The Ghosts of Christmas Past

alright, i said that this was only a one shot, but too many people wanted to know what happened to keep Severus away for a year. so here it is. his side of the tale. just let it be known here that i do not own either Hermione or Severus. i\'m merely dipping into the creative well and they were the first ones i pulled out. i fully intend to put them back when i\'ve finished with them. they do, in fact, belong to j.k. rowling and i bow down to her genius. she is a goddess among women. who else but a goddess could bring someone like Snape to life?

there may or may not be smut in this. i don\'t know yet. just thought i should warn you, on the off chance the bunny hopped in on me.

and, as always, if you find that you enjoy this.... please feel free to let me know.

The Memories of Christmas Once Lost
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Severus sighed as he watched Hermione ready herself for bed. She was taking an inordinantly long time to do something so mundane, but he found himself enjoying it all the same. He scrutinized her for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Naturally, he\'d seen Dumbledore before he\'d seen his own wife and he\'d been told all about what had happened once she\'d been informed of his \'death\' from the old man and the Potter git. In lengthy detail. Both of them had told him how she\'d nearly given up. That had been almost a year ago and even now, he could still see subtle hints as to how she\'d been effected.

There were circles under her eyes, as if she hadn\'t done much sleeping. She\'d lost weight, despite having given birth to three of his children. The angles of her face were sharper, as if she\'d simply sunk in on herself and had been reinflated rather poorly. She didn\'t necessarily look bad. But she didn\'t look good. When she turned and smiled at him, he felt his heart warm slightly. If anything in the world ever made him doubt his existence, he only needed to picture that smile and all was right with him once more.

She moved silently toward him, slipping onto the bed so she could cuddle with him. He welcomed her into the loving circle of his arms and she settled down next to him. She laid her head on his chest and let one arm move to settle across his ribcage. She pulled him as close to her as she could. He smirked faintly at the motion, his gaze going over the room that was so familiar and yet so very strange to him.

He allowed his stare to linger on the photo of Hermione holding a fresh, pink body in her arms. She looked exhausted. And sad. She was settled against a mound of pillows, smiling sadly at the camera. Harry Potter was crowded in on one side, Ronald Weasley on the other. The two young men were smiling, each one of them settling their hands on her shoulders. She held his son, a child he\'d never even known about until this morning. Tristan was as much his child as both Rowan and Ivy. His older daughter and son bore his looks far more than they did their mother\'s. It already looked as if the same could be said for his son.

He felt her sigh and knew that she\'d held her curiosity in check long enough. She was ever the nosy, Know-It-All Gryffindor who had driven him mad with her constantly shaking hand and that look on her face that said she simply knew the answer. She\'d been silent all day and he was sure that the questions had been swirling in her mind, gathering together with force like a giant storm brewing. He\'d seen the curious looks all day as she\'d watched him reaccustom himself to their children. His reprieve was at an end and she was about to ask him questions he didn\'t know if he was ready to answer. But he couldn\'t tell her no. She deserved to know the truth.

\"What happened, Severus? Why were you gone so long?\" she asked him in a voice that reminded him of how vulnerable she really was. She had survived the war, but she\'d lost so much in the process. Her family was gone, courtesy of the Dark Lord. As were so many of her friends in the Magical World. How Potter and both the Weasleys she associated with had come out alive still baffled him. \"I was so lost without you.\"

\"I know, wife. I was told of the ordeal you faced and I can only offer my heartfelt apologies for putting you through such emotional turmoil. Could I take it back, I most certainly would,\" he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his mind searching through the memories of the last year to find where to begin.

Finally, he had the perfect beginning to his tale. \"It all started with that damned letter from the Headmaster....\"

Severus had stared at the letter in contempt. The old fool couldn\'t let him be in peace. Though Voldemort had died almost five years previous, Dumbledore used him regularly for little \'missions\' to maintain the fine and precarious balance of things. The Dark Lord may have been gone, but his loyal Death Eaters were not. And, while the Order of the Pheonix had been \'officially\' disbanded, that didn\'t mean that Dumbledore was ready to simply stop poking his nose into everything. Aurors were constantly chasing down rogue Death Eaters and sending them straight to Azkaban.

And now he had another blasted mission. What a Christmas present for he and his wife. He pulled himself from her arms and glanced at her a moment before dressing. She was so beautifully disheveled from their love making on the floor. And now he had to leave her. He was dressed and reading the missive once more before she awoke and stared at him sleepily. Before she asked him anything, he told her he had to go and he would return to her shortly. Would that everything was so easy as a few simple words.

