A Little Christmas Magic

Chapter 4 ~ Opened Eyes

Watching over the Elves for the next hour was almost uneventful. Almost. Hermione was forced to intercede when the Elves became competitive and started working faster. Smoke rose alarmingly from the increased friction and the smell of smoldering wood filled the shop. Hermione started coughing and hurried over to the over-industrious Elves.

”Slow down before you set the toys and Father Christmas’ entire workshop on fire!” she chided them, using her wand to cool the toys and tools down. Chastened, the House Elves obeyed Hermione. Their ears were flattened against their heads with shame because they had to be corrected.

Presently Mrs. Claus returned carrying a huge steaming bucket and ladle. She was bundled up in a thick, ribbed red coat and with a ribbed red hood. The bucket looked very heavy.

”I’m going to feed the elves,” she sang out gaily, heading for the door.

Hermione sprang to her feet.

”Wait, Mrs. Claus. I can take that to the elves for you,” she offered.

Mrs. Claus frowned at her.

”You don’t have enough meat on your bones to carry this,” Mrs. Claus snorted. “I’ll take it out to them myself.”

Hermione blocked her way, wanting to show Mrs. Claus she could be useful. That “lazy” comment had stung a little.

”It wouldn’t be a problem,” Hermione persisted. “I can carry tons of weight using magic. Please, let me do this for you.”

Mrs. Claus openly frowned at the witch blocking her way.

”I said,” she began, then stopped as the door opened and Snape walked in, brushing snow off of his cloak. A large section of roof snow had dropped on him just as he opened the door. He was less than pleased.

Mrs. Claus looked at him, then thrust the bucket at a startled Hermione. She grabbed the handle, then promptly let it drop to the floor. It really was quite heavy. Mrs. Claus was stronger than she looked.

”Go ahead and take it, dear,” she said, smiling at Snape. “Remember, one ladle per elf.”

Hermione looked down into the bucket and grimaced. It was gruel, and resembled the dirty mop water color of Poppy’s infamous gruel back at Hogwarts. The mediwitch force-fed it to every patient that stayed in the infirmary. It was believed that the recovery time for her charges was accelerated not because Poppy was gifted at healing, although she was, but because the unfortunate infirm wanted to escape her nutritious but tasteless gruel as quickly as possible.

“I’ve done all I can for the elves,” Snape announced as he took off his cloak and the heavy robes underneath. He had on another lighter set under that, but still lined with an insane amount of buttons down the front. He hung his garments on the coat rack and continued. “They are still ill, but no longer spewing like broken faucets from both ends. And I’ve made their buckets self cleaning so you no longer have to serve as chamber maid, Mrs. Claus.”

”Oh, you’re so handy!” Mrs. Clause gushed. “Thank you so much. Let me get you a little shot of something to fight off the cold.”

She disappeared so quickly, it seemed as if she’d Apparated. Snape looked at Hermione and the steaming bucket before her. His nose wrinkled.

”Did you make that?” he asked her.

”No, Mrs. Claus made it. It’s the elves’ dinner. I offered to take it out to the elves cabin for her. At first, she didn’t want me to do it, but when you came in, she was all too happy to let me help,” Hermione said, lifting an eyebrow at Snape meaningfully.

”What’s wrong with your eye?” Snape asked her as he walked over to the House Elves and examined the growing pile of toys beside them.

”Nothing’s wrong with my eye!” Hermione snapped back at him as she walked to the coat rack and began to layer on her outerwear. “It just seems like Mrs. Claus wants to get rid of me . . .”

Snape shrugged.

”That’s no surprise,” he said, picking up a wooden choo-choo train and studying it. “She’s definitely not the first and I’m absolutely certain she won’t be the last.”

Hermione pulled out her wand and considered firing a Stinging Hex at the Potions master. He was such a git sometimes. Most of the time, actually. But she pointed her wand at the bucket and levitated it, guiding it toward the door, which Snape walked over to and opened.

Hermione stalked through it, then stopped and looked at him.

”I think someone wants to throw a Christmas party in your trousers,” she said, then walked away from a rather shocked Potions master.

