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Harry held his stuffed dog high, and tilted him to and fro. “Do you think he’ll like my gift?” he whispered.
Dim lamplight flickered across its shiny eyes, and he seemed to cock his head as if asking a question, or perhaps Harry happened to nudge him just so.
He could almost imagine it was him softly singing too, though he knew he wasn’t.
“Oh, well…” he began, rolling over on his quilt. “Hermione said that since Snape’s an adult, he could get himself anything he wanted, so, buying a gift for him is more than just getting him something he wants. It’ll have to be something he likes!”
‘It’s harder for us, you see,’ came her voice in his ear. ‘We’re at Hogwarts all term, which leaves us precious little time for thoughtful gifts. It’s not as if Diagon Alley is just around the corner either. Shopping is limited.’
Hogwart’s corridors stretched across his memories with a hazy shiver, and their footsteps slapped over stone flooring.
‘Yeah, we’re left with Hogsmeade,’ Ron had said. ‘Ask me what my mum wants from there, honestly.’
He sighed.
Snape wouldn’t like—or want, if Harry were honest—anything from Hogsmeade. He’d said as much to Ron and Hermione, who’d made comforting, miserable sounds.
‘Joke gifts are poor cousins to proper ones at Christmas,’ Hermione had added.
Cotton squashed against his cheeks as he face-planted into his quilt and moaned.
‘Well, come now, it’s not all bad,’ Hermione had said, patting Harry’s arm. ‘They know we’re low on options. Last year I ordered a set of historical booklets on dentistry and had them delivered ahead of Christmas. My parents found them fascinating!’
‘You bought them booklets?’ Ron had asked, aghast. ‘God, it’s no wonder you're a bookworm.’
‘But even if I bought Snape a booklet, how would I get it to Ms Eileen’s house?’ Harry had moaned. ‘I don’t speak German—’
‘Strike one,’ Ron said.
‘The only person who could reasonably deliver to Ms Eileen’s house is Jan—’
‘Oh, that’s true,’ Hermione said with a grimace.
‘And Snape and I aren’t even getting in until the 23rd!’
‘Rotten luck, mate.’
Harry covered his ears, blotting out the soft, tinny sound of overzealous carolers. “So, you can see my problem,” he muttered. “Maybe…if I’d had access to a telephone I could’ve at least phoned around and hoped someone spoke English.”
Padfoot lay beside him, staring.
“Hermione thought that was silly.”
‘Maybe there’s something you could make him?’ Hermione had asked. ‘Snape strikes me as someone who’d appreciate a homemade gift.’
‘You’re joking, right?’ Ron had asked.
‘No! Why would I be joking?!’
‘’Cause we’re not six!’
‘But sometimes Harry is!’
‘That—this—’ Ron had sputtered. ‘This isn’t a glitter and bubble letter situation, Hermione! It’s their first Christmas together!’
Harry had let out a pitched sound. If he’d felt horrible before, he’d felt doubly worse once Ron laid out the stakes.
‘Ronald!’ Hermione had hissed.
‘I’m just saying!’
‘You’re making everything worse!’
‘I’m helping!’
“Oh, Padfoot,” he moaned to his stuffed dog.
‘Why don’t you ask Ms Eileen?’ Hermione had asked.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Ron said, twisting his face into a truly ugly look. ‘When’s the last time your nan knew what to get your mum, huh?’
‘She had a lot of great ideas,’ Hermione argued as they crawled through the portrait hole and tossed their books and quills onto the nearest table. ‘She knew my mum liked the smell of lavender, and thought a nice gift might be a pot of lavender cream to put on before bed.’
‘Don’t get Snape lavender cream, mate,’ Ron had whispered. ‘He might start smelling like a girl.’
Harry snickered weakly at the memory.
‘Snape’s more of an oats and honey person,” he’d said instead, to his own mortification.
‘Is he?!’ Hermione had cried.
‘You’re not serious, are you?’ Ron had asked.
Harry could only remember how his face had burned, and sweat began pearling along his fringe.
“He tries to take care of himself, Padfoot, honestly. I explained it…as best I could…”
‘I think…that sounds lovely?’ Hermione had said, slowly, and as if she’d been debating even saying it aloud.
Ron had rolled his eyes. ‘Of course you think that’s lovely!’
Harry rolled over and clapped his hands over his eyes. The memory alone felt humiliating! He’d never felt so lost at sea as when he did trying to pick out proper Christmas gifts for Snape or Ms Eileen!
Why?!
‘Mate, that’s a girl’s gift.’
‘It is not!’ Hermione had hissed.
‘Is so!’
‘Is not!’
