Part 1, Chapter 6: The Gift

Chapter 6: The Gift

Hermione woke early on Christmas morning and felt a bit odd.

"That's what you get for drinking enough Christmas punch to float the Giant Squid," she muttered to herself, sitting up carefully.

Oh, God. What had she done the night before? Besides imitating Devil's Snare all over her Potions teacher for nearly an hour while he danced with her? The poor man. And then she all but begged to be allowed to stay with him when he was obviously ready for her to leave him alone. How was she supposed to face him today?

"Maybe something will come to me in the shower," she said as she made her way gingerly to her bathroom and turned on the water.

Snape woke up when he heard the water begin to run in the pipes upstairs. His head immediately informed him that he had overindulged the night before. Well, what was a man to do when all he wanted was to force himself upon a schoolgirl? Drink what was left in the cauldron, obviously. It was the only logical course of action.

"So, you think hungover is an improvement on pathetically infatuated?" he raged at himself. "You're an arsehole and a fool." Grabbing his discarded clothing from the armchair where he had flung it before he collapsed into sleep, he stormed into the downstairs bathroom to perform his morning cleansing charms.

Hermione left her hair down and dressed in a velour tracksuit in cranberry red. The shower had washed the cobwebs from her brain, and with youthful resiliency, she shrugged off her embarrassment over her behaviour from the night before. How bad could it have been, after all? He probably just thought she had a bit too much punch to drink – he couldn't possibly know how her feelings of deep, solid friendship with him were becoming mixed up with an emotion she could not identify or explain.

"Happy Christmas, Severus!"

Snape was dressed in his full professorial regalia when Hermione greeted him in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry!" she said penitently. "I'm supposed to be preparing breakfast every morning, but you keep waking up before I do."

Snape quirked one eyebrow at her. "So, you are admitting that I won the race, in fact?"

Hermione sniffed. "Of course not. But you are my guest, so it is my duty to prepare your morning tea."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said, directing his attention back to the very thin edition of the wizarding paper.

She stood over him. "Come on, we have presents to open!"

"You have presents to open," he corrected, "and I scarcely see why that requires my attendance."

"Because it's Christmas morning," she insisted, snatching his newspaper from his hands. "On Christmas morning you open presents before you eat breakfast." She danced back from him as he made a grab for the Daily Prophet, on the cover of which was a ridiculous photograph of Cornelius Fudge, wearing a Father Christmas hat.

"You are a menace," he growled at her.

"Bring your coffee to the sitting room," she coaxed him. "You never know – you might have a present, too."

He stood and advanced into the sitting room with a glare. "I had better not," he threatened.

Hermione laid the newspaper on the cushion of his favourite armchair and approached the Christmas tree. "There are things here that I didn't put here," she said, feeling a sudden touch of Christmas-morning excitement such as she had experienced when she was a little girl. "Look! This one is for you, Severus, from the headmaster! How did it get here?" Hermione picked up a large square box and handed it to a reluctant Snape.

"Sentimental old man," Snape muttered under his breath. "He has his ways."

Hermione fell upon her presents with glee. Her parents had given her a laptop computer, even though she had explained to them repeatedly that she could not use it at Hogwarts. It would be fun to use while she was at home, though. They had also given her some warm pyjamas, a new bathrobe, and the soft black leather boots she had yearned after since she was fifteen. As she ripped open her gifts and exclaimed over them, she kept an eye on Snape. He had not moved to open Dumbledore's gift, but was watching her surreptitiously through the curtain of his greasy hair, pretending to be absorbed in the newspaper in his hand.

Finally, she asked, "Aren't you going to open your present from Professor Dumbledore?"

Without looking up from the newspaper, Snape said indifferently, "It's a bottle of cognac and seven pairs of coloured socks."

Hermione laughed, diverted. "How do you know?"

Snape lowered the paper and smirked. "He gives me the same gift every year."

"Why seven pairs of coloured socks, though?"

"It is his wish to ... vary my wardrobe," he said with careful irony.

"Do you wear them?"

Snape sneered at her. "You have had occasion to launder my socks," he pointed out.

"Well what do you do with them?"

"I put them in a drawer."

"I would love to see that," she chortled. "A drawer full of years' worth of colourful footwear!" The notion that the drawer in question would undoubtedly be in his bedroom occurred to her, and she flushed. Confused, she looked down and saw the box that she had wrapped and slipped beneath the tree for him.

