Let It Snow

Let It Snow

Part 1: What Was...

In his youth, there had always been Lily, his flower. He had dreamed of taking her to Diagon Alley, lavishing her with gifts out of his own largesse, making her love him as he loved her.

So, how was it that he was alone once again at Yule?

Betrayal was only part of the equation that was Snape's lonely formula. He had always been a bastard, had always shunned human company. Even if he ignored his physical shortcomings, of which there were many, he had to acknowledge that his genetic heritage had given him short shrift when it came to charm. He had none.

He shuffled through the hordes of shoppers, his purchase in hand. Trust Albus to want something so mundane and Muggle. Severus never would have chosen to be in Harrods a few days before Christmas, purchasing such a loud pair of socks otherwise. A woman in front of him, attractive in her mediocre work-a-day way, sang along with the pabulum that passed for the music of the season.

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful, the fire so delightful... hm, hm, hmm, hm, hmmm, hmmm, hm, hm... Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Rollicking.

Severus pushed past her reaching the shop girl that would allow him to escape this hell. He wanted nothing more than to sip his midnight nog in the privacy of his own rooms, whilst pondering how he might end his miserable existence, even while carrying out his pledge to Albus.

The next year would bring Potter's spawn to Hogwarts.

He shivered at the thought as the shop girl passed the correct change to his hand, her fingers brushing against his palm. He almost hissed at the contact, and drew back as if she had burned him.

He knew he had overreacted by the girl's confused expression. She handed him a small sac containing his purchase and Severus was on his lonely way back to Hogwarts.

Part 2: What Might Have Been...

Snape watched from the corner of the gathering in Order headquarters, observing his ersatz compatriots as they celebrated Yule, the droning of that Warbeck woman in the background. The dubious quality of the Muggle song, "Let it Snow" matched the dismal nature of her quavering soprano. Garlands and holiday bric-a-brac littered even the kitchen, setting Severus' teeth on edge. Each time he encountered a bit of greenery he had to manfully suppress the urge to blast it away from him. He knew that making missiles of garishly festooned holly, mistletoe, and fir might not be in his best interests, at least in the long-run.

Molly Weasley strode through the room humming the song, apron and platter her weapons of choice as she fed the motley aggregate of knaves that followed Dumbledore. Lupin spoke earnestly across the table with Ginevra Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks, both clearly enamoured, even with the man's wild nature exposed. Potter, Granger and Ronald Weasley sat beside Arthur, all of them looking bruised and worn from the events of the past week. Potter most of all, as if he himself had caused the damage to the Weasley patriarch. Severus, as always, only glanced in the youngest Weasley boy's direction. There was something disturbing about him as he lengthened and grew into his gangly limbs, something attractive in the way he walked that left Severus feeling at once filthy and exalted. It was best if he did not acknowledge the boy at all, especially since he had a particular weakness for gingers.

The Weasley twins (unsurprisingly) sat beside each other, plotting, no doubt, as they sipped the hot chocolate allowed them by the ever-managing Molly. Severus tipped his own tea back as he saluted them for their ingenuity. He had seen the wizardspace vial carried by Fred. Severus had seen the same vial only a week before, had actually been the one to confiscate it from young Zabini. He was sure Molly had no idea of its use, else neither of the recalcitrant duo would be cheerily tipsy.

Albus was absent, on a mission of some import, leaving Minerva and Kingsley as the titular heads of the Order. Both Minerva and Shackelbolt avoided each other, uneasy with their roles. Shackelbolt sat with Moody, both men laughing over some Auror story of dubious merit, whilst Minerva sipped 'tea' that was more the water of life than leaf. That left Hagrid, who was even now in Black's room communing with the hippogriff, and Black himself who lounged in the corner on a bench against the wall, striking an indolent pose as he nursed his fourth, fifth (or tenth for all Severus knew) firewhisky of the evening. He was handsome in his midnight-hued velvet robes, though Severus barely acknowledged the fact.

Snape might have sneered at Black's show of laconic bravado had he not seen the man jiggling his leg each time a burst of laughter filled the room, and if he hadn't observed Black's barely contained discomfort in such a large gathering. Black braved the crowd, one hand clawed against his knee, while the other sent a jolting tilt of whisky past his lips with great regularity.

