The Christmas Flask

The Christmas Flask by Ginnysdarkside

Ron Weasley sat at the table, glumly pushing food around his on plate. He'd known his last Christmas at Hogwarts would be difficult. In the past year and a half he'd undergone tremendous change, finally growing into his height and features. Plus, since he'd become Quidditch Captain, girls had been throwing themselves at him. Even Pansy Parkinson had cornered him in a corner of the library one night and made an indecent proposal. He had hidden his nose in a book until she'd gotten the hint and stamped away muttering curses. He'd pocketed the pair of green silk knickers she'd left behind and added them to his growing collection. The problem wasn't the girls themselves. The problem was that none of them was Hermione, the girl he still pined for, who was currently in Bulgaria, visiting her "friend" Victor Krum.

He'd spent Christmas Eve in the common room roasting marshmallows in the fireplace, while Ginny and Harry snogged madly nearby. This morning, he'd struck off early and hidden in the trophy room, looking at the photo album Hermione had given him, his only company Mrs. Norris, who was playing with a piece of ragged tinsel.

At dinner time, he'd made his way to the great hall, which is how he came to be making mashed potato snowmen on his plate. Ginny and Harry were across from him, feeding each other bits of trifle, while next to him, Professor Snape poured the contents of a flask into his eggnog, apparently trying to drink himself into a stupor to avoid the sight of Ginny licking cream off Harry's fingers.

Ron looked feverishly at Snape's flask. "Pour me some."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Do you really expect me to contribute to the corruption of a minor wizard?"

"Just give me some before I claw my eyes out," Ron hissed.

An amused smirk crossed Snape's face, and he sloshed fire-whiskey into Ron's cup. His hand trembled, causing some to spill onto the tablecloth. "You're fortunate I probably won't remember that in the morning." His voice was oddly jovial. "Fortunately for you, even I can't let a student witness such torment." He shuddered. "They really need to get a room."

"They had one last night. Mine. I still can't get those noises out of my head." He took a large swallow, as a bony hand holding a teacup appeared between them.

"I'll take some of that too, Severus," said a breathy voice. They both turned and looked into the bespectacled face of Professor Trelawney, who had apparently decided to join the festivities now that the dinner guests had dwindled to eleven.

Snape poured. "Finally decided to join us, Sybil?"

"You're not Mr. Sociability either, Severus, but the eye revealed I am needed here tonight."

To Ron's surprise, Snape elbowed him and raised his cup. "To Sybil's eye, Weasley - May it blur out the indecencies before us." He took a swig and sagged back in his chair. Ron and Trelawney looked at each other in confusion, then followed suit.

So it was that Ron found himself drinking an entire bottle of fire-whiskey with his two least favorite Professors. After the first two cups of spiked eggnog, his head spun pleasantly, and he no longer cared that he was talking to two people he disliked. They pulled Christmas crackers and laughed hysterically when Snape put a glittering pink tiara on his head. It rested incongruously on his lank hair, but he didn't seem to mind, only pushing a Bobby's cap at Trelawney and forcing her to don it. As the evening went on, the two of them lapsed more deeply into their cups, singing off-key Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Ron watched them with amused eyes and hummed softly as he swirled his eggnog, losing track of time until he looked around the table and realized only the three of them remained.

Snape slumped asleep in his chair, and Trelawney turned to Ron, her eyes gleaming cogently behind her spectacles. "He gets like this every year," she said. "We take turns looking after him." Her hand shook for a moment, then gently patted Snape on the back. "Poor man, what he's been through. It was Christmas day when his wife died."

Ron sobered and looked at Trelawney in surprise. Somehow, he'd never imagined Snape having loved someone, just as he'd never thought his Divination professor would be anything but a cracked old bat. The two of them were people, he realized, people who'd loved and lost, whose decisions had led them to where they were, imperfect yes, but human just the same. He wondered if it was the whiskey that made him feel this way, but pushed the thought aside.

"Who was she?" he asked.

"A Ravenclaw, a year below us, they'd been married but a year when she died. That was when he ..." Her eyes narrowed. "Your Miss Granger reminds me of her, so bright and intelligent, yet never willing to believe anything lacking solid proof."

A sharp pain gripped Ron's stomach. "She's not mine."

Trelawney smiled. "She will be. I see it." Ron rolled his eyes, but she held up her hand. "I know you think I'm an old fraud," she said. "But some things you don't need second sight to see." She looked at Snape. "I suppose we should get him home. Would you help me?"

The two of them slung a staggering, protesting Snape between their shoulders and supported him down to the dungeons, then walked in silence until they reached the staircases to their towers. Ron stopped and looked at Trelawney. She was frail and sad, and somehow, despite the disregard he felt for her abilities, she had given him hope. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, pointing above her at a sprig of mistletoe.

"Happy Christmas, Professor." He sauntered up the stairs, his thoughts turning to Hermione. When she returned he would tell her how he felt. Behind him, Sybil Trelawney smiled.