‘Get him a new stirring stick for potions, or a bloody wand holder, anything but oats and honey cream!’
‘Harry, don’t get him the cream,’ Hermione had said.
Harry remembered furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.
‘Brew him the cream.’
‘Do you hear yourself?!’ Ron had cried. ‘Hermione, I’m telling you, men—’
‘Oh, do tell.’
Ron had paused.
Hermione had flicked a frizzy curl over her shoulder and stuck her nose in Ron’s face. ‘Tell me exactly how having the greasiest, most disgusting faces makes women want you, and men want to be you!’
“Anyway,” Harry said. “I think you can imagine how things went from there.”
His dog seemed to cock his head again.
“Well…I mean, poorly.”
Padfoot seemed to droop.
“But they fight all the time, so I wouldn’t worry. If they ever start getting along too well, I start wondering if one of them said something truly foul enough that it needs making up for.”
He groaned as he heaved himself upright, only to come face-to-face with the source of his misery.
“Ergh,” he grumbled.
Padfoot flopped onto his side.
“Please don’t ask me to explain more,” he begged. “Hermione gave me way too many options when it came to brewing that mess.” He clapped his hands over his eyes again.
‘Try peppermint oil, Harry,’ he mimicked, ‘Peppermint oil is soothing!’
“Not on your face, it isn’t!” he said, sticking his tongue out. “That’s for…candy canes, or toothpaste, not lotion!”
His fingers slid down his cheeks, and he stared once more at the little pot of cream.
“I should’ve just gone with chocolates, like Ron said.”
The whole of the Burrow might be up to its neck in chocolates, and Ron would still pile more into it.
“Safest, stupid gift,” he muttered, scooting off of the quilt to settle amidst an explosion of glittery wrapping paper. “Chocolates make everyone happy!”
Who wouldn’t want to open a gift and find chocolate?!
“It’s one of my favorite things!”
He dragged a crinkled roll of paper toward himself, and watched as Santa Claus sailed across a painted night sky.
“Stupid fat man.”
Why had Ms Eileen even bought this paper? What if she wanted this year to be special?!
Oh God.
Oh God!
The sellotape stuck to his fingers as he plucked and fussed with his little gift. If she wanted it special, his gift should be special too! It’d need to be wrapped right! It’d need ribbons, bows, something to make up for it being a—
“Stupid thing! You’re ruining Christmas!”
“Oh, dear.”
Harry jerked upright with a yelp, only to find Ms Eileen staring down at him.
“Oh, Harry.”
He let out a foul sound as his cheeks flushed.
“Come on now,” she said.
He shook his head and climbed to his knees, to better reach a thick knot of velvet ribbons, stitched with carolers. Little bits of fluff tumbled through the air as he yanked and fussed.
‘♪Wassail! Wassail!♪’ They sang, arm in arm across the velvet. ‘♪All over the town, our toast it is white and our ale it is brown! Our bowl it is made—oi! Stop tugging, can’t you see we’re trying to—♪!’
He squashed it beneath his palms, silently relishing how their little voices erupted in dismay.
“Doing some wrapping?” she asked, groaning as she sank to sit criss-cross beside him.
“Erm…” He drew back onto his heels, and eyed the tatty bits of paper and tape surrounding him. His bedroom, once clean and decorated with bobbing amber and ruby baubles, and boughs of holly, looked more as if Christmas had thrown up on it, than it did anything merry and bright.
One bauble sailed down toward him to float near his ear as it turned from amber to a far less festive, mottled shade of beige.
He gaped at it.
“Silly thing, pay it no mind dear, sometimes their spells get a little crossed and what we’re thinking of comes out in their colors.”
Oh God!
It was thinking of the oatmeal!
He batted it away, though it shifted to a golden honey in response.
Ms Eileen laughed. “Mind if I take a look?” she asked, pointing toward his ribbons. “These always give me a bit of trouble, but I know a trick.”
“Oh, here.”
The ribbons sighed with relief as he passed them over.
“Where did you find them?” Harry asked as she tutted as she pulled her wand from her pocket. “The ribbons.”
“Oh!” A tremulous smile crept across her lips. “I’ve had these since Severus was a boy.”
‘♪That’s right!♪’ the little ribbons cried in song.
“When he wrote about the two of you coming for Christmas, I thought I’d go through a few keepsakes, and found these buried in the attic.” She wound one frayed end around her finger and tapped the middle with her wand. “Sev always liked these, when they got along well-enough to sing together.”
Harry felt his eyes widen as the ribbons hummed, before performing breaking out into ‘Ode to Joy’.
“Watch closely now, dear,” she whispered, rolling her wand in her palm. “This is a neat little charm, useful for anyone who spends an awful lot of time tied up in knots.”
