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Diagon Alley is bustling with last minute shoppers. They travel in merry little packs, smiling brightly at everyone with wind-burnt cheeks instead of keeping their faces sensibly tucked in their frivolous scarves. Severus adjusts his collar. The enchantment on his scarf adjusts to the movement, accommodating his scar; it warms him inside and out.
He strides purposefully down Knockturn Alley. With the ministry’s initiatives, the once seedy street has been fully legitimized in the five years since the war, but many of the businesses still face a heavy level of distrust. He sees it as a kindred spirit of sorts, a sentimental thought he’ll never voice to another living soul.
The bell chimes as he walks into Curios and Calamities. It’s vaguely reminiscent of Borgin and Burkes in its organization, but far less ominous. Probably due to the lack of random body parts showcased in viscous fluid. As soon as he thinks it, he notices a small offshoot aisle advertising the very thing. Impressive spellwork.
“Good morning, Sir. My name is Alfred. How can I help you today?”
He turns to find a portly man looking up at him expectantly.
“I’m here about your expansion bags.”
“Right this way, Sir.”
Alfred seems to bounce with each step. Severus follows him deeper into the store until they reach a section filled with textiles. Rather than smelling of wool or leather, the area is a cacophony of contrasting scents. He’s drawn to a particularly dainty-looking clutch, unconsciously stepping closer.
“Ah, of course you’ve found the Potioneering Pocketbook.”
“Pardon?”
“Forgive me, your reputation precedes you, Master Snape. Go on and have a look.”
He picks up the clutch. It’s smooth leather, light. He pops it open and the scent of fresh potion ingredients fills the space. Intrigued, he brings the bag closer to his face and peers inside. It’s like looking down into a miniature version of his old classroom.
“You can go in, if you like. Get the feel for it.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not shopping for myself.”
“Quite the unique Christmas gift,” Alfred comments. “Must be someone special.”
“She is,” Severus agrees quietly. He steps closer to a small leather satchel. “What can you tell me about the stabilizing charms you utilize?”
Alfred’s brow creases. “It’s a bit of a trade secret, Sir. A product won’t sell so well if anyone can make it and all that, you know. Perhaps if you tell me what exactly you’re looking for, I can point you to the product that might suit your needs?”
“My fr—The person for whom I am buying is a voracious reader. She usually keeps several books on her person, but I would like to give her a portable retreat for when life gets overwhelming.”
“Oh, that’s easy enough, Sir.” Alfred beams. “What is her preferred aesthetic? We have several library collections over—”
“Most importantly she has several volumes of the Cicero Compendium in her possession. They are of great comfort to her and so I would like them to be available at all times but—”
“—the Compendium has a homing charm built into it, requiring each book to have a permanent shelving placement that is not transportable. Merlin it must have been quite the ordeal to transport them to her home.”
Severus thinks of the long nights helping Hermione work out the exact spellwork needed to allow the Compendium pieces to be portkeyed to her home. Blood, sweat, and tears had not only been shed but quite literally required to make it work. And yet he wouldn’t trade those evenings pouring over ancient manuscripts for anything as they had turned into late nights of takeout, cheap wine, and the most scintillating conversations of his week.
“It will be far easier to transport them this time around,” he says finally, realizing he’d been silent too long.
“We do have several libraries that are magically recognized as a home.” Alfred gestures over a small collection of bags. “However, their price point is significantly higher.”
Severus’ eyes widen at the listed number. He looks over the selection. Even the cheapest bag, a lovely leather satchel that would suit Hermione perfectly was still over ten thousand galleons more than he could hope to afford for this Christmas. And it had to be this Christmas. There was no way a witch like Hermione would remain single for far longer and he needed this grand gesture if he had any hope to woo her.
His eyes fall on a cauldron. It is a deep black that seems to absorb all color around it. Though he is not close enough to feel it, he knows that it emanates a faint heat at all times because he has a companion stirring rod. They were forged from Horntail bone that had survived the volcanic eruption of Pompeii. It is a limited collection, most pieces either broken over the year or lost to time. His stirring rod had been left to him in the will of a Prince relative who thought all reparations had a monetary value.