Discomfort of that sort was something that he shared with the mutt, and Severus hated him all the more for it. He rose, preparing to slip out of the gathering and back to his dismal lodging in the north, into a bed heated by a brick and a good book. Perhaps a gothic mystery tonight, he thought. Black's eyes intrusively followed his movements as Severus flicked his robes away from the chair. Molly laughingly cried over the hubbub, "Severus dear, don't leave just yet! I haven't given you your gift. I'll be just a moment!"

Severus inclined his head as she bustled past him, even as his cheeks flamed at the modest endearment and Black's answering snort. The mutt took another sip of his drink before he slurred, "Yeah, Snivellus dear, don't leave yet. Let's hope she gives you a better disposition and something to wear with colour."

"And your gift from her will be less alcohol and idle time," Severus rumbled. "Or perhaps she might simply make you useful for something more than this monument to inbreeding."

Minerva headed off Black as he rose unsteadily to the bait. Severus made his escape into the hallway, letting her deal with the sot. If there was one thing that Severus could not stand, it was a drunk, no matter why they drank. He could have given Black an education on alcohol addiction, even though Severus himself rarely imbibed more than a medicinal amount. His beloved Muggle father had given his own lessons on the subject at the end of a belt or with his fist. There was nothing endearing or comical about those who chose to overindulge. Severus still bore the scars attesiting to that sentiment.

In the foyer, he batted away yet another annoying bit of greenery, this one in the form of mistletoe. Severus donned his travelling cloak, then fastidiously pulled on his leather gloves, ensuring each finger was housed in them precisely and comfortably, all the while waiting for Molly to find him so that he might leave. If he didn't, he would never hear the end of it from the Weasley matron or Minerva.

He glanced idly about the hallway, wishing he could have seen the house in its splendour. Lucius had said the Black residence of his youth was beautiful in its Gothic splendour. Severus had thought at the time that much the same could be said about the eldest son of said family, with his porcelain pale skin, full red lips, blue-black hair, and brows arched so finely they might have been drawn on his sculpted face. Snape closed his eyes, remembering the savage beauty that Black had been in his youth, before Azkaban had ravaged his good looks, whittled him down to the spare, gaunt man he was now. And yet there was something indefinably and tragically beautiful about Black even now.

Severus appreciated physical beauty, even if the person was rotten to the core and mad as a March hare, as most Blacks were. He had at one time been enamoured of the very narcissistic and petulant Bella, but she had disabused him of the infatuation the first and last time she sneeringly spoke of his mother's fall from pureblood grace. Eileen Prince-Snape might have been a blood-traitor, but she was still his mother, and no one spoke of her in a disrespectful manner, outside of their home and his father, at least. Black and Lupin had been correct in their assumption that Severus knew more of the Dark Arts than most seventh years. With his blood-status, it had been to his distinct advantage to learn and learn quickly, especially given the supremacist political environment into which he was thrust at the tender age of eleven. Bellatrix had been quite painfully taught the lesson of Severus' knowledge that day.

He heard soft footsteps coming up the hallway, and turned his tired eyes blindly to an obviously male figure, who approached in silhouette. He cursed, knowing that the person was most definitely not Molly.

Black came to stand in front of Severus, his jaws working as he spat, "Snape."

Severus stirred himself, disguising in his movements the wand which he slid to a ready position. He had been caught in his youth by surprise, but he was a powerful adult wizard and would suffer no humiliation at Black's hand. "What is it, Black? I doubt you're here to attack me. You don't have a group of fawning sycophants to cheer your exploits."

"Minerva... thought it best that I apologise to you, it being Yule." Black moved closer to him, into the foyer.

Snape stepped back making painful contact with the coat tree that hung from the fusty wall as a burst of laughter sounded before loud shushing began. For once Wallaburga Black remained silent. Black stuck out his hand, revealing bitten nails and torn cuticles. Severus looked down at the proffered digits, a roiling mixture of disgust and sly hope coiling around his brainstem.

Black impatiently jiggled his hand. "Don't be a git, Sni--- Severus. Just take my apology for what it is."

"As a coerced confession of wrongdoing?" Severus reached for the door, the latch just out of his grasp. "Wrongdoing for which you will no doubt claim I began as a mere child of eleven. Is that the apology you're giving?"

