WARNING: This fic contains adult situations, language and most likely graphic sexual encounters. Hm. It's starting to feel a lot like Christmas. lol.
Chapter 1 Gift Exchange
Professor Severus Snape exited the shower and dried his thin, sallow and scarred frame thoroughly, drawing the Slytherin green towel over his body until every inch of him was dry. The dungeons were damp enough as it was and he didn't want to invite illness. The wizard looked in the mirror, lifting his head and examining his large nostrils to see if his nose hairs needed trimming. No, they were fine. He studied his facial features with grim regard. His skin was so pale that the thin blue veins of his temple could be seen beneath it as if covered with single fine layer of tissue paper.
His nose was large, beak-like and hooked. This nose combined with his perpetually narrowed eyes, sharp brows and prominent cheekbones gave him the look of a hunter, or a black-haired bird of prey. His mouth was cruel and rather petulant at rest, his lips thin and nearly always held in a line equally as thin above his sharp chin.
His hair fell in two greasy black curtains, the oily strands parted in the middle and framing his pallid face. He wore it long purposely to cover the scars on his throat left by Voldemort's serpent Nagini who had bitten him five years ago, the Dark Lord betraying him in the end. His paranoia saved him. He never went anywhere without a specialized Bezoar that had healing and blood replenishing properties as well as the ability to thwart poisons. It was his own creation and had come in handy, the wizard slipping it into his mouth the moment the serpent's magical cage closed over him. However, Nagini's venom was powerful and he was rendered unconscious for a short time as the Bezoar did its work.
Harry Potter had been present. After receiving Snape's memories and the truth of his Destiny, the boy and his friends had departed, leaving him in the Shrieking Shack for dead. Yet, they returned to find him, pallid, weak but alive and attended him, Harry in tears, crying and exclaiming he was a hero.
Even now bile rose in Snape's throat at the memory of the disgusting scene, Harry kneeling next to him, tears streaming from his green eyes and falling on the wizard's robes. If he had been strong enough, he would have blasted the idiot away from him.
Then he had been cleared of all charges against him and restored to Hogwarts. He had been offered the Headmaster position but declined. Instead, he requested to be returned to his former position . . . not as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but his first love, Potions. Now that Voldemort was dead, he had no need to teach the students. He had only wanted the position for their protection, since he knew what they would be facing if they had to meet the despot's forces. Being a Death Eater in the Dark Lord's ranks had its advantages.
Horace Slughorn gladly switched positions with him, the bald, pudgy wizard happily taking over the DADA class. When Minerva made the offer, he pulled on his silver walrus-like mustache with delight and accepted immediately. Slughorn felt the position to be far more notable than that of a potions teacher, and as a wizard that coveted the admiration of others, he leapt at the chance to get out of the dungeons.
Snape pulled his lips back, exposing his uneven, yellowish teeth for a moment, then picked up his toothbrush and tooth powder and set about brushing them. He rinsed his mouth by cupping his hand under the spigot and slurping up a few palmfuls of water, then swirled it around his mouth, spitting it out into the loo. Then he exited the bathroom and walked into his sparsely furnished bedroom, looking up at the clock on the wall. It was eight-thirty. He had half an hour before he was forced to make an appearance in the Staff Room to exchange gifts. Gods, he hated this time of year and the mandatory participation in the idiotic Gift Exchange Night Minerva had set up for the staff in order to "promote friendship and a sense of camaraderie between employees."
Snape let out a derogatory snort as he walked over to his dresser, opened the drawer, took out a pair of well-worn cotton underwear and slipped them on, adjusting himself so his thick cock didn't slip out. It was the only part of him other than his nose that was not the least bit sparse, the pale appendage measuring in at a whopping eleven inches long when fully erect. His lean frame made it look even more daunting.
Nature may not have been kind concerning the dour wizard's looks, but she more than made up for it with the fruit hanging from his bough.
He took a pair of black socks out of another drawer, then walked to his wardrobe, opened it and removed a set of austere black dress robes. He laid the robes on his bed, then sat down and pulled on his socks. He then reached under the bed, pulled out his black boots and slipped his feet into them. Finally, he put on his robes, took his wand off the dresser and placed it in his pocket.
