Chapter 8: Christmas at Hogwarts


Rhiannon awoke Christmas Eve morning with Avery licking at her face. She chuckled a little, scratching her companion behind the ears as she rose to begin a new day.

Not many students stayed behind for the Christmas holidays, and the ones that did were not anyone the young Slytherin cared to associate with. Emily Zabini had laughed noisily about, “having parents to go home to,” attempting to get a rise out of her chosen rival.

Yes, Rhiannon had no kith or kin to speak of. Yes, there were her godparents and their family, but in the end, she was much happier remaining here at Hogwarts and keeping their lives simple. They would feel like they needed to watch their words, keep her included in every activity. It would have bored the girl to tears.

What surprised her the most was the fact Professor Snape had also stayed behind. She thought he must have a large family to go home to for the holiday. For the first time, Rhiannon got the idea that her Potions Master might be just as lonely as she felt.

The last of her presents had been sent off, the last cards written, and Rhiannon finally settled into her desk set for an evening of study. She fell asleep over one of her textbooks without knowing it, her mind falling into strange dreams...

She wandered through a maze, music and a voice in her head. She found herself responding, finally reaching its center. Within was a shadowy figure, and yet, Rhiannon was unafraid of him. He took her by the shoulders, gently shoving her down into what felt like water to drown.

With a stifled cry, Rhiannon was roused from her slumber. It took several deep breaths to bring herself from her nightmare world and into the corporeal one which she could touch, feel, and see clearly. Pulling on her dressing gown and slippers, she went into the Slytherin common room. She poked at the embers, which soon became a small fire. After an hour of sitting calmly, she considered returning to her room.

At least, that was before she heard the music again.

This time, Rhiannon followed the sound of the piano, the pretty keys, to their source. Peeking in the doorway, a little gasp escaped her lips. She knew that back.

It was Professor Snape. His expert fingers moved along the keys of an old piano as black as his robes, the music flowing from his mind down to his hands and the keys; he played from memory.

'So it was him I heard playing that night,' thought Rhiannon as she opened the door a bit wider. It creaked, and she jumped back to hide herself.

“Come in,” said the Professor without breaking his concentration, “unless you prefer remaining like a vagabond in the doorway. And close the door.”

The music was soft, warm and inviting. Rhiannon padded lightly into the room, curling up in a large chair with a rug to listen.

“Do you enjoy music, Miss Delaney?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” she responded meekly as he began to play another piece. It seemed to transport her to a garden filled with warm May sunlight. She had, one time, heard Pachelbel's, 'Canon in D Major,' and would often invoke its calming power upon her, and was immediately transported back to that place and time when she had first used it to combat the demons which often came to disturb her mind.

She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding as the music stopped, and he turned his eyes upon her.

“That was beautiful, Sir,” she said dreamily, “did you write it?”

“No,” he replied softly after a moment, “but...the person who did, was quite a musician in their own right.”

“Do you play every evening, Professor?”

“As a rule, Miss Delaney...yes, I do.”

“Would you mind—that is—may I come and listen again, Sir?”

For a moment, the man and the girl looked at each other. Rhiannon was sure she was about to be reprimanded, until the Professor spoke.

“Yes,” he said simply, “you may.”

As he began to play again, Rhiannon dozed lightly. When the music stopped she looked up to see the Potions Master looming over her.

“I think, Miss Delaney, you should return to your room now. Good night.”

“Good night, Professor.”

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, with a fresh and thick blanket of snow on the ground. From the dungeons, Rhiannon couldn't see it as clearly as she would have liked, but at breakfast, she couldn't help but smile at the white world which she had awakened to.

Christmas breakfast was a quiet, if not dignified affair. The few students who remained agreed to be on their best behavior for the day, at least. Rhiannon wished she could have had Cassie with her, but she too had made the trek home.

Down in her room later, after the official Christmas greetings, Rhiannon greeted Avery with a new catnip toy. The girl herself was treated to be beautiful alpaca silk scarf from Cassie, who said she would have until her birthday for something nicer.

While this somewhat worried the girl, Rhiannon was glad to have received any gift at all. Penny and Ttistan had also given her gifts; a new mirror from Penny and a lucky cat from Tristan. She would treasure both. And of course, there was the mystery gift...

She had barely touched the beautiful golden torque which had become a special treasure, kept at the bottom of her trunk, and away from prying eyes. She took it out now, slipping it back around her neck. It made her feel close to her mother, which is what she wanted this day. She could almost feel her presence, the scent of lavender and freesia. Avery curled up next to her, armed with her catnip toy, purring and making the girl smile, reaching out to pet her.

There was an unexpected tap upon her room door, and Rhiannon carefully got up to answer it.

Standing at the door was Professor Snape himself. It made the girl look twice to see him. Instead of the layers of black...the frock coat and robes, he looked strangely relaxed. He had shed his black frock coat, instead wearing a simple crisp white shirt, black vest and matching trousers. His long back hair had been pulled back to keep it out of his face, and he wore a leather apron over his outfit.

“Good morning, Miss Delaney,” he said calmly.

“Erm...good morning, Sir,” she replied, trying an uncertain smile.

“I require an assistant in my laboratory today, Miss Delaney. Seeing as you are the most competent of the students in my House who remain, you are the obvious choice to fill the vacancy.”