Albus was awaiting him in his office when Severus flooed in. By the look on the old man\'s face, he knew what he\'d interrupted. Before Severus could lay him low with a lashing of his tongue, Dumbledore spoke. \"There is a matter of great urgency I need you to deal with for me.\"

\"Headmaster, you cannot mean to take me from my family on Christmas!\' he snarled, his temper near exploding.

\"If I had any other options, Severus, I wouldn\'t. But you are my last best defence. This is a matter of great importance and I simply cannot hand it off to someone who has no experience in the ways of the world,\" Albus informed him in a voice heavy with sorrow and regret. And so the Headmaster had gone into great detail about a select few Death Eaters who had escaped to America in the hopes of finding support for their slain leader there. It was to be Severus\' job to speak to the American Ministry about these men and women. And, as a smaller though no less dangerous mission, he was to seek out one particularly vile Wizard who had left the Magical world behind to hide in the Muggle world. He\'d taken a position with a chemicals company and used it as a place to brew his potions and poisons in secrecy. Dumbledore wanted him stopped. With whatever means Severus deemed necessary.

So Severus had found himself portkeying to America. The device responsible for his transport to and from a country he considered vastly inferior to hiso wn homeland was a stone the color of chocolate with whorls of ribbons in a lighter color that reminded him of his wife\'s silken hair. The password he\'d been given to activate the portkey was surprisingly nothing simple or of a sickenly sweet confection-like nature.It was only the name of his oldest child, Rowan Michael Snape. Upon arriving at his destination, he pocketed the portkey and went off in search of a place to stay before starting on his tasks.

He chose to do Dumbledore\'s personal task first. It didn\'t take him very long, a little over a week, to find this renegade Wizard. After some heated talking, which was followed up by an intense duel that saw three small shrubs set alight and many nasty curses cast back and forth, Severus found himself victorious. Much against his first inclination, he used Oblivate on his opponent to ensure that there would never again be reason to return to the Americas and face such an idiot in combat a second time. After sending word off to Dumbledore with a specially trained owl, he turned his attention to the other task. Dealing with the American version of the Ministry of Magic.

It took all of ten minutes for Severus to decide the American version of Cornelius Fudge was a moron of unsurpassable stupidity. Visions of inbreeding rolled through his head as he stared at them all. Surely they couldn\'t be this stupid? Neither he, nor any of his underlings, wished to believe a word they were told pertaining to the rogue Death Eaters. He had to show them what they were up against. Though it had been a long time since he\'d indulged in the Dark Arts, his ability hadn\'t suffered at all. With a few practiced flicks of his wand and his wrist, he\'d had half of his audience rolling on the floor in excruciating, agonizing pain. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep the evil smile off his face.

The Americans in charge of the Ministry were, in his opinion, only slightly higher on the evolutionary scale than flobberworm dung. Even after showing them a select few spells, they kept him firmly in their clutches with their questions of \'What if?\' and \'Why for?\' and \'Should we?\' and \'How to?\' By the time he was finished with them, he was at his wits end and his patience was almost completely non-existant. He left quickly before he hexed them on principle, his intent being to find a pub and imbibe some alcohol and relax.

He found himself a small bistro that served a fine plate of pasta and a crisp, fruity red wine that was perfectly chilled. His evening was spent in peaceful silence. Patrons and wait staff alike seemed to realize that the black scowl on his face meant he didn\'t wish to be disturbed. Or spoken to. Or looked at. Or thought about. He simply wanted some peace from the absolute lunacy he\'d been forced to endure for more than a week. He was looking forward to going home and seeing his wife and children again in the morning.

Perhaps it had been his intense focus on his family. Perhaps it had been a nearly full body of wine he\'d consumed, followed by a pair of shots of something thick and dark and strong. Perhaps it had been simply nothing more than he\'d been off his guard. Whatever it was, he\'d only just heard the rustling of clothing before he reached for his wand. No matter. His reflexes were slowed and dulled. Something slammed hard against the back of his skull and he could see lights dancing luridly before his eyes. The pain in his skull had been nothing next to the pain that had shot through his body. He heard a whisper of a word, a curse, before he succumbed to the blackness that was rapidly sucking him into its cold embrace...

~*~

When he woke, he felt slow and sluggish. His tongue was thick and his head throbbed painfully. He looked around, unable to recognize the room he was in. But it had a fairly strong smell of disinfectant and was done in soft hues of blues and grays. The blanket that covered him was blue, while the sheets under it were white. He struggled to sit up and found that he was unable to move much more than his head. He was on the verge of panicking when a face appeared.

