Work Text:
“Don’t be daft, Sev. I’m not going to let you hole up in this castle by yourself, at Christmas no less!” She crossed her arms to emphasize her point. An unmovable Lily Evans, those emerald eyes set into his as if daring him to defy her. Just do it, they seemed to taunt, just even think about arguing and see what happens.
But he had to, he couldn’t resist that look. He had to poke the fire and watch the world burn, heedless of any damage it might do to him in return. “I hardly think your parents will approve of having a boy stay all holiday.” But what he really meant was I hardly think your parents will approve of having me over all holiday. “Especially when I have a perfectly fine house.”
“That house is not perfectly fine,” she countered back, stare deepening.
“Yes, well…” He swallowed, a nervous sort of habit that she knew meant she had won. “Where would I sleep?”
“You can have my bed,” she countered back almost immediately.
“I’m not going to spend the holiday with your family.” Petunia , he meant.
“Fine, then I’ll stay here.”
“I won’t- what?” She had caught him off guard, his eyebrows raising, his eyes widening, letting a little bit of himself slip through that mask he always clung to, like a frightened child afraid to let anyone get too close. She knew it all too well.
“I’ll owl my mum and tell her I have loads of schoolwork to catch up on and simply must spend the holiday here.”
“…Lily…Lily, you love Christmas,” he sputtered, fluttering and falling. “You love spending it with your family! You can’t…you can’t just…”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do Severus,” she snapped, already spinning on her heels and backing away from him. “I’m sending an owl, end of discussion.” And before he could say another word she was out of sight, leaving a shocked and confused Severus behind. His eyes followed her, staring into her shadow long after she had left. That ever calculating mind of his already whirling to catch up to what just happened. If it was anyone else he would have taken credit for how things played out in his favor. But this was Lily Evans, the one exception to the rule. Things never played out the way he planned, not with her. He may have just received the best Christmas gift he could ever ask for, but he was not foolish enough to believe he had anything to do with that.
He was also not planning on wasting this opportunity.
“Where are we going?” The words tumbling out of that wide grin, laughter bubbling up every few steps or so as she followed him this way and that, over stairs and ducking under others. Twisting past the abandoned corridors and watching out for any ghosts that happened to be floating about.
He glanced shyly over his shoulder, and there, on his lips, was his own smile. If she didn’t see it herself she might be hard pressed to believe it.
They hadn’t spent much time together since she agreed to stay over holiday break, their schedules not allowing it. But his eyes had stayed with her whenever possible, watching as she basked in the glow of her popularity, smiling with other people, laughing with other students. His heart had long ago grown cold from that particular jealousy, but somehow this was different, worse. A part of him expected her to board the train home anyway, forgetting about him completely. Left alone his mind only encouraged those thoughts, spitting venomous ideas into his head. She must feel pity for him, that was the only explanation for why she still bothered to put up with his friendship, a loose term at that. And surely she would realize she wasn’t expected to stay, would use this as the perfect excuse to sever their friendship. But Lily wasn’t like that, even his imagination knew she was incapable of something so cruel and final.
Yet he couldn’t help doubting, not her, but himself. He wouldn’t be the cause for a frown on her perfect face, not this time. He would make sure Christmas was perfect, even if she did board that train. But after all the others had left, there she was, in the middle of the Great Hall sliding next to him for breakfast. As if it was all perfectly normal. As if she did so everyday, as if there were no lines dividing them.
“I know how much you love Christmas,” he replied, as if that was enough of an answer. And up he continued, leading her through the maze of staircases. And up she followed, green eyes sparkling with amusement.
“That isn’t an answer Severus Snape!” Behind him she laughed again, and he smiled in response.
“No. No, I don’t suppose it is.”
He looked nervous and hesitant. Fearful, even. It was clear her silence was bothering him.
“It is too much? I just…I wanted to make it special, like…your home. I…wasn’t thinking. I should have left the tree. I couldn’t get the enchantment to work for the lights, you’ve always been better with charms than me.” He was wringing his hands together, glancing down and letting his dark hair shield his eyes from view. Like a black velvet curtain that blocked out all light. He didn’t dare look up at her, didn’t dare even hope.
Which is why, when she finally did speak, he was convinced he must have heard her wrong.
“...what?” He stuttered, more to his shoes than her.
“It is perfect.”
