SNAPED: A HOWARTS CHRISTMAS CAROL

Author's Note: So, because I can't leave well enough alone, and recently listened to Neil Gaiman's lovely reading of "A Christmas Carol," I found myself wanting to write a fun little AU homage to Dickens with our very favorite surly Potions master.

I'm going to try and release this in parts, which will largely follow the plot of "A Christmas Carol," though there will be a number of differences, and maybe a bit of my favorite OTP in the end, muse willing. So, without further ado, put another log on the fire, grab a hot cuppa and get ready for...

Part One

Albus Dumbledore was dead. Dead as a doornail, as the saying went. That was to say, he'd been dead for seven long years. And, though Severus Snape had been the one who had cast the spell that had extinguished his soul from this world and pushed his body from the top of the Astronomy Tower, he did not fault himself for it. He'd made peace with himself about the whole thing, he reasoned. He'd been doing his duty, nothing more, nothing less. And so, the years had passed, with him retaining his job as Headmaster, though he found the duties it expected of him to be tedious at best.

Though he hated being Headmaster of Hogwarts, one of its few distinctive benefits was the fact that he could not be fired without unanimous board approval (Lucius Malfoy had seen to it that he retain the position until long after the Ministry had deemed him innocent of any crimes), and that any temporary removal would not include suspension of pay, which meant that the long, nine month process of after-war hearings had allowed Severus a long and quiet break brewing new potions for patent, which as far as he was concerned, was the opposite of a punishment. The final, and most enjoyable part of being Headmaster was that he was the final say on any and all professorial assignments, which included allowing him to appoint himself as Defense professor.

Sure, the scar from Nagini's bite was unsightly, and its venom had caused the hair at his temples to go nearly snow-white along with some lasting pain in his joints that was sorted easily enough with a potion, but Severus didn't care for such superficial things and disparaged of those who tried to make him seem like some sort of romantic hero. And, though Harry Potter himself had sworn up and down that Severus was a reformed man who no longer held evil in his heart, the hook-nosed man remained as dour and cruel as he always had been.

The war had taken a toll on the economy, and Severus knew that hard times were inevitable. Though the professors grumbled about the suspension of pay increases, Severus had pointed out the nearly-demolished castle wouldn't just be fixing itself with magic, regardless of what they had read in "Hogwarts, a History" and that food prices would inevitably rise after so many businesses has been destroyed or taken over by the Dark Lord and his henchmen. Severus, however, did not understand why so many people were complaining. After all, he'd lived sparsely for all his years- his severe robes and spartan living quarters were proof of that. He'd kept his old quarters in the dungeons, but had access to Albus' headmaster's rooms, and had moved nearly all of the old fool's various useless bric a brac into the room. Severus was methodical and focused. He did not have the time for nonsense.

It got especially loud and annoying during the holidays, though he was unsure what the holidays had ever done for him. Halloween had always been a nightmare; a tradition that had long been kept even before his only friend in the world had been murdered that fateful October 31st. And as for the supposed "magic" of Christmas Eve? Bah! He'd been lucky to get cold fish and chips left over from his father's gallivanting out at the pub until all hours of the night. His parents had never had the means to buy their own Christmas tree, after all, or the gaudy decorations that would be required to trim it. As far as Severus was concerned, the whole lot of holiday celebratory nonsense was utter hogwash, especially the extent of Christmas-time cheer that was had within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

"Fekking bollocks, the lot of it," he growled, as he poured over the long list of festivities that Minerva had submitted to him earlier that morning. Why would they need ten presents per child staying at Hogwarts this Christmas? One should be sufficient.

"One...small...present..school supplies, if possible" he wrote jaggedly, crossing out the line written in Minerva's precise script.

A knock at the door made him growl with irritation.

"Come in," he said, looking up at the grandfather clock in the corner. "You are very nearly late, Professor Granger."

"It's technically still Weasley," the bushy-haired Potions mistress said with a wary look. "Ron and I have decided not to formally proceed with the divorce until after the new year."

"And is there a point you wished to make by prattling on so?" Severus replied waspishly. "For being forced to put up with your incessant need to offer up far more information on any given subject, I ought to dock your pay, Professor Weasley."

That shut her up. With a worried look, she sat down on the small, hard chair he kept in front of his desk.

"So, I hear that you were trying to use excessive heating methods to warm your classroom," Severus said, steepling his fingers and glaring down his nose at her. His chair was set much higher than hers so that even a fully grown adult would feel as though he were looming over them, a sensation that he enjoyed with gusto.

"I simply thought that-"

Snape interrupted her by slamming his fist on the table.

"No, Professor Weasley, the problem is that you don't think at all!" Snape sneered and stood, rounding the desk and pacing behind her with his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you know where we get the wood for our fires?"

"...the forest, sir?"

