Severus didn’t know how he’d ended up in this situation, but one thing was for certain: Hermione was going to pay. She was going to pay dearly.
Christmas was a special time of year, filled with magic and wonder, made more magical by spending it with the ones you love. Or so everyone claimed.
He’d agreed to attend Christmas at the Burrow under the express agreement that it was kept low-key. They would make the necessary appearances, but if - and when - the evening got to be too much, they would say their goodbyes and return to the sanctity and solitude of Hogwarts. Their last Christmas together had been blissfully wonderful. They’d begged off chaperoning duty at Hogwarts and spent the holiday huddled together in a cabin in the Arrochar Alps, with nothing but the fire and each other to keep themselves occupied.
It had been glorious. By far Severus’s best Christmas, if he did say so himself.
This one, however, was quickly shaping up to be the worst.
It started innocently enough. Molly and Arthur pleaded with them to spend the night at The Burrow to celebrate Christmas morning with them. The Burrow’s enchantments were bursting at the seams, with Harry and Ginny and their three kids, Percy and Audrey and little Molly and Lucy, George and Angelina and baby Roxanne, Bill and Fleur and their two children - and a very pregnant Fleur ready to pop out number three. With Charlie in from Romania and Fred introducing his new girlfriend to the family, to say that it was a full house was putting it mildly.
There were almost as many people in this small house as there were students in Severus’s First Year Potions class, and the notion of spending an entire holiday with them all was … stressful, to say the least.
Despite all the extra bodies and chaos, Hermione couldn’t say no to Molly, not after skipping last Christmas, and Severus - it seemed - couldn’t say no to Hermione. So, they’d agreed to stay.
Which led to a round of bedtime stories, wherein each adult was tasked with telling a story - either true or fantastical - to the children after dinner.
Hermione told them a tale of a group of friends tasked with solving a series of challenges and riddles so that they could find an enchanted mirror hidden away inside a secret castle.
Severus sat silently with the others, listening to her story, not for the first time. It brought him no small amount of pride that she had conquered his logic puzzle, and at such a young age as well. She really was brilliant, despite his initial reluctance at admitting so.
The progression of their relationship as adults had been a slow one, but he wouldn’t change anything about it.
She hadn’t dated anyone for a few years after she and Ron had agreed they were better off as friends, and Severus was … well, he wasn’t the most social of creatures, but he tolerated her presence. More than tolerated. She had quickly become one of the best parts of his day.
Conversations at the Head Table over lunch hour turned into evening discussions at the Leaky Cauldron, turned into night caps in his sitting room with the fire crackling, turned into whispered confessions between bedsheets and pillows. He’d been her confidant and steady companion for over a year, and they’d managed to keep themselves contained in their little bubble of happiness for months, just enjoying themselves.
And then Minerva had Floo’d into his rooms unexpectedly one night and got an eyeful that left said eye twitching for days. And then Hermione had let slip a passing comment in front of Ginny who’d turned almost as red as her hair and demanded to know details. And then Fred had stopped by for drinks one night and blatantly interrogated her over firewhisky and butterbeer, and the jig was effectively up.
Now, here they were. Two years into this relationship, celebrating Christmas together as … a family. He’d long since given up the notion of ever having a real family again. That he might have that chance now, to start fresh with Hermione … it did things to his heart.
It was strange, and weird, and entirely too sentimental, but Severus found himself almost enjoying himself.
Until, that is, everything went to hell.
Just as the stories were wrapping up - Severus having managed to offer a brief, edited-for-young-children story about the first time Hagrid had escorted him into the Forbidden Forest to collect Acromantula venom for a potion - a silver, shimmering Lynx pranced its way into the room, the deep and unmistakable voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt being relayed through the wispy beast.
A crisis had occurred at the Ministry, requiring Harry, Percy, and Arthur to abandon the festivities and report to the office.
The children were devastated, Molly was cross, but there was nothing to be done for it. All Senior officials had been ordered to report in, and they were some of the most senior officials at the Ministry, post-war.
When they’d been gone only ten minutes, and Molly revealed - with a shocked little gasp - to the adults left behind what enchantment had been placed on the Burrow, Severus wished he’d gone with them.
It was a tradition, or so Molly claimed in a hushed voice, that “Santa” visited the children every year for Christmas, imbuing the holiday with a little extra magic, and making it a night to remember for the children.
That would be fine, of course, except that over time, the children had gotten too clever about a simple costume, and so the Weasleys had created their own little enchantment. At the stroke of 9:00 p.m. the eldest male in the house would be transformed into Santa Claus. Only those who were aware of the enchantment would be able to see through it. To the children’s eyes, it would be as though jolly old Saint Nick had magicked himself into their home to fill their hearts with Christmas Cheer.
With Arthur gone, there was no question as to who the “eldest male” in the house would be.
Well, that was the evening sorted. At 8:40 p.m. Severus was prepared to apparate back to Hogwarts then and there, fully intent on leaving Bill to draw the short end of the stick. But then he saw Hermione’s face.
It was her eyes that did him in, in the end. Those big, brown, pleading eyes that did things to his heart that he couldn’t quite explain, and even if he could he wasn’t about to do so in a room full of Weasleys and Potters.
He had endured worse, he supposed. But somehow, the idea of transforming into a wide, bearded man in a red suit and putting on a show of happiness and wonder for children was more terrifying than suffering the Cruciatus at Voldemort’s hand.
At 8:55 p.m. Hermione led Severus into an empty bedroom for the transformation to take place, thanking him with her words, and then her kisses for agreeing to stay and endure this for her, and for the children who were already upset at the prospect of spending Christmas Eve without three of their family members.
