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The Twelve Days of Secret Santa	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 32182 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

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A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Though I'm worried that at the rate I'm going I'm going outdo these gifts before we reach Christmas Eve! ;-)

Hermione was beside herself. To say that she was perplexed was an understatement. Who would have taken the time to research her past so thoroughly, and how had they come by the means to do so? In her recollection she had never shared her muggle past as a young girl with any of her friends in the wizarding world. That had been a most devastating Christmas as the sled, which had been a gift from her Grandfather, had broken and her grandfather had passed away the previous fall. She could not wrap her mind around how the sled had come to exist some twenty years later and through the possession of a stranger. Though she supposed it was hardly a stranger; some member of the Hogwarts’ staff had been snooping around in her past. She wasn’t sure whether to feel warm and fuzzy or worried and stalked.

            The snow had been wonderful. It had made her feel young again, rejuvenated. She was still marveling over the notion of an indoor wonderland. She had seen it snow in the Great Hall before and even in the entryway right around Christmas, but this had been actual snow. Not just snowflakes falling from an enchanted ceiling, but actual flakes accumulated into mounds on the ground; the mounds on which she had rolled around in, made snow angels in, and sled across right in her study. Hermione glowed with a smile just reflecting on it.

            The excitement was bubbling up inside of her and she needed to tell someone, but there was an odd feeling that led her to keep her snowy wonderland to herself. Perhaps she didn’t want the others to know her Secret Santa had gone through such trouble, or perhaps the notion of sharing it somehow made it less intimate. Whoever had taken the time to create such a paradise from her memories must have cared for her a great deal. This only left her with more questions and a lot more to ponder. It seemed to her that the people on staff most likely to care so greatly for her were people who were ineligible to be her Secret Santa due to house affiliation. She sighed. If she sat around thinking about it any longer she would have no thoughts left to spend on the headmaster’s gift for the third day of Christmas.

            As it was she was running thin on ideas; if she gave the man any more sweets she’d turn him into a diabetic. Hermione picked up the sled and retreated further into her chambers. Perhaps a set of festive holiday robes would make for a suitable third day gift, though she supposed that the Headmaster needed another set of festive robes as much as he needed more sweets. She sighed and collapsed back onto her bed clutching the sled to her chest. It had been all she had wanted for Christmas as a little girl; a little red sled. Hermione bolted up in the bed with a wicked grin on her face.

            “Socks!” she cried aloud and jumped down from the bed, the sled resting on the mattress. She had recalled once that Harry had something about Dumbledore wanting socks. Hermione rushed through her room for a few moments before shaking her head. “Silly twit,” she chided herself aloud. “You can’t knit!” she nearly doubled over with laughter, collapsing once more onto the bed.

            Several waves of her wand and a few simple spells had conjured a pair of self-knitting needles and some festive and bright coloured yarn. In no time at all she had the needles knitting three pairs of thick woolen socks; one bright green pair with gold and silver bells woven into the pattern of the fabric; one long navy blue pair with twinkling silver and gold stars, and one bright purple pair with shimmering silver polka dots. She smiled at her handwork and tucked them into a tiny box, which she then tied with a golden ribbon. Hermione placed the box of socks on her nightstand and prepared to turn in for the evening.

            Her dreams were simple; playing in the snow with her grandfather as he tugged her along on the little red sled; her grandmother baking warm gingerbread; snow falling against the window as she gazed out into the starry winter night. She woke feeling well rested and for a moment she had no idea at that it was the third day of Christmas. But she was soon reminded as she stepped out of her bed and made her way into her study. Resting on her desk were three tiny jars. Each was labeled in a flowing black script; written in French and she frowned. Hermione was not proficient in French. The glass jars were sealed with a shiny metal lid, each of the three jars filled with a different coloured substance. The first jar read “La Boue” and was tinted a deep reddish brown. The second jar read “Argile” a slightly more grey colour, but it appeared smooth, like an emulsifying cream. The third jar was labeled “Beurre” and was a bright golden hue.

            A tiny piece of faded parchment, printed in the same flowery scrawl rested atop the third jar. “Ouvrez le premier pot dans la baignoire pour un bain de luxe. Ajoutter le deuxiène pot et laisser tremper. Appliquer le troisième bocal gènèreusement sur la peau et se dètendre.” She didn’t understand a single word of the inscription but with a few simple translation spells she was practically blushing from ear to ear.

            Open the first jar in the bathtub for a luxurious bath. It was the first line translated and she blushed. The first jar contained mud. As she unscrewed the lid a heavenly scent wafted toward her nostrils and she released a pleasurable sigh. It smelled like warm cinnamon and soft sugar baking in the kitchen. The texture was thick and rich. She eyed her time piece and smiled. There would be plenty of time for a luxurious bath as her first class was not until after lunch.