Snape scowled as he thought about the Gift Exchange. There would be food, drink, music and dancing. He hoped Minerva choked on her Figgy Pudding.
The Potions master walked into his study and looked at the pile of presents on his desk. They were all wrapped in black wrapping paper and bound tightly with black ribbons that formed huge bows which hid an amazing number of knots underneath. They would be a pain in the arse to open. How the dark wizard felt about the "Gift Exchange" would be clear enough to his fellow staff members as they struggled to open their gifts.
And wait until they saw them.
Pulling out his wand, Snape reduced the presents and stuck them in his pockets. Then he headed out, robes billowing.
The Halls of Hogwarts were empty, the students having left this morning for Christmas vacation. That meant two weeks of peace and bliss as far as Snape was concerned, sans tonight's festivities. Tomorrow, most of the staff would be leaving Hogwarts as well. Snape always stayed at the castle, since going home to Spinner's End would mean he'd have to open the house up again as well as prepare his own meals. At Hogwarts, he could spend his free time doing what he enjoyed. Brewing potions without interference.
"Just set that down over here, Hermione, next to the veggie tray," Headmistress Minerva McGonagall directed Hogwarts' Charms Professor as she carried a huge bowl of punch into the Staff Room. Hermione set it down on the long red and green covered table.
Hermione had just started her tenure at Hogwarts as Professor Flitwick's replacement at the beginning of the new term. The Charms Master had finally retired and Minerva wasted no time offering Hermione the position. The witch was a natural although the students felt she was one of the hardest teachers at Hogwarts because of how demanding she was. Her teaching methods were much different than Professor Flitwick's and Hermione spent at least fifteen minutes of each class making sure each student could pronounce the spells properly.
"It's 'Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa!' Make the 'gar' nice and long," she'd instruct from the front of the class, waving her wand like a conductor as the students repeated the spell over and over.
Hermione was approaching twenty-four years of age now, and wore a nice set of dark blue dress robes, a tiny gold reindeer pinned to her breast in celebration of the season She still had bushy brown hair but there was more curl to it and she managed to keep it almost tamed. Her voice still had a bit of a bossy timbre to it, at least when she was talking to her students . . . or Ron . . . or Harry, and she retained her love of learning to the point of distraction. Her face had filled out somewhat, as had her body. Standing five foot four in her stocking feet, Hermione had always been rather slender while in school. But now she had rather ample curves, although she preferred to dress conservatively, believing that dressing to accentuate the body would detract from the allure of the mind.
Hermione truly believed intelligence was sexy, which made the fact that she continued to date Ron somewhat of a mystery. A mental giant he wasn't. But Ron was familiar and comfortable and "safe." There were no surprises with Ron. They'd known each other since they were children. It was assumed they'd marry some day.
As far as Molly Weasley was concerned, that day couldn't come soon enough. She wanted grandchildren yesterday and currently most of her boys were playing the field and Fleur wasn't ready to lose her "girlish" figure breeding Weasleys.
"Oh Molly, there ees time for baybees! I am steel young. There ees no rush," the pretty witch would say to Molly anytime she asked about grandchildren.
George was a male slut . . . albeit a careful one. There would be no redheaded babies springing from his loins anytime soon, though his numerous trysts led to the creation of the "skinless condom" patented and marketed by "Weasley's Wonders" an offshoot company of "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes." All a wizard had to do was open a little packet of magic near his erection and walahh! Raw, unbridled, protected sex to his heart's content without the sensation of wearing a raincoat. George was a genius and a rich one.
Charlie and Percy were also confirmed bachelors, so Molly's hope was firmly set on Ron. Actually, she hoped that there would be a little "accident" that would pop out of Hermione's oven squalling and kicking nine months later. But Hermione was quite careful. Besides, she and Ron didn't have sex that often anyway. Hermione found it pleasant but not something she wanted to do more than two or three times a month.
Ron figured once he married Hermione, she'd have to do her wifely duties in a more generous and enthusiastic manner, so he didn't complain too much. He'd have his day.