”You have a filthy mind, Hermione,” he called after her. “She’s old enough to be my mother.”

“Just because there’s snow on the roof,” was the distant reply. There was more to it, but Hermione’s receding voice was suddenly cut off when …

”What was that?” Mrs. Claus asked. She had returned to the shop, carrying a bottle of amber liquid and a shot glass in her plump hands.

Snape quickly closed the door.

”Ah, nothing,” he replied as Mrs. Claus set the bottle and glass on the table and pulled out the chair for Snape, who walked over and sat down. He watched as Mrs. Claus poured him a generous shot.

“This is Nicholas’ favorite bourbon,” she said softly as she set the bottle down. “He says it puts heat in his belly and hair on his chest.”

”Thank you,” Snape said, taking the shot and rasping a little as Mrs. Claus sat down across from him. She rested her chin in her hand and looked at him.

“I wanted to ask you about our sleeping arrangements,” Snape ventured.

Immediately, Mrs. Claus’ blue eyes darkened a bit.

”I suppose you two wish to share a room?” she asked him tightly.

“What? No! Whatever gave you that impression?” he asked her.

Mrs. Claus shrugged then gave him a wan smile.

”Actually, I was just fishing,” she admitted. “I imagine a man like you has someone special in his life.”

Snape snorted.

”You have an excellent imagination because that’s not the reality of it at all,” he said quietly, fingering his shot glass idly. Mrs. Claus’ eyes dropped to those long, pale fingers. The nails were very short, almost to the quick, and tiny, shiny scars were on the tips, as if he’d been slightly burned on numerous occasions. Snape’s index finger ran over the circular rim of the glass slowly, almost sensuously.

Mrs. Claus shifted a little and cleared her throat. Snape looked up at her, ceasing his caress of the shot glass.

“Ah, what did you want to ask me about your sleeping arrangements?” she asked him. “I was going to put you in one of the guest cabins.”

”Is it decorated?”

”Of course.”

Snape shook his head. He couldn’t sleep under flashing Christmas lights and choked by the overpowering smell of pine.

“I was wondering about that cabin that is separated from the rest. It isn’t decorated,” he said.

”Yes. That’s Nicholas’ storage area. It contains odds and ends. Things he no longer uses,” she replied. “There’s not really much in there.”

Snape nodded.

”I see. Does it contain a bed?”

Mrs. Claus frowned a little.

“Yes, and it’s probably covered inches deep in dust. You couldn’t possibly want to stay in there. It’s a dismal place. Dark, unwelcoming . . .”

”It sounds perfect,” Snape replied. “I prefer dwellings that are, shall we say, sparse and spare. I have no need of luxury, just a quiet, private place to rest. I would appreciate it if you would allow me to stay there for the duration.”

Mrs. Claus seemed to consider this, then gave him a smile.

”I see you like your privacy, professor.”

”I do. At times, it’s all I have.”

Mrs. Claus rose.

”All right. I’ll just get it ready for you,” she said.

Snape shook his head.

”That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Claus. I can prepare it myself and much more quickly than you can. Besides, you have enough work to do here,” he stated. “You’re an extraordinary woman.”

Mrs. Claus blushed, flustered by the unaccustomed compliment. She hadn’t felt extraordinary in ages.

”Have a bit more bourbon, professor Snape. I’ve got to see about dinner,” she said, bustling off quickly. Snape watched her go, then poured himself another bourbon. He held it up and examined the color. Then, he frowned.

”Me sleep with Hermione Granger? Madness. Pure madness,” he growled, then tossed the shot back.

As if on cue, the door opened and Hermione walked in, carrying the bucket. She sat it down and took off her coat.

”Well, the elves didn’t seem too happy with their gruel,” Hermione said as she hung up her coat, scarf, ear muffs and hat. She picked up the bucket and walked toward the table. She eyed the bourbon.

”I could use a shot of that,” she stated.

”It’s Father Christmas’ private stock,” Snape informed her, feeling a slight, pleasant glow from the drink.

“What’s the name of it?” Hermone said, setting the bucket down and taking a seat.

”Woodford Reserve. It’s made in America. Kentucky, I believe,” Snape replied, looking at the bottle.

