckle, even. But not laugh." She peered over Fashion through the Ages: United States of America, a gift for the fashionably fascinated Ginevra Weasley, her eyes crinkled with cheer.

All the while, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth...

-o-

No, Severus Snape did not mind being in Hermione Granger's presence at all. Not that he was about to shout it to the world or anything.

T'was the night before Christmas, and throughout the castle, only the faint sound of charmed jingle bells that were finally wearing off could be heard. Severus sipped his wine and turned to the very small, but still quite existent, fir tree near the entry to his dining room. He had allowed some white faeries to dwell in it for the remainder of the Holiday, although often he wondered what had put him in such a mood to let infestations...attractive or otherwise...to crowd his living space with all manners of Christmas cheer.

Thank Merlin the elves hadn't put up mistletoe. There was enough of that rubbish hanging over every nook and cranny on the ground floor. He didn't know if he could put up with kissing Filch on the cheek one more time...it was like the Squib was following him!

Christmas was one of the only holidays that had produced good memories when he was a small boy. Although, that wasn't saying much because, even then, to the cherished and loved child, those memories lacked a sort of something. He did remember his paternal grandmother, at her cottage in Provence, allowing him one present before Old Saint Nick came along with his reindeer...Dasher, Flasher, Tazer, whatever the hell their names were...

The thirty-eight-year-old Potions master weaved his way around his coffee table and the black leather sofa and walked purposely toward the little dinky tree in the corner, in all its fey glory. He had few presents, which didn't hurt nearly as much as it had when he had been in school...when his bunkmates, the ones who had stayed over, had woken up to piles of gifts from their loving parents, and he, the scrawny, friendless sod over in the corner had received new socks, a few hygienic products and perhaps a small allowance of Muggle money from his father, all the good it had done him.

Severus bypassed all the usual presents form a few from the professors and Minerva (most likely something as garish as her Christmas baubles...she'd think it hilarious to give him a splash of colour other than green in his wardrobe, maybe a singing, Gryffindor-red cravat) and found a rather weighty, brown-paper package with a simple twine for a bow. There was a small, white card with an illustration of a rural valley cloaked in a white Christmas, the small cottages spouting smoke from their chimneys and shining yellow light from their small windows. On the opposite side, all it read, in silvery, calligraphic writing was, 'Seasons Greetings.'

"Odd," he murmured and took another gulp of wine, swirling it around in the glass as he turned the entire package over. It felt like a book. But should he open it? Maybe it would be better to leave it for the morning, and just open the package from the Ministry that would probably commend his war efforts and give him a large helping of money for staying out of their hair...? No. This seemed a much better prospect.

After all, didn't the best presents always come the night before Christmas? That's what he remembered, anyway.

Setting down the glass on an available stretch of table under the Christmas tree...needles promptly falling in...Severus untied the twine with one hand and carefully unwrapped the brown paper. A glint of silver showed through and he removed the book from its confines. It was black leather with iron-tinted designs on the front. He thought he'd seen it in Flourish & Blotts the other day with Granger. Opening the cover, a stiff piece of parchment fell out and he caught it, reading the detailed description of his gift.

"Self-Recording... Journal... Inventory. Brilliant."

He paused. Who the hell cared enough to send him such a valuable gift? It was probably worth nearly a hundred Galleons, as well, for all the complex spell casting used to make it. He sifted through the pages, feeling the magic that radiated from the finely crafted binding and thousand pages of paper.

-o-

He had felt elated, at first, but now he ached. For some unknown reason, while he gulped directly from the bottle of Rossese, he ached to know who had thought of him, he ached to give them something in return. But, of course, he probably scorned them on a regular basis, and that was why they hadn't signed it.

"Bugger."

And he had been feeling all light and airy just an hour ago. Fuck Christmas traditions. He'd never open a present again, if this was how it'd make him feel.

The clock chimed twelve o'clock, and Severus caressed the book binding in his lap one last time. He could sulk in bed instead of sitting on this uncomfortable piece of shite any longer.

He managed to stumble into his bathroom for a quick pee, then a splash or two of water over his face. But, as he wiped his face in his towel, he realized that this was probably not what his secret... admirer had wanted...for him to get piss-drunk over their anonymity. He guessed they wanted for him to be happy.

He mumbled, "Right fool, I am," into the fluffy goodness and turned toward his bedroom to sit on the end of his four-poster and remove his sodding boots. His stupid socks came next, and then his stupid button-up, which took much longer than need-be because of his dulled motor skills and wandering attention span. Finally the removal of his sodding trousers came, and with that, he vowed to be happy in the morning and use that beautiful gift to his heart's content.

-o-

A fire crackled in the generous hearth that was the fireplace in the faculty lounge. Christmas breakfast was being served here, versus in the Great Hall where there was a generous draught during the winter months, despite the many charms and stasis spells to counter it. Cinnamon buns and warm muffins and all sorts of cosy delights sat upon a buffet table, and Severus hadn't enough plate room for all that he wanted. The book was tucked nicely under his arm, and as he spooned some sausage casserole onto his plate, the Headmistress strolled in...in all her I-got-all-I-wanted-for-Christmas-and-you-didn't glory...with Hermione, who looked decidedly sleepy and still quite malnourished, but also content.

She spied him looking at her and gave him a smile, murmuring, "Happy Christmas, Professor," as Minerva brushed past her to claim a particularly comfy chair.

"Miss Granger." He nodded towards her and then turned back toward the buffet. She came up to stand next to him and then took up a plate, spooning some fruit and yoghurt onto it.

"How is your Christmas so far, Professor?" Hermione asked as she poured some tea. He nudged her with his own cup and she did the same for him.

"Adequate," he joked.

"Always so verbose, I see." She took some sugar with her tea and turned towards him, eyeing the book under his arm.

"An extraordinary gift I received anonymously. Probably the first worthwhile thing I'll get in a while," he offered by way of explanation.

"That really is too bad," she hummed in an apologetic tone. "Did it make you happy?"

"Yes," he answered after a pause.

"I'm glad for that, Professor." And she pivoted away from him, toward the Headmistress, who had been watching their interaction rather closely.

"Did...did your presents make it to their intended recipients?" he blurted, feeling like he should have made more conversation. "Your Portuguese friend...Diniz... he got his romance novel?" She turned back to him and then smiled.

"I think so. And Neville sent me his thanks this morning. Harry will eventually get around to sending me a note, and it will probably be squished in an envelope with Ginny's 'Thank You,' as well."

He snorted.

"Professor McGonagall ran into me on the way here and thanked me for the 'atrocity' I gave her." She smirked.

"That's... good."

She nodded with a smile and welcomed him to sit with her and the Headmistress for a quiet breakfast where they talked for hours about their own Christmas traditions and funny anecdotes.

Severus Snape did feel happy. And lighter than air, again, too.

A/N: Yay! I love a happy Sevvie! Although, that's not saying much...I like him all the time.

Read and review, please!!