Hermione was quite happy with her job at Hogwarts. She had been leaning toward working at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for a time, but the idea of returning to her beloved Hogwarts was just too alluring. Ron worked with George at the Joke Shop, but Harry was trying to lure him to the Ministry as well.
One of the nicer aspects of working at Hogwarts, in Hermione's opinion, was that it gave her a bit of space from Ron. She had been working for a commercial Charms company for three years, and saw Ron almost every day. Hermione liked time to herself to read and the like, but when Ron was around he wanted her attention, and for her to cook for him. She did, but drew the line at him moving in with her, however. Then he'd be like a husband without the responsibility of one. Hermione wasn't ready for a husband.
Ron wouldn't be attending the festivities tonight because it was for staff only.
"Anything else I can do, Headmistress?" Hermione asked Minerva, who smiled and shook her head.
"No, the festivities are about to start. Almost all the staff is here," she said, looking around the highly decorated room with a smile.
The chairs had been pulled back to create a large open area for dancing. A green, red and gold covered table held numerous tagged presents of all sizes. Christmas songs played softly in the background. Neville Longbottom, the current Herbology Professor was busily hanging up small clusters of Mistletoe in strategic places and Sybil Trelawney already had a cup of eggnog in her heavily ringed hand. She was wearing trailing scarves in Christmasy colors and slowly guzzling her way into "Soothsayer" mode.
The Staff Room had been magically enlarged for the occasion. Present for the occasion were Professor Binns, who drifted in a far corner, his ghostly nose in a history book, Argus Filch, whose rheumy eyes shifted about from staff member to staff member suspiciously before he hobbled over to the table and fed Mrs. Norris, who was tucked in his arm, a bit of tuna fish.
Firenze, Hogwarts' only centaur teacher stood speaking in quiet tones to Professor Vector, who wore a festive Father Christmas cap on her head. Madam Hooch was standing near the punch bowl. She looked about, then slipped her hand into her robes sleeve and extracted a flask of Ogden's Firewhiskey, her yellow eyes narrowed. Hagrid, Poppy and Professor Sinistra were chatting politely, the half-giant towering over the witches, a huge mug of ale in one huge hand. Librarian Irma Pince also chatted animated at Professor Slughorn, who yawned behind his hand and looked at her with a rather dull expression as if he'd rather be anyplace else.
Helen McCaine sat quietly in a chair, sipping an eggnog. She was the Transfiguration teacher and had been at Hogwarts for the past four years. She was a rather mousy-looking witch, skinny with grayish hair and bifocals. But it wasn't surprising that she was mousy. Her animagus form was a mouse after all. Yet, she was a wonderful teacher. A brightly colored Christmas corsage was pinned to her gray robes.
Only one person was missing. Professor Severus Snape.
Hermione noticed his absence immediately. She imagined his presence would be akin to the Grim Reaper sitting in on the festivities, sans sickle and hood. No doubt his stiff bearing would be similar, the wizard emitting as much warmth as a glacier. Still, he was a Hogwarts staff member and it was mandatory for him to participate or there'd be hell to pay. Minerva didn't like to be disobeyed. Snape might end up with Hogsmeade detail for the rest of the term if he didn't show.
Suddenly the door swung open and the Potions master strode in like an icy wind, his face scornful, his dark eyes shifting from side to side, quickly taking everything in. Without hesitation he strode up to the table holding the gifts, reached into his pocket and removed several black objects, setting them down.
"Is that coal?" Madam Hooch whispered to Hagrid as they watched Snape pull out his wand and enlarge the presents.
"No. Seems thar' gifts. Wrapped in black," the half-giant replied.
Severus turned to find Minerva standing right behind him.
"Glad you could make it, Severus," the Headmistress said.
Snape eyed her, then gave a stiff curt bow.
"I wouldn't have missed it, Headmistress," he said in a silken voice that dripped insincerity.
Then he walked across the room far from the other staff members and sat down in a folding chair, crossing his arms and looking completely unapproachable.
The other staff members were used to the Potions master's cold demeanor and simply ignored him, chatting and drinking. Everyone except Hermione and Sybil Trelawney, who was now sipping Firewhiskey, her eyes bug-like behind her large, thick glasses as she stared at the wizard. Snape was aware of her gaze and pointedly ignored her.