”Is it as good as Firewhisky?” Hermione asked as she conjured herself a shot glass.

“I daresay a bit better,” Snape said, opening the bottle and pouring a shot for Hermione and then for himself. He was quite relaxed. He arched an eyebrow at the Charms mistress.

”Are you sure you can handle that?” he asked her as she lifted the glass.

”As you should know, professor, I can handle just about anything,” she replied disdainfully, then tossed the liquor back. Snape followed.

Hermione put the glass down. Her throat was working and her eyes watered slightly.

”Well?” Snape asked her after letting out a little rasp as the liquid coursed down his throat like a pleasant flame, filling him with warmth.

”It’s smooth,” Hermione gasped in a raspy but controlled voice.

”Yes, I can tell by the way you said that,” Snape said. “Smooth.”

They sat there in silence for a moment. Snape’s eyes drifted over her consideringly as she let the warmth of the bourbon settle in. He poured her another shot, then watched as she lifted the glass to her lips . . .

“Mrs. Claus thought we were going to sleep together,” Snape offered just as Hermione swallowed. She choked, then bourbon spewed out her nostrils as she coughed. Snape slid back in his chair to avoid the spray, smirking terribly while Hermione clutched at her nose. Her nasal cavity was on fire and she needed a napkin badly. Luckily there were a few on the table. She dabbed at her tearing eyes and running nose.

“She thought what?” Hermione demanded after she recovered. “That we wanted to sleep together? That’s . . . that’s insane. Whatever gave her that impression?”

”That was the same reaction I had, minus the tears and runny nose, of course,” Snape responded.

”I’d never sleep with you,” Hermione said, still wiping at her nose.

This response was met with a thick enough silence that Hermione looked over at Snape, whose face was like stone as he looked down at his glass.

”I know,” he replied quietly.

Hermione stopped wiping her nose and looked at the professor. Suddenly, she felt very bad about how dismissively she spoke to him. Normally, he didn’t give two Knuts about her dismissiveness, but Hermione could tell that she had struck a nerve in the man. It was disconcerting to feel this kind of reaction from him. Disturbing. It felt . . . wrong. She wanted to fix it. Immediately.

”I – I didn’t mean . . .” she started but was interrupted by a terse voice.

”I would have brought you some wine if you wanted a drink, Hermione,” Mrs. Claus said, eyeing Hermione’s shot glass with disapproval. “That isn’t one of my glasses. Don’t tell me you carry shot glasses around with you in case the opportunity to drink arises. That isn’t very . . . lady-like. Hard liquor is for men.”

”I don’t carry a shot glass about. I made this one with magic. I was cold after walking to and from the elves’ cabin. I didn’t think you’d mind . . .” Hermione began, not even attempting to address Mrs. Claus’ sexist outlook on liquor. At least this explained why there had been no bourbon in her cocoa.

“Well, there is such a thing as waiting to be offered, or even better . . . ASKING,” Mrs. Clause said, picking up the bottle meaningfully. She looked at Snape.

”If you’d like another drink, professor, feel free to ask me. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes. I suggest you get cleaned up for supper,” Mrs. Claus said, looking directly at Hermione in such a pointed manner that the witch looked down at herself, almost expecting to see clumps of dirt sticking to her clothing.

Mrs. Claus picked up the empty gruel bucket by the handle, turned and walked away stiffly. She took the bottle with her.

“I’m telling you. That woman doesn’t like me,” Hermione said to Snape, forgetting about her faux pas only moments before.

Snape heard her statement, yet didn’t respond. But he knew he didn’t feel the way Mrs. Claus did towards the maddening, infuriating but challenging Charms mistress.

He wouldn’t admit it publicly for a million Galleons, and would skewer anyone who even suggested such a thing on his own petard, but sharing sleep accommodations with Hermione Granger wouldn’t be unbearable.

Not in the least.

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A/N: All right. Another chapter. Trying to get a bead on it now. It was tough writing without smokes. I'm sort of like those old 30's newspaper reporters who toked on stogies hanging from the corner of their mouths as they typed out their articles just in time for the next edition. But I did it. Thanks for reading. ****