Perfection

I see trees of green

Red roses too

I see them bloom

For me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue

And clouds of white

The bright, blessed day

The dark, sacred night

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

The colors of the rainbow

So pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces

Of the people going by

I see friends shaking hands

Saying how do you do

They're really saying

I love you

I hear babies cry

I watch them grow

They'll learn much more

Than I'll ever know

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself,

What a wonderful world...

~What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong

Perfection

Chapter 6: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Steve strolled into the house at five in the morning, trying, unsuccessfully, to air the cigarette smoke out of his jacket. His head was already pounding from the drinks he had been consuming all night, and a faint sound from the living room only increased his headache. Clumsily, he staggered through the kitchen, into the adjoining room to see Agrippa curled up on the sofa, head tilted at an odd angle. On the floor beside her was the box for a home-made movie.

With fumbling fingers, he picked it up and squinted.

A holiday movie from ten years ago. Why on earth had she been watching it?

Steve had liked to make them more for prestige's sake than the memories. That way when they returned from Mexico or the Canary Islands they could show it off to the friends and family, say, See, this is where we went, this is the expensive hotel we stayed in, look at the car we rented. He had never understood why, years later, his wife would pull them out and watch them.

To him, it was all a waste of time.

*

The clock read five forty-seven. Neither of them had slept, and below them, the city was coming alive. Cars were beginning to fill the main drags, and the noise began to filter up.

"There's a six o'clock buffet breakfast," Snape commented, breaking the silence of over an hour and a half.

She swung around and searched his face for any scorn or disdain. It was expressionless.

"Oh, really?"

Her stomach was beginning to feel queasy and she forced away the nausea. If she could force herself to go without food, then she could force herself to eat it. Bite by bite she would get over this without any help from Severus Snape. Or anyone else, for that matter.

"If you want to avoid seeing your relatives, it would be a good time to go."

She studied him, looking for any hidden meaning, any challenge. There was none.

"I see no reason why not."

Unfolding herself from the couch, she walked into the washroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, the click as it locked echoing out.

Hermione turned on the taps, letting the warm water run over her icy hands as she studied herself in the mirror.

Hollow cheekbones. Dried and cracked lips. Colourless cheeks. Hair that had lost its shine. Hungry eyes. Not hungry for food, but hungry for love, approval, as a plant is for the sunlight.

How had she come to this?

One minute, smiling, content, happy little girl, loving parents, secure in their love. Then, turn around and she was a falling apart teenager, screaming inside to be heard, when all that the world heard was themselves.

She had wanted to be perfect. Maybe then they would listen, pay attention to what was staring them in the face. Somewhere, in that road to perfection, she had taken a wrong turn, misunderstood the directions.

And here she was, a small, frail creature, just waiting to be crushed.

Hermione Granger studied herself in the mirror. And found that she hated what stared back.

*

He stretched out on the bed, running a hand through his hair. Severus Snape, as much as he hated to admit it, was utterly dumbfounded. If anyone had told him two weeks earlier that he would spend the entire night in a hotel room with a Gryffindor girl (anorexic, no less) watching The Princess Bride and Star Trek re-runs, well, he would have laughed them out of the building. Or sent them to St. Mungo's to test their mental health. Probably the latter.

But it didn't matter. It had happened, and no amount of foresight could have prepared him for it. Although there was a small part of him that was wondering whether he had finally gone over the edge and this was all some twisted illusion inside of his head. That was hardly a comforting thought.

Of course, insane people didn't question what was happening did they? Not that he'd met many of them, but from his understanding...

"Professor Snape?"

He sat up quickly, startled.

"Miss Granger," he replied curtly.

They stared at one another awkwardly for a moment.

"Well, this is certainly a fascinating conversation," she finally commented. "As much as I long for it to continue, I must urgently press you to use the washroom. You look like hell."

"Thank you," he returned, arching an eyebrow sardonically.

As he closed the door behind him, he heard the murmur of the television begin. Soon, though, the pounding of the shower drowned it out, and all he was left with was his thoughts. To block them out, he concentrated on shampooing his hair. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Although he tended to skip the last step.

He despised the complementary shampoo that the hotels gave out. It made his hair fluffy, not to mention that it was rose-scented and didn't rinse out properly. What the hell was L'Oreal anyway?

The lavender soap wasn't much better, although at least it didn't leave a lingering smell. He cranked off the hot water and let the coolness slide over him. Once his scalp began to go numb, he turned it off altogether and wrapped a towel around his waist. Without a second thought, he walked out, into the main room.

At the sound of his approach, Hermione glanced over briefly, then returned her attention to the travel show on Bolivia. A moment later, she looked back, and her eyes grew large. Color appeared in her cheeks as she met his gaze.

