DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns everything familiar. Elise is mine. There’s no money in this, it’s just for fun. This is an AU that is part of the rest of my Severus/Elise chronology, but I’m not sure where.

Communion with Trees

Christmas at Hogwarts is always done on a grand scale. Witness the twelve Christmas trees marching along the outer wall of the Great Hall, stretching to the ceiling, and twinkling with faerie lights. As a child, I always felt that there was more magic in the air during this time of year than there strictly should be; as an adult, I didn’t think the magic had decreased at all. It wasn’t ordinary magic, though, not the kind we use daily, but special. Purer, and more innocent. It beckoned you to its center and held you there until you felt warm and safe, and eager to share the feeling.

This was why I was standing between the two center trees in the middle of the night. The students – and the staff for that matter – were all tucked into bed, but I’d been unable to rest, so like a little girl determined to catch old Santa in the act, I’d padded down to the trees. I really should have worn slippers, though, because even when warmed by magic, the stone floor of an ancient castle is not really conducive to the habit of going barefoot. My toes were cold.

“You should have worn a cloak.” Severus’s voice came out of the darkness, jarring me from my communion with the trees. “You wouldn’t want to catch a chill.” His face appeared first, pale and drawn. Did he look more tired than usual? I wasn’t sure, in this dim light. Then the rest of him was visible, melting out of the shadows.

“It’s not that cold,” I protested, but he was already pulling his cloak off his own shoulders and settling it onto mine. It smelled of pine and fog, and was faintly damp. “You’ve been out,” I observed.

“Pine needles are best harvested in the light of a December moon,” he answered me.

His hand caressed my cheek with the barest pressure, and I breathed in the scent of his skin. Bergamot, cloves – no pine. “So I’ve read,” I replied. “But that’s not what you were doing. Can you tell me?”

An approving look flitted across his features, as if he’d meant to test me, and I’d passed. “Not now, not here.” He pulled back inside himself, and turned as if to go.

“Wait.” I didn’t put much volume behind the word, but the imperative was there, nevertheless. “Enjoy the quiet with me,” I invited.

“I have an early class in the morning,” he hedged.

“It’s not that late,” I chided. “Do you dislike Christmas so much, that you won’t sit here and enjoy the trees with me for a bit?”

“If I answer no will it prevent you from deciding to give me the Best Christmas Ever?” His tone was snarky, but I’d learned that it usually meant he was hiding something.

“When I was a little girl,” I began, changing the subject away from him, and lightening my own tone, “I used to crawl behind the trees, and pretend it was a special world, all my own. Grandfather would invariably find me there, probably alerted by the house elf in charge of my bedtime, and he’d bring me cocoa. He’d conjur a bench and we’d sit together.” I eyed the trees. “I’m not much in the mood for cocoa, but if you could manage some mint tea, I’ll arrange the seating.” I met his eyes, and he met mine, and we stood there for a long moment before he finally assented.

“Very well, then,” he said. “Lead the way.”

And I did, pushing between the boughs, til we arrived behind the thick trunks, in one of the window alcoves. A stray bow was transfigured into a settee easily enough, though Severus sneered at the red plushiness of it. I merely smiled. “It’s not going to attack. Join me.”

He sat down gingerly, and I realized what I’d taken as weariness was actually carefully controlled pain. I reached for him, but he stilled my hand, assuring me, “I am fine, just stiff.”

He left no room for a rebuttal, so I just nodded, and relaxed, leaning my head back to stare up into the twinkling lights on the branches. I must have dozed because the scent of spiced chai woke me. “That’s not Lapsang Souchong,” I noted.

“Nor is it mint,” he replied blandly, handing me the mug, and taking another for himself. “Christmas with my parents was never particularly pleasant, but one year my father brought home small white sugar-coated biscuits, and shared them with me.”

It took me a moment to let biscuit replace itself with cookie in my brain. “Pfefferneusse?” I guessed. “The Muggle kind?”

“Correct. I found their combination of sweet and spicy suited my palate well, and went in search of them on my own, each Christmas thereafter.”

“What’s that got to do with chai?” I asked.

“I’ve long since lost my appreciation for sweets,” he explained. “But one evening in San Francisco, where I was visiting, my host introduced me to chai. Imagine my surprise to find a flavor so similar to the pfefferneusse of my childhood, distilled into a mug.”

“It’s your Christmas thing, then,” I said. “Your private tradition.” It wasn’t a question, for I completely understood. “Like me hiding back here among the trees.”

“Very like,” he agreed.

We sipped our tea in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company, until I felt compelled to share. “When I was a teenager, I thought this space behind the trees was so romantic. I always thought a ring of Christmas pines must make the ultimate place for a lovers’ tryst.”

“I cannot say the idea of lying on the floor of the Great Hall holds much appeal,” he said.

“Well, no,” I admitted. “I rather thought it should be a soft carpet of snow.”

“Indeed.” His mug empty, he replaced it on the cart, and waited for me to drain my own and do the same. A graceful flick of his wand, and the cart was gone, leaving only the faintest aroma of cinnamon, honey, and cardamom. He rose, then, and offered his arm, which I took, and thus entwined he escorted me back to my rooms. “I cannot stay,” he said at my door.

“You have an early class,” I said, repeating what he’d said before.

“Yes.” There was more in his voice, more in those deep eyes, but he didn’t share it. He leaned down, and met my lips in a tender kiss, then pulled away. “Elise…”

“I know,” I said. “Go on. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He didn’t speak another word, but simply drifted back into the shadows, presumably to return to his own rooms. I stepped into my own, and prepared for bed, sleepily reminding myself to ask about where he’d really been, when I saw him next. A glance out the window showed me that snow was softly falling outside, and I smiled.