            Hermione entered her bathroom. The wash basin was hardly what anyone would call luxurious, but it would hold her figure even if it would be a tight fit. Something as elegant as an actual bathtub was beyond her allowance but she would make do. Again she unscrewed the jar and held it upside-down over the wash basin. The thick mud ran slowly down the sides of the glass, landing with a plop in the basin. As the reddish brown concoction made contact with the side of the wooden basin the room seemed to shimmer and Hermione gasped. Where her wash basin had stood there was now a large, deep, white porcelain bathtub resting on bronze clawed feet.

            Her face was aglow with wonder. The bathtub that appeared before her was filled with the thick cinnamon mud, much more than should have come from the tiny jar. She wasted no time in stripping her garments. She lifted one bare leg to the lip of the tub and pressed it on surface of the mud. It was like sinking into pure heated silk; consuming her skin, inviting her in as she slipped into the tub. Hermione unscrewed the second jar, labeled ‘clay’ and smiled. ‘Add the second jar and soak.’ The inscription on the parchment had read.

            She sank low into the bathtub, letting the mud and clay mixture soak over her body. It felt amazing; unlike anything she had ever felt before. The thick silky concoction seemed to coat her skin like the softest silk sheets she had ever felt. And it was warm; the cinnamon tickling her nose as she closed her eyes and rested her head against the edge of the tub. She wriggled her toes and flexed her fingers beneath the surface, feeling the silky mud between her extremities. It was heaven.

            Hermione soaked and reveled in the luxury mud for what seemed like hours. She could have rested there for days and not known that a single minute had passed. With a dreamy sigh she opened one eye and gazed out over the edge of the tub. The golden jar labeled ‘butter’ was resting on the sink counter. She stretched lazily, unwilling to leave the silky cocoon of mud that was lulling her into a peaceful slumber. But after several moments of just shifting in the mixture she managed to pull herself out of the tub. Like magic the mud slithered down her figure like water, leaving no trace that she had ever even touched the stuff.

            When both feet were on the bathroom floor the mud vanished from the tub. She turned around to face the tub fully, waiting for her wash basin to reappear. But the claw-footed bathtub remained. She couldn’t help but smile. Reaching for the golden jar, Hermione unscrewed the cap and inhaled. Sweet buttercups and golden summer days filled her nostrils and she sighed in utter ecstasy. Touching the butter was like touching thick, fluffy whipped cream. She started to spread the thick substance against her arms, moving slowly over her forearms and up over her shoulders. Her skin began to tingle, a warm tingly feeling that one gets once falling comfortably into bed beneath a warm, wooly blanket.

            Hermione massaged the butter over her stomach, her breasts and then coated her legs. It felt divine. Her skin appeared to glow for a moment and then looked the slightest bit brighter as if she’d spent a week basking in the golden sun. The full length mirror against the back of her bathroom door was standing smirking at the girl in all her naked glory. Her body was smooth and sparkling; and she blushed as she examined her legs more closely. Not that she was terribly neglectful when it came to shaving her legs, but over the past few days she’d let things slide. But now her legs were smoother than marble, shimmering with a glow of an island girl.

            Her mirror image smirked a bit more and gestured her hand to Hermione’s upper thighs. Gazing closer into the mirror she gasped and then flushed a bright shade of pink. Having no one to maintain things for she found that she managed very little upkeep of her feminine hair allowing the more natural look to reign. But between her legs was smooth skin, as soft as her legs. She trembled as she slid her finger against her sex, dragging it along her slit before quickly pulling her hand back; she was completely bare. A strong blush filled her cheeks as she turned her eyes away from her smirking reflection.

            She hadn’t been smooth between her legs like that since before puberty. Hermione was almost ashamed. She closed her eyes but after a moment a tiny, almost guilty smile crossed her lips. It felt nice; her bare skin between her legs, the way her feminine lips rubbed against each other. A shiver crept up her spine. It was almost erotic; the relaxing luxurious bath, the smooth, glowing skin. Her eyes grew wide and her hand flew to cup her mouth, capturing her gasp in her palm. It was too much to think about; it could be someone trying to seduce her. Or it could be someone intending for her to enjoy herself. Both thoughts were extremely inappropriate but both made her feel slightly sexy.

            Hermione grabbed a towel not because she was wet but out of habit to cover her body. The tingly feeling all over her skin did not subside as she dressed and entered her bedroom. The box of socks was still on her nightstand and she smacked her forehead. Her gift had been so involved that she had nearly forgotten to send her own Secret Santa gift. Checking her time piece she frowned. There wouldn’t be enough time to stakeout the headmaster’s office and wait for him to leave if she wanted to be on time for her class. But a brilliant idea occurred to her as she picked up the box with a smile.

            It only took a few moments to travel to the high tower of the owlery and just another moment more to attach her parcel to the leg of a very large tawny barn owl. As the bird took flight heading down the tower toward the lower levels of the castle she smiled. The owl would get her package to the headmaster unsuspecting and still allow her to be on time for her class.

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The Twelve Days of Secret Santa