"Fu--ine, Snape, have it your way," Black said, his voice rising as he attempted to step away, almost falling into Severus' chest as his foot remained fixed to the floor. Severus shoved him away forcefully as Black nearly shouted, "What the hell did you do to me?"

Severus attempted to step past the mutt and found himself in much the same predicament as he stumbled, once again making contact with Black's upper chest. He was surprised to feel the mutt's arms snake around his shoulders to steady him. Though Snape wore his usual armour of buttoned black, he could still feel the steady thrum of Black's heart, could make out the corded arm muscles still around him. Severus could have stayed there in his worst enemy's arms all night. It had been years since he had allowed himself the luxury of more than accidental human contact, and longer still since he had allowed his carnal nature full reign. He, however, would not give into his weakness, especially not with Black. Any deviation from his duties might cause his downfall, any breakdown in his strictly maintained, frozen facade might be the one thing that allowed the Dark Lord to win. He could not risk...

Black shifted, moving his hands softly against Snape's back, almost unmanning him with the gentleness of the touch. Severus shrugged out of the embrace, discomfited at how readily his body responded to such innocent contact. After a moment Black said, "I don't think we'll be able to move. That mistletoe, was it here when you came in?"

"How would I know, Black? This is not my house, and these are certainly not my infernal decorations."

"Just try not to be such a bloody bastard one time in your life, Snape." Black pushed against Severus' chest with his palm, seeming to linger for seconds before letting it drop to his side. If in some desperate part of Severus' psyche the touch felt like a caress, then so be it, but Severus would not show his need, not to Black. Never to him. He opened his mouth to utter a scathing set down as Black said, "I think we've been caught by one of Fred and George's new 'products.' I heard them discussing something like it this morning."

"Ah." Severus was well aware of the twin's ambitions and though he could not condone their means, he did admire their drive. However, there would be retribution for this act of sabotage.

Black licked his lips nervously and Severus involuntarily shook at the sight. "So, erm... I think what we'll need to do is... have a quick kiss."

"No." Severus wanted to flee, wanted to take the man up on his offer, wanted out of the entire damned predicament his life had become.

"No?" Black's eyes flashed and he said, his tone smug, "So, you'd rather stay here all night in my company? I didn't know you cared, Snape."

"Sod off, Black," Severus answered as evenly as he could. "Just do it already."

Black leaned in. "Pucker up, Snape. I can't kiss you if you're not going to give me something to work with."

Severus huffed his annoyance. "Why would it matter to you, Black, whether I'm ready or not. You're supposed to be the desperate one, after all those years in Azkaban."

Black's alcohol-tainted breath fanned across Severus face as he gave a short bark of laughter. "Perhaps I am, but at least I have my good looks. Things must not have been so easy for you, what with the whole dark and cowardly past and a face only a mother could love... that is, unless you're more than Malfoy's lap-dog."

Severus grappled with Black, moving him so that he was against the wall and Snape had the upper hand. "Don't talk about my past. You know nothing of what I have done. NOTHING!"

He crushed his lips against Black's, feeling a disturbing frisson of desire as Black responded. Snape forced his tongue past the other man's lips, brutally plunging past them and into the hot recesses.

It was Black's moan that changed the tenor of the kiss, made Severus deepen it. Or, perhaps it was the way Black moved against him, positioned his leg so that Severus had no recourse but to rub against it, so that he too could feel Black's arousal.

He sank his hands in Black's hair, controlling the kiss with his hands and his tongue even as desire licked up his belly, burned in his chest. Black allowed Severus to master him even as he shuffled closer, began working at buttons on Severus' frock coat. Snape finally broke away.

"Black..." he croaked, not knowing what words would follow, only knowing what felt good, what was right for now.

A noise sounded up the hallway but Black kept Severus' attention as he reached down and cupped him. He smiled up in Snape's eyes, the pale blue of his own gaze warming Severus as nothing else had in years. "Just for tonight, can we be less than enemies? I think we both need... whatever this is."

Severus claimed Black's mouth again in lieu of an answer. He had so long needed something for that would make him feel human, that would warm him.