He finally glanced up, only to find her looking, not at him, but the room around them. Her wide eyes took in everything, her feet spinning her slightly, robes dancing around her feet, and that same soft smile upon her lips. The astronomy tower did look quite different, he supposed. The slightly too small and wimpy (compared to the ones in the Great Hall) tree to the side. It was hastily decorated and there, down under the branches, was a single, small, and awkwardly wrapped present beneath it.
Bundles of bright wildflowers (not lilies for she detested those and not roses because that was “too cliche” as she once mentioned offhandedly), were delicately placed about the small space, breaking up the otherwise grey hues from the December winter. The yellows and pinks almost unnatural in the weather, the only pop of color for miles around - except for her . It had taken some hefty work in the greenhouse to manage those, but he had done it for her. Would always do it for her.
Even though they were outside it felt as warm as if they were next to a fire, thanks in part to a spell he had played with. It was meant to heat up clothing, but he made it work here. And indeed it did resemble a fire, the crackling sounds enchanted the air, the soft scent of smoke filling their noses. The dozens of candles that surrounded them flickered against those sounds, dancing in the wind that seemed to stop at the edge of the tower.
And there, to the side of the tower under a great arch, was a table meant for two. A dinner created by the castle’s house elves (another favor that would cost him dearly, he was sure of it). Two glasses filled to the brim with butterbeer, two more with water. He had created, perhaps without even realizing it, the perfect date.
One more spin and then she was there, facing him with that catching smile. “How did you do all this? When did you even find the time?”
“So, you like it then?” Hesitant, even now, even with that smile and those eyes and the confirmation that it was perfect he is still fearful of her disapproval.
She sighs, but not in an unkind way, more in a knowing way as she tilts her head to regard him. Her smile softens into something more genuine, meant only for him. “I can’t imagine a better way to spend Christmas eve.”
“That was the most amazing meat pie I’ve ever tasted,” she said with a satisfied sigh, dropping her fork in a very unlady like manner as she shifted back in her chair. Her attention moved from plate to him, casting a radiant smile his way. “Did you bribe the house elves? Because I am positive they have never made anything that scrumptious before!”
“I think you’ve had too much Butterbeer!” But he was smiling, if not quite laughing, as he mirrored her movements, placing his own fork off to the side.
She pointed a finger accusingly his way. “And I think you haven’t had enough! But that is besides the point. You’ve planned this evening. So tell me, what comes next?”
The mood suddenly shifted as she placed the spotlight back upon him. His eyes darted on their own accord to the tree - or, more accurately, to the small, haphazardly wrapped present beneath the tree - then back again, his cheeks turning a crimson that was immediately noticeable against his ghostly skin. He felt the heat rising in his face and glanced down in an attempt to hide behind his hair. “Oh, well. I d-didn’t plan anything, so. There isn’t, what I mean is-”
“Oh no, no, no,” she interrupted, having already seen that look. She stood in one motion, starting for that tree with refusal on her lips. “No.”
His heart sank in the most painful of ways as he rushed after her, arms grasping at air in a feeble attempt to reach that gift before she could. But her fingers closed around it and she gracefully swooped it up before he could even get close, holding it just out of reach of his outstretched hands. He prepared himself for the worst, for her mocking laughter (that he knew she wasn’t capable of, but his mind had no trouble supplying this image anyway) or her adamant disapproval at the notion of him giving her a gift.
“I don’t think so Sev! Presents are for Christmas, and it isn’t Christmas proper yet, now is it? This will have to wait until morning.” Her words so final that he cringed anyway, suddenly hating the idea of her opening it at all. Wishing he had gotten her nothing or, at the very least, something more fitting. Perhaps a new quill and a bottle of ink, that would be a sensible gift. Or a book, she loved to flip through old spell books as much as he did.
“It isn’t...it’s not…” If possible, his cheeks tinted an even deeper shade of red now, closely resembling a bad sunburn. “It isn’t anything, really. In fact, if you just hand it over I can…”
But she had already pocketed the small present, a mischievous smile as she all but ignored his obvious discomfort. “You will have yours tomorrow as well.”
That stopped him short, eyes widening as he glanced hesitantly her way. “Mine? But surely-”
“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. It seems so different up here without anyone else, let’s take advantage.” Then, before he could object, her hand was reaching out, those fingers wrapping around his and with a sudden, gentle tug, he was being led away. With that small, innocent, touch all thoughts of presents were cast out of his mind because Lily Evans was holding his hand.