She opened her mouth to say something--anything--but the words caught in her throat and a croaking sound emerged.

Severus stood in the doorframe, absolutely mortified and desperately trying to hide it. He wanted to turn and shut the door, but his feet seemed to have taken root. So he did the only thing that seemed logical in his muddled mind. He laughed.

The sound broke the ice, and she began to giggle too, Bolivia forgotten.

He ducked back in to the washroom as she buried her face in the pillow to wipe away the tears of mirth streaking her face.

*

The restaurant was virtually empty at six a.m., and unwilling to break the silence, each picked at their own food.

Hermione was glad that they weren't talking. She didn't think that she would be able to stop herself from giggling helplessly.

God, who would have thought that Severus Snape looked like that, under the black robes that usually covered him from head to foot? Or in the muggle world, expensive black suits, not unlike the ones worn by her father for meetings and formal occasions. He was pale, not the sallow colouring he seemed to have in the dim light of the dungeons, and although not heavily muscled, neither was he without them, not to mention the cat-like grace he possessed...

What was she thinking?

Face it, Hermione, and tiny voice told her. You're attracted to him.

She winced inwardly at the though, taking a sip of coffee, then instantly spat it out. Raising his eyebrows, Snape picked up his mug.

"Don't drink it," she warned him. "It's... wrong... Nothing should taste like that."

He drank from it, then began coughing violently.

"I warned you," she grinned. "At least you managed to swallow it. I think anything would improve the taste."

"Would this?" he asked, holding up the salt shaker.

"Why don't you try?"

He shook some in, as she added grated parmesan and some pepper, then broke a piece off of her bagel and stuffed it into the mug. The cream cheese turned it a milky brown, and Hermione wrinkled her nose, grinning.

"Put in some more salt," she urged.

Five minutes later, they were left with a steaming, soggy mess inside of the coffee cup.

"Now what?" he asked.

She smiled evilly. "Now, we drink."

He grimaced.

"What, too afraid? If you drink some, then I will too."

Reluctantly, he raised it to his mouth, and took a sip. She watched to make sure that he swallowed.

"Your turn," he gagged handing it to her. "How much pepper did you put in it?"

"Mmm... protein," she commented as she raised it to her lips.

The taste seared her mouth, making her eyes water and her throat close.

"I take it back... There's something worse than the coffee," she said, once she had recovered. Noticing his grin, she suggested innocently, "There's peach juice over there. We could make something out of that..."

He shook his head. "No, never again."

She laughed and popped a strawberry into her mouth. It was only once she had chewed and swallowed that she realized she hadn't thought about it.

*

He stared down at the sleeping girl. They were back in the hotel room, and Hermione had flopped down on his bed, turning on the television, and promptly fallen asleep after saying something about being picked up at ten.

It was still quarter to seven.

Severus sat down next to where her head was resting on her arm and studied her. Or tried to, anyway. A curtain of hair, which made it next to impossible, hid her face. Strangely compelled, he reached out carefully to smooth it away, but before he could touch her, she shifted suddenly, exposing her features.

Her eyes opened partially, and she whispered, "You have such beautiful eyes."

He assumed that it had been part of her dream, because a moment later she was back asleep.

*

With a sigh, Ginny opened her eyes, to see the first light of dawn illuminating her room. Silently, she slipped on an old jumper and jeans, then padded down into the common room. Harry was sitting in one of the winged chairs by the fire, his head tilted slightly to one side, snoring softly, and Ron was no where to be found.

Shrugging, she continued out of the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

The only people sitting at the tables when she arrived were Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and, much to her dismay, Draco Malfoy. The many tables that usually filled the room were stacked near the far wall, so only one remained. Ginny chose a seat as far from everyone else as she could, without seeming too obvious, and helped herself to a bowl of oatmeal.

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore greeted her, buttering some toast. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, sir," she replied politely, avoiding his gaze.

"And you too, Mr. Malfoy?"

He nodded sullenly, studying the bacon resting on his plate. She couldn't help but notice the shadows under his eyes, but decided against commenting. She wasn't in the mood for a run-in this early in the morning. After a few minutes, the uncomfortable atmosphere descended on them, suffocating her enough to make her lose her appetite, and she pushed the bowl away, standing to go.

Dumbledore waved at her cheerfully, continuing his conversation with Professor McGonogall and she headed towards the library.

What was she, a second coming of Hermione or something?

She shrugged the thought away. Anything was better than drifting hopelessly through the halls all day.

She was halfway there when she became aware of footsteps behind her. Her scalp prickled and she felt her neck tense as they grew nearer. Heart in mouth, she turned to face them, and shrieked.

"Good morning to you too," Draco Malfoy greeted her. "Am I really that hideous?"

"Worse," she retorted, more than a little embarrassed over her reaction. "What do you want?"