A searing pain in his left arm broke the moment. He tried to ignore it, but the Dark Lord would not take kindly to any tardiness on his part. The pain increased and Severus pulled away, clutching his arm as he reached for the door. "Duty calls, Black. Some of us hold positions of vital importance and have no time for idle dalliances."

Severus left the house and swirled away with a loud pop!

As events unfolded later that year, he learned to regret what might have been.

Part 3: What Is...

He sees himself dying at the Dark Lord's hand this Yule evening. He has seen his death a hundred, a thousand, a million times before. It is nothing new, this feeling of dreadful release. He sees it and knows that his fate was written long ago, and by his own hand.

The Yule log crackles and burns in the fireplace, it's cheer only extending around the ruddy hearth. He hears the hisses, the whispered boos, the cat-calls as he passes. There is no avoiding them. He is the traitor who killed the man who saved him, the proverbial dog who makes lunch of its owner's hand.

The extreme irony is that the only person who knows he isn't a traitor to the school, to the Light, to his own vow (to Lily, and by extension, her son) is even now in pride of place behind the Headmaster's desk, a portrait with no spark of life. It was Severus' doing, but not his choice. In the grand scheme of things, he knows it won't matter. Severus Snape will be a question mark in history at most.

He stares at the fire that does not warm, shuffles the food that tastes of ash and sand about, drinks the finest elf-made wine that smells of poison.

He will die at the Dark Lord's hand, and he welcomes it on this darkest solstice night. Perhaps Death will embrace him as few others have in life.

It is Yule and he still feels that not so long-ago kiss and hears the Muggle song as it blares down the hallway, still feels the warmth that might have been.


Part 4: What Will Be...

Severus had survived the war and the subsequent trials as unscathed as a murderer and apparent double-turncoat could. Whilst Minerva was apologetic, she informed Severus that his services were no longer needed at Hogwarts. He was given a stipend and told to make his way in the world as best he could.

It was just as well. The castle that had been the closest thing to home in his arid life was now fraught with horrible memories. He would no more go back there than he would attempt a flight to the moon on his broom.

He used the stipend and his paltry life savings to purchase a little shop in Diagon Alley; an apothecary that had been in a prime position until the twin Weasley terrors had moved into the area. The former owner, a gentleman of some hundred thirty-seven years, had sold Severus the shop and all its fixtures for a song, enabling him to set up shop with a full complement of supplies and potions, even though he brewed daily to stay in practice at first.

It had been eleven years since the end of the war, and Severus' Yule time celebrations remained much as they had always been. Dismal.

He nearly cursed as yet another person passed his shop on their way to Weasley's joke shop. Severus knew he had profited from the juxtaposition of his shop to theirs, as the remaining twin had forgiven him the errant severing spell and now purchased most rarer ingredients used in their products from him. Even so, most other sales had been slow leading up to Yule, and he wasn't sure if his business could stand the losses. He had become a supplier of his neighbour's shop in bulk, and that was keeping him barely solvent. Ronald would show up dutifully every Saturday afternoon and collect the various compounds that were used in the manufacture of such life-saving products as Tickle Me Purple, and Love's Lovely Locks. Severus couldn't care less if they were used in arcane potions that cause boils to break out as long as the galleons were supplied.

It was Christmas Eve and a snow storm brewed, further cutting into Severus' profits, as people who were sane stayed at home or were already at their destinations. He had assumed Weasley's shop might shut down, thus allowing Severus to capitalise on their absence. His love potions and tinctures of beauty actually worked. He might have been able to sell, to a properly discerning and taciturn customer, the Felix Felicis he had brewed only last week.

He turned his attention back to his books, watching as the red ink took over the pages after November. Perhaps he would be the one to close early. That way he could get on with his annual Yule celebration of a firewhisky-laced egg-nog and then to sleep, alone and cold. It had been that way always, with the exception of the one stolen moment with Black, so many years ago.

The door was ripped open as the bell above it clanged, a harbinger of doom, if Severus judged by the rest of the day.