He hesitates—the last recorded potion brewed with a matching set had defied all logic in its perfection. If he had the set, his apothecary would take over the market. Money would cease to be an issue. He’d be a far cry from the street rat of Spinner’s End he’d once been and Hermione would—he stops himself there. Once before he’d lost himself in the idea that becoming powerful would equate to earning a witch’s affections. Money would not endear his witch to him. He clears his throat.
“Are you open to a mix purchase? I have something with which to barter.”
oOo
Severus paces his sitting room with growing unease. He should have just gone to the Christmas party at Grimmauld Place. Or accepted Hermione’s offer to skip the festivities and spend Christmas Eve with him. The thought of her opening his gift in front of others had made him anxious, the possibility of her opening his gift and then fleeing to Grimmauld to share how much he’d overstepped—unlikely yet not nonexistent—even more so. And so here he stood. Paced. Torturously waiting for his floo to flare green.
His eyes dart to the clock.
The floo wooshes.
Hermione Granger steps out of the hearth, and Severus stills.
She is a vision. Her thick curls are pulled back into some elaborate plait with a few unruly tendrils having escaped to frame her face. Delicate touches of makeup enhance her features, forcing him to choose between losing himself in her whisky eyes or tracing the shape of her lips. Her dress is a deep emerald green, clinging to her frame just enough to highlight her curves before flaring out at her knees. He swallows thickly.
“You survived,” he says drily.
She rolls her eyes. “You should try to come sometime. You might actually enjoy it.”
“There’s only one person at those parties worth conversing with.”
“I’ll be sure to let Ron know you’d like to hear more about the Cannon’s prospects in the league,” she quips, though a delicate flush covers her cheeks.
Severus shudders dramatically and she laughs. He offers her a cuppa and they move to sit beside the fire. Instead of her usual armchair, she sits on the couch with him. Only one cushion separates them yet somehow, he simultaneously feels on top of her and miles away. He focuses on her words, listening to her ramble about the latest antics of the Potter-Weasley clan.
“Can we exchange gifts now,” she blurts suddenly. “I’m a bit anxious to give you yours.”
“You always make wonderful gifts,” he says sincerely, thinking of the scarf she’d enchanted him last year. “I wouldn’t worry—”
“I went storebought this year. I was looking for myself but then I saw this and I just—I had to.”
“Well, you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity. Would you like me to open yours first?”
She bites her lip, nodding nervously. He wants to tell her to return whatever it is and allow him one kiss instead. Ever the gentleman, however, he accepts the box conjured from nowhere. It’s surprisingly heavy and wrapped in the Muggle wrapping paper he once told her he was particularly fond of. Though a passing comment she had, naturally, remembered. He loves it already for that alone. Suddenly he’s anxious about his own gift.
“Perhaps—could we open them at the same time?”
If she notices his anxiousness, she says nothing, but accepts her own gift.
“Count of three then?”
On three, Hermione lets out a surprise gasp of pleasure. Her hands already brushing over the supple leather of the satchel. Severus’ exhale is far more disbelieving.
“Severus?”
He stares at the cauldron, horntail bone charred in Pompeii. “Hermione this is—This is far too much.”
“Do you not like it?”
“Of course I like it,” he hurries to assure her. “It’s just… I know that the cost was—”
“Don’t worry about the cost,” she says quickly, looking relieved at his only objection. “In truth, I didn’t exactly pay for it.”
Severus arches a brow. “Am I in possession of stolen goods?”
“No, you git,” she says swotting his arm. She blushes. “I, erm, I traded in a few things at a shop.”
Suddenly he feels very, very cold. “Which shop?”
“A new one in Knockturn Alley. Curios and—hmm, what was it—”
“Calamities.”
“That’s it! Curios and Calamities. You’ve been then? I thought it was quite a lovely shop. The proprietor, Alfred, is a book enthusiast as well so he was quite excited to get the Compendium.”
