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Severus was at his wits’ end.
He was forty-five years old, almost forty-six, yet he felt as though he was eighteen again, figuring adult responsibilities and interactions out for the first time. And it wasn’t even that he had some sort of enormous chore to tackle – his task was quite simple:
He a had to give a gift to someone.
Or, more precisely, he wanted to give a gift to someone.
Now, Severus obviously had a vast experience in the process of exchanging gifts – he always managed to present his colleagues and friends – at least the few he dared called as such, even if only in the confines of his own mind – with good enough tokens of cordiality and appreciation without any excessive effort required.
The issue here was, however, the identity of the giftee.
Hermione Granger was so much more to him than a mere colleague or even a friend, and worst of all, she had no idea about any of it, at all.
That was why he decided to show her what he couldn’t put into words through the offering of a perfect Christmas gift. He had no clue, though, what the perfect gift should be.
Thus begin his thorough research and observation of the phenomenon commonly known as the Hogwarts Transfiguration Professor. He had a good head start – he understandably knew her rather well through their close acquaintance of the past few years, and even more thanks to his annoying crush on her that had caused him to be aware of her anytime, anywhere. For weeks, he had been filling parchment after parchment with little details he noticed about her, from the colours she preferred to the puddings she didn’t have a taste for, and yet, he was no closer to figuring out the mystery that “the ideal gift for Hermione Granger” was.
By now, with the end of the second week of December fast approaching, Severus was ready to admit his defeat. Looking at his excessive notes once more, he realised that – while he knew that she took her tea (a proper builder’s brew, she swore by Yorkshire tea and cast anyone who braved drinking PG Tips in her presence an offended look) with exactly three chocolate digestives; knew that she always woke up at ten to six and went for a morning walk around the Black lake, even on days on which it was pouring down; that she never had mint sauce with her roast dinner, but drowned it in an inexplicable amount of gravy; that she seemed to prefer skirts on weekdays but always wore comfortable trousers on weekends; that she couldn't bear when the staffroom became too noisy and always politely excused herself on such occasions and retreated to the Restricted Section of the library instead; that she never wore anything that bore even the tiniest resemblance to an outfit fully made out of house colours; that she always took time on Saturdays to converse with and help Hogwarts house-elves and received letters from her friends on Sundays; that she was subscribed to a scientific journal in no less than six different magical disciplines and that her favourite season was autumn – he was no closer to thinking of anything that would stand out amongst the piles of books and tea and knitwear she was surely going to receive from her friends and their other colleagues.
Hence, he decided to swallow his pride and consult his female acquaintances (he had no illusions about Filius or Hagrid being of any assistance whatsoever).
He first spoke to Minerva; she was Hermione’s former Head of House, after all, and she used to teach the very same subject. She wasn’t remotely helpful, though, smiling knowingly at him after he presented her his dilemma and only offering “She’ll be delighted with anything you decide to give her, lad!” before promptly rushing him out of her office with some nonsense excuse about a scheduled meeting with the Minister for Magic.
That was why he decided to try Pomona next – the Hufflepuff witch didn’t have any of Minerva’s proclivity to teasing and absurd claims that evidently came with the post of Headmaster (though Severus didn’t gain any such skills during his brief stint in that role, thank Merlin and his apprentices). Entering the Greenhouse Seven, he held a great hope for their conversation. But half an hour later, as he was making the trip across the grounds back to the castle, his ears still ringing with all of the two hundred and three flowers one might use to express secret admiration, he had to admit that he was unsuccessful once again. He was not going to present Hermione with unprepared potion ingredients, and what was even worse, Pomona seemed to have caught onto his feelings, and she was the biggest blabbermouth of the whole staff.
His exchange with Rolanda the very same evening didn’t turn out any better; she had expert knowledge of only two things – brooms and female adult toys – of which he was most assuredly going to gift Hermione neither.
Poppy was his last hope – the kind, yet no-nonsense mediwitch has been his longest ally, and he had learned to value her opinion. And indeed, in the end it was her who had given him his idea, however indirectly.
Finally happy with his choice, he couldn’t wait for the rambunctious children to leave the castle for the holidays.
The day of the Order Christmas party arrived, and Severus was awake since four in the morning, anxious as he was about the affair this year. Last year, he had finally given up on his attempts to resist attending – Minerva always dragged him with her regardless, and this year, he therefore at least had an explanation for his presence when he actually wanted to – no, that was too strong of a word, needed to, come.
With a storm in his mind and his whole body feeling like someone was poking thousands of tiny needles into his skin, he stepped inside the 12 Grimmauld Place, these days barely recognisable as the same house that used to serve as Headquarters during the War. Greeting Potter, who opened the door for him, he took off his coat and headed to the kitchen. There, he exchanged pleasantries with Molly and joined a brief yet interesting discussion about politics with Arthur and Kingsley, afterwards taking Minerva on her offer of a hot toddy before secluding himself in the library on the second floor. He unsuccessfully tried to read while nervously awaiting the arrival of Hermione. It usually didn’t take her long before she got fed up with all the ruckus the party-goers – namely the younger male Weasleys – were making and decided to take refuge amongst the books. And sure enough, not yet twenty minutes have passed, and he heard voices in the corridor – Hermione seemed to be arguing about something with Ginevra Potter, née Weasley. They got within his earshot just as they were at the tail end of their conversation:
“– I already have the greatest gift I could have been given, Ginny.”
Severus felt as if someone dumped a bucket full of ice-cold water on his head.