"This is for you, from me," she said, scooting across the floor to be closer to his feet. She held it out to him.

Snape stared at her impassively, and for a moment Hermione was very much afraid he was going to refuse the gift. Her heart was beating rather quickly as she waited to see what he would do, and when he put down the newspaper and rose to his feet, she expected the worst.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sounding rather more like a girl than the woman she very much wanted to be.

He stepped around her, over to the tree, where he stooped and produced a large, oblong wooden box which was not gift-wrapped, but which did sport a rather oddly-tied green velvet ribbon. "Only to fetch your gift," he replied in a voice which brought her eyes to his face.

"Oh," she said, watching as he lowered himself to sit with her upon the floor. "That's for me?"

He glanced down at the floor between them. "Put my gift there," he instructed. When she did, he placed the rather heavy wooden box in her hands. "It isn't new," he cautioned.

"Is ... is this from you, Severus?"

Snape resisted the compulsion to snipe at her. "Yes."

Hermione stroked the velvet of the ribbon. "Slytherin green, I see," she teased, and she giggled when he smirked. With a look of absorption upon her face, she slid the ribbon from the wooden box and lifted the lid.

Snape sat tensely across from Hermione, her gift to him held tightly in both hands, his damp palms leaving a slick of sweat on the gaily-coloured paper she had used. Would she like it? He had been afforded no opportunity to shop for her; the best he could do was owl a Hogwarts house-elf and instruct him to send the box along by owl post. It had taken three birds to bring it – but if she liked it, he would consider it worth the bother.

When she lifted the lid completely, Snape watched as wonder filled her face; he was infected with a giddy elation out of proportion to the situation.

"Severus – they're beautiful," she breathed reverently, running her fingertips over the hand-carved chess pieces, fashioned like faerie-tale creatures. She looked up into his face. "Are these yours?"

Solemnly, he moved his head in the negative. "They're yours," he answered.

She hesitated for a moment. "I don't play very well," she confided.

"So I've heard," he answered, letting a sliver of amusement tinge his tone. "I could help you with that."

True excitement lit her features. "You would teach me to play better?"

"I would certainly endeavour to do so," he replied and was astonished when she slipped the box onto the floor and threw her arms about his neck.

"I can't believe you gave me your own chess set," she whispered; she was so close to him that he felt the movement of her lips on his ear. "Thank you."

Closing his eyes and mentally driving away what good sense he had remaining to him, he allowed himself to drop the gift and to return her gentle embrace. As he had noted the night before, she was a cosy armful, not shaped like a boy, as were many of her hipless contemporaries, but like a true woman, with a rounded bottom, deliciously curved hips, and full breasts. Having her throw herself at him when they were both seated on the floor brought him into contact with her body from a whole new angle, and the knowledge of its contours insinuated itself in his ever-strengthening subconscious.

At length, she sat back from him and picked up the discarded gift, placing it in his hands with a look somewhere between anxiety and excitement. Snape received it from her in much the same spirit. He was thirty-seven years old, and the number of Christmas presents he had received in the course of his adult life were few, if one discounted Dumbledore's yearly obligatory gifts and the occasional bribes bestowed upon him by deluded parents desirous of improving their offsprings' Potions marks.

He had simply never been the sort of man who inspired others with the desire to confer gifts upon him. Aside from one occasion when he was very young – and pathetically foolish – he had never received a gift from a woman who cherished ... romantic feelings for him. He was ugly, he was old, and he was a Death Eater. What more needed to be said?

"Severus?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "Aren't you going to open it?"

He raised his eyes to look at her and for a moment he saw her as he had never done before. Clearly, he could see vulnerability – and was that desire? – in her pleading eyes. For once, the knowledge of another's defencelessness did not spur him to twist that frailty to his own advantage. It was not a sign of weakness for the girl to permit him to see this about her – it was a mark of that inner fortitude which was the hallmark of her House, and he was forced by the personal decency which had ever been his scourge to honour and respect her for it.

Snape looked down at the carefully wrapped package he held. In his estimation, the present could fall into one of two categories: a child's gift to her teacher, or a woman's gift to a man. Did he have the courage to remove the wrappings and discover in which league Hermione placed him – and, thereby, in which category she placed herself?

"Severus?" Her voice was now timorous.

