My Dear Colleagues:

This was not my idea. The holidays are a time to celebrate that bottle of Ogden's you've been saving, and the blissful oblivious it brings you. For some reason, Dumbledore disagrees with that sentiment. For the past fortnight, that unnaturally chipper old bastard has been hounding me about my apparent lack of "good cheer"—whatever that means—going so far as to threaten me with compulsory office hours if I do not, quote, "pep myself up and get into the spirit of things". His eyes were twinkling like one of those blasted ornaments when he issued this ultimatum—he clearly takes delight in my pain.

Since that little chat, I have gone to exceptional lengths to be... "merry". (You probably haven't even noticed. I would find that depressing if it weren't so drearily predictable.) I assigned my sixth years a Pustule-Bursting Draught, which, when properly brewed, is a festive evergreen color. I have not kicked Mrs. Norris in nearly eight days (which is more than some of you can say). I even smiled at a passing second year (who, with characteristic insolence, scampered off in the opposite direction).

But no, all this isn't enough for our dear Headmaster! This is my last effort. Let's get it over with quickly.

Seeing as we are obliged to see each other every damn day, I highly doubt you need an update on the happenings of my year. Unless you have been smoking floo powder (I'm looking at you, Sybill), you are aware that a new year of ne'er-do-wells has joined the ranks of the histrionic and ill-washed. You have also undoubtedly heard about the breakup of Miss Pinkerton of Ravenclaw and Mr. Craven of Slytherin, which was apparently of such epic importance that no student above fifth year could shut up about it for a solid month. You may or may not have noticed my new haircut—you all have yet to comment on it.

As is tradition, Hagrid got completely pissed on the house elves' stock of mead and, as is tradition, drunkenly took it upon himself to garnish every spare inch of the castle with tinsel, holly berries, and other yuletide atrocities. Now every hall is adorned with red and green—a wretched combination, in my opinion. On a related note, I still maintain that we ought to ban the hanging of mistletoe; the week before term ended was positively pornographic, and not all of us have the relief a Pensieve offers.

Now for the personal update you are all doubtlessly craving:

Besides the aforementioned haircut, not much has changed for me this year besides the addition of James Potter's spawn to my daily torture. It just goes to show that Life has an infinite number of ways to punish me. Karma really is a bitch. On a lighter note, today I had porridge for breakfast. It was watery and tasted of Hippogriff bile. After rinsing my oral cavity vigorously, I decided to take a walk round the dungeons. I was just enjoying the pitter-patter of no little feet when a water balloon erupted beside me on the stone, soaking my ankles. I had to change my socks. I hate children.

I expect the rest of my holiday will be spent chasing down those Weasley hooligans, reorganizing my storeroom, and, hopefully, finding some time to enjoy my... holiday spirits in peace. I can only hope Rosmerta is catering the staff party again this year; I never did get a picture of Minerva's intoxicated rendition of The Hot Wands' Stir My Cauldron.

Now I want you to burn this letter and pretend it never happened.

I wish you all a relatively painless Christmas.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Potions Master

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

A/N: I'm back! I've been ridiculously busy this year, so this is my first foray into fan fiction writing since the end of So You're a Masochist. It's a bit rough, and I apologize for the shortness, but I hope it inspired a giggle or two ;) I've never written in Snape's voice before - how did I do?

Thanks for reading, and have an absolutely wonderful holiday!