“But, Sir, wouldn't--” began Rhiannon, but Professor Snape's cool stare quelled her protest.

“I do not wish to debate with you over it, Miss Delaney. If you wish to assist me, I shall see you in the Potions classroom in approximately fifteen minutes' time. If you do not...then I suppose I shall have to brew..alone.”

With a quick turn on his heel, Snape went from the room. He smirked to himself; if she was as much her mother's daughter as he thought, it would not be long before she would follow. He walked slowly, counting...

'Three...Two...'

“Professor!”

Rhiannon's voice from behind him made Snape's smirk disappear from his face, and he turned back to face her with a mask of cool indifference on his face. She had thrown on some simple Muggle clothes; jeans and a jumper over a simple v-neck shirt. She was tying off the long dark braid she often wore her hair in.

“I'm coming, Sir,” she said, smiling. Giving her a nod, Snape led the way to his laboratory in the dungeons, Rhiannon trailing behind him.

Snape went over to the cabinets with deliberate purpose, but without his usual reticence, and began to take out ingredients and the various tools he would need for the potion. These he handed to Rhiannon, who carefully laid them out in the order they were presented to her.
“What are we making, Sir?” asked Rhiannon with a quizzical look.

“See if perhaps, you can decipher it from the items and ingredients, Miss Delaney,” he said, watching her with interest as she examined the items which had been laid out. She nibbled on her bottom lip, mentally ticking off things in her head.

“I'm sorry, Sir,” she said, “I can't think of anything all of these would be used for.”

“That is quite all right, Miss Delaney,” replied the Potions Master, “you attempted it, and that was what I asked of you. The potion we are about to make, is Doxycide. The Headmistress informed me yesterday evening that there has been an influx of the pests, and asked me to make up the potion which will allow them to be safely removed from the castle.”

The morning passed quietly. The cauldron was simmering over the fire, and the man and the girl did not speak much as they chopped, ground, and stirred. Rhiannon found her Professor's voice to be calming and informative, as he spoke of the ingredients within Doxycide, and their other uses.

A crashing noise roused the pair from their labours and put them on the alert early in the afternoon. Without thinking about it, they drew their wands as one, turning in the direction of the disturbance.

“I swear...I shall find a way to dispatch a poltergeist, if that is Peeves messing about in my classroom. Again,” muttered Snape, placing himself between the girl and the door. Placing his ear to the door, he heard quiet voices.

“..doesn't know we're coming....in the lab.”

“...said something to them.”

“Come off it...happy to see us.”

The voices grew closer, and Snape flung open the door. Standing before it were Remus Lupin, his wife Dora, their son Teddy, and Circe, all with slightly nervous but cheerful faces.

“Happy Christmas, Severus—Rin,” said Remus kindly. He had a pair of brightly wrapped packages, and the ladies too were laden with gifts for the pair of them.

Snape and the girl stared at each other. The look of distaste on their faces was palatable. They both had no desire to take part in whatever reveries that Remus Lupin and company had planned for them on Christmas Day. However, Lupin was already stepping into the room, readying to wave his wand...

“No,” Snape said firmly, glaring daggers at his childhood enemy, “If you insist upon this...mindless frivolity, then let it be somewhere other than my laboratory...and, preferably, far away from the dungeons as a whole.”

“Oh, very well, Severus,” said Lupin, and meandered out into the hall, “but if you don't follow the rest of us in five minutes, I will come back down here to find you.”

He took a stunned Rhiannon by the hand, and led her out of the laboratory. Snape made sure the Doxycide would not spoil, and followed them out into the halls.
Rhiannon ended up with more presents than she had ever gotten in her lifetime before. From Remus came a beautiful new leather-bound journal. Circe had made her some warmer clothes for the cold Winter nights at Hogwarts. Chief among her favourites was a beautiful cotton walking suit in a beautiful royal blue. The jacket was tailor-made to fit the girl to perfection, and she absolutely adored the delicate lacework at the sleeves and the ruffling around the hem. Even Professor Snape had to admire the taste of Rhiannon's godmother.

Remus had decorated a vacant classroom above the dungeons in pretty holiday lights, complete with a Christmas tree that twinkled with its own bulbs. Stockings hung on the conjured mantle, and there was plenty of cake and cookies and the like to be had on the day.

After several hours of opening gifts, attempting to socialize with everyone, and finally begging a need to return their actual work, Snape and Rhiannon finally excused themselves from the party and were soon absorbed in their work again.

“The potion now needs to sit for some time,” explained Snape as he put out the fire and allowed the Droxycide to cool.

As they sat, the Potions Master noticed that the girl's eyelids were beginning to droop, her head hanging heavily on her hands.

“Miss Delaney,” he said at last, “the potion itself is complete. There is no need to remain here; return to your dorm and to bed. That is, unless, you wish to remain here. I can, however, personally attest to the crick in your neck you will have if you insist upon sleeping there.”

“No, Sir...it's all right,” said Rhiannon sleepily, “I'm going.”

She yawned, rubbing at her sleepy eyes, and turned for the door.

“Oh—Sir?”

“Yes, Miss Delaney?”

“I almost forgot,” she said with a smile, “Happy Christmas.”

There was a moment when he was completely silent, merely looking at the girl, the warmth and simplicity of her wish making it the sweeter to his ears.

“And to you, Miss Delaney,” he said at last, and waved her out.