"The sweet pleasure of your company," he told her wryly. "Tell me, are you a natural redhead? Because I've heard that the flame color of your hair is extraordinarily rare."

"Kindly remove yourself from my presence."

"Look who's the lady of the house now."

"Isn't that the role you fill?" Ginny retorted, not turning her head as she pushed open the library door and began shifting through leather-bound volumes.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"What, shocked that I have a tongue, Malfoy? Or that I dare stand up to your pathetic pureblood existence?"

He snarled in anger.

"Read this," she snapped, shoving a book into his chest with enough force to make him gasp. "It'll be a good lesson for you."

She stalked out of the room, leaving him to examine The Young Wizard and Witch's Book of Etiquette, open-mouthed.

*

Agrippa awoke to a crick in her neck and a migraine. Moaning, she rolled to her feet and dragged herself into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Hands trembling slightly, she picked up the kettle and promptly dropped it with a crash.

Not in the mood to deal with it, she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door to go to a coffee shop where the only work involved was drinking it. Glancing at her watch she realized that it was almost eight and she had to pick up her daughter at ten.

For some reason or the other that one small task seemed to be difficult. She didn't want to have to face the girl who had, ten years earlier, seemingly predicted the current situation.

She was a little kid. She was just making up a story.

But no matter how many times she repeated this in her head, she couldn't erase the words from her mind.

She says he used to love her, but then the evil monster took over him and he doesn't anymore...

*

"Miss Granger..."

Someone was shaking her shoulder gently, and she opened her eyes blearily.

Oh. That someone was Professor Snape.

"Hello," she replied stupidly as the events slowly filtered back to her.

"It's nearly ten o'clock."

"Mmm..." she answered dully.

"And I believe that you have to leave. Soon. Within ten minutes."

Realization dawned slowly on her face. "Right. Umm..."

This is awkward, she thought. Painfully.

"Excuse me, I need to..."

She flushed slightly as her voice trailed off. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"To use the facilities..." she finished nervously, eyes wide as she stared into his.

"By no means let me detain you."

She slipped into the other room, and once again stared at herself in the mirror. Only now, she was frantically going over what she could say to her mother.

Mum, I need to tell you something. I'm scared of food.

Yeah, really great.

Mum, I have a problem... I can't eat... I regurgitate it instantaneously.

No... definitely not.

Mum, the first proper meal I've had in almost half a year was last night, I haven't had my period in five months, and I weigh about ninety pounds. I'm bulimic. The only reason I'm still alive is because I've been living off of my magic.

Well, it was better than telling her that she was terrified of allowing anything to pass her lips. If she was lucky, her parents would go out and get her a nice, private padded cell, straight jacket included.

Taking a breath and flattening her hair she stepped out, pulse racing.

*

He could tell that she was afraid. He wasn't sure of what, but her breathing was uneven and ragged, and her eyes were huge in her face. Of course, by now he knew better than to say anything.

"Well, good-bye, I suppose," she said reluctantly. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied stiffly, feeling the need to say something a little more meaningful than a two-word phrase.

She held out a hand to shake, and he grasped it firmly. A bit too firmly, judging by her grimace.

"You're hands are clammy," he commented, and she smiled slightly.

"I know."

She stood and stared at him for a few minutes, torn in indecision. Finally, she leaned forward slightly and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then turned and fled to the elevator, missing the way that his hand lifted to that spot and the look of confusion that followed.

*

Hermione arrived in the entranceway just in time to see her mother's silver car pull up. She dashed out the door, ignoring the sleet that mingled in her hair. For some reason or the other her feet weren't touching the ground and there was a strange giddy feeling in her stomach. Part fear, part... what?

She was filled with a new and terrifying courage as she entered the car, determination to tell the truth, be honest with her mother and tell her everything... well, almost everything.

A determination that was to be short-lived.

As she slid in, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it at the sight of her mother's eyes which were red from weeping.

"Mum--"

"Yes, darling?" her mother replied distractedly.

She couldn't do this to her, couldn't add yet another burden to her already heavy load.

She paused for a second, opened her mouth, prepared to tell her...

But instead, it came out as, "Is everything all right?"

*

Hermione sat in her room, wrapping paper spread in front of her. But she wasn't using it. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, staring blankly at the scissors on her floor, dimly realizing the strange silence that filled the house. Particularly unusual, because both of her parents were home.

She could hear the sound of dishes clattering downstairs, but no yelling. What had happened in the one night that she had been away?

Despite the tiny ray of hope shining in her heart, something cautioned her that nothing had changed, that it was all a façade. But wasn't that what everything in her life was?

To Steve and Agrippa Granger, Hermione was the perfect daughter who had never caused them a moment's worry. To Hermione, they were the parents who had once created an almost utopian life for her, until they had begun this other hellish existence that she lived in every holiday. To the world, they were the happy, united Granger family, two successful dentists with their brilliant daughter who attended an "elite boarding school in Switzerland."

