Snape sat in his favourite armchair in front of the dying fire. It was almost midnight; Hermione had gone to bed early and Crookshanks was curled up in his basket, fast asleep. The Christmas tree sat in a corner; up until four days ago, it had been sheltering piles of presents under its branches. The presents were gone now, replaced by a few pine needles that had fallen from the tree onto the rug below.

Relishing the privacy he hadn’t had during the day, Snape slowly re-read the parchment he held in his hand. He had spent a good two weeks secretly compiling The List, frowning and scratching out mistakes and occasionally chewing the top of his quill in concentration. He’d had to sneak around to compose it; he'd been busy as ever at Hogwarts over the holidays, doing night patrol and making potions for Madam Pomfrey to replenish her stock for the next term. When he was at home, his wife had dragged him from one Christmas gathering to the next, making his already scarce private time even more precious to him.

In desperation, he'd had to resort to composing The List when his wife was either using the toilet or taking a bath, or when she left to go Christmas shopping. Though even that hadn't been enough; one time when she left the house he’d used the opportunity to start scribbling again, thinking he’d have a good two hours to finally finish the damn thing.

Disaster had almost struck when his wife had returned unexpectedly an hour later, barging in the front door loaded down with parcels and exclaiming about the flurries outside. In a panic to hide his list, Snape had leapt from his desk in a hurry, shoved the parchment into a drawer and proceeded to slam it shut with his fingers trapped inside. Hermione, puzzled at the silence and lack of husband in the front room upon her return, had walked into his study to find his face beet red, gritting his teeth as he nursed his injured hand and muttered obscenities under his breath. She’d cast a Healing Charm on it for him and teased him the rest of the day, which he’d grudgingly put up with. At least she hadn’t seen The List. That was the important thing.

As he read the parchment again it occurred to him, not for the first time, that it was odd he was even making a list at all. He had never been one to go along with trends and rituals, always sneering at those who used New Year’s Day to declare which bad habits they would finally rid themselves of. Nine times out of then, the silly twits never kept their promises. More than likely, their good intentions had been idle thoughts that became vocalized by the help of imbibing too much alcohol when they welcomed in the New Year.

Up to seven months ago, Snape would never even have acknowledged that he had faults. He was much better at spotting faults in others, such as Potter, Weasley, the Malfoys, Dumbledore – good God, the list of faults he could make about Albus! – Minerva, Hagrid, et cetera, et cetera. However, seven months ago his bachelorhood had ended when he’d married his former student, Hermione Granger. And even he, unromantic and unsentimental Severus Snape, knew that so-called marital bliss also came with conditions, otherwise known as compromises. These conditions had to be undertaken by both parties so as to keep said marital bliss in full bloom. Not that he was one of those sappy twits who actually believed in the term ‘marital bliss’, of course. But a happy union was favourable to all, and so he’d carefully thought of all the things that he and his wife had argued about over the past seven months. He also thought about the things that Hermione would have liked to argue about but hadn’t; she’d merely given him The Look on a few occasions but said nothing. At first he’d been bewildered, wondering what those glances meant... but eventually he’d figured out what was upsetting her and had decided to… compromise… just to make her happy. Some things on his list were to make him happy, too.

He highly doubted she was making a list of her own.

Or was she?

Snape’s eyes trailed down the parchment and read for the third time:


1. I will wash my hair more often.

2. I will remember to lower the toilet seat.

3. I will ignore my wife’s rantings about the rights of house-elves.

4. I will not laugh at her thongs. At least, not where she can hear me.

5. I will stop Crookshanks from using my various powdered roots as kitty litter.

6. I will try to be slightly less unpleasant to Potter and Weasley when they come to visit.

7. And I will not refer to them as “dunderheads” in my wife’s presence.

8. I will work up the courage to ask Hermione to stop calling me “Snapey” during our more intimate moments.

9. I will hide my razor so she will not blunt it when she shaves her legs.

10. I will take dancing lessons so I will not tread on Hermione’s toes the next time she drags me to attend the Yule Ball or some other silly Christmas festival.

11. I will be more understanding of my wife when it is her “time of the month”. But I do think I should be rewarded in some way for putting up with pre-menstrual syndrome. Dodging hexes is quite nerve-racking.

12. Merlin’s beard, what shall I do when she goes through menopause?

13. The next time Hermione asks if a new dress makes her look fat I will tell her, “No.” Sleeping on the couch is most uncomfortable.

14. I will hide this list in a place where Hermione will never find it. As much as I cherish her, there are some things a man must keep secret.

Nodding in satisfaction, he rolled up the parchment and tapped it with his wand. It instantly sealed itself; if Hermione managed to find it in his desk drawer, she wouldn’t be able to open it far less read it. He was rather looking forward to turning over a new leaf; he always loved to surprise her and could picture her with her brow raised as she took note of his changed behaviour. Knowing her, she would be wondering what, if any, trick he had up his long wizarding sleeves; eventually she would realize that his intentions were genuine. And that was the beauty of it. She would be oh, so infuriated to find out there was no ploy on his part. Slytherin one, Gryffindor zero.

He got to his feet and stretched, turning to look at the fireplace as he scratched his bum. But then he paused.

Of course...

There was the chance that she would be so impressed she would do something Extra Special for him on his birthday. His lips curled upward in anticipation; perhaps he should start making a Wish List and present her with it on January 9th. A list of all the rewards he wanted from her for being such a very good boy...

Snape smirked wider than ever, put out the fire and made his way to bed, tripping over Crookshanks’ water bowl as he left.