Severus listened to her thanks, but was far more interested in her kisses, informing her that she would definitely be making it up to him later, and could start thinking of all the ways that she was going to do just that once they were alone together.
Hermione’s cheeks blushed as she reached for him, peppering more than just his lips with kisses, until the time was spent.
At 9:01 p.m. Santa Claus made his annual appearance at the Burrow.
If he was slightly less jolly or a little more stiff than last year, well the children didn’t notice. He fell into the role as seamlessly as he had when spying against Voldemort. Children, while only slightly less dangerous than armed Death Eaters, were remarkably intuitive when it came to spotting false emotion, and so he forced himself to drop the layer of disinterest of incivility that he had cemented so long ago.
Severus Snape allowed himself - if only for one night - to smile. To laugh. To play. To let children like him.
His lap was just as squishy as Santa’s would be, his spells just as flashy and dramatic - no foolish wand-waving required - and he listened attentively as Victoire and James and then the younger children told him everything that they wanted for Christmas. He used Legilimency on young Albus Potter when the boy was too shy to speak, easing the secrets out of his mind and using the information to make the little corners of the boy’s mouth turn up and a hint of a sparkle to appear in his green eyes. So like his father’s, of course.
He forced himself not to glare daggers at Ginny Potter when she snapped photo after photo of him with children on his lap. He couldn’t have known that the enchantment wouldn’t let his scowl shine through to the children. Molly Weasley was, after all, a witch to be reckoned with, and rather adept at household magic.
For all the children could tell, Santa was having the time of his life, and so were they.
There were more stories, followed by dessert - milk and cookies for Santa, of course. The children each got to open a present before bed, and as part of the enchantment, Santa had a sack of presents for them as well. The older kids helped arrange the presents under the tree before helping the younger ones choose one to open, and then the room was filled with raucous laughter and excitement as they explored their new toys, books, and clothes.
When a miniature Hogwarts Express began entwining itself around the legs of the adults in the room, it was nearly time for the children to go to bed. The enchantment would only wear off once the last child was asleep, which only spurred Severus to help them ease into slumber.
Using nonverbal, wandless magic, he levitated the children up the stairs, their delighted giggles floating down the hallways with their little bodies as they were each deposited in their beds. Their mothers came to say goodnight, tucking them with kisses to their foreheads and promises of a wondrous, even more magical morning.
Severus retreated to the sitting room once all the children were in bed, finding Hermione by the fireplace, nursing a glass of pumpkin juice and smiling fondly as he approached.
He wrapped his arms around her, thankful that she was able to see through the enchantment. He lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering softly, “Next year, we’re spending Christmas somewhere far, far away. Back in the Arrochar Alps, on a boat in Venice, on a private island where no one can find us … I don’t care. Next year, I want you all to myself.”
Hermione smiled softly, pressing her lips against his. It was quite a strange sensation, being aware that he currently had a full, thick, white beard and not being able to see or feel it against her skin. Perhaps that was something to explore as well, when they were back in the privacy of his rooms.
“You can have me all to yourself at New Year’s, I promise,” she whispered, tucking her head into his chest and just breathing in the scent of him. It might have been her imagination, but he smelled like peppermint and wishes. Molly’s enchantment was nothing to scoff at, that was for sure.
The night had not gone according to plan at all. She’d been worried about her friends and found-family accepting Severus, but they’d welcomed him into their celebration with open arms. She’d been worried that he would become overwhelmed with the boisterous nature of a Weasley Family Christmas, but he had risen to the challenge, more than she ever could have imagined.
When Arthur, Harry, and Percy finally returned, the Burrow was set and dressed for a perfect Christmas morning. The adults - at least those who weren’t currently breastfeeding - shared a round of Fleur’s special spiked eggnog, before retiring to their rooms for the evening.
Morning would come soon enough, and with it more noise and laughter and delightful chaos.
As they slid into bed together, Severus wrapping his arms around her and breathing in soft traces of honeysuckle in her hair, Hermione thanked him for the day.
She thanked him with kisses pressed to his cheek, to the tip of his nose, to the dip of his clavicle, and the broad width of his chest. She thanked him with soft murmurs of love, her own fingers slipping through the silky tendrils of his hair as she notched her leg around his hip, drawing him to her. She thanked him with her chest arched against his as he breathed out a wandless silencing charm and began working his way down her body to accept that thanks.
He took her thanks delicately, and then hungrily, and then selfishly as he wrought thunder and lightning out of her body and through her lips, her broken voice singing his name to the heavens.
When the clock struck midnight they were still entwined in one another, hands drifting softly over scarred and healed flesh. Severus never felt more whole than when he was in her arms.
He had watched her throughout the evening, even while he was masquerading for the children, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold her to his demand to spend Christmas away from her family again next year. While he would selfishly love to keep her all to himself, every day of the year, there was something about the way her eyes lit up around the ones she loved.
He only realised tonight, of all nights, that she looked at him the same way too. She really did love him. He accepted it when she whispered it against his sweat-slicked skin, but he believed it when she looked at him with those bright, shining, adoring eyes.
Maybe the idea of creating a new family wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe he really could have just a small taste of the happiness that filled the very core of the Burrow and the Weasleys inside it.
“Merry Christmas, Severus,” Hermione whispered, adjusting her head so it was nestled perfectly in the space between his arm and his chest.
Severus adjusted the blankets around them, squeezing her gently and pressing one last kiss to the top of her head before snuffing out the bedroom lights. “Merry Christmas, my love,” he replied, feeling the remaining pieces of the wall he’d built around himself for so long crumble away.
He might have to talk to Molly about adjusting that enchantment of hers. Perhaps Mrs. Claus could visit next year. With visions of something more than sugar plums dancing in his head, Severus finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the arms of the woman who loved him back.
…