If only, Hermione thought. If only all of these appearances weren't just that--appearances.

With a sigh, she began to cut up the wrapping paper and carefully wrapped the gifts, remembering with a shock that she hadn't given her relative's theirs. Hoping that her mother would be too preoccupied to recall them, she shoved the presents and their respective cards behind her dresser, praying that no extensive cleaning would happen for a very, very long time.

Then, clearing her mind, she completed the wrapping, and stacked the gifts neatly in her closet. It was only then that she allowed herself to recall the previous night... And the morning... She smiled at the thought of the drink they had shared, as strange as it was. For a moment, she had been only in the present. There had been no past, no future. It was almost as if, for that brief period, the roller coaster had stopped to give her a breather.

She could only pray that now it wouldn't continue to plummet.

*

Night had descended over London once again, and Severus Snape was undergoing the strangest sensation of his lifetime. The impossible had happened. He had actually enjoyed himself with Hermione Granger. Although at times it had been utterly shocking, and almost frightening, she was truly... well, someone worth his while.

As a rule, he never let anyone become too close to him. He had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and giving a part of himself away was never particularly a cherished idea. But now he was wondering how much he had missed out on.

He by no means felt as though he knew her--it would reach a point where she would suddenly slam a door in his face and he knew that he continually did the same to her. But at the same time, he had enjoyed even the arguments and snide remarks. Of course, he would forever drink his coffee straight.

Chuckling to himself, he rolled onto his side, and turned on the TV. Incidentally, Star Trek was on. He made it through about two minutes before becoming so utterly confused that he had to turn it off.

Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he slid over to the window and opened the blinds, staring out at muggle London and the waning moon.

*

Across town, Hermione was staring at that same moon, mind wandering. Her parents weren't shouting, so she didn't need loud music. Instead, the music that was playing was somewhat mellower, more thoughtful. It suited her mood perfectly.

How many times had she stopped to see the flowers growing on the front yards, stopped to admire the colors, seen the beauty they gave the world in the last few years? There was so much more than that.

Because the world really was beautiful, despite everything. No matter what happened, there would always be something to laugh at, someone smiling--no matter how bleak it seemed. That was what she had forgotten.

It was all combined in one, sometimes. The dark and the light. She had learned that no one was all good, just as no one was all evil, no matter what the intentions. Because all of the good intentions in the world hadn't saved her.

Love, she realized bitterly. That was what had gotten her into this. It was the reason she could hear her mother crying in the night. It all seemed so pointless, the only thing it brought was hurt. But no matter how she pushed it away, it would always be there. Always.

"Hermione? Sweetheart?"

She jerked around to see her mother standing in the doorway, illuminated from behind. Hastily, she wiped away tears. She hadn't even noticed that she was crying.

"Can I come in?"

Hermione nodded. "Sure, Mum. Sit down."

Agrippa sat down on the bed next to her daughter.

"You didn't eat supper. I heated you up a plate of spaghetti."

Hermione took the plate from her mother's trembling hand, and slowly mixed in the tomato sauce, then twirled some onto her fork. Her head was pounding, surely her stomach would rebel...

Then it was safely down her throat, and she looked her mother dead in the eye.

"Are you all right, Mum?"

Agrippa nodded, and it struck Hermione how tiny and fragile her mother looked, hunched on the unmade bed. She was glad that she had decided not to tell her. One more blow and it would be her undoing.

Hermione Granger was on her own for this one.

"Look," Agrippa began, "I know I haven't been the best of mothers lately, but if there's anything, anything at all, that you want to tell me, I'm willing to listen."

I'm sorry, Mum, but I can't. It would hurt you too much to know. And I can't do that to you.

"I'm fine," Hermione insisted, patting her mother's hand. "Everything will be fine."

The situation seemed oddly reversed. Wasn't the parent supposed to comfort the child?

"I love you, Mum," she told her, the words sounding foreign on her tongue.

"Oh, sweetheart, I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

For no apparent reason, Agrippa broke down into sobs, and Hermione set down her plate to comfort her.

Giving her mother an awkward, albeit genuine hug, she murmured, "No you haven't. Wherever I've screwed up, it's been my fault entirely."

"No, Hermione," her mother said, pulling away. "Don't think like that. It isn't your fault. I've neglected you. And you haven't screwed up. You're the best daughter I could have hoped for."

Hermione felt a small glow of pride at the compliment--one of the few that she could recall receiving from her mother. But at the same time, a tiny voice whispered, If only you knew...

Once again, she opened her mouth to say it, only to find that she couldn't.