He watched her as she pointed out the stars he already knew and as she told stories from her Muggle storybooks that he hadn’t known. Their hands had long since been broken apart, hers running the length of the railing and his stuffed firmly in his pockets. He was afraid that he would reach out to touch her if he didn’t chain them down somehow. She turned her attention, once again, to him and he felt that familiar feeling surge within him whenever she paid him any mind. Happiness, he silently mused, something that was always lacking when she was away.
“What’s this?”
“Hm?” He hummed, eyes distracted by the way the candlelight flickered against her hair and how she was stepping towards him - close enough that the familiar scent of almonds and vanilla reached his nose. But then he realized why she was stepping towards him, his eyes following her own gaze upwards, and it was all he could do not to retreat, practically shouting at her, “No! Don’t-”
He froze, a statue made of stone. Unmovable and untraceable, any hint of emotions seeped out of his features as he kept his eyes steady and his mouth tight, refusing to let even the smallest hint of what he was feeling slip through the cracks of that mask he wore.
Mistletoe. Gleaning and glistening right above their heads, just out of reach, planted there by his devious, yet not even daring, hands. For she would never and it could never and it was all just a distant daydream, a desire skirting at the edge of his heart. A heart that seemed to stop all together at the way her eyes danced between him and that small little shrub, tied neatly together with a little red bow. Just a clipping he had taken from the Great Hall, shoving in the pockets of his trouser before anyone could notice.
“Sev…” His name whispered off her lips, perfect round lips that seemed to be taunting him. She took a step forward, really half a step, having already closed the gap between them moments ago. She was dangerously close now, they both knew it. Could feel each other's breath upon their skin, a soft whisper of air that he wanted to catch, bottle up and keep forever. Her scent was intoxicating, her eyes the poison he knew he would forever drown in. Just like that his heart suddenly remembered how to beat, regained the instinctual drive that kept him from dying at her feet. A rapid sort of beating. A hammering. A series of unpredictable shouts against his ribcage.
Thump-thump, thump-thump-thump, thump-thump.
Then she tilted her chin up and he glanced down, eyes flickering from those emerald orbs to her lips and back again. Hesitantly, he raised his right hand, letting his long fingers ghost over her hair. It was hardly a real touch, but she shivered nonetheless. That gave him just the right push and those fingers gently stroked against her cheek, the back of his knuckles sliding over that perfect, porcelain skin.
They stayed like that, for how long neither would be later be able to tell. Their minds would replay the night's event in slow motion, focusing in on every little detail. But they will be unable to recall how long his fingers brushed against her and how long she stared up at him with those parted lips.
She couldn’t breath. All air was trapped in her lungs, oxygen refusing to exhale as she waited for a kiss.
One that would never come.
“I suggest you two head back to your respective common rooms.” A voice propelling them apart as if it had been magic itself. And maybe it had been, judging from the source of that voice. Eyes glistening, silver beard glimmering, a pointed little frown hanging through that ribbon tied beard that sat neatly splayed across those purple robes.
“Headmaster! We were just…” But for once, Lily Evans had no words, cheeks already a bright cherry color as she stared intently at her shoes.
“I quite understand Miss Evans. Now go along, back to your room.”
She did, of course she did. And Severus started that same way, embarrassed and ashamed and feeling an indescribable anger, only to be halted mid step by a very pointed hand, heavy against his shoulder.
“Might I suggest, Severus, that you allow Miss Evans to continue with her education undisturbed.”
He didn’t respond.
“She is capable of great things, you know. It won’t due for her to become distracted. Weather is a fickle thing, always changing. I feel a storm brewing in the near future, and it won’t be pretty. But, I suspect, you are already aware of this. Don’t make things harder on her than they need be, Severus.”
Again, he said nothing. The hand lifted and after a pause he left.
Head held down and clouded with doubts and fears and, worst of all, the nagging feeling that Dumbledore was right. How could he expect to capture such beauty for himself? He could not cage a bird in hopes that it would learn to love him. No. It was not fair.
He could never see her harmed, it would kill him. But for it to be at his hands? He hated Dumbledore more than anything in that single, solitary moment. Except for, perhaps, himself. For being too blind to see the truth. He waved his wand, candles extinguishing in an instant and leaving him once more alone in the dark, with only the memory of her eyes. Those burning emeralds searing their permanent place upon his heart.