Ice turns to fire in his veins. “The Compendium. You traded your volumes of the Compendium for—”
“I know, I know you worked so hard to help me get the pieces to my flat after they were gifted, but—well I was looking into different storage for them when I saw this cauldron and stirring rod set. I remembered you talking about the properties your stirring rod had without the cauldron, so I thought if you had both, well—”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“No, no, you really needed it.”
“Hermione—”
“Severus, be reasonable. The Compendium is a lovely collection, but at the end of the day it’s just some books. Think of all you could do the apothecary now that you have both the rod and the—"
His hold on his temper finally snaps. “But I don’t have both!”
“Severus?”
He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry—I’m not. It’s not you. It’s—” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “The stirring rod you saw was mine, Hermione. I—I traded it in to purchase your satchel.”
“My satchel? Why in Merlin’s name would you spend so—” Eyes still closed, he hears the satchel open. “Oh! Oh, Severus. A portable library?”
She throws herself at him, forcing his hands away from his face and knocking him back into the armrest of the couch. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”
“It was specially enchanted to allow the Compendium to travel with you.” He sounds like a petulant child and he hates it.
There’s a beat of silence while she processes the enormity of what he’d done, the significance of the magic involved. Arms still around him, her breath tickles his neck as she reassures him. “Even if I don’t have the collection to tote around, it is still the most thoughtful gift I have ever received.”
Before he can say anything, she pulls back suddenly, eyes wide with horror. “What about your potions? If you don’t have the stirring rod, will they be okay? Can you brew a similar quality with just the cauldron or—”
“My brews will be fine,” he assures her.
“Oh good,” she sighs, mouth stretching into one of his favorite smiles. “Then it all worked out.”
“I suppose so.” He tries for a smile but he’s far too put out.
“Hey,” she says softly, reaching for his hand. “Talk to me. Why are you so upset about this?”
“I just wanted you to have the perfect gift and now it’s—”
“Still perfect,” she interjects. She squeezes his hand. “You gifted me a library, Severus. Who does that?”
“You talk all the time about wishing you had a place you could retreat when life becomes a bit overwhelming,” he says, almost defensively.
Hermione blinks, looking at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time.
“What?”
“You hear me,” she whispers.
“Of course I do.”
“Severus…” Her teeth sink into her lower lip again.
“What is it?”
She just stares at him for a moment. Her eyes dart all over his face. Then she takes a deep breath and her jaw sets with determination. Hermione shifts into a kneeling position on the couch. Then she reaches out one tentative hand to brace herself on his shoulder. Her gaze flicks from his eyes to his lips and back again. He can’t move. A small smile pulls up the corner of her mouth and then suddenly her lips are against his.
At her touch he springs to life. One hand slides up into her curls, pulling her face closer to his own. The other wraps around her waist, encouraging her to let her weight relax onto him. His brain goes blissfully blank of everything that isn’t the taste of Hermione Granger. A soft sound escapes him when she rolls her hips, bringing them both back to reality.
“Wow,” Hermione says, pulling back slowly. Her lips are swollen and even more curls have escaped her neat plait. “That was even better than I thought it would be.”
“You thought about it.”
She blushes prettily. “Oh, just for a bit over a year.”
He smiles and her breath hitches. Her trembling fingers stroke over his cheekbone.
“H-have you thought about it? Before?”
“For the last six months of so,” he admits. Then he clears his throat. “I was, erm, I was hoping to ask you if you’d consider—if you’d like to be my, well, girlfriend sounds a bit immature for a man of my age. Which is far older than yours, I know. But if you could overlook that and my—”
“Severus,” she interrupts gently. “I don’t need to overlook anything to want to be yours. I want you exactly as you are, because of who you are.”
“Oh.”
She smiles at him again. “Is this why you wanted the ‘perfect’ gift?”
“I thought it might help.”
“Silly man,” she chastises fondly. Her grin turns mischievous. “If I call you my perfect gift, would you think me cheesy?”