*

Hermione rolled over, burrowing her head under the covers so that the light wouldn't hit her eyes. There was something special about today, something important...

Christmas.

She pried her eyes open and twisted her head so that she could see her clock. It was just after ten. For a moment, she felt guilty about sleeping in, guilty about wasting time. But when she listened for the morning noises that usually filled the house, like dishes clanging and footsteps on linoleum, they weren't there, so she assumed that she wasn't the only one not up.

Pulling on a housecoat, she shoved her feet in the fuzzy slippers, picked up her wrapped and stacked gifts, and shuffled down the stairs into the empty kitchen, then carried on to the living room, where the Christmas tree stood in the corner, presents piled under it. She added hers to the packages, then stood back to admire the picture it formed.

It brought to mind other Christmases, when she would wake at six in the morning and bound into her parents' bedroom, leaping on the bed and shrieking for them to get up, snowball fights in the front yard an hour later, much to the neighbors' annoyance, and coming in soaking wet for hot chocolate and breakfast. In the evening, they would go to her mum's mother's house for Christmas dinner, goose with white wine sauce, along with all of her mother's family. They still did that, but it was tenser in recent years, even common courtesies seemed forced, to Hermione at least. None of her aunts or uncles noticed, despite the large amounts of gossip that they passed on, nor did her grandmother, however sharp she seemed to be.

Hermione had barely met her father's side of the family. Arthur and his parents, whom she was trying to forget at present, were the first ones in a very long time. Her paternal grandfather, like the one on her mother's side had passed away, and she had barely met the vague older woman who had moved to Yorkshire for health reasons...

"Good morning, Hermione," a voice boomed from behind her, making her jump so high she nearly hit the roof.

"Dad!" she breathed, trying to calm her fluttering heart. "I didn't know you were there..."

"How's my favorite daughter this morning?"

He was faking joviality, evidently trying to appear amiable, and she wished that he would stop. It was painfully obvious and she cringed for him inwardly.

"I'm your only daughter, Dad," she pointed out dryly.

"That doesn't stop you from being my favorite."

She suppressed a sigh, then turned her attention to Agrippa, who was hovering in the doorway. "Good morning, Mum," she announced, taking a leaf out of Steve's book. "Did you sleep well?"

A ghost of a smile flashed across her tired face as she replied. "Yes, sweetheart, thank you. And how about you?"

"Fine, Mum."

She wasn't about to admit to her mother that she had been kept up half the night because her thoughts kept rotating back to a certain pair of black eyes locked on her, dark humor filling them... She could barely even admit it to herself.

There was a moment of awkward silence, as each person stared around the room, searching for something to say.

Hermione pasted a smile on her face and said brightly, "So, let's open presents."

*

Severus had never particularly enjoyed Christmas, not even as a child. His parents used it as a competition--whoever gave him the most was the winner. True, he had been the envy of Hogwarts, but it was hardly comforting.

His mother, he supposed, had loved him in her distant way, but there was no honesty in the affection she gave him, assuming that she even bothered. And his father, well, Severus tried not to think of him. Cold, deliberately cruel. And his students thought that he was bad. They should try putting up with Dominic Snape for even an hour, never mind thirty years.

Nine years after his father's death, Severus was still grateful that he had come out relatively unscathed. Never good enough for him, Severus had tried to please him constantly, from bullying at school, right up to becoming a Death Eater. As the years continued, he hardened, keeping everyone at bay. Because if he couldn't trust his own flesh and blood to protect him, why would anyone else?

There had always been a tiny part of him, a part that he had kept locked away, even from himself. It was what his father had called weakness, and had tried to beat out of him, time and time again, whenever Severus had been tormented by an act of violence.

At the age of eleven, his father had forced him to master the Unforgivables, had taught him that loyalty is an illusion, that any excuse for power is a good excuse. And by age eleven, Severus Snape had seen what he did not want to become but, for a brief period, anyway, had become it anyway.

With a heavy sigh, Severus Snape stood from the hotel couch where he had been sitting and stared at his reflection in the windowpane. Once, he had heard of a composer who had been buried numerous times because his first grave had not given him the recognition he deserved, and then again because during a war, the church had been bombed, and his grave exposed. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The past was supposed to remain buried, not be dug up time and time again.

Why not forget it, for a while at least? Besides, it was Christmas. Snow had fallen overnight and hadn't had time to melt yet, hadn't had time to expose the cold city underneath. Albus was always trying to encourage him to get in the spirit of things, and maybe this time he would. True, he was alone, but, he reminded himself sharply, it was better that way.

*

Every year, Ginny looked forward to Christmas. It was the time of year when families all sat around the table, bickering amiably for elbow space, and eating turkey and mashed potatoes.

This year, she had barely remembered it.