He stood away from his desk, only to spy Ronald Weasley in the gloom of his shop. The boy had changed since his years at school, and a welcome change it was. He was still as tall as a roving Viking, but he had grown into his length and become quite graceful, with long shapely limbs, and that opalescent paleness of all gingers. Of course, it helped that Weasley had lost the Know-it-all appendage. Miss Granger had moved on with her life and was living in America, having decided that hide-bound British society would never change, no matter how much she railed against it, and that Weasley was only holding her back. The only reason Severus knew that bit was because he had been privy to their very public break-up as it had occurred right outside his shop two years ago. The Prophet had covered the event as if it was the Queen Mum herself who pulled up stakes to become a Yank. The entire fiasco amused Severus to no end. He was glad the girl had found out what her life might be like in the UK. It had taken Severus long enough to figure it out, and he was still here in a place that could never be home. He thought he might have masochistic tendencies.

"Snape?" Weasley said, a little louder than necessary, in usual riotous fashion.

Severus moved around the desk and into the younger man's line of sight. "I am right here, Weasley, wherever do you think I might be? I live abovestairs, after all."

Even at twenty-nine the boy could blush, a fact that Severus found mostly charming. He had often found reason to make the boy blush, if truth be told. He had always found the youngest male attractive in a puppy-ish devoted way. He had belittled the boy enough in his schooldays to get the response, with a wicked feeling of the lecher, but now, as a competent man, Severus often found himself wondering how far down his body he flushed. He ripped his gaze from the becoming blush as Weasley said, "I'm here for the weekly order."

"On Christmas Eve, Weasley?" Severus grumbled, even as he turned to his stores. "Surely you won't need it filled until after Boxing Day."

Weasley answered as he slid the list toward him on the counter, "I'm going to be working tomorrow. The entire family plus Harry are going to the States to see Hermione. I don't think I‘d be so welcomed there."

"Or so welcoming, no doubt."

Ronald laughed, a deep, melodious sound that sent a shiver up Snape's spine. "No doubt."

As Severus filled the order, Weasley began humming a song that Snape hadn't heard in years, a Muggle one. He whistled the chorus desultorily, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."

Severus was transported back to that night in the darkened hallway and the feel of Black's hunger on his own ravenous lips. He fumbled the scoop, dropping it to the floor. When he stood, Weasley had moved closer to him at the counter. "I was wondering..."

Severus slammed the offending scoop into the bag of seeds, carelessly spilling a handful in his ire at his own gracelessness in the face of such ancient weakness. After moments of awkward silence, Snape asked sharply, "What, Weasley, were you wondering? Surely after so many years you don't have any unanswered impertinent questions about my involvement in the war or my pathetic obsession with a dead woman."

Severus winced at his own sharpness, but anger had always been his way in social settings. It saved him the dashing of hopes that always followed.

Weasley backed away from the counter. "Never mind, Snape."

Severus finished the order in stony silence, handed the bill to him and turned back to his desk. He heard Weasley plonk the galleons on the counter and then storm out with a slamming of the door. The mad jangling of the bells sounded in Severus' ears long after the younger man left.

When he next looked up evening was full on, and the far from milling crowds had thinned to a trickle. The expected snowstorm had arrived and the wind picked up. Snow blew on the street in almost horizontal waves. He rose with a popping of tendons, swiping his heavy hair out of his eyes. It had come unbound from his tight, brewing queue at some point between his dismal interaction with Weasley and nightfall. He went about the shop, extinguishing lights and righting the few vials that were out of place on the shelves. The bells on the door jangled and Severus said with his usual welcoming tone, "Just a minute."

When he rounded the corner, he saw Weasley standing in front of two mesh bags of groceries.

He snapped, "What is it, Weasley? It's closing time and I have a great deal to do."

Weasley crossed his arms, the bulky cream-coloured jumper bunching up at the elbows, his expression inscrutable. "I saw you."

"Well, obviously." Severus folded his own arms in front of him, the tight-fitting black sleeves of his brewing robes most likely accentuating his thin, weedy frame. "Was that all, or are you still curious."

Weasley quirked a complicit smile at him. "I haven't been curious for years, Snape... about most things."

Weasley stalked forward, infringing into Severus' sacrosanct space. Snape stood his ground, staring at the younger man until Weasley turned his gaze down, that enticing blush stealing across his cheeks once again.

"When I said I was wondering earlier, I meant about dinner, that is, if you would join me." Blue eyes slanted up to Snape's (hopefully) haughty gaze and then skittered down again. "I went ahead an bought some things... and wine. Loads of wine."

"Fortification?"

Weasley gave that complicit smile again and stepped back to the bags. "Something like that."

