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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.

Chapter List
- 6
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A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

The fan was beautiful. Six huge raven plumes plastered against one another each depicting a somewhat cryptic but gorgeous scene of a fairytale princess from her childhood story books. It wasn’t that the gift wasn’t wonderful and perfect that frustrated her. It was the fact that she had stayed up the entire night without sleep hoping to catch her Secret Santa sneaking into her room and somehow she had failed. She’d taken enough pepper-up potion to fill her bathtub and even had a few cups of good old fashioned coffee. She’d only left her bed twice to use the toilet, though she supposed in those brief moments someone could have entered her chambers, though she was certain she would have heard them enter her bedroom.

            She’d finally given up as dawn had broken across the grounds; trickling the amber glow of sunrise in through her bedroom window. And as she lay back against her pillow and gazed up at the canopy of her four-poster there it was. An enormous black feather fan with painted details to mimic the styling of stained glass windows. Hermione was flabbergasted. It had taken some effort to undo it from the hook at the top of the canopy. She set it on the bed and gazed at it for a long time.

            The paintings were unfathomable. Colourful and rich, bright and vibrant as if they were once real things that had been trapped into the barbs of the raven feathers for her viewing pleasure. The first feather displayed a lovely rose of the deepest crimson, laid across a pillow and in the background there was a very dangerous looking spinning wheel. Painted on the second pillow was a bright red apple shinier than any apple she’d ever eaten and just above the apple was a deep purple and smoky gray skull and crossbones. It was almost eerie to look upon this particular image.

            The third feather was her favourite; a beautiful crystal glass slipper glowing with a magic wand pointed down at it. Hermione stared at this one for a long time and grinned; Cinderella was her favourite childhood fairytale. The other feathers were equally as lovely; a conch shell dangling on a necklace string with music notes in gold and silver floating out of the shell; a mirror that reflected the silhouette of a large beast dancing with a petite girl; a long golden braid of hair dangling from a tower, but she still favoured the glass slipper.

            After decided that hanging it on the wall opposite her bed would be the best place for her to view its beauty she flooed Minerva and requested to cancel her early morning weekend duties due to feeling a bit under the weather. When the Deputy Headmistress agreed Hermione flopped back into her bed and collapsed into sleep.

            It was nearly dinner time when she woke and her stomach was ravenous. She took a quick shower and then headed up toward the Great Hall. Dinner brought quite the present surprise as she was exiting after filling her tummy with a heartily baked shepherd’s pie. Hermione had just slipped out into the main corridor when a hand tapped her shoulder.

            “A word, Professor Granger, if you have a moment,” Professor Snape said.

            Hermione turned around and faced him. It was seldom that the dour man spoke to the other members of the faculty unless he needed someone or had information to pass along; though over the years Hermione had watched the man mellow. She nodded her head. “Yes, of course.”

            He began to walk away from the Great Hall and Hermione followed. He strolled leisurely, keeping his eyes focused ahead as he walked. “With the last week of classes before the holiday approaching I feel I am pressed for time,” he said.

            “Indeed,” Hermione agreed.

            “And in order to make more time in my schedule I find it necessary to call upon you for a favour,” Severus turned down a corridor and headed for the stairs. “Albus has requested that I be the one to bake and decorate the gingerbread cookies for the Christmas Eve party…” he trailed off for a moment and looked as if he were having great difficulty in restraining his urge to kill something, “But seeing as I have neither the time nor patience for such frivolities…” at this point the staircase shifted and they were both jarred slightly, though if it caught him off guard he didn’t let on. “I would request that you bake and decorate them.”

            Hermione was first to step onto the lower level landing. She found herself standing in front of him and for the first time since they’d begun walking, her eyes met his. “You want me to make cookies for you?”

            “I would not claim that I had made them, simply that I had passed the task onto you,” he said.

            “I see,” she said.

            “I hardly have time for all this covert Crimbo nonsense, and baking cookies would hardly improve that situation. And to be quite frank, Professor Granger, I haven’t the slightest inkling to want to decorate them.”

            Before she could present him with a proper answer he began walking once more, heading further down the corridor and then down another flight of stairs. He paused only when he stood outside the door to his office. With little ceremony he unwarded the door and stepped inside. Hermione followed him but didn’t go further than just a few steps inside the doorway.