Glancing at her swiftly from beneath one rakishly raised brow, he tore the paper from the box, removed the lid, and stared in unconcealed shock at the thoughtful, costly – and terribly personal – garment tenderly swaddled in silver paper. With one hand he stroked the lush cashmere. What did it mean? What made her believe that he was worthy of such extravagance? What did she see when she looked at him?

"Do you hate it?" she whispered. "I – I have the receipt. You can exchange it for something else, if you like." She was reaching to him, a folded bit of parchment in her hand.

He looked up at her. "It is the nicest gift I have ever received," he told her honestly.

Her smile at his pronouncement might very well have lit the darkest gloom; he could not be sure. What he knew with unshakeable certainty was that his inner confusion was moving him into treacherous territory and that he had not the will to resist the journey.

They had eaten shop-bought iced buns for breakfast, then she had commandeered his aid to put the small turkey to roast in the Muggle oven. He had stubbornly refused to permit her to drive anywhere, and she had stubbornly refused to do her grocery shopping in Diagon Alley. In the end, she had ordered her groceries on the Web-Net-thing, using the computer in her father's study and having the shop deliver the food and other items she had ordered. He was rather astonished at the number of dishes which she considered as indispensable to Christmas lunch, but wisely made no argument. When she was satisfied with her endeavours in the kitchen, she ordered him to go take a shower whilst she tidied up in the sitting room. Reflecting that a shower would be just the thing, Snape climbed the stairs without argument.

Now it was evening, and they faced one another with the chess pieces between them on a table. Hermione had moved the coffee table from its spot and replaced it with one of the end tables, which she had Transfigured into a lovely game table, inlaid with squares of blond oak and ebony, the chess board built into the surface. The chairs she had Summoned were quite comfortable, which was a good thing considering the fact that they had spent the greatest part of the day on her lessons in chess-playing.

He sat back and watched her face as she puzzled over her next move, marvelling again at how comfortably they rubbed along together in this house, as if no one else in the world existed. The cashmere of the jumper she had given him caressed his flesh and kept him warm on the outside as he sipped at the Christmas cognac from Dumbledore, warming himself on the inside, as well. The Christmas meal had been devoured in the afternoon, then re-heated and revisited again in the evening. The food had been good, the cognac was better, and the company was superb. He could not think of a time in his life when he had been more content. For the last week, he had been plunged in a type of alternate universe, where he was not a teacher, or a spy, or an ugly git with no family and few friends; where Hermione was not his student, but an available, desirable woman. In this sphere, there was no Hogwarts, no Lord Voldemort, and he was just an average man with a yen for a younger woman who appeared to like him and accept him precisely as he was – and yes, to desire him, as a woman wants the man of her choice.

"Your move, Severus."

Startled from his reverie, he glanced at the board to see what move she had made. The girl was making progress. For the first few hours, they had played only practice games, with him explaining each of his moves as he made them, and critiquing her moves as well. She seldom made the same mistake twice; her understanding was good, and her ability to mentally catalogue what she was told was remarkable. He loved to play chess, and he had seldom spent a more enjoyable day than this one, but he was becoming weary and was ready to give it up for the night. Deciding that she had earned the right of a win, he moved his queen forward into her trap.

"Check," he said.

In three swift moves, and with a crow of pure elation, Hermione put him in checkmate.

"I won!"

"You did," he allowed.

After she had reverently replaced the chess pieces in their wooden box, she rose and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Snape moved the game table behind the sofa and Summoned the coffee table back from exile. When she emerged, rather than the china teapot, she bore a tray with two large mugs with tea bags still seeping in their depths.

"You let me win," she stated.

"I was tired," he explained.

"Will I ever beat you?"

"Never," he said firmly. "You might, however, defeat me at chess."

She gaped at him for a moment before beginning to laugh. "And you call me cheeky!" she said.

He removed his teabag from the mug and placed it in the shallow bowl where she had discarded hers. An unusual aroma assailed his nostrils, and he sipped cautiously at the brew. Hermione was watching him closely as he closed his eyes and concentrated on the information given to him by his nose and his taste buds.

"Cinnamon," he said, "star anise – orange peel, and ... liquorice root?"

He was rewarded with her chuckle. "Very good, Professor – only you left out a few ingredients."

