Chapter Text
Severus Snape hated Christmas. He hated the parties. He hated the small talk. He hated that this one wretched day carried with it the expectation of good will towards those whom you hated on the other three hundred and sixty-four.
This year, the weather seemed to agree with him. The constant rain had deprived Hogwarts of an autumn of orange and crimson. The relentless drops had beaten the leaves from the trees, depositing them on the ground in a disgusting mush when they ought to have crunched and crackled beneath his feet.
Now the trees were barren, and the earth was covered with a layer of filth and mud that refused to freeze.
Any other year, he would have gloated to see the glum faces of his colleagues and students as they drew up their cloaks to dash through the frigid rain that never quite turned to snow. But this year, his schadenfreude was tarnished by one particularly glum face. The sight of it battered the at the frosty battlements encasing his heart, until he knew it was only a matter of time before the fissures Harry Potter had beaten there would bring the entire fortress down in a melted ruin.
Who would have thought a four-year-old child could wreak such ingenuous havoc?