#secretsnape2025

Christmas was always too, TOO loud for Severus’ liking. The students laughter bouncing off the walls, cutlery cluttering and scratching on plates, and the other faculty members talking about what they did as kids. Severus was not immune to sentimentality, he stood up from the table and left them all early even before the clock striked 12 for December 25th.

He retreated back to his own chamber, he sat by his table and sighed, his table was filled with parchments, inks that he’d use and of course, some potion books, but one stood out, something he knew by heart.

Flashback

Cold, cold Christmas morning. Severus was just in his room, staring out the window as he watched the snow fall from the sky, his thoughts broken when his mother called him. “Severus, come downstairs real quick.” Eileen’s voice soft and gentle.

Severus walked down the stairs, no tree, no decorations or whatever, the Christmas vibes weren’t present at all in their house but, there was something in the middle of the table, something wrapped in brown paper and twine around it.

“It’s for you, open it.” His mother spoke.

“For me?” Severus touched it and looked up at Eileen, she nods with a soft smile on her face.

Severus slowly untied the twine and unwrapped the brown paper, it was some kind of book, Advanced Potion Making. He looked up at his mother, “This…was yours.”

Eileen nodded, “Yes, and next year, you’ll be able to use it. Remember the magic school I told you about?” She smiled, “You’ll attend there next year. You’re smart Severus, you’re the same as me.”

Severus smiled widely, somehow, this year’s Christmas wasn’t so cold after all. He opened the book and flipped through the pages, something have underlines, some small notes and noticable folds. Severus looked up at Eileen again and he ran to her side to hug her, “Merry Christmas mommy.”

~~~~

Severus was caressing the cover of the book, he sighed and stood up.

Her mother was long gone, that house he used to live in was probably gone by now but his mother, always had a place in his heart. She did all she could to raise him, to love him, but every Christmas after that year felt the same again and again, cold.

He sat by the fireplace, a familiar warm feeling overcoming him as he opened the book, reading his own notes beside his mother’s old notes. The corrections he wrote, the improvements, the changes he made in the recipes and lessons. While reading them, he looked at the fire, what would his mother think of him now?

He is a professor, a death eater, a spy…he is always alone.

He closed the book and scoffed, theres no point in dwelling about the consequences of his own choices, no point in dwelling in sentimentality, it’s useless. He stood up and put the book on a random shelf. He poured himself a cup of tea, he raised it and he hesitated, out of acting in autopilot, he made the same tea his mother would make for him as a kid during Christmas. He sighed and he grabbed the book again, opening it again and reading it by the fire.

It was the only thing he knew to do during Christmas, why break a routine when you don’t have to?

Time passed, students couldn’t be heard in the corridors anymore, only the flickering sound of his candle and fire place could be heard, the paintings around the castle we’re now asleep, the snow outside was slowing down.