He shuffled closer, before she swished her wand and with a flick, hissed, ‘Retexo!’
The ribbons shivered and slithering apart into neat little rolls, each singing a different carol, though he tried to silence them by smothering them in wrapping paper.
“I take it you don’t like singing ribbons?”
Harry jerked. “Er…no, no, I think—” He shook his head vigorously. “They’re great!”
Ms Eileen sat back, and dropped a comforting hand over Harry’s fringe. “I know a spell that’ll keep them quiet, just in case. Do you want me to cast it?”
Yes! Sooner rather than later!
Harry squeezed his eyes shut instead.
“Or perhaps we could take a little break and get some hot chocolate?” she asked, still carding through his fringe. “No wrapping is so important, it can’t wait for a bit of hot chocolate.”
“D’you think?”
“I do.”
Harry hummed and stood. “Sort of leaves a mess though,” he muttered, picking his way around half-torn paper.
“Leave it be, I’ll get it later.”
“No, I can do it.”
“Of course you can,” Ms Eileen said, “but it’s Christmas, and I think we all deserve a bit of a break.”
Harry trailed after her, trying and failing to pluck the glitter from beneath his finger nails. “Why’s it gotta be silver?” he hissed, scraping away. “You can’t see silver—”
“Pulverem excutere, Harry,” Ms Eileen said, rounding a tinsel-wrapped bannister. “I doubt Professor Flitwick plans to explore many household charms in your fifth year, but that one will get dust, or glitter in your case, off of your skin. I know a few good spell-books you could peruse in fact.”
“Hermione, maybe,” Harry muttered.
“Oh, yes,” Ms Eileen said. “I imagine she’d enjoy taking a look.”
“If you’ve got one for washing hair, Ron would go for it.”
“That one’s always a little iffy,” she said, cupping the back of Harry’s head. “You see, the more you use magic to clean your hair, the more often you strip oils from it, and so on and so forth, until eventually, your hair becomes brittle and breaks off.”
Harry gaped.
“It’s not one I’d use any more than necessary,” she added. “Now, let’s see if we can’t scare up something comforting to share our troubles over, hmm?”
He scraped at the silver beneath his nails one last time, before hopping onto the stool, and sighing.
——
“Ah,” Ms Eileen said. “Well, it’s certainly a thoughtful gift.”
Harry licked the back of a dainty, silver spoon, before shoving it in his mouth and asking, “But what if it’s embarrassing?!” The spoon clattered against his teeth. “What if he thinks I’m judging his skin! What if he thinks it’s…it’s….stupid?”
Ms Eileen let out a soft sound. “It isn’t stupid. Thoughtfulness can’t be stupid, it’s the antithesis of it, in fact.”
Harry huffed.
Ms Eileen cocked an eyebrow.
“He still might not like it,” Harry said, talking around his spoon, before Ms Eileen held her hand out for it. “What if he just wanted me to get him chocolates, or just…better marks at the end of term?”
“Did you do poorly?”
Harry shook his head.
How could he have done poorly, knowing Snape would be on the other end of his marks, asking him what happened to all of those sunny summer days spent reading?
His mug clattered over his saucer, before sprouting legs and toddling over the table toward a bag of marshmallows, before heaving an armful over the rim.
“So, that leaves you with chocolates,” Ms Eileen said as it toddled back toward Harry’s saucer. “Which are very sweet.”
“Literally.”
His mug passed one marshmallow over, which Harry gratefully popped in his mouth.
Ms Eileen nodded. “Sev does like his chocolate,” she said, errantly tapping the table, before adding, “but, if you think about it, his coworkers likely bought chocolates as gifts, and brown-nosing parents might have as well.”
“Lots of chocolates to eat,” Harry said, frowning thoughtfully at the marshmallows.
“If you add yourself to that list, he’d be stocked on chocolates until the end of the spring term, wouldn’t he?”
Harry sighed. “Yeah, I ‘spose so.” He wriggled his mug, watching marshmallows bump into each other and capsize. Chocolate spilled over their fluffy surfaces, melting back together as it pooled between the gaps. “What did you get him?”
“A set of fine tea leaves and a pink mug painted with a unicorn.
Harry blinked.
“He complains in his letters that his mugs are often stolen in the professor’s lounge,” she said with a shrug. “I imagine few would be so eager to steal a mug that reads: ‘when you mess with the bull, you get the horn’.”
Harry blinked again. “That’s…certainly…thoughtful?”
“No one would ever imagine it belonged to him,” she continued, humming to herself. “So, it’ll always be available, though I’ve heard exams turn mug real-estate into slim-pickings.”
