Merry XXXmas, Professor Snape
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
31,367
Reviews:
160
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
31,367
Reviews:
160
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
All I Want for Christmas is...
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Note to Readers: Hi All. It being Christmas, I thought it would be nice to resurrect this fluffy little Christmas story for you since it is the holiday season. Everyone have a great holiday and a happy New Year!" ~ Ms_Figg
Chapter 1 ~ All I Want for Christmas is…
“Albus, I refuse!”
“Now, Severus. It’s just in the spirit of the season,” the Headmaster said to the scowling Potions Master.
“Come now, Severus…don’t be a Scrooze,” Minerva said, smiling at him.
“That’s Scrooge, Madame, and a hearty ‘bah humbug’ to you all!” Snape said, turning to beat a rather hasty retreat from the Great Hall.
The Potions Master was utterly disgusted. It was only one in the afternoon and he had already been hit in the back of the head by a snowball on the way to Hagrid’s (the little bastard that threw it got away), slipped on the ice while walking up the stairs to the main doors, was almost crushed by a huge Christmas tree that Hagrid hadn’t set correctly in its stand, and nearly trapped by Sybil Trelawney under the blasted mistletoe.
Now Albus wanted him to ‘talk’ to Father Christmas (who looked suspiciously like Hagrid in a Santa suit) and tell him what he wanted for Christmas, simply because all the other staff had done so.
As he turned to go, he heard Albus call him, that dratted note of authority in his voice.
“Severus, I had hoped that this year you would at least attempt to get into the spirit of the season. Once again, you have failed to get the gist of it. So, I’m afraid I must insist you speak to Father Christmas and tell him what you want for Christmas. And nothing nasty, either.”
The Potions Master scowled.
“Albus, I protest this. You have no right…” he began.
Albus frowned at the Professor over his half-moon glasses.
“I have every right. It is the job of every member of the staff to promote school spirit and participate in events. You are not above that Severus, now get up there and talk to the man!” Albus said, rather loudly.
Snape cursed under his breath, mounted the dais and walked the bright festive carpeting to the huge throne where Father Christmas sat, smiling down at him, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Ho, Ho there little man. And what can Father Christmas get you for Christmas?” the huge man said to the Professor.
Snape glared up at him.
“You call me “little man” again, and I guarantee I’ll put so many boils on your ass you won’t be able to sit on any throne for weeks.” Snape said in a low voice he hoped didn’t carry to the Headmaster, who was watching him intently, smiling.
Father Christmas’ smile faded.
“You don’t have much Christmas spirit do you?” the man said.
“What do you think?” snarled Snape. “I’m only here under duress. I have nothing I want for Christmas except to be left alone.”
“And a new position at another school,” he thought to himself.
Father Christmas studied him.
“Surely you have something you want,” the red-suited giant said.
Snape could think of at least one thing. To be free of Voldemort and end his spying career. But that wasn’t something that could come in a box.
“There is nothing I want that can be boxed up and delivered to me,” Snape snapped, “The things I want are beyond my reach and yours.”
“Why don’t you try me? Ask for something,” Father Christmas said, “Anything.”
Snape scowled at him. He had enough of this nonsense. There were so many things in the world that he wanted and would never have. To have this, this, idiot in a red suit dangle that fact in front of his nose was insulting if not downright hurtful.
“You’re Father Christmas, you fucking figure it out!” Snape said, whirling and stalking down the dais, past Albus, Minerva and the other staff members, through the crush of annoying students, and out the double doors. He was headed for the peace and quiet of the dungeons. No one would bother him there.
Father Christmas watched him go, looking thoughtful.
On his way to the dungeons, Snape passed a smiling Hagrid.
“Hey there, Perfesser!” the giant called.
Snape just blinked up at him. Wasn’t he just in the Great Hall impersonating…ah never mind. He threw his hand up stiffly at Hagrid and continued down the dungeon corridor.
He was about to turn into his office when the second most annoying voice in the world rang through the corridor. The first being Potter’s.
“Professor, can I have a word with you please?”
“NO! It’s Christmas Eve and I am off-duty, Miss Granger,” he snapped, opening his office door and not looking back, hoping she would just go away.
“But Professor, it’s just a question about the assignment you gave us to do over the holidays. Pleeeeeease.”
Snape sighed. Why did he always give in to Miss Hermione Granger? She had been a thorn in his side for the past seven years. She was a brilliant student, dedicated, hard working, and annoying. But her hunger for knowledge was refreshing. That’s why. She was the only non-dunderhead in his class.
“All right, Miss Granger, what is the question?” he asked her.
“I was just wondering how you wanted the essay on the properties of the Hagglethorn Berry and its uses written? As a narrative? Descriptive? Argumentive? Or maybe process analysis? Or possibly a division and classification?”
The Professor stared at her a moment, and then pinched his nose. He didn’t care. He really didn’t care how she wrote it. He looked at Hermione.
“I tell you what, Miss Granger. You decide how you want to write it, and I will accept it,” he said turning to walk into his office once more.
