The 12 Days of X-Mas

Severus woke on Wednesday morning with a sense of dread before he was even fully aware he was awake. If he recalled the old rhyme correctly than this day he would be looking forward to chickens… His frown twisted into a wry grin. Perhaps he could procure one for dinner… no one would notice a single missing hen out of hundreds, would they? With that thought to roust him, he slipped from his bed, somewhat prepared for a day of multicolored feathers and a further defacing of Hogwarts property.

--//--

The potions professor had not forgotten about the ongoing prank within his rooms and so was not in the least surprised when, in place of two doves, he found three hens wandering about the rows of desks. White feathers already littered the stones in places and Severus wondered what it was about chickens that they couldn’t hold onto their plumage for more than a few minutes.

Without bothering to become agitated over their presence, Severus began casting several banishing spells out of some lingering sense of hope that maybe they would work this time. They didn’t of course, but in a matter of time the birds were properly gothic and the professor set about ignoring them for the rest of the day.

--//--

If Severus had any intention of acting on his earlier morbid thoughts of a chicken dinner, he was sadly cut off. There were, in fact, only three hens that graced Hogwarts hallways and they, at least, had the sense to stick together in their little group. Albus had, apparently, been the sounding board for no few complaints the day (and night) before and had therefore restrained himself… Mostly.

Lunch was riddled with chicken dishes. Lemon Garlic Chicken, Greek Chicken, Twenty-Clove Chicken and Barbecued Chicken Breasts were only a few dishes served. Severus heaped his plate with steamed rice and vegetables just to make a point. Albus didn’t seem to get it or, more likely, chose to ignore it. Coq au Vin, Southwestern Chicken, Chicken and Apples, Sweet n’ Sour Chicken over Potatoes, even something labeled Apricot Mustard Chicken lined the tables among various other obscure chicken dishes were served for dinner.

There were chicken shaped cookies and jello, little decorative hens scattered about the table, the house elves even put on a retelling of ‘Chicken Little.’

Severus fled the hall before Albus could ask for an encore by the teaching staff. If heard one more terrible pun from that old man he really was going to bring the sky falling down.

--//--

This time, when Snape entered his chambers he did not take of his robes, nor did he sit down to grade. He, in fact, spent a full five minutes scouring his apartments for the new addition. The moment he realized his intentions he quite thoroughly chastised himself, spent several minutes in the shower, and shoved every thought of a gift of chickens from his mind as he dedicated six straight hours to grading three foot long parchments that didn’t need to be looked at for a week.

When he next looked up at the clock the timepiece had stopped showing numbers and flashed in acid green lettering ‘Why by Slytherin are you still awake you greasy bastard?’ He ignored the weak insult and put down his quill before allowing himself to indulge, just this once, in a visual display of emotion. He put his face in his hands and groaned in frustration.

With that done he stalked to his wine cabinet. He needed a drink, a strong one. He was not pining over a nonexistent gift, he had not been expecting one and he didn’t want one. He didn’t celebrate Christmas it was a ridiculous muggle holiday that created stupidity and laziness. Well, that’s what he kept trying to tell himself but he wasn’t really listening. He opened up the cabinet and when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, spelled open a second layer of shelves whereupon he abruptly decided that 1) a single drink was definitely not going to be enough alcohol and he must consume at the very least, three times that, 2) that Christmas was not, in fact, a ridiculous muggle holiday though it did still create more stupidity and laziness than was strictly necessary, and 3) that whatever part of him was commenting about not pining over gifts and not wanting them and such was absolutely moronic and it could quickly go to Hell with his very best wishes. That part of him shrugged and obediently disappeared leaving Severus at a surprised loss; perhaps the best reaction one could have considering the situation.

There were two shelves in the second layer of the cabinet, two large bottles of scotch on each. On the top shelf, moving about as though they owned the place (and perhaps they did, now) were three miniature hens. Not just any hens, mind you, for Severus would have found live birds utterly deplorable in such a place, but small animated and polished crystal hens. They clucked softly and flapped their wings though he noticed that no feathers or likenesses were lost, and circled around the two bottles that occupied an almost permanent space on the shelf.

Severus reached into the cabinet and touched one of the figurines. It immediately lost all of its animation and the potions professor lifted it from the shelf, turning it about in his hand with an absolutely blank expression. When he replaced it on the shelf it resumed it’s walking about. Shaking his head in a sort of numb disbelief he took one of the dusty bottles from its shelf and expertly popped the cork, preparing himself for a night of uninhibited drinking. The hens were left on their shelf, why should he take them off, after all? They weren’t doing any harm. That distant part of his mind gave no objections. Perhaps it had taken Severus’ advice and moved to Hell.