Once the young man had hefted the bags into his arms again, Severus waved his hand for Weasley to pass. "Since you're here... the stairs on the right will take you abovestairs. Don't muck about, and don't touch anything you shouldn't."

Severus turned his back to Weasley, suddenly frightened by the outward show of goodwill. In Severus' experience no good came from random kindnesses showered upon him. The boy must want something from him.

"Erm... you do have a kitchen, right?" Weasley paused in the door to ask.

Severus said over his shoulder, "No, Weasley, I live out of the rubbish bins and off the occasional cat that straggles through."

"Sod off, Snape," Weasley answered with a show of exasperated good nature. "I meant that you don't have your potions bits strewn about in it, right?"

Severus gave no reply as he turned back to shutting off the lights and righting the nearly nonexistent disorder on the shelves.

An hour, and a great deal of dawdling later, and the rich smell of heavy spices and savoury herbs drew Severus inexorably abovestairs. He reached the top landing and was treated to the rare sight of Weasley in front of the hob, singing that inane song once again, as he stirred a pot of what smelled unmistakably like curry. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the kitchen was relatively free of clutter, even if dishes were piled in the sink awaiting attention from someone, most likely Severus.

Weasley shook his arse, belting out part of the song as Severus pulled abreast of him. He ended with a yelp and a flung spoon.

Laughing shakily, Weasley bent at the waist to pick up the offending article. "Sorry. I thought you'd be a while."

Severus took the spoon from his hand and placed it in the sink with the other dishes. "I suppose I'll help with clean up."

"Oh, no you don't. This is my treat for you. Anything you want, I'll make sure you get it." Pink stained Weasley's cheeks yet again and he bit his lip as he plucked another spoon from the canister on the counter. "Not that I'm... trying to push... I mean..."

Weasley ended the dissertation with a shrug.

Stirring consumed the minutes as Severus finally leaned against the counter, fascinated by Weasley's hesitance. Ronald reached just past Severus for a tub of yoghurt , but stopped and seemed to breathe deeply as he drew close. If Severus didn't know better, hadn't heard the very public end of Weasley's extremely heterosexual break-up, he might suspect... no. This Weasley was simply extending a bit of Yuletide cheer with his usual Gryffindor finesse. Snape would not read anything else into it. He could not stand the embarrassment if he misread the situation. An old lecher coming onto a former student would be just the scandal that the Prophet was always trying to invent about him. It would be all the more titillating to the reader with the added piquancy of truth. No, he would remain stoic, no matter how unwittingly Weasley teased him.

Severus stepped out of Ronald's way just as the other man moved in the same direction. They met, brushing against each other from chest to knees. Weasley croaked, "Just let me put in the yoghurt, and the curry'll be ready. Why don't you pour the wine and I'll... serve you."

Weasley swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, his cheeks stained yet again with colour. Severus retreated to the dining area, barely noticing the care Weasley had taken with the room, the china and stemware he had brought, the candles he had lit and placed about. Snape decanted the wine, running over the obvious clues, and concluding he was barking if he believed the younger man was interested. Severus mulled the social conundrum presented to him as he sipped the wine, a middling chardonnay with a fruity body. Weasley sat a plate of spicy curry, spinach paneer, and saffron rice in front of Severus. He sat across from him, lifting a towel from a steaming plate of fluffy naan.

They ate in silence. Ronald's eating habits had thankfully improved since the last time Severus had occasion to dine in his presence, and so Severus' fear of an entire meal spent avoiding looking upon Weasley as he masticated came to naught. They reached for the wine bottle at the same time, brushing fingertips as both grasped the neck. Weasley withdrew his hand as if burned. He said apropos to nothing, "I... erm... Hermione wasn't at fault in our break up."

Severus topped off both their glasses. "Oh?"

"I... she did that entire scene for me. She didn't want...." Ronald leaned back, his jumper riding up at the chest, creating an odd swelling. “I’m gay and she’s... well, she moved to New York so that she and Blaise Zabini could be together without all the baggage of... here... home, and I could... be... gay without... you know."