It was so strange, just herself, Harry, Ron, Draco Malfoy, and a few other Hufflepuffs with whom she wasn't acquainted. And no one, except Dumbledore, seemed to be in the spirit of things. Harry moped around, no one was really sure why. Ron followed Harry around, trying to cheer him up. Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs, although at least he had a sense of humor, not that she would have anything to do with him. The teachers were all preoccupied with fighting Voldemort, the faster the better. And the Hufflepuffs, well, who knew where or how they spent their time.

So Ginny was more or less on her own. Which meant she was probably better off, since everyone else was acting totally insane, although it meant that there was no one to carry on a conversation with. True, it was lonely, but unless she wanted to be labeled as ready to fly off the handle any minute, she couldn't talk to herself either.

The sun was shining in her window, giving off the quality of light that let her know it had snowed. Even the weather was in more of a Christmas spirit than she was, which was reversed from the usual above melting temperatures that spited her every year. Yes, it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. But it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

With a sigh, Ginny Weasley got out of bed, and prepared her armor for the day in front of her.

*

One of the Granger traditions every Christmas morning, right after breakfast, was to drive through the city, stopping only for a brief walk through the park. Hermione stared out of the back seat numbly, half-listening to the pleasant small talk her parents were making. The snow was still crisp, not brown and slushy like it turned after being driven through and melted. For once, there was no traffic, only people taking walks and sledding. She stared longingly at a family making a snowman, and sighed inwardly, glancing up at her stiff parents.

Her mother had insisted on driving, which had earned a dirty look from her father, although a cut-throat signal had stopped the argument before it could begin.

When they pulled into the parking lot they normally stopped at, Steve sighed, "I don't think I'll get out. I must be coming down with something."

Hermione didn't miss the smoldering look Agrippa shot at him.

"Come on, Hermione. It's too nice a day to waste."

Obediently, she slid out of the car and waited for her mother to walk around.

"Where do you want to go?" Agrippa asked, tilting her head in question.

"Wherever's fine with me."

They began walking, Hermione shuffling her feet through the snow, trying desperately to come up with something to say.

"So, how's work been?" she asked, realizing just how stupid it sounded as the words rolled off of her tongue.

"Well," her mother began, "about the same, I suppose."

Hermione tried to pay attention as her mother rattled off the names of clients, but another figure walking towards them in the distance. Unwittingly, she began to pick up her pace, until Agrippa was struggling to keep up.

Finally, Hermione's mother told her with a smile, "I'll wait for you on this bench. Go and get rid of your energy."

With barely a backward glance, Hermione continued on, never taking her eyes off of the man ahead of her. Once she was far enough away from her mother and close enough to him to be certain, she called out.

He looked up just in time to dodge a snowball aimed at his head.

"Miss Granger!" he snapped. "If we were at school..."

"Which we aren't," she reminded him, grinning.

He arched an eyebrow. That expression sent something strange shooting through her stomach.

"Smile," she told him. "It's Christmas."

Even my parents are being somewhat civil, she thought wryly.

"Precisely," he replied. "A commercialized and extravagant time for people who enjoy wasting their money."

She smiled at him. "Probably true," she replied dryly. "But it doesn't have to be."

She could tell that he had never seen it that way before.

"How so?"

"Well, I used to know a family who, instead of buying gifts, they only make them. And it can be family bonding time, not that my parents see it that way. Or it can just be fun. Or is that word in your vocabulary?"

At first, she froze, worried that she had offended him. In one fluid movement, her guilt dissipated as he scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it at her, catching her on the cheek. Shrieking in false anger, she returned the gesture, and soon there was a full-fledged war going on. Dodging in at him, snow grasped in her mittained hand, she face washed him, making sure that some of it went down his back. She paused for a moment, wondering how he would react. She waited too long, and found herself on the ground, facedown, pinned in place by Severus Snape.

"Merry Christmas," she said, breathless with laughter.

A slow, grudging smile spread across his face. "Merry Christmas, Miss Granger."

He stood and helped her up, brushing snow off of his robes.

"You have something in your hair," she pointed out, trying to shake out the snowflakes that clung to her.

He ran a hand through it.

"Still there," she replied. She pointed at her own head, trying to show where it was. He lifted his hand to the wrong side. "No, let me get it."

She reached out and pulled out what turned out to be part of a dried leaf. Without letting it fall, she clasped her hands in front of her.

"My mum's waiting," she said finally. "I should probably go."

"Yes," he replied, and Hermione waited, half-hoping that he would say something.

"Well, good-bye, then."

A corner of his mouth twitched in agreement.

"I guess I'll see you when school starts again."

She turned and jogged away, still clutching the leaf in her hand.

*

Severus watched her go, rooted to the ground. For the time being he was living in the moment, covered from head to toe in snow, a strange warm glow filling him, despite the dampness of his clothes.