It was a woman, with short blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. She smiled at him softly and a hand lifted to gently touch his forehead. \"Its alright,\" she whispered to him in a soothing voice. \"You\'re safe. You\'re in the hospital and you\'re going to be just fine.\"

He\'d been confused and had spewed from his mouth the first thing that came to mind. \"Why?\" Even then, it had been a rather pathetic attempt at speech. His voice had been raspy and low, as if he hadn\'t used it in some time.

\"You don\'t remember?\" she asked, furrowing her brow. \"I found you lying face down in an alley. The back of your skull was nearly crushed in and you were bleeding heavily. The police think you were robbed because they didn\'t find any money or identification on you. Anyway, I called for help and an ambulance brought you here.\"

He frowned, trying to recall what she was telling him. He could vaguely pull the memory of intense pain to mind, but there was nothing before or after that. Everything was a blank. He wasn\'t sure he liked that, as he believed that he had more memories than just pain. He thought hard on it, but still could find nothing else. Right now, everything was a blank. And that included who he was. He was drawn back out of his frightening thoughts by the sound of her voice as she continued speaking. \"... and the doctors don\'t know if this is permanent or not. They only know that you\'ll have a long recovery time and that you\'ll need someone to take care of you round the clock. I volunteered to do that,\" she told him.

\"Wait,\" he ordered tersely. \"What is or is not permanent?\"

She paused and blinked at him in surprise. She was obviously unaware that he hadn\'t been paying attention. Then the look cleared and her face took on a gentler expression. \"You\'re head. The injury there. Its right here,\" she told him as she tapped the base of her skull, where head and neck met. \"That seems to be the cause of some sort of paralysis. The doctors think its why you can\'t move much more than your head. One of the neurosurgeons thinks its temporary and that muscle control will return in time.\"

He cocked a brow at her, a movement that was so smooth and fluid, he was certain it was one he did quite frequently. \"You are telling me that I cannot move? At all?\"

\"That\'s what I\'m telling you,\" she replied, her tone sounding so genuinely pained that he felt she was upset for him. \"I\'m Alice. What\'s your name?\"

\"I am...\" he paused and searched the recesses of his brain. His name, along with memories that he was certain he had, were securely locked away in the corners of his mind, hidden from him as if playing hide and seek. \"My name is...\" he started again, only to find that nothing came to him. \"I honestly do not know.\"

\"Amnesia?\" she whispered. \"Oh, that\'s bad. That\'s just.... I\'m sorry. It must be awful to suddenly realize that your entire life is gone.\" He watched her, noting that tears seemed to be collecting in the corners of those bright blue eyes of hers. For some reason he couldn\'t name, this irritated him to no end. It took her some several moments to calm and then she offered him a watery smile. \"Well, I guess until you gain your memories back, we\'ll have to come up with a name for you.\"

They lapsed into silence while she thought. He watched as her face screwed up. He decided she was working too hard on finding a name for him if she had a look of such pain on her face. Finally, the look cleared and she smiled down at him. \"I know. I heard this name once and simply loved it. I think it would fit you well enough. Until we can find out what your real name is.\"

He sighed, wondering why he suddenly had a very nasty chill racing up and down his spine at the thought of the name she\'d picked for him. She didn\'t seem to notice his inner struggle and pressed on. \"How about we call you Aidan for now? Aidan Jones.\" He stared at her, knowing somehow that this was not his name. He didn\'t know how he knew. But he knew. His name was not Aidan Jones. But, seeing that he couldn\'t recall what his real name was, it would have to do. He didn\'t think he could come up with something any better, really.

At this point, all he wanted to do was drift back off into the dark abyss and forget this part of his life, too.

~*~

Days and weeks passed in a blur of shifting seasons. Alice was generous to a fault. When he was released from the hospital, she took him home with her. He was surprised to find she was a woman of substantial means and she had a large house. She hired a nurse to help her with his care and spent quite a bit on clothing for him. Much of it was purchased directly. She simply showed up in the room she\'d given him with a trio of men following. They\'d brought with them many items hanging on portable closet bars, covered in plastic. When they were gone, he was outfitted with a new wardrobe. Most of the clothing was black, much to Alice\'s distaste.

Each day saw them working at returning muscle control to his body and memories to his mind. He spent them feeling angry and frustrated and confused. Angry that he couldn\'t do it on his own. Frustrated that he couldn\'t recall some faint thing that hovered at the edges of his subconcious, as if it were teasing him with an important memory he shouldn\'t have forgotten. Confused, because things just suddenly started happening.

