Chapter Twenty: Christmas is Coming

Disclaimer: The characters belong to You Know Who. Not him, you wallies, JKR!

Chapter Twenty: Christmas is coming

She watches in silence as he enters the bedroom and stands before the bed unfastening his robes. Button by button his fingers work, each button undone allowing the edges of the fabric to part a little more. His black eyes hold hers in thrall for long moments until she drops her gaze to discover the pale skin exposed by the action of his fingers. Her breath held, she follows his hands down his body to his penis, erect and demanding, thrusting through the gap in the fabric. His mouth quirks at her gasp of surprise, and a raised eyebrow confirms her suspicion.

"Please... oh please!"

Tears flowed anew as Hermione awoke alone, sweaty and sticky, frustration throbbing through her body, release denied despite her best efforts. Flopping back onto her pillow, she dried her eyes with the back of her hand and retrieved her discarded nightgown from the floor beside the bed.

***

Snape was nowhere to be seen the next morning at breakfast, and all too soon it was time to head down to Hogsmeade and board the Hogwarts Express for London. If Hermione was somewhat silent on the ride to the village in the carriages, few noticed. The excitement of a two-week break from lessons and Christmas was enough to distract even her most devoted friends.

All but one.

Blaise Zabini chose the small compartment at the back of the train usually avoided by the groups of chattering students. As Hermione walked past, some distance behind her fellow Gryffindors, he caught her wrist and pulled her into the compartment. Locking the door and pulling down the blind, he sat her on the seat beside him.

"Okay. What's happened? You look like shite." Blaise sat back and folded his arms, awaiting a response.

Hermione glanced at the concern on his face. "That bad?"

"Dreadful."

"Thanks."

"What's he done now?"

"Nothing." She shrugged. "Well, not nothing exactly."

"What then?"

"He caught me wandering the halls last night."

"And deducted points?"

"No."

"Don't make me extract it out of you syllable by syllable, Granger. This trip only takes a few hours."

"We kissed, all right? He kissed me and then changed his mind and ran away. He's driving me crazy! Blaise, how can he do that? How can he kiss me with such need and passion, then switch it off as if nothing had happened?"

Blaise shook his head. "Believe me, Granger, there's no way he'd be able to turn off his feelings that easily. Hide them, maybe." Reaching out with his arm, he scooted Hermione closer and pulled her to his side. "Come on; it's time for some of that special Zabini magic."

Gradually, the gentle rock of the Express as it chuffed its way to King's Cross and the warmth of Blaise's embrace lulled Hermione into a deep, much-needed sleep. Unwitnessed, Blaise watched over her slumber, guarding her from unwanted interruptions as he caressed the frown from her brow with tender fingers.

***

"Oi, Harry, have you seen 'Mione?" Ron surfaced from the latest Quidditch gazette and peered around the compartment. I thought she was going to sit with us."

"Dunno. Maybe she had a better offer. Gin's around somewhere, and Zabini's likely to be with her."

Ron snorted as a thought occurred to him. "Perhaps she's done a Neville and braved a Slytherin compartment. She could be having a deep and meaningful conversation with Pansy Parkinson."

"Or trading hair-care tips."

"No, that'd be with Malfoy!" Grinning at his own wit, Ron returned to his perusal of the Chudley Cannons' statistics. "Bloody hell, they need to get cracking!"

Harry frowned. "Malfoy and Hermione?"

"No, you berk, the Cannons. They're at the bottom of the points table!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Look."

Hermione's whereabouts forgotten, the two young men studied the points charts and debated the chances of their favourite team reaching the final.

As the train slowed towards the end of the journey, the door to the compartment slid open to admit Hermione and Blaise.

"There you are. We were beginning to think you'd sneaked off at Hogsmeade and Apparated home," Harry teased as Hermione blushed.

"No, just fell asleep in another compartment. Didn't sleep very well last night." Her yawn added emphasis.

"Studying all night again? You're crazy, 'Mione. It's Christmas! Talking about Christmas, you are coming over to the Burrow on Christmas Day, aren't you?"