So this is what she meant when she had said that Christmas was more than just another day, he mused.

The light feeling in his chest, the flushed feeling of being short on breath from the chase that made everything well up inside of him, made him want to grin like a fool. It was an alien emotion, something to wonder at.

A part of him knew that it wouldn't last, that the feeling would go as suddenly as it had come, but he could enjoy it for the brief moment that it lasted, and perhaps it would be enough.

*

Agrippa watched her daughter return, wondering at the laughter she had heard echoing in the distance. It hadn't seemed like Hermione, she was always so quiet and collected, although sometimes she would catch a glimpse of something dark in her eyes, something close to anger, yet heavy, like sadness. Usually, she blamed it on the eyeliner, but on those rare occasions when she wasn't wearing it, it was still present.

The quietness had worried her when Hermione was younger. Weren't children supposed to be loud and spontaneous? But after a while, she began to accept her daughter's serious nature, and became thankful for it.

A model student who never gave a moment's alarm was to be preferred over a rebellious child. And she wasn't lacking in character, necessarily, just in volume.

"I'm back, Mum," Hermione said as she paused by the bench.

Her white cheeks were flushed with cold and her eyes sparkled with laughter that seemed to be rarely present as of late.

"Is everything all right?"

Agrippa jerked into awareness. "Yes, of course it is," she lied hastily.

Hermione stared at her for a few moments piercingly, and Agrippa suddenly noticed how much older she was. It seemed only yesterday that she had been eleven years old, still full of the childish innocence that went with the age, marveling over the acceptance letter that had come to a school that none of them had ever heard of, a school for magic nonetheless.

And now she was sixteen, two years away from finishing school and very changed from the child she had been then. Her hair had changed from an untamed wilderness to ringlets that fell down her back, eyes had darkened from hazel to brown, and her skin was so pale it was almost ashen. Agrippa found herself wondering if Hermione had always looked so... small. But the thought made her feel guilty, as if she should have noticed these changes, so she squashed it.

Hermione sat next to her on the bench and pushed her hair out of her face.

"You're all wet," Agrippa commented, brushing the snow off of her coat. "What happened?"

"I fell," Hermione replied quickly, avoiding her gaze. "There was a patch of ice and I slipped."

"Were you talking to someone?" Agrippa asked suddenly. "I thought I heard you."

Once again, Hermione remained evasive. "There was a teacher from my school. I stopped to say hello. But I don't know how you could have heard that."

"Oh, well," Agrippa replied, furrowing her brow. "I suppose it couldn't have been you, then."

"No," she agreed. "I suppose not."

*

Ginny took a bite of turkey and looked around at the small gathering of staff and students sitting around the table. As she chewed, she let their banter wash over her. She felt somehow separated from the people surrounding her, which was ridiculous, because she had Harry on one side and Ron on the other, both of which were continually sending dirty looks at Draco Malfoy, who was eating silently on the other end of the table. The Hufflepuffs were in their own tight group, and the teachers were more relaxed than they had been since last June.

Hagrid, as usual, had consumed a few too many, and was hiccoughing boisterously, while attempting to carry on a conversation with Professor Sinistra, who had an eyebrow raised, but was refraining from comment. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were engaged in conversation, laughing every so often, while Flitwick and Trelawny were arguing violently over which was more useful, a crystal ball or levitation beside them. For the first time, she noticed Professor Snape's absence from the table. She puzzled over it for a moment, before deciding that it was probably for the best.

Dumbledore stood, and with an air of great merriment announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently been introduced to a form of Muggle music, popular in the nineteen thirties, known as the polka. There is a dance to go along with it, which Professor McGonagall has kindly consented to demonstrate."

He clapped his hands, the tinny accordion music began, and the two teachers began wheeling throughout the Great Hall. Ginny hid a smile behind her hand while an incredulous look spread across the faces of everyone present. Of all the ways to break the ice that was apparent in the atmosphere...

After a few minutes, Harry turned to her, amusement sparkling in his eyes and said, "How about a go at it?"

Ginny grinned. "Why not?"

The energy of the dance filled her, and they leapt around the room with no particular grace or coordination, red hair flying behind her. By the end, Ginny was laughing so hard that she could barely stand and the rest of the staff had joined in, despite the look of bewilderment on some of their faces, as well as the Hufflepuffs. Ron and Draco were still sitting at the table, shooting poisonous looks at one another every so often.

When she sat back down, the blonde boy sauntered over to her and sat down, more to spite Ron, who couldn't do anything while the teachers were there, than anything.

"I read the book you gave me," he commented, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Really," she replied, somewhat aloof, although it was difficult when his mouth was in such proximity to hers. "Apparently you didn't get anything out of it."

"Not really," he replied, just as coolly. "Except that blind dates with dark wizards are bad ideas for proper young witches who wish to keep their reputations."