"The forest." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh filled with exaggerated exasperation. He didn't even know why he bothered sometimes. Smartest witch of her age? What a load of fekking bollocks. "Well, I suppose that's technically correct. I can't believe you've been at Hogwarts since your Sorting and you haven't even had the decency to learn anything about the basic ways that we run our school. After all, I vaguely recall your irritatingly smug declarations about having committed Hogwarts, a History to memory."

The Potions mistress squirmed under his gaze, her mouth clamped shut, her eyes filled with silent outrage.

'Simply delightful,' thought Snape.

He paced a few more moments before turning abruptly and leaning over her menacingly.

"Our wood," he growled, with a pause for dramatic effect, "comes from centaur-controlled lands from within the Forbidden Forest. It is, in fact, one of their primary exports."

"Exports, sir?" Hermione squirmed.

"Exports," Snape repeated. "And, since you are such a clever woman, I am sure that you can imagine just how far reaching the forest fire raged after the Battle of Hogwarts was over and everyone was far too busy celebrating to be concerned with the forest and its inhabitants, yes?"

Her hand flew over her mouth and she nodded dumbly.

"I, after all, was in a coma at the time, so I was indisposed," Snape continued, grinning ghoulishly. "It makes me wonder, though."

"What, sir?" Hermione was gritting her teeth as though she had just swallowed something exceedingly bitter.

"What your excuse was for not helping them," Snape continued, his voice artificially nonchalant as he looked over his fingers. "They lost nearly 50% of their old-growth timber, and their water sources were polluted by runoff from the fire for months. Why, it's a miracle that the Ministry didn't fine each and every one of you lot for the damages after the centaur herd successfully sued for damages."

"I ne-never knew, sir," Hermione said quietly. He nearly grinned with glee when he realized that she was quietly crying.

It would serve her right, the insufferable, so-called know-it-all finally being forced to confront her hubris.

"That's why I am the headmaster and you are likely about to be saddled alone with your brats now that your beloved husband has decided to trade up for the lovely head of Magical Law Enforcement. I hear that Miss Chang has already purchased her wedding robes."

She clenched her fists. "You have no right."

"Do not presume what I do or do not have the right to do, Professor Weasley. One more crack like that, and I shall have to place you under Administrative Review." He relished how she shrank in on herself, her fists practically vibrating with fury

There was a knock at the door and Severus pulled away from her, striding back to his chair.

"Come in," he said, gesturing at the door with his wand.

It sprang open and in walked a familiar figure with a large pine wreath.

"Happy Christmas, Godfather!" Draco Malfoy said, placing the wreath down with a dazzling grin.

"Surely there's at least a few weeks left before that blasted day," Snape replied, looking up with a scowl.

"Oh, I see you're in a meeting," Draco said, waving merrily at Hermione, who waved back with a tiny smile on her face at his exuberance. "Never fear! I shan't be long!"

Draco had truly reformed himself after the war, which Snape supposed was all well and good in the eyes of the press, but instead of the proud and self-absorbed pure-blooded boy, he'd turned into a joyful, exuberant man who regularly donated his time and money to charitable causes and was, in general, an insufferable menace as far as Snape was concerned. What was worse, his children were best friends with the Potter/Weasley clans, and he was constantly showing up at the school to visit without having the decency to let Snape know beforehand so that he could arrange to be away from his office.

"And to what do I owe this...unexpected visit?" Snape attempted to focus every ounce of his irritation into his voice, but Draco merely smiled back, utterly unfazed.

Well, with someone like Lucius Malfoy as a father, it would make sense that Snape wouldn't have much of an effect, he finally decided. Blast and tarnation, but he just wanted to be left alone!

"Oh, I just wanted to stop by and give you a bit of holiday cheer, since I heard that you appear to have a deficit in that department," Draco said, looking around and shrugging. "Seems that was an understatement. I should have brought ornaments and a tree as well."

"You will do no such thing!" Snape replied, his voice going slightly hysterical. Blasted man! He needed to get rid of him, and quickly. "In any case, I prefer to keep my office a certain way. Decorations are a distraction."

"Though I don't agree, I shall simply say that we shall have to agree to disagree on that particular subject," Draco said, shaking his head. "In any case, the main reason I wished to stop by, other than to wish you a merry Christmas is to invite you to a party we're having tomorrow night. It's Christmas, you see, and-"

"Absolutely not!" Severus snapped. "I have duties to perform here, as you well know."

"Oh piffle, Godfather, you know as well as I do that you can spare an hour or two in the evening. I even asked Minerva, and she said she would be happy to cover for you." Draco's eyes danced with laughter, and Snape felt his stomach begin to churn.

"Hmph," Snape replied, "It is no one's place to tell me to what endeavors I shall devote my time. Now, then, I have much to do. Good afternoon."

"But-"

"Good afternoon."

"C'mon, Snape, it's Christmas we're talking about!" If Draco thought invoking his surname was going to work, he was dead wrong. Just because he'd been named as a godfather on some paper in some obscure place in the Ministry didn't mean he had to suffer such injustice at the hands of a former student.