Not even fully realising what he was doing, he threw his book haphazardly on a table nearby and stormed out of the library, almost knocking Hermione, who was just about to enter, over in his haste and fury. He made it down one flight of stairs before he heard Hermione’s voice, making him to falter momentarily in his retreat.
“Wait, Severus!” and damn his disobedient body, he turned around. She was standing at the top of the stairs, looking ready to run after him were he not to stop.
“Are you leaving already?” she sounded crest-fallen.
“I am quite sure I had more than enough of the cheer for today,” he sneered.
“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to discussing Jones’ article about new advancements in medicinal potions with you… never mind, I won’t hold you up, just… here you go,” she produced a small package from her pocket, with a quick wave of her other hand cast an Engorgement Charm on it and handed it to him.
“Merry Christmas, Severus.”
He mechanically took it, started at her for a few moments, and then quickly left the house altogether.
On the first of January, Severus was alone in the staffroom, looking out the window, watching the calming scene of snow lazily but continuously falling on the ground, nursing a cup of tea, when he heard the door open, and in came Hermione. He had managed to successfully evade her ever since the Order party two weeks ago, a feat that was made considerably easier by the fact that she spent most of the holidays away from the castle.
“Severus,” she said in a way of greeting, before taking a seat on the settee opposite of him and beginning to read a heavy tome she brought with her.
For a while, they were sitting in silence, both pretending to be engrossed in their respective activities; silence which normally would have felt soothing yet now felt oppressive.
Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the first to run out of patience, saying:
“I made a New Year's resolution.”
“Congratulations.”
There was a pause in their exchange, while Hermione was worrying her lip, nervously drumming her fingers on the cover of her book. It was evident she was about to say something she thought he might react badly to.
“… You know I’m in love with you, right?” she finally said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
“What?” He certainly knew no such thing. “Was your resolution to become a hippie?”
It was Hermione’s turn to be confused. “What?”
“Do you go around announcing your love for everyone, now?”
“No… Sorry, Severus, I thought you surely knew… sorry,” she said, before rushing out of the staffroom, tears falling down her cheeks.
Oh, fuck, Severus thought, now I have managed to destroy even the slightest possibility of our continued friendship.
It took him an embarrassingly long time, but in the end, he decided to gather his courage and, making a detour to his quarters in the dungeons, he arrived in front of Hermione’s office and knocked on her door.
“Hermione, I came to apologise,” he announced.
After a few moments, the door opened, revealing the Transfiguration Professor clad in Christmas pyjamas and a stretched-out Weasley jumper; it was evident that she had been crying.
“Come in, Severus,” she said, gesturing uncertainly towards the opened door leading to her personal quarters.
Once he was inside, he sat in an armchair that he came to think of as his in the past couple of years; he was no longer sure such characterisation was accurate. He was preparing to speak while pulling out Hermione’s Christmas present from his pocket, but Hermione, who took her place at her sofa next to him, was quicker.
“It is me who should apologise, Severus. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… Could you please forget I said anything? I have come to really… treasure our friendship and I am scared of losing it.”
Severus didn’t know what else to do – because she certainly wasn’t making any sense – so he handed her the package she was originally supposed to receive two weeks ago.
“Here, this is your Christmas present.”
“Oh, thank you, Severus, you didn’t have to!” she was evidently cheered up by the gift.
“But I wanted to. I am sorry I didn’t give it to you at the Order party… I was going to, but then I overheard you and Mrs. Potter…”
“What were we even talking about?” she asked, sounding genuinely confused.
“The gift from your paramour.”
“My pa-paramour? But I have no paramour.”
“Well, whoever it is, you said that their gift was already the best one you could have been given.”
“Oh....oh, you mean that… Well, I was speaking figuratively… I was just trying to tell Ginny I didn’t care that she didn't get me anything, since I already had the best gift, because I could spend the Christmas with my chosen family… including you, of course…”
“You think of me as your family?”
“Of course I do! I did tell you that I love you, didn’t I?”
“You mean it,” Severus couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Of course I mean it!” she said emphatically, her expression so open and hopeful, and suddenly he could believe it.
And before he could fully realise what he was doing, he slid down next to her on the sofa, and then he was embracing her, and she was returning his embrace, her soft curls tickling his neck; his present lay forgotten on the coffee table.
Severus was at his wits’ end.
Nonetheless, these days it was such a common occurrence that he would probably be more unsettled if he was not completely frazzled. He had learned very quickly after the birth of his daughter that this was what being a parent felt like.
Eileen, now five years old, had knocked down the Christmas tree thrice last evening with her accidental magic, anxious as she was for the gifts to finally appear, and it had taken her four more chapters of her favourite fairy-tale book than usual to fall asleep.
As a result of that, Severus was now extremely exhausted, slouching on the sofa next to the – for the time being – upright Christmas tree, watching his daughter alternate enthusiastically between unwrapping her gifts and running to show her newest acquisition to her mum.
Speaking of his wife, Hermione was in charge of the breakfast preparations today, her efforts currently making their entire house to smell of quality coffee and braided Christmas bread she was so fond of making following her grannie’s recipe.
Taking in the cosy atmosphere of Christmas morning, he didn’t notice his daughter approaching him, until she hopped onto his lap, holding a thin parcel in one of her hands. One look at the state of its wrapping made it so that the big mystery of “where had all the Spellotape vanished to” was suddenly no mystery at all.
“Here, dad,” Eileen said, handing him said parcel.
And opening the package, revealing a hand-drawn picture of what could possibly be a cubist representation of himself, Hermione, Eileen and their black Kneazle, Nepenthe, Severus thought of his wife’s words all those years ago and finally understood:
He had already been given the greatest gift of them all.