"Oh, really. I never would have guessed."

"I didn't think so," he replied, drawing a laugh from her.

She felt as startled by it as he looked.

"If you stay here much longer, I think Ron's going to commit homicide," she observed wryly.

"What gave you that impression?"

For some reason, this conversation was far more entertaining than one would be with Harry or Ron.

"So," she said quickly as she saw Harry and Ron moving towards them out of the corner of her eye. "Do you polka?"

"Not at all," he replied cheerfully. "But the ability to recognize one's faults is not prominent in my family and therefore I will not acknowledge the fact."

He pulled her off of her seat and into the thick of the mess of people stepping on each other's feet and tripping over their own.

"You know," he commented, "you aren't at all like a Weasley."

"Oh, really."

"You don't have the temper to go with that hair."

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, you haven't attacked me yet."

"Well, you aren't that much like a Malfoy."

She stumbled briefly, and in doing so, missed the shadow that crossed his face.

*

Severus Snape walked out of the hotel gift shop, wondering what in the name of Merlin he was doing. With a salt shaker stolen from the dining room weighing down a pocket and a Christmas card in his right hand, he half felt like laughing at himself and half felt like turning around and returning the card. In fact, if 'non-returnable' weren't stamped on the receipt, he would have. Or so he told himself.

Besides, he felt he owed something to her. He wasn't really sure why. A couple of chance meetings and a startling revelation, so surprising that it was difficult to remember, and he was inexplicably in debt.

It was logic, pure and simple.

Back in his room, he scrawled a quick note, sealed the envelope and summoned an owl from Diagon Alley. In fifteen minutes, it was done and over with, and there would be no turning back.

*

The car was silent, painfully so, as the Granger family drove home from Christmas dinner. Her parents hadn't murdered each other yet, but that could be due to the fact that her mother helped in the kitchen the entire time while her father debated about football matches with her uncles. Not that that had made it any quieter. They had grown so loud that her grandmother had threatened to throw them out of the house if they didn't keep quiet.

Agrippa broke the silence first.

"Turn right at the next intersection."

"I know where I'm going," Steve snarled.

"Which is why you're weaving all over the bloody road. It's a good thing there's no traffic, you'd have killed someone by now."

"I'm perfectly capable--"

"You're perfectly pissed, that's what you are! Now pull over, and let me drive before you hit something!"

"Oh, like you didn't drink anything either!"

"A glass of wine does not make me drunk. On the other hand, five cans of beer will. Now stop the goddamn car!"

Their voices had rose to shrieking levels, and Hermione winced as her father roared, "I'm in control!"

"Remind me to mention it at your funeral," Agrippa muttered.

Thankfully, they made it home before any traffic decided to meet up with them, and Hermione hurried upstairs as the beginnings of a full-blown argument resounded in the living room.

The first thing she did was tear off the skirt and blouse and throw on the oldest, most worn clothes she owned and collapse into bed, but once she had, images of turkey and cranberry sauce rolled through her mind, making her stomach begin to churn.

She barely made it to the toilet in time.

As she shuffled back to her room, trying to ignore the sounds that had drowned out her vomiting, she wondered at the absurdity of her situation. She couldn't stand to be like that, but when she did eat, it was hardly better. She buried her head in her hands and kicked the door shut behind her.

"This is the life," she muttered to herself, and was answered by a hoot.

She jerked up and saw two owls sitting outside of her window, staring in. Ignoring the fact that it was freezing, she pulled it open and let them fly in. One, she recognized as Hedwig, but the other she had never seen before.

She relieved them of their burdens, opening the one from Harry first. There was a joint note from him and Ron, accompanied by some Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. How ironic. She had given them their gift before leaving, knowing that her chance of mailing it was slim, so she didn't have to worry about replying. But the second one...

She pulled off the package and opened the card first, frowning in puzzlement at the familiar writing.

Miss Granger,

A souvenir of your adventures in London. Kindly do not add this to some unsuspecting person's drink.

S.S.

She smiled and proceeded to open the package. A salt shaker fell onto the bed, and she giggled for a moment at the memory.

"Give me two minutes," she told the owl before slipping downstairs into the kitchen and grabbing a package of one of the many flavors of coffee filling the cupboard.

Back in her room, she wrapped it in leftover wrapping paper and attached a note.

Sir,

I express my most sincere regrets at ruining your morning coffee. Perhaps this will compensate.

Hermione

It was only after she had sent it that she realized it was signed with her first name only. Of course, not that it would matter. Unless another coincidence occurred, she wouldn't see him until term began, and she was sure that he would go back to being the same Professor Snape as always.

With a sigh, she wrapped herself in a blanket and tried to sleep, but ended up staring out the window at the starless night.