“That’s the exact drivel I expect from you Gryffindors,” he deadpans.
“As if attempting to entice me with a gift wasn’t utterly Slytherin.”
He shrugs. “You cannot deny it worked.”
“Oh but I can,” she whispers, leaning into him again. “I was already yours without it.”
oOo
Alfred taps the doorknob with his wand, warding the building. He’s whistling a merry holiday tune and jumps about a meter in the air when he turns to find Severus standing in the shadows.
“Master Snape, sir, I’m afraid we’ve just closed, but if you come back in the mor—”
“What are the odds that the same week I trade you a stirring rod for a library to house a rare collection, a witch comes to you willing to trade a rare collection for that stirring rods companion cauldron?”
Alfred swallows thickly. “I—I don’t know, Sir.”
“Very slim, I’d say.” Severus takes a step closer.
Alfred takes a half-step back. “She offered the collection.”
“I’m sure she did,” Severus says silkily.
“And there’s—there’s client confidentiality to consider,” he continues eagerly. “It wouldn’t have been proper to divulge d-details of another’s purchases. Or trades.”
Severus arches an eyebrow. “I thought you said my reputation preceded me.”
“Y-Yes, Sir. I know all about and respect your—”
“Then I fail to understand why you’re acting as if I’m an imbecile.”
“I—I’m not—”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Severus continues softly, as if Alfred hadn’t spoken at all. “You’re going to contact Miss Granger and inform her that the Compendium simply won’t stay put on the shelves. You’re going to tell her that you must give it back. When she tells you the cauldron is no longer in her possession, you are going to reassure her that you wouldn’t accept it anyways—A series of returns doesn’t look good for your shop’s reputation, after all.”
“I—but the cost—”
“I assure you, Alfred, the price you pay for this little stunt could be far greater, if you’re not careful in how you proceed.”
Alfred glares at him for a long moment but then his shoulders fall. “You two deserve each other.”
Hackles raising at once, Severus raises his wand. “I’d think carefully on your next words.”
“I was off to mail this to you,” he says sullenly, reaching for a parcel he’d placed on the ground.
With a flick of his wand, Severus has it unwrapped and in his hands. It’s his stirring rod along with a short note.
Master Snape,
It has come to my attention that it is in violation of zoning code 342 to have over 200 artifacts with a magical resonance greater than one hundred jaules. As such, I have had to part with several possessions posthaste. Do not worry about our trade, I could not accept the satchel back under these conditions either.
Thank you for your business,
Alfred Nes
He smirks. “You should take far more care to consider exactly who it is you’re trying to swindle, Mr. Nes.”
Alfred grunts in acknowledgement, still glaring at the ground.
“Well, now that that’s settled, I’ve a New Year's party to get to,” Severus adds. “Happy holidays.”
Severus spins into the darkness, rematerializing on the steps of Grimmauld Place. Potter opens the door with a look of present surprise, but he barely acknowledges the boy. Instead, his focus is on the woman standing near the landing of the stairs. Her curls hang freely down her back this time, her dress a glittering black that makes her look as if she’s been wrapped in the night sky.
He hesitates to approach her, but she has no such compunction. Instead, she smiles wide, immediately breaking away from her conversation to stride across the room to him. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she pulls him down into a chaste kiss.
The room goes so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“Good evening, Miss Granger,” he returns solemnly.
She narrows her eyes. “Miss Granger, is it? Hm, if that's who I am to you, I suppose I’ll have to look for someone else to be my New Year’s K—”
Severus crushes her to his chest, his lips sealing over hers. Someone in the crowd of gawkers whoops. Another faux retches. He pulls back to look at her sternly.
“As far as I’m concerned, I shall be your only New Year’s Kiss for the foreseeable future, Hermione.”
"For the rest of my life?"
“If you’ll allow it.”
“There are worse prospects, I suppose.”
Severus rolls his eyes. “Impertinent chit.”
“You love it.”
His face softens. “I do.”
And then— “Oi, is Snape snogging Hermione?"
“Merlin help me, I really do.”