Various Array of One Shots ✔️

It's Christmas >> Severus Snape X Reader

Title: It's Christmas

Paring: Severus Snape X Reader

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

A/N: this one-shot has ambiguous/neutral gender pronouns (they/them), the reader is a student, and because of age gap of student to teacher, this is not a romance/fluff fic because it's weird (and very illegal) to date your teacher.

Also, h in brackets means house, and f/m in brackets means favourite music.

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Unlike most of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ______ _______, a young (witch/wizard) of (h) house was left over the Christmas holidays at the school. ______'s parents, a reluctant pair of Death Eaters were serving the Dark Lord, using the family home to harbour He Who Must Not Be Named from the senseless Ministry of Magic. In an attempt to separate their double life from their daughter/son, Lord Voldemort knew almost nothing about ______'s existence, unlike the Malfoy boy, Draco. ______ wandered the halls, noting the absence of students and usual ruckus around. It was nice.

Even Harry Potter, the boy who lived, had gone home for Christmas this year - and he hadn't any family! If any of the other people in (h) found out, there would be endless embarrassment for the next semester. If Harry Potter had gone, then you were lower than the bar your parents had set.

Somehow, in all of your musing, you made it down to the dungeons, in fact, the very dungeons where the dark haired Professor Severus Snape taught his potions lessons. Though you weren't a favourite student (Malfoy couldn't even brew a cure for boils right) or one of the despised (Granger was too perfect, you could agree with the public opinion on that) you still liked it, and noticed something odd.

The door was ajar.

After class, you'd notice Professor Snape would bring out an iron key and lock the doors. But they were ajar, and there was a dim spill of light coming from within, lightly the floor at your feet slightly.

Without thinking to cast a spell to silence your steps or breath, you pushed the heavy wood forward, and immediately wished you hadn't intruded.

The fireplace that was never lit for class was roaring quietly with bright flames, and in front of it, in a large grey-blue couch you hasn't seen before with his nose in a newspaper, was the professor. Beside him was a table with a teapot and a cup, and an old gramophone that skipped over the same fifteen seconds of classical music gracelessly.

The top of the paper flipped down to reveal his usual facial expression, a mix of boredom and irritation.

"_______ _______," he drawled, much like he did when calling the roll for class. "What are you doing here?"

You blushed a deep crimson, and looked at your shoes as if they were the best invention since firewhisky. "I - the door was open a bit, I thought someone maybe broke in or there was something wrong, you know, since that time Potter stole the gillyweed and -," you paused, noticing his eyebrow raising slightly with every word you spoke - this was Professor Snape! You never got to speak two words to him in class and now this? Of course you were bumbling - and blushing furiously more, you added, "Never mind, I'll leave you be..."

As you turned to leave, you heard a rustle, and almost too quiet to hear, came, "You can stay, (Miss/Mr) ______ ...if you're quiet."

You could be quiet. You wouldn't admit it aloud but you liked the potions dungeon, you liked classical music (but not as much as (f/m); or certain other muggle music genres). You also liked Professor Snape, even if he was moody and used favouritism in his classes.

Sitting awkwardly, you descended to the chairs used for class and relaxed into the silence of chatter and the whirring of the gramophone and descended into daydreams.

Hours must have passed, because the next thing you knew was your eyes flitting to the wristwatch you wore and almost cussed a powerful wizard swear.

Midnight!

Your eyes shot up to see Professor Snape still sitting in the chair, almost at the end of his colossal newspaper, and clearing your throat, you felt the weight of the gaze of the potions professor on you.

"Er -," you stuttered, "Merry Christmas, Professor."

Snape seemed to realise what you meant after a pause, and with a very uncharacteristic smile that crinkled his eyes, he said, "Yes, Merry Christmas (Miss/Mr) ______ ________."