He could make things come to him, as if by magic. He never told Alice about the incidents. Something told him she wouldn\'t appreciate them in the slightest. It had started with a need for some thing to read. He\'d been short tempered enough that he\'d felt the need to do something other than lie there like a fallen tree. He\'d stared at the shelves of books across the room for him and simply wanted one. It had floated to him as if it were being carried by a ghostly hand, landing on the sheets next to his useless hand with a dull thud. He\'d been angry that he hadn\'t been able to read it after it had gotten there.

But it went from summoning a book to his side to setting it afloat before him so he could actually read it. He found that, with little more than a thought, he could make things happen. He kept this information to himself. His reasons, he felt, were valid. Alice would not understand. And he suspected it was something to do with his past life. While Alice helped him try to regain his memories, he grew to suspect over time that she wasn\'t as interested in that as he was. She would look at him in an odd way when she thought he wasn\'t paying attention, as if she wanted to eat him up. It was enough to make him uncomfortable.

It was six months before he found his first glimmer of hope. Alice had decided a walk on the grounds was in order. It was spring time and the trees were green and lush, the grass like thick carpeting under the wheels of the wheel chair. Birds were singing, their happy songs filling the air with joy. The sun shone down on the masses of flowers that were planted all over Alice\'s property. The mulit-colored blossoms released their perfume into the air. In all, he found it to be rather distasteful. He\'d rather be inside, in the dark and damp. Doing.... something. That thought alone was enough to give him some sense of hope that he truly would recover his past. But then the most wonderful thing happened.

Some blasted insect landed on his leg and bite him. And he felt it. There was a twitch of muscle as he tried vainly to move some part of him and drive it away. He felt some kind of tingle all the way down to his toes, then the annoying insect seemingly exploded from over-indulgence on his blood. He had felt something. He\'d actually felt something. And his body had attempted to respond. It was a glorious feeling, even though somewhere in the very depths of his heart was a hollowness he couldn\'t explain.

He pushed himself daily, slowly... painstakingly regaining the use of his long still muscles. He was weak. He knew it by the way his hand shook when he was finally able to lift it on his own. But he was moving. That was the most important thing. And there were flashes of things that should mean something to him, but didn\'t. Bit by bit, the lock on his memories was being picked open. Images were leaking out. But nothing, none of it made sense. Most of what he saw was nothing but jumbled words that sounded made up and flashes of intense lights. He gave himself a headache each and everytime he tried to recall more.

By the end of the summer, he was on his feet again. Alice hired in a physical therapist who\'s job it was to help him regain his mobility. They worked daily, even when Jack thought they should end it. He was determined to be moving on his own before the first snows came. That day finally came, before All Hallow\'s Eve. He walked across the floor on his own, without any kind of assistance. Alice clapped madly, tears in her eyes as he came to a stand still before her well stocked bar.

He felt a drink was in order after such a feat of accomplishment. Alice agreed and ordered a celebration for two from the kitchens.

~*~

She was drunk. He knew she was. They had eaten a feast fit for a king. They had been liberal in their drinks. He was drunk, but not so badly that he lost control of himself. Alice, on the other hand, was so drunk, she stumbled out of her chairas she tried to stand. She moved toward him in what he suspected was supposed to be a seductive manner. Laughing, she tumbled into his lap. Her arms curled around his neck and she brought her lips to his to kiss him. He could feel her arousal in the tight buds of her nipples and the way she pressed her mound, covered by the crotch of her panties, into his thigh repeatedly.

The kiss was pleasant. He could almost believe that he liked it, but there was something at the back of his brain. A fire that he knew his kisses were usually met with. And this woman had no fire in her. She pulled back to look him in the eye, her face radiant in its alcohol induced joy. \"Please, Aidan. Make love to me,\" she whispered against his neck.

An image rose to his mind. He could see a sweet, winsome smile and a pair of chocolate brown eyes filled with love. He\'d seen them many times in his dreams over the course of the past ten months. Somehow, he knew that they meant something terribly special to him and it was that image that had kept him going all this time. The knowledge that he would someday know who those eyes and lips belonged to and why they meant so much to him. He pushed her from him. \"I cannot. I am sorry,\" he told her as gently as he was able.

Alice stared at him as he stood and made for the bedroom she\'d put him in. Tears were falling from her eyes, but he paid them no mind. He had to find his memories. He simply had to. There was so much of him missing. He needed to know who he was. \"Aidan, come back here!\" her voice was strident as it followed him up the hall to his room. She was coming after him. Just what he didn\'t want.