"Of course. I'll bring my parents as well. Dad loves seeing all the magical decorations and lights. He's as bad as your father, just the other way around!"

Ron looked up at Blaise. "If you're interested you can join us, Zabini. Mum's always keen to feed as many people as she can."

Blaise shook his head. "That's decent of you, Weasley, but I'll be expected to spend the day with Mother. I hope you lot have fun." He glanced out of the window as the train slowed to a halt. "I'd better go; she hates waiting."

Hermione followed Blaise out of the compartment. "Blaise?"

"Yes?"

"If you want to come and visit over the holiday... well... you know you're welcome, don't you?"

He nodded. "You never know, I might just take you up on that offer. I'll owl you."

Hermione's gaze followed him as he stepped off the train and into the embrace of a tall, elegant witch with dark skin and a magazine smile. They exchanged pecks on the cheek and disappeared into the milling crowd without a backward glance.

***

"Darling, can I come in?" Jean's voice was accompanied by the aroma of freshly-baked ginger biscuits and hot chocolate.

Hermione threw off the quilt she'd wrapped over her shoulders and found a smile. "Sure, Mum. I was about to come downstairs anyway. Mmm, did you just bake these?"

"I had to rescue them from your father. He would have eaten the lot, given half a chance."

"You know Dad loves them. Especially at Christmas. Nobody would think he was a dentist if they ever saw him with a plate of ginger biscuits."

"Just as well I don't let him take them to work then." Jean handed Hermione a steaming mug of her favourite winter drink. "Now, young lady, it's time you told me what's wrong. You've been moping around ever since you came home. You haven't even put your decorations on the tree yet."

Every year since Hermione was born, her parents had bought a new ornament for the Christmas tree. From the age of three she had helped select a special bauble or figurine to add to the collection. The ritual of hanging Hermione's decorations was always the final step in preparing the house for Christmas, missed the previous year while she was camping out in the cold, hungry and miserable, and her parents were barbecuing with new-found friends in Australia. She knew her parents had been looking forward to re-establishing normality.

"Oh, Mum. I'm sorry I've been a grump. It's just..."

"Sidney? Or Severus? Or whatever you call him."

"How did you..."

"Call it womanly intuition. After all, when I saw you last month he'd just discovered you were a witch. I've been waiting to hear what happened when you returned to school."

Hermione had the grace to blush. "Gods, I never owled you to tell you what happened!"

Jean smiled and scooted closer to her daughter in the bed. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, she squeezed gently. "Don't worry about that now. Just tell me what happened."

Slowly, with several pauses to gather her scattered emotions, Hermione related her tale of woe.

Frowning, Jean handed Hermione a clean hanky and waited for her to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. "I'm not sure why you're so upset, sweetheart. It sounds like Severus feels the same way as you do. You can't blame him for acting responsibly and considering your reputation and education."

"I know, Mum, that's part of the problem. I know in my head he's right, but my heart and body don't seem to have caught on. It's just so damned frustrating! And not only that, I'm sure he believes I'll take up with some younger wizard and forget him now the exhibition is over."

"You'll just have to let him know with letters and actions that he is mistaken. And I don't mean accosting him in every corner of the castle and snogging the daylights out of him. You have plenty of studying to keep your mind off him between now and graduation, and I'm sure he won't run away between now and then."

Hermione sighed. "You're right, of course. It's just so hard seeing him every day and knowing I can't be with him, can't tell everyone he's mine. Blaise is the only one who knows."

"Blaise?"

"My Potions' partner. And that's a problem as well."

"He's bothering you?"

"Far from it. Blaise is a wonderful person, who is smart and kind and funny and even handsome. He's been a really good friend to me since he figured out what was going on."

"I don't understand, dear. If he's so supportive, why is he a problem?"

"He's in love with me. Oh, nothing creepy, Mum, he's been quite open about it and knows I don't feel that way about him. That's why he is so wonderful. Despite how he feels, he listens to me whine about Severus and never complains. I feel so guilty, but he's the only person I can talk to."