Hermione walked over to the table, examining the black packages, looking for the one with her name on it. Ah, there it was, the name "Hermione Granger" written in small, cramped script, the letters tight and close as if the wizard didn't want to waste space.
"I wonder what he got me," Hermione mused to herself.
She had given the Potions master Charmed Chalk she created herself. He could dictate his notes to the class and it would write them word for word on the blackboard so he didn't have to repeat himself. She made sure to provide enough to last until the end of term. Maybe he'd appreciate it.
Hermione made small talk with the rest of the staff, sipping on eggnog and generally having a nice time. But the Potions master didn't once move from his spot, speaking curtly to those who dared address him.
"Happy Christmas," he snarled at Hagrid. "But it would be much happier if you left me to myself, at least as far as I'm concerned."
Sybil Trelawney took a shot at engaging the dark wizard, buoyed by a number of Firewhiskeys. She sauntered over and stood in front of the wizard, who looked up and her, his nose wrinkling distastefully.
"Severus, come stand under the Mistletoe," she said to the wizard, weaving unsteadily before him.
The Potions master glared at her with disdain.
"Not in this lifetime, Sybil. Now go away before I hex a stake of Holly through your heart," he growled, pretending to reach into his robes pocket.
"You have no Christmas Spirit," she hissed, highly affronted. She stalked away.
Snape refolded his arms and watched as staff members danced with each other, Minerva and Horace tripping the lights ad nauseum. Would this debacle never end? He couldn't leave until they opened the presents. That would happen at midnight. It was early for Christmas, but since most of the staff would be leaving tomorrow, she thought it suitable.
Hermione, who was standing by the libations table, looked at the Potions master with a bit of trepidation. She found it sad that he purposely drove people away. True, it was his way, but still she found it sad. And that was what drove her to do what she did.
She walked over to the libations table and poured three fingers of Firewhiskey into a glass, then walked over to the wizard and offered it to him. Snape eyed the drink, then looked up at the Charms mistress.
"If I wanted a drink, I would have retrieved it myself, Miss Granger," he said sharply.
"That's Hermione. We are both staff members and it's suitable that you address me by my name, Severus," she said, still offering the glass.
The Potions master's face contorted at the familiar use of his given name, but Hermione wasn't out of place. Minerva preferred staff members to speak to each other with a certain familiarity. She believed it promoted camaraderie
"I do not enjoy being addressed so familiarly by you, Heeeermione," he said with a sneer. "And I don't want your drink."
"Fine," Hermione snapped at him, then brought the glass to her lips and drank the Firewhiskey straight down, rasping at the end, her eyes watering.
Snape quirked his lips at her, his eyes narrowed.
"I see you still have the need to 'prove' yourself," he said, with an even uglier sneer.
"And I see you're still an ass," Hermione hissed, spinning on her heel and stalking away.
Snape watched her for a moment before letting his eyes shift back to the staff. Eventually, Hermione joined the dancing, being passed from Hagrid to Slughorn and even dancing with Firenze, who needed plenty of room. Yet his four legs moved in perfect tangent and he waltzed surprisingly well for a centaur.
Finally, it was time to open the presents. Madam Hooch was deluged with broom polishing kits, Neville received plant-related gifts . . . Slughorn received a number of liquors and so forth and so on.
Every staff member had to wrestle with the black gifts Snape had brought, struggling with the many knots and unable to slide the ribbon off without untying them. So, the festivities were a bit extended. And Severus' gifts were less than stellar. He gave Hagrid a huge tube of roll-on deodorant. Extra strength. Slughorn received a bottle of Hair Today that was supposed to cure baldness.
Snape knew it didn't work.
Minerva got a huge tub of Super Strength Wrinkle Cream for Weathered and Leathered Skin . . . and yes, that was actually on the label. Trelawney received a Magic Eight Ball. It was a muggle item that one asked a question and shook, and inside it was a number of answers, "Yes, No, Maybe, Definitely, Ask Again, etc.
"Think of it as a divination aid, Sybil," the Potions master purred at her, his face stoic. "No doubt it will be more on point than you are concerning predictions."