Severus lifted an elegant brow. Weasley rushed on. “We had a deal, after the war... you know the madness that surrounded us after... of course you know... it was worse for you... well, anyway she needed some time to get her head clear after the war, and I didn’t want to have my whole love life splattered across the Prophet, so... You see, I’d been going around with Muggle blokes since... after Hogwarts... I loved Hermione... but...” Weasley stopped to draw a breath. “I know I’m babbling. Just... never mind, Snape.”

“I believe that since you’ve barged into my flat, taken over the kitchen, and committed verbal suicide at my table, you might call me by my given name, Weasley.” Severus primly dabbed at his lips, fighting the surge of hope that crept up on him.

Weasley laughed, not a polite sound but a guffawing, relieved one. “Then you can at least stop making me feel as if I’m in lessons again and call me Ron.”

“Ronald is more to my taste.”

That becoming rose tinged the younger man’s cheeks and Severus was transfixed by an erotic vision of Weasley as he was now, in his school uniform, doing very filthy things to Severus and letting Snape do the same to him.

“Well, since I’ve all ready committed....how’d you put it?” Ronald rose, crossed to Severus and then knelt beside the older man’s chair. “Verbal suicide?” Severus nodded faintly as Weasley slid a knuckle over Severus’ knee. “Well, when I told you this evening that I had seen you, I didn’t mean tonight.” Weasley’s eyes swept up to Severus’ and then back down to his own encroaching hand. “You remember that Yule celebration that we had the year my dad was attacked by that foul snake?”

Mentally battling the alarm that rose at the mention of that long ago indiscretion with Black, Severus croaked, “Yes.”

“I saw you and Sirius under the mistletoe just before you left. It was... uh... quite... Just let me say it fuelled a lot of wanking sessions, if you get my meaning.” Weasley spread his hand, sliding it up Snape’s thigh, the heat of the touch blazing a direct path to Severus’ gut. “Uh-- I... erm... I hope you don’t mind, but when you moved across the way from us... I asked George to let me bring the orders to you. I wanted to see... I’ve tried... all these years... to work up enough nerve to ask you out.”

"Don't play with me, Weasley." Severus frowned as he attempted to push Weasley's hand away.

Ronald responded by pushing Snape's chair away from the table, straddling him, and saying, "I should have known words wouldn't work with a bloke like you."

Weasley dipped his head and drew Severus to him. Their lips met, Weasley's questing and innocent. Before he could think, Severus took control of the kiss, demanding entry and receiving a moaning reply for his efforts. Weasley broke away first, clawing at Severus' monk-like gear as he nuzzled the older man's neck, stopping just above the scars that were barely visible above the high collar. He paused, his seeking hand finding its way through the first buttons on Severus' Oxford-cloth shirt. Whispering breathlessly, he asked, "Where's your bedroom?"

"Get up, and I'll show you, Weasley." Despite himself, an eyebrow snaked up to his hairline.

Weasley ground against Severus. "I don't think I'll have any trouble there." He rose, graceful despite his obvious need, pulling Severus up by his hand. "Lead on, McDuff."

His blue eyes glinted in the light of the candles and Severus felt warmed by the desire in them. For once in his life, Severus didn't care what followed, only that this evening, he would be replete.

Part 5: The Future Perfect...

It had been a full day for him, this Yule, and not one filled with regret and solitude. Much to Severus' chagrin, he had settled into a spot at the Weasley table as easily as if he had always been there, next to Ronald, across from Potter. He had, of course, needed his time alone, and the family, including Potter, had been kind enough to give it to him. Severus was still the solitary being he always was. He could not change simply because a pair of warm blue eyes had sparkled up at him, or that a pair of lips had breathed words of love as they coupled for the first, tenth or thousandth time.

Severus shivered as he stood in front of the window watching the snow fall in the wan ambient light. He heard the telltale rustling of the bedclothes and then felt Ronald's arms snake around his waist. "Was it too much for you, today?"

"No." Severus' taciturn answer drew a chuckle from his mate.

Ronald kissed his nape, giving a sharp nip as he reached the juncture of Severus' neck and shoulder. He knew what that did to Severus. "Come back to bed, Love. I'm cold, and I want you to warm me."

Severus made no reply, he never did, merely turned back to the warm bed and the warmer body in it. Weasley began humming that song as they sank under the duvet, the one that had brought them together even before they knew it, and Severus answered with his own rusty voice, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."


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