\"Damn it! How can you do this to me?\" she demanded as she slammed into his room. He was busy sifting through his drawers pulling his clothing out to stuff into a bag he\'d found. She watched him a moment. \"What the hell are you doing?\"

\"I am leaving, Madam,\" he informed her coldly. He paused when he found a package at the bottom of one drawer, wrapped in brown paper and sealed shut. He hadn\'t seen this before. He lifted it from its hiding place and moved to the bed. It was easy enough to breach the paper and he tore it away. He stared, transfixed as a pile of stiff black clothing spilled from the gaping hole in the paper.

It was the scent that did it, the scent that hit his nose the moment the paper was pulled free. He knew those smells, was intimate with them the way most men were intimate with women. He allowed one hand to run over the wool, then his fingers searched out the hidden pocket. The package, shrunk and tucked away hastily, was still there. He was still there. When he looked up at Alice, his eyes glittered black malice. \"You can\'t leave me, Aidan. I love you!\" she whimpered in the most pathetic voice he\'d ever heard.

\"I do not love you,\" he replied sharply, already unbuttoning the shirt he wore. She watched him her face a mix of hpoe and uncertainty. \"I have spent far too much time here as it is. I have things I must do. I must leave and get back to my life. To my wife and children. I have been away from them for too long.\"

\"Wife? Children?\" Alice echoed brokenly. \"But... Aidan...\"

\"My name, Madam, is Severus Snape. Best that you not forget and call me Aidan again,\" he snarled at her. In a matter of moments, he was once more dressed in the clothing he\'d been wearing that night. His Wizarding robes. When he turned, Alice was still staring up at him. her eyes were wide, and he realized she was afraid of him. Gentling his tone ever so slightly, he spoke to her while reaching for his wand. \"Forgive my harsh nature, Alice. I am nothing more than a miserable man who has a sharp tongue and wields it well. Now, I must tell you good bye. I will be leaving in a moment. Thank you for your hospitality.\"

He pointed the long, smooth black wood at her. She blinked and frowned. \"What?...\" was all that she managed to get out.

\"Obliviate!\" he hissed softly.

\"It took me the next two months to track down the people responsible for my injuries. I may not have succeeded, but for a fortunate happenstance,\" he told Hermione. \"I found someone who knew about the attack that night. They did not know I had been the victim and, after several large glasses of alcohol, he spilled forth the entire sordid story.\"

\"What happened? I mean... who did it?\" Hermione was a breathless with her curiosity as she was after a bout of love making.

\"Some of those self-same Death Eaters I had been sent after. It seems there was a leak at the American Ministry and word of my visit was quickly sent to the leader of the rebels. They chose to ambush me just as I\'d come from the bistro, when I was still drunk with alcohol. They were hoping to have killed me, but that plan was thwarted by the untimely arrival of several children with guns. One of my attackers was injured and they all fled. The rest of the story, you know.\"

\"I was so lost without you. The Know-It-All Gryffindor Granger was acting like a scared goose. I love you, Severus. Don\'t ever leave me again,\" she tightened her hold on him.

\"I have no intentions of doing so, wife. And, just to prove to you that I mean it,\" his voice slipped to a lower octave, all silk and heat. Before she could look up into his fathomless black eyes, he rolled her onto her back, his body pinning her to the bed beneath them. \"I intend to spend all this night proving to you how much I care.\"

\"That sounds like heaven to me,\" she smiled, then lifted her mouth to his. Their lips met with fire and passion and Severus knew he was really home.

It was a very long time before either of them found sleep that night.

fin
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now, this truly is the end of the story. thank you for reading and for responding so positively to this.
it truly makes me feel special.

~blessings~

to Echo: thank you for all your kind words. you constantly keep me going in the face of despairing of ever finishing and wanting to give up. thank you, honey. thank you.

to June: does this help explain? glad you liked the first bit, dear.

to Red: another person who has all my gratitude. thank you for always helping and for always enjoying.

to droxy: she likely will do just that to him. now that she knows what\'s happened and all. she can hug him and hex him and hug him some more. enjoy.

to Anon: thanks for the vote of confidence.

to Sharon: thank you. i suppose we all like happy endings, don\'t we?

to Pearle: you know Hermione would probably hex him to within an inch of his life, once she got done with the emotional part of it all.

to Zee: thank you for forgiving me. and i\'m glad you liked my fluff.

to Savannah: bloody beautiful? aw, shucks.... ~blushes~ thanks so much. i\'m glad you liked.

to WickedlyWanton: here you go. here\'s what happened. is everything ok now? am i forgiven?