“But Professor, surely you had a specific essay type in mind when you gave the assignment, didn’t you?” she asked, pressing him.
A specific essay type? The Professor was happy if the students could string a coherent sentence on the page. He was getting a headache.
“Miss Granger, write it as a narrative, then,” he said, once again turning to enter his office.
But Professor, don’t you think a narrative is too…well…loose for a scientifically based…” she began.
“Miss Granger, will you just go and write the damn essay and leave me be?” he snarled at her. “That essay isn’t even due until after New Years. Why aren’t you gallivanting about with the other students, celebrating the season?”
The young witch just looked at him, hurt and wide-eyed, her amber eyes starting to fill with tears.
“I just wanted to do a good job on it, Professor,” she said, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.
Snape sighed. He hated when women of any age cried.
“Miss Granger. You ALWAYS do a good job on anything you work on. Why do you feel the need to constantly second guess yourself? Or look to others to validate your work? You have the best grades in the school. You need to stop looking to others for an “it’s okay”. You have to discover what’s “okay” for yourself. The only way you’ll do that is if you take risks. Do you understand me, Miss Granger?” he asked her. He hoped he was getting through to the girl.
Hermione looked at him.
“I think I do understand, Professor,” she said softly.
The next thing the Professor knew was his arms were full of a very curvaceous, very soft and very wriggly young witch, who pressed her lips against his with a surprising amount of ardor, if not skill. Stunned, he stood there a moment, letting Miss Granger kiss him. Then he managed to push her away.
“Was that “okay”?” Hermione asked him.
Gasping from shock and unaccustomed contact with nubile young witches, the Professor couldn’t answer her. He thought he might be having a heart attack.
Hermione smiled. She had taken the risk. She’d wanted to do that since the end of her sixth year.
“I turned eighteen this year, Professor. I’m past the age of consent now,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him.
What in the gods names was the witch talking about? What did that mean to him? Why was she waggling her eyebrows at him? Unless…good bubertubers!
Was Miss Granger making a pass at him? Him?
Snape fought to regain his composure.
“Miss…Miss Granger! That…was…” he began, hyperventilating a bit.
“Good?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Inappropriate.” He finished.
“No,” she argued, “Last week it would have been inappropriate, while I was still seventeen. Now it’s ‘legal’.”
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A/N: I don’t know about this one. Thought something to do with Christmas might be a nice change. If I finish it, it probably won’t have a lot of depth. I’ll take a stab at originality. Snape’s definitely OOC. Hermione’s a Lolita. I’m just hooked on writing now I guess. :::shrugs:::
*******************************
Note to Readers: Hi All. It being Christmas, I thought it would be nice to resurrect this fluffy little Christmas story for you since it is the holiday season. Everyone have a great holiday and a happy New Year!" ~ Ms_Figg
Chapter 1 ~ All I Want for Christmas is…
“Albus, I refuse!”
“Now, Severus. It’s just in the spirit of the season,” the Headmaster said to the scowling Potions Master.
“Come now, Severus…don’t be a Scrooze,” Minerva said, smiling at him.
“That’s Scrooge, Madame, and a hearty ‘bah humbug’ to you all!” Snape said, turning to beat a rather hasty retreat from the Great Hall.
The Potions Master was utterly disgusted. It was only one in the afternoon and he had already been hit in the back of the head by a snowball on the way to Hagrid’s (the little bastard that threw it got away), slipped on the ice while walking up the stairs to the main doors, was almost crushed by a huge Christmas tree that Hagrid hadn’t set correctly in its stand, and nearly trapped by Sybil Trelawney under the blasted mistletoe.
Now Albus wanted him to ‘talk’ to Father Christmas (who looked suspiciously like Hagrid in a Santa suit) and tell him what he wanted for Christmas, simply because all the other staff had done so.
As he turned to go, he heard Albus call him, that dratted note of authority in his voice.
“Severus, I had hoped that this year you would at least attempt to get into the spirit of the season. Once again, you have failed to get the gist of it. So, I’m afraid I must insist you speak to Father Christmas and tell him what you want for Christmas. And nothing nasty, either.”
The Potions Master scowled.
“Albus, I protest this. You have no right…” he began.
Albus frowned at the Professor over his half-moon glasses.
“I have every right. It is the job of every member of the staff to promote school spirit and participate in events. You are not above that Severus, now get up there and talk to the man!” Albus said, rather loudly.
Snape cursed under his breath, mounted the dais and walked the bright festive carpeting to the huge throne where Father Christmas sat, smiling down at him, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Ho, Ho there little man. And what can Father Christmas get you for Christmas?” the huge man said to the Professor.
Snape glared up at him.
“You call me “little man” again, and I guarantee I’ll put so many boils on your ass you won’t be able to sit on any throne for weeks.” Snape said in a low voice he hoped didn’t carry to the Headmaster, who was watching him intently, smiling.
Father Christmas’ smile faded.
“You don’t have much Christmas spirit do you?” the man said.
