Four Christmases | Harry Potter for Grown-Ups

Four - 25 December 1991

It was one of life's enduring mysteries that Dumbledore continued to insist Severus attend the staff Christmas party when no one wanted him there—least of all Severus himself.

Well, this year, the Headmaster could stuff it up his cheery arse. Along with this year's book, Oliver Twist. Was that supposed to be a joke? Albus Fagin Dumbledore strikes again.

"Keep an eye on Quirrell for me, will you, my boy?" he'd asked Severus.

Pick your own fucking pockets, old man.

He was contemplating tossing the book into the fire when a knock sounded.

Bloody, buggery, bollocking bollocks.

Stalking to the door, he threw it open, ready to strike like a Basilisk at whichever Slytherin was mad enough to disturb him on Christmas night.

He nearly recoiled physically when he saw Minerva McGonagall standing there.

She said, "I'll thank you to take that look off your face, Severus. I'm not one of your students."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. But the Headmaster wants something."

"What?"

"For you to come to the party."

"There's as much chance of that as there is of Longbottom receiving a passing mark in Potions."

She peered into the room. He followed her gaze and saw the bottle of Firewhisky sitting on the table. He had only gotten a quarter of the way through it.

"Were you planning on drinking that by yourself?"

"I don't see that it's any of your concern, Minerva."

She pushed past him into his sitting room, saying, "It's my concern if you're too hung over to attend breakfast in the morning. Filius and I are both off, so it's just you and Pomona."

Severus snorted and followed her into the room.

"As long as you're drinking Mr Potter away this evening, you might as well not poison yourself in the process," she said, pulling a tiny bottle from her pocket and unshrinking it with her wand.

"Talisker eighteen-year?" Severus asked when he read the label.

"I was planning to take it to the party, but I think you need it more than Filius and Albus do. And you won't sing after two glasses of it."

His eyebrows rose.

"Will you?" she asked, conjuring a second glass and opening the bottle. He didn't answer, and she looked at him expectantly.

"No," he said. "I don't believe I'll sing."

"Well, then." She poured two fingers into each glass and handed one to him. "Your good health, Professor," she said and drank.

He took a sip, his eyes still on her. What did she want here?

"Do you mind?" she asked, indicating the settee by the fire.

"Be my guest."

She removed her wrap, draping it over the back of the settee, and sat, apparently unconcerned that he remained standing there like a gormless git. He approached her cautiously, finally coming to land on the chair opposite her.

"Aren't you missing the party?" he asked after a moment.

"I was given an order. Come down to the dungeons and fetch you. I always follow orders, didn't you know that, Severus? And I always succeed. In this case, I shall just have to wait until you are ready to accompany me to the staff room. I may have to wait hours. Isn't that right?" The hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes, fixed on his face, didn't hold their usual intensity. In fact, they were somewhat watery and bloodshot.