"He sounds like a special person. Try not to hurt him, won't you? Good friends like that are hard to come by.

"Talking about good friends, how are Ron and Harry and the others?"

Hermione smiled wistfully. "Fine. Totally oblivious, but that's probably for the best. Ginny is convinced I'm pining over Kingsley Shacklebolt for some reason, and the boys think Blaise is my boyfriend, but otherwise things are as usual."

"Shacklebolt? Isn't he your Prime Minister?"

"Minister of Magic. And a really great wizard. He was in the Order, and I know him quite well, but..."

"Not fanciable?"

"Very fanciable, if you're a wizard. At least, that's what I suspect."

"Hermione! You can't say that about your Minister. It's not respectful!"

Hermione giggled and shook her head. "Oh, Mum. You can always cheer me up."

"That's what mums are for."

"That and ginger biscuits," Hermione replied, swiping the last biscuit.

***

Minerva McGonagall's tight lips should have warned Snape to moderate his temper, but his state of constant frustration rendered him oblivious to such signs. As the terrified first year scuttled off down the corridor, her agitated brogue penetrated his black mood.

"My office, Professor. Now!"

Snape scowled as he followed his headmistress's tartan cloak up the spiral stairs.

Only a dozen or so of the little brats here over the holidays, yet they can't stay out from under my feet. Why can't I sulk in peace? Fucking season to be jolly.

I hate bloody Christmas.

"Severus... Severus!"

"What!"

"Once again I am forced to ask. Is there anything wrong?" Minerva's concern leaked through her stern expression despite her best efforts.

"No. Nothing."

"Then why were you berating young Fothergill for simply walking back to his common room after dinner? You're well aware the poor lad is already distressed at his parents gallivanting off to Switzerland and leaving him here for Christmas. I plan to have some strong words with them on their return, and I don't need you making the boy even more miserable."

"His parents' irresponsibility is not my concern." Snape's lip curled. "His behaviour is. Using magic in the corridors is still against the school rules, I presume?"

"He used a simple Lumos in that patch of corridor where the lamps are faulty. We all do. I hardly think it was a transgression worthy of twenty points." She held up her hand as Snape began to protest. "No. I don't want to hear it. Henceforth, I will expect either more temperate behaviour or an explanation. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Headmistress." Snape offered a perfunctory nod and turned to leave.

"One more thing, Severus."

"Yes, Minerva." His sigh was barely audible.

"Try to have a happy Christmas. It won't kill you."

Maybe not, but long, empty days without seeing her smile might. Endless cold showers at this time of year are definitely bad for the health.

***

Snape spent the next few days in his quarters, the black miasma of depression cloaking him more heavily each day. Even Firewhisky was of little use, leaving him with a splitting headache and a coated tongue but little resolution to his problem. While his head knew the socially appropriate course of action, his heart roundly disputed it at length while his penis took every opportunity to disrupt his concentration.

He took the small package from his desk drawer and turned it over and over in his hands.

She'll get the wrong idea. Or maybe the right one. I should never have bought it. I'm a fool. An old, pathetic fool. I can't send it.

But his feet had betrayed him and taken him to the owlery while he ruminated. Calling down a large tawny owl, he affixed the package to its leg before his conscience caught up with his actions. "Go. Take it to her before I change my mind."

The owl looked at him with a steady eye, then blinked. With a hoot, it swooped off the perch and out of the window, almost colliding with a small, brown owl arriving with a letter.

Snape fended off the enthusiastic newcomer for several moments before realising it carried a message for him. Taking the envelope, he slit it open with a deft flick of his wand and perused the contents.

Face ashen, he took the stairs two at a time and, reaching the bridge between the owlery and the castle, leaped off.

***

A/N: This was written for shalimar1981 for the TPP Every Flavour Auction.

Smooches and cuddles go to Karelia for evicting the comma I left in a compound predicate. Yes, quaffie, I am currently beating myself with a limp lettuce leaf for penance. Oh, the shame!