“What do you think?” snarled Snape. “I’m only here under duress. I have nothing I want for Christmas except to be left alone.”
“And a new position at another school,” he thought to himself.
Father Christmas studied him.
“Surely you have something you want,” the red-suited giant said.
Snape could think of at least one thing. To be free of Voldemort and end his spying career. But that wasn’t something that could come in a box.
“There is nothing I want that can be boxed up and delivered to me,” Snape snapped, “The things I want are beyond my reach and yours.”
“Why don’t you try me? Ask for something,” Father Christmas said, “Anything.”
Snape scowled at him. He had enough of this nonsense. There were so many things in the world that he wanted and would never have. To have this, this, idiot in a red suit dangle that fact in front of his nose was insulting if not downright hurtful.
“You’re Father Christmas, you fucking figure it out!” Snape said, whirling and stalking down the dais, past Albus, Minerva and the other staff members, through the crush of annoying students, and out the double doors. He was headed for the peace and quiet of the dungeons. No one would bother him there.
Father Christmas watched him go, looking thoughtful.
On his way to the dungeons, Snape passed a smiling Hagrid.
“Hey there, Perfesser!” the giant called.
Snape just blinked up at him. Wasn’t he just in the Great Hall impersonating…ah never mind. He threw his hand up stiffly at Hagrid and continued down the dungeon corridor.
He was about to turn into his office when the second most annoying voice in the world rang through the corridor. The first being Potter’s.
“Professor, can I have a word with you please?”
“NO! It’s Christmas Eve and I am off-duty, Miss Granger,” he snapped, opening his office door and not looking back, hoping she would just go away.
“But Professor, it’s just a question about the assignment you gave us to do over the holidays. Pleeeeeease.”
Snape sighed. Why did he always give in to Miss Hermione Granger? She had been a thorn in his side for the past seven years. She was a brilliant student, dedicated, hard working, and annoying. But her hunger for knowledge was refreshing. That’s why. She was the only non-dunderhead in his class.
“All right, Miss Granger, what is the question?” he asked her.
“I was just wondering how you wanted the essay on the properties of the Hagglethorn Berry and its uses written? As a narrative? Descriptive? Argumentive? Or maybe process analysis? Or possibly a division and classification?”
The Professor stared at her a moment, and then pinched his nose. He didn’t care. He really didn’t care how she wrote it. He looked at Hermione.
“I tell you what, Miss Granger. You decide how you want to write it, and I will accept it,” he said turning to walk into his office once more.
“But Professor, surely you had a specific essay type in mind when you gave the assignment, didn’t you?” she asked, pressing him.
A specific essay type? The Professor was happy if the students could string a coherent sentence on the page. He was getting a headache.
“Miss Granger, write it as a narrative, then,” he said, once again turning to enter his office.
But Professor, don’t you think a narrative is too…well…loose for a scientifically based…” she began.
“Miss Granger, will you just go and write the damn essay and leave me be?” he snarled at her. “That essay isn’t even due until after New Years. Why aren’t you gallivanting about with the other students, celebrating the season?”
The young witch just looked at him, hurt and wide-eyed, her amber eyes starting to fill with tears.
“I just wanted to do a good job on it, Professor,” she said, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.
Snape sighed. He hated when women of any age cried.
“Miss Granger. You ALWAYS do a good job on anything you work on. Why do you feel the need to constantly second guess yourself? Or look to others to validate your work? You have the best grades in the school. You need to stop looking to others for an “it’s okay”. You have to discover what’s “okay” for yourself. The only way you’ll do that is if you take risks. Do you understand me, Miss Granger?” he asked her. He hoped he was getting through to the girl.
Hermione looked at him.
“I think I do understand, Professor,” she said softly.
The next thing the Professor knew was his arms were full of a very curvaceous, very soft and very wriggly young witch, who pressed her lips against his with a surprising amount of ardor, if not skill. Stunned, he stood there a moment, letting Miss Granger kiss him. Then he managed to push her away.
“Was that “okay”?” Hermione asked him.
Gasping from shock and unaccustomed contact with nubile young witches, the Professor couldn’t answer her. He thought he might be having a heart attack.
Hermione smiled. She had taken the risk. She’d wanted to do that since the end of her sixth year.
“I turned eighteen this year, Professor. I’m past the age of consent now,” she said, waggling her eyebrows at him.
What in the gods names was the witch talking about? What did that mean to him? Why was she waggling her eyebrows at him? Unless…good bubertubers!
Was Miss Granger making a pass at him? Him?
Snape fought to regain his composure.
“Miss…Miss Granger! That…was…” he began, hyperventilating a bit.
“Good?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Inappropriate.” He finished.
“No,” she argued, “Last week it would have been inappropriate, while I was still seventeen. Now it’s ‘legal’.”
*****************************
A/N: I don’t know about this one. Thought something to do with Christmas might be a nice change. If I finish it, it probably won’t have a lot of depth. I’ll take a stab at originality. Snape’s definitely OOC. Hermione’s a Lolita. I’m just hooked on writing now I guess. :::shrugs:::