“D’you think he’ll like it?”
“Oh, I should think so,” Ms Eileen said, before leaning down and whispering conspiratorially, “between you and me, he’s always been a fan of pink.”
Harry smiled.
“Likes a bit of self-care too, our Sev; whether that's in the form of an always available pink mug or homemade face cream.”
“I think…maybe he’d really like the idea behind the mug,” Harry said. Snape would probably charm the mug to look like something else too, in case anyone ever grew too nosy about the lonely mug in the cupboard.
“I think he’ll really like the thought behind your face cream too,” Ms Eileen said. “Should we try wrapping it before Sev gets back with the ham?”
Harry nodded. “Maybe I can help you wrap the mug?”
Ms Eileen smiled and helped Harry from his chair.
——
“Does Snape look…happier to either of you?” Ron asked with narrow eyes. He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Like…” he chewed openly, “not shimiling, but thumthing—”
Hermione gagged. “Ergh, Ron! Chew!”
“I am!”
“With your mouth closed!”
Ron sputtered as she glanced at the professor’s table.
“I suppose he looks…well, not quite as weighed down?” Hermione said with a shrug.
“What d’you reckon happened?” Ron asked.
“At Christmas?” Harry asked.
“Well…yeah?”
“Maybe he just really enjoyed Christmas dinner?” Hermione asked, glancing upwards. “My mum ordered a goose from the butchers and Dad and I helped her cut up apples and pears, and potatoes as well.”
“Yeah—yeah, but wha’ about—”
“She put a tray beneath the goose as well, to catch the drippings while it roasted. We used it to flavor the potatoes!”
“Mate, enough potato-talk!”
Hermione flushed.
“I’d hear more potato-talk,” Harry said, ripping apart his bread roll, and dipping in gravy. “Ms Eileen and I made mashed potatoes.” He stuffed his mouth full until he struggled to chew.
Hermione groaned. “Can you two at least try for decorum?”
Ron shook his head, and pried his jaw apart, wedging even more egg between his cheeks.
“Did you not get fed at home?!”
“I ate!” Harry said.
“Thank God one of you did,” Hermione said darkly.
“Hey,” Ginny said, brushing away crumbs and spilled pumpkin juice as she settled beside them. “Is it me, or does Snape look a little brighter?”
“Spbbtff!” Ron sputtered.
“Gross,” Ginny said with a wince. “Chew, Ron.”
“He just had a good Christmas is all,” Harry finally said. “That, and I don’t think anyone’s stolen his mug from the professor’s lounge all week.”
“Who’d stoop so low as to steal someone else’s mug?” Hermione asked, aghast. She reached around their plates and eyed their seat-neighbors with suspicion.
Harry shrugged. “Madam Pince?”
“She’s always stealing keychains and hair ties,” Ginny whispered.
“Only the ones that make noise,” Hermione argued.
“What ‘bout Trelawney?” Ron asked. “She’s nicked sweets from Dean before!”
“He shouldn’t have been eating in class,” Hermione said, giving Colin Creevey a narrow look when he reached for an apple that sat too close to their plates.
“I bet you anything those plants in her windows are cuttings from Sprout’s gardens,” Ginny added, “she probably nicked those too.”
“That’s preposterous! It has to have been a student! A teacher would never!”
“Hermione,” Ron said. “How would a student—why would a student even go in there?!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, I can think of a few reasons, but…” She blew a raspberry and glanced back toward where Snape sat. “I think he looks happier, yes, but not because his mug stopped getting stolen. He just looks…” she waved her hands, “happier!”
Ginny shrugged. “That’s a Christmas miracle if I ever saw one. Does he look less…greasy maybe?”
“Definitely less greasy,” Ron agreed.
They managed to eat the remainder of their breakfast in relative peace, though Ron left breadcrumbs scattered across their books, and Harry sneezed into his oatmeal. It wasn’t until Hermione pulled him aside on their way to class, and whispered in his ear that it occurred to him why Snape appeared so much happier.
“Did the cream go over well?” she asked.
Harry nodded, feeling a little smile play at his lips as they shoved their way through the crowd.
“Brilliant!”
“Ms Eileen helped me wrap it too.”
“What did he get you?”
A tiny golden snitch burst from Harry’s pocket, trilling as it soared through the air ahead of them.
“Wicked!” Ron said, appearing beside them with a grin.
“Thoughtful, really,” Hermione said. “Now you can practice Occlumency in your dormitory!”
Harry grinned.
He supposed so. He’d spent all Christmas chasing his snitch, and all of Boxing Day beating Sirius to it. It had been his happiest Christmas yet.
Happy Christmas!
🎄🎁🕯️