"I shall remind you that you are to refer to me by my honorific if you would like to refer to me at all," Snape replied, outraged. "Now, then. I repeat myself. Good afternoon."

The way he said those two words was like an expletive, and Draco flinched slightly in reaction to them, but he soon had a smile back on his lips and tipped his hat to Hermione saying only, "I shall bid you two adieu and a very, VERY Merry Christmas!"

He nearly shouted the last two words, much to Snape's dismay, before finally retreating through the door.

"Well? What are you looking at?" Snape said to Hermione, whose face quickly went from one of great amusement to one of dread. "Go on, then, back to your classroom, then, and don't let me hear about you using anything more than one log in the fireplace per day. And no warming charms!"

The Potions mistress retreated from his desk at an almost comical speed, but just before she reached the door, he barked, "Professor Weasley!"

She froze in her tracks and turned. "Sir?"

"I suppose you'll be wanting all of Christmas day off," Snape said bitterly.

"Well, it is customary, after all, I have to go see my family and-"

"I just don't understand why I have to pay for your leisure, especially when I already have to arrange for someone to cover your patrols," Snape grumbled. "Very well, but you'll be doing the early patrol first thing in the morning the day afterwards."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. You're dismissed, now."

Hermione slammed the door behind her before he could say anything else, which was just fine with him, really.

He'd just returned to the list and crossed out a couple of other inane activities (Wizarding Crackers? In this economy? There simply wasn't a budget for them), when the door opened again and he looked up to see that Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick had barged in, their robes decked out in what Severus supposed must be nearly criminally Christmas-themed robes. Pomona's cherry-red robes were trimmed with holly embroidery, and her hat had jingle bells attached to it that tinkled merrily along with the bells she wore around her neck and which also dangled from her ears. Flitwick, on the other hand, was wearing silver and golden robes so sparkling and bright that it nearly hurt to look at him.

"Are you attempting to double as the topper for the tree in the Great Hall, Filius?" Snape asked, shielding his eyes. "I can see no other reason you would need to be so garishly attired."

"Hmph," Flitwick squeaked. "If you must know, we are going around collecting money for the poor and destitute. As you well know, this time of the year we like to make a provision for those who must go without. What can we put you down for?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, so you wish to remain anonymous?" Sprout was looking at him with a frozen expression full of hope.

"Tell me, is Azkaban full?" Snape asked, sneering slightly.

"Why, no, but-"

"And the work crews the Ministry has put together to rebuild? The tenement housing that they've provided for those left homeless by the war?" Snape stood, his face screwed up in disdain at the thought of such people, people who merely lay around waiting for someone else to solve the problems they'd brought upon themselves or those who were not resilient enough to pick themselves up when the slightest thing did not go their way.

Well, tough cookies. Snape had spent his entire life struggling to survive against all odds, and he did not look favorably upon those who'd suffered a mere fraction of the injustice he had and yet expected someone else to pick up the tab for their laziness.

"They do exist, but many do not wish to go there or cannot fulfill the stringent requirements. Some would rather die," Pomona said, looking at Snape with a mixture of loathing and disgust.

"Well, then, they better hurry up and do it, as far as I'm concerned," Snape replied, his own sense of disgust filling his voice. "Life isn't a bunch of flowers and happiness. You have to work for what you want out of life, not expect for it to be given to you on a silver platter. Anyone attempting to tell you otherwise is a dirty liar and should not be trusted. We are not setting aside any of Hogwarts' funds, nor shall I contribute a Galleon of my own hard-earned money simply so that some lowlife can booze away his Christmas with someone else's money. Do as you will with your own funds, though I reserve the right to think you mad for doing so, but leave me out of it!"

Both of the professors looked so shocked at Snape's tirade, that they stood frozen for a long moment before they turned, shaking their heads and muttering something that Snape couldn't hear. Not that he cared what they said. Dumbledore had run the school into the red every year he'd been Headmaster, often dipping into his own salary to pay for some of the more extravagant luxuries that everyone simply took for granted, and Snape was working with a constrained budget as it was due to the lingering economic aftermath of the war.

Severus Snape was used to being hated, after all, but he was more used to surviving, even when it was against all odds. Hatred was easy- it was cheap. He wasn't invited to parties (except for Draco, but that was hardly usual, and he wasn't planning on attending anyway), and he never indulged in luxuries like Slughorn had. Other than his job, Snape had very little to use his funds on beyond the rare potions ingredients that he couldn't harvest from nature directly (and therefore cheaply). But that didn't mean that he was going to spend his hard-earned money on the wizarding equivalent of his drunken deadbeat of a father.

'It's fekking bollocks, is what it is," he grumbled under his breath, looking forward to the solitude of his quarters at the end of this long and irritating day. With any luck, he'd sleep late enough the following morning to nearly miss Christmas entirely.