            “Will you do this favour?” he asked and turned to face her.

            Hermione nodded. “Alright,” she said. A silence fell between them and for a moment she felt foolish just standing there. “Is your Secret Santa treating you well?” she asked. And the moment she had spoken she felt ridiculous, the telltale signs of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks.

            Severus chuckled. It was a strange sound to hear, especially coming from him but it was all too welcoming to Hermione’s ear. She felt herself give a small smile though she was sure her cheeks were still stained pink. She fidgeted a moment before standing up straight and gazing once more at him. He’d taken his seat behind his desk and was rummaging through one of the desk drawers.

            “I believe I know who has drawn my name,” he muttered and then pointed to a shelf on the wall opposite of his desk. “Every day a plant,” he said. “Not terribly creative but at least nothing has exploded thus far.”

            Hermione stared at the plants; she knew enough about Herbology to know that Neville had selected some of the rarer ingredient baring plants and she was quite impressed with his selection. “It seems very practical,” she said.

            “I suppose.” He paused for a moment. “And what about you, Hermione, have you as droll a giver as I?”

            It caught her off guard. It was not the first time he’d used her given name; the staff frequently did away from the presence of student ears but he’d seemed so casual as he asked. There was almost a comfortable feeling to the small talk they were exchanging, though she did find it strange. The last person she ever expected to exchange meaningless words with was Severus Snape.

            “I’ve received very lavish gifts,” she said. “Jewelry, and such,” she tried her best not to smile thinking about the delicious chocolate fondue.

            Severus quirked a brow up on his forehead and gazed at her. “And such?”

            Again she felt a blush creep into her cheeks. “Yes, sir,” her words flowed from habit. “A lovely set of sticks for my hair…” she twirled around and stood with her back facing him for a moment, hoping that he could see their charms dangling from their tops. “And a lovely snowy…er…portrait, with a little red sled, and then some bath things that were terribly luxurious…” she paused and again a flush filled her face. “And chocolate, and earrings and a fan.”

            Severus appeared to have lost interest halfway through her list of presents as his eyes now rested on the large stack of parchment curled up on his desk. “At least you aren’t getting a plant every day.” He muttered.

            Hermione shook her head. “No, no sir, I’m not.” She turned to go, feeling dismissed with his words and she glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the doorway. “Goodnight, sir.”

            “One more thing, if you don’t mind, Hermione…” again he’d used her given name and again it felt strange to hear him do so.

            “Yes?”

            Severus reached underneath his desk and pulled a tiny wrapped package from the darkness, turning it over in his palm. “I hate to ask…and technically we are not supposed to seek delivery assistance…” he tossed the package at her.

            Hermione was quick to catch it. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at it.

            “I did mention that I had no time for this silly Covert Crimbo nonsense, I have over four dozen essays to fail…” he smirked just a bit and then pulled the first roll of parchment from the pile. “Deliver that to the addressee if you please,” he said and then waved his hand at her, dismissing her.

            Without another word Hermione slipped back out into the corridor. She flipped the tag up on the package and frowned. The handwriting was so tiny she could hardly read it. “To Poppy Pomphrey, Love Secret Santa.” She snorted at the notion of the bitter man signing love to anything, but after a momentary bout of the giggles faded away she delivered her package to the Medical Ward, leaving it on the Mediwitch’s desk, without ringing the bell for service.

            On her way back to her room she smiled as she passed the Headmaster in the corridor. “My you look festive today,” she tried her best not to chuckle as she addressed him.

            “Yes, quite the little present from my Secret Santa,” he beamed. Dumbledore was donned in a bright green set of robes with pineapple prints all over, and a pair of tropical pineapple fuzzy footy slippers to match. It had seemed ridiculous when she thought of the idea, but she figured for as eccentric as he was the present would suit him just fine. And she had been correct. With a polite nod she passed him by and headed to her room.

            She still had no idea who was sending the lavish gifts, but she smiled nonetheless as she gazed at the feather fan one last time before downing a bottle of dreamless sleep and retiring for the evening.

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The Twelve Days of Secret Santa