He scowled at her and took another sip from his mug, breathing deeply of the steam and letting the liquid roll around on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. "Sarsaparilla," he murmured, "cloves and –" he took another deep breath with his sensitive nose, "vanilla."

"Not bad," Hermione said.

He bristled. "What did I miss?"

"Cardamom oil," she murmured.

"What am I drinking?"

She smiled at him. "It's liquorice tea." He did not comment, and she continued. "I only saw you in Hogsmeade one time, in all the times I have been there. I was on an errand for Professor Flitwick at Dervish and Banges, and I saw you through the window of Honeydukes. You were buying liquorice wands."

Snape held her glance, seeing the combination of warmth, amusement, tenderness, and affection in her eyes. Turning his head to gaze into the fire, he murmured, "You must have been mistaken."

From his peripheral vision, behind the unsatisfactory curtain of clean hair, he watched a satisfied, womanly smile cross the girl's face.

"Have it your way," she murmured, reaching to move the curtain of hair back from his face. "But I saw you."

Snape sat entirely still, aware of nothing save for the touch of her fingers upon his face.

Hermione stroked the hair back from Severus' face, her fingertips noting the beginnings of his five o' clock shadow, and refused to analyze her feelings. Remotely, she was conscious of time passing, of the return of her parents looming in three days' time, and she did not want to deal with it. Desperately, she clung to the moment, daringly allowing her thumb to stroke his jaw line.

Severus reached up and captured her hand, compelling her to cease stroking his face. "Enough, Hermione," he said, releasing her hand again.

"Talk to me," she invited him.

He arched a brow. "For what purpose?"

"I like to hear you speak," she replied, smiling into her mug.

He snorted and remained silent.

"Let's read," she said suddenly, pulling her wand and pointing it in the vague direction of the staircase. "Accio The Little Prince," she said and waited patiently for the book to zoom into her grasp.

"What is it?" he inquired, seeing on the cover of the book a cartoon-like drawing.

"It is a book about friendship," Hermione told him, moving closer to him so that their upper arms touched. "We have to sit close, so that we can both see the illustrations," she explained. "I'll read a chapter, and then you – until we have read it all. It's a short book."

Snape seemed somewhat sceptical about the book, but he lifted an arm to the sofa back, making more room for her to sit close to him, and made no demur. Thus it was that they read to one another, deep into the night. It was the allegory of the Little Prince, who left his home planet to escape the torment of a beloved – but thoughtless – rose. The Little Prince had many adventures on Earth, including learning about friendship from the fox; he came to understand that he loved his rose because she was unique in all the world, and in time he wished for nothing but to return to her. When Hermione read the last chapter, her voice thick with emotion, she was not surprised to see tears glistening on Severus' face.

"You liked it," she whispered.

"Yes," he replied.

"I am the fox," she told him, and sat quietly beside him, looking into the fire until she fell asleep on his shoulder.

Snape looked down into her slumbering face, his expression enigmatic, and said, "You are the rose."

He was still keeping watch when the sun came up.

The pounding on the door woke them from a sound sleep, and in his heart Snape knew that the idyll was over. Life was about to come crashing in on them, and though he did not wish for their time to end, years of discipline asserted themselves instantly.

"Severus! Hermione!"

Hermione stirred and looked up into his face, her eyes fearful. "That's Tonks," she said.

He put her from him and hastened to the door, flinging it open to admit Tonks. "You're to go to the Burrow, Severus – Dumbledore's orders," the Auror said, entering the house and slamming the door behind her. "I'm to deliver Hermione to Grimmauld Place."

Snape strode into the hallway to collect his cloak as Hermione wrung her hands. "Tonks, what happened?"

"Death Eaters attacked the Burrow last night," she said. "Go get your trunk packed, Hermione; I'll tell you all I can, but we need to go as quickly as possible."

Hermione fled into the hallway and grabbed Snape by the arm just as he pulled the cloak from the hook.

"I don't want you to go," she said.

Snape sneered at her. "I was never here, Miss Granger."

Snape would remember to the end of his days the look of pure agony on Hermione's face when he jerked his arm from her and walked away, feeling the warmth of her grasping fingers through the fabric of the cashmere jumper long after the warmth of the Granger house was far behind him.

A/N: As always, beta reading thanks to SnarkyWench and Brit-picking kudos to MagicAlly.

Don't hurt me! Part 2 is next. Three more chapters to go!