The rest of Snape's gifts were just as horrible, except for Filch's gift. The Potions master had given him a powerful salve he created especially for the caretaker's arthritis. Of all the staff members, Filch was treated with the least regard although he had been a loyal caretaker for years. The salve would help with the pain and keep him mobile enough to continue to hunt down and terrorize students. The Potions master included a note that told Filch to come to him for refills when he ran out. Filch thanked him gratefully.
Snape sat in the chair with a rather pleased expression on his face as he was coldly thanked by one staff member after the other. Finally, it came time for Hermione to open her gift from the snarky Potions master. She looked at the many knotted bow, then pulled out her wand.
"Sectumsempra," she intoned, neatly slashing the bow off the top of the box, the encircling ribbons falling away neatly. She gave the Potions master a smug little smirk as he scowled at her. He had created that spell years ago and Hermione knew it would vex him just a bit for her to use it on his gift.
"Not exactly an act appropriate for the spirit of the season," the Potions master said to her from his seat, his black eyes glittering.
"You should talk," she shot back at him, slowly lifting the lid off the box. She stared down into it, looking puzzled, then took out the item inside. She studied it, then looked over at Snape.
"A magnifying glass?" she said to him.
"Yes. So you'll get a . . . clue," the wizard responded, an unpleasant smirk playing around his mouth as he stood up. It was his turn to open his presents.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded.
Snape looked down his long nose at her, his mouth tight for a moment.
"Ask me later," he replied, dismissing the witch as he walked up to the table and gathered all his presents in a pile. He pulled out his wand and reduced them, then put them in his pocket.
"Severus, what are you doing?" Minerva demanded. "You're supposed to open your presents now."
Snape turned to face her.
"Surely you aren't going to deny me the pleasure of placing them under my . . . tree, Minerva? It will be more . . . festive that way. Then I can prance into my study on Christmas morning, rip open my treasures like some over-excited first year and gloat over my ill-gotten gifts," the wizard said to her sarcastically.
Minerva sighed. Severus had absolutely no Christmas spirit. More than likely he was going to throw every gift into the fire in his floo when he returned to the dungeons. He was just so damn hard to reach.
"Do as you like, Severus," she said to the wizard, a bit of sadness in her voice.
"Thank you. And what I'd like . . . is to go now that this little party is over. Happy Christmas," the dark wizard replied without enthusiasm, then strode out of the Staff Room without so much as a glance back.
Hermione looked down at her magnifying glass, then at the door before following the wizard out of the room. She wanted to know what he meant by "Get a Clue."
"Severus!" Hermione called as she hurried after him. He had made it as far as the Main Hall. It was rather cold, as castles were wont to be.
Snape stopped stiffly. It was easy to see from his body language he was irritated that Hermione had once again addressed him by his name. He didn't turn around but waited for the witch to catch up then walk around him, the magnifying glass in her hand.
"I want you to explain this gift to me," she said to him.
"Why don't you use your much acclaimed powers of deduction and logic to figure it out, Hermione?" he asked her, making her name sound like an insult.
"You told me to ask you later, so I'm asking you," she replied, frowning up at the wizard.
Snape stared at her, letting his eyes move over her slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Fine. If you would uncover the mysterious meaning of your gift, then you must come to my rooms. I refuse to stand here in the cold, drafty entrance hall and discuss it," the dark wizard said, walking toward the dungeons, his robes billowing.
Hermione stood there. His rooms?
"Are you coming . . . Hermione?" the wizard called, drawing out her name, his voice echoing slightly. He had turned down the dungeon corridor and Hermione could hear the mocking sneer beneath his words from where she was standing. He didn't think she'd follow him into the serpent's den.
Well, he was wrong. Resolutely, she followed him.
A/N: Well, now you know why I've been so quiet. I'm working on a Christmas PWP story. This one isn't going to be a "Merry XXXmas, Professor Snape." :::snicker::: In this story I tried to make Snape as canon as possible in appearance and dress. Of course, the length of his tool will ever remain a mystery … but thanks to a rich imagination (and slight touch of randiness), the wizard is HUNG. Lol. Anyway, thanks for reading. After I finish this, I'm going to start back on Twice Bitten and In an Alternate Universe.