A/N: Written for the grangersnape100 community on livejournal, I am claiming that I'm still a proper Death Eater, because I have exiled Snape to the North Pole to play Santa. In the meantime, enjoy the Christmas fluff!

A Successful Warming Charm

*

The trick to conjuring a successful Warming Charm was imagining a Very Warm Place. Much like a Patronus needs happy memories to mist its way into silvery existence, a Warming Charm requires warm and sunny thoughts.

Typically, Hermione would remember her trip to Egypt with Ron. Although he had wanted to spend nearly every moment of their vacation as close to ancient treasure as possible – and closer than Hermione cared to remember – she had to admit his choice of destinations had one wand up on her vacation spot this Christmas: heat.

Hermione glared at Snape’s letter in her gloved hands.

**

Trudging her way through the snow, Hermione annoyingly found herself cold and wet, incontrovertible proof that her Warming and Imperturbable Charms had failed.

She would never come back to this icy dimension of hell.

Said Icy Dimension of Hell was better known to Muggles and wizards alike as the North Pole. According to her reply letter from Santa, it also housed the iciest man she had ever met.

Hermione couldn’t picture a better setting for the Man in Black, although she wouldn’t have figured him for the holiday cheer sort.

But imagining Snape singing carols distracted her from the cold.

***

Hermione nearly cried when she saw the light at the hilltop. Her nose and ears had gone numb three Christmas carols ago, but this light – provided it wasn’t a mirage in the wintry desert – was evidence that she had at least been heading in the right direction.

Sadistic bastard, giving her Apparition coordinates so far away.

Hermione nearly ran toward the light, wondering idly if perhaps this would be the death of her, but she hadn’t predicted death would be quite this cold.

So when she landed face down in the snow, she was almost sorry to still be alive.

****

A chorus of squeaks and mumbles caught her attention and prevented her from crying the tears that would only freeze on her face.

When the snow began moving beneath her, she mentally cursed her former professor again for his choice in homes. Unsheathing her wand, she only hoped she could manage a working spell. Without confidence in her magic, she felt strangely naked, which was not a welcome feeling in the arctic temperatures.

But the shape that emerged from beneath her was strangely familiar… strangely colorful… swathed in yarn she had knitted herself, in fact, once upon a time.

“Dobby?!”

*****

As it turned out, Dobby was not the only house-elf to have joined the noble ranks of Christmas elves. Hermione, who had been raised Muggle, suddenly appreciated the magic of Christmas. She finally understood how the elves would have the skills to manufacture ludicrous amounts of toys.

But Hermione was disconcerted to hear Dobby’s description of the Naughty or Nice List. After Dobby had finished beating himself with an icy stick, Hermione had managed to uncover that Santa had listed nearly every boy and girl as Naughty.

She could only think of one man so utterly lacking in holiday spirit.

******

“Why, Miss Granger, I see you found the place easily enough.”

Hermione stood by the fire, letting the flames in the hearth and the anger in her heart warm her. As her internal temperature increased, she felt the magic reawaken in her blood. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to use the magic that had hibernated during her walk to Santa’s House.

Once Snape was on the floor with a rounded belly, Dumbledorian beard and the perfect red suit, Hermione chuckled at his inability to protect himself from her jinxes.

But she supposed he should be used to the role.

*******

With a nearly jolly, “Ho ho ho,” Severus Snape restored his body to its usual form. “I did not feel the need to don my holiday apparel for your company, Miss Granger, unless it would make you more… comfortable.”

Hermione was glad he had reverted to his normal appearance, because she didn’t think a sneer would work on Santa’s face.

“Bastard,” she spat, uncertain about what one says to one’s former professor, formerly dead, when one finds him living on the North Pole with compulsively helpful elves.

“Tsk tsk, Miss Granger. Cursing is no way to make my Nice List.”

********

Three cups of steaming hot cocoa later, Hermione was sleepily warm and almost ready to forgive him for sending her on this bitterly cold chase. She was nestled in a rather comfortable chair, which she had been informed was his design, and not one – he boasted – that would be going out en masse this year.

Although she was quite content with her liquid chocolate for the time being, she could not help but admire the way wine soothed the lines on Snape’s face and the bite of his words.

In fact, she was beginning to think he seemed downright… jolly.

*********

“You’re falling asleep in my favorite chair, Hermione. I think it’s time for bed.”

Hermione assumed it was the cocoa that warmed her and not the visions his words brought to mind. She was disturbed at her certainty she would not be dreaming of sugarplums that night.

“I’ve prepared rooms for you in this cottage. I did not think you would be interested in braving the snow again.”

Hermione started to drift off.

“I usually cast Hovering Charms on my sack of presents…” Snape mumbled, but Hermione sensed being lifted by strong arms and carried to a most inviting bed.

**********

Breakfast was just like she remembered at Hogwarts. Perhaps Ron would have been jealous of her vacation, after all. He had never grown accustomed to Hermione’s attempts at cooking.

“This is delicious. Please thank Dobby and the other elves for me.”

“Just don’t try to give them clothes, and that will be thanks enough, I’m sure.”

Hermione couldn’t decide whether to laugh or glare, so she settled for smirking. Snape’s lips tugged upward in what she was certain were the first sign of approval she had ever received from him.

Hermione found herself approving of this holiday Snape, as well.

***********

“The letter,” she said, as though that would explain everything.

“The letter,” he repeated in the most annoyingly obtuse way.

“The letter you sent me.”

“No, that was merely a reply to the letter you sent me.”

“I wasn’t sending it to you.”

“I nevertheless received it and am, for this season at least, the intended recipient.”

“I wrote that letter to Santa,” she said petulantly, as though that should have been obvious.

It was.

“Obviously,” he responded.

They stood staring at each other for several moments, her hands on her hips, his folded across his chest.

“I’m Santa.”

“Obviously.”

************

“Enlighten me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her sarcastic tone, but she could tell he liked it. In fact, she rather liked the fact that he liked it, and that realization wasn’t quite to her liking.

“Quid pro quo, Miss Granger.”

She raised an eyebrow back in question. She had been practicing that little trick for years and was delighted at the chance to finally use it on the right person.

“I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer mine.”

She figured if anyone were capable of analyzing and keeping her secrets, it might be the former spy.

“Deal,” she agreed.

*************

When she didn’t speak, his impatience showed.

“Do I need to retrieve the letter? It began, I recall, with ‘Dear Santa…’”

She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to find the words.

“Your letter was so eloquent, Miss Granger, and yet you are speechless now.”

“It wasn’t eloquent, Snape. I barely said anything. All I said was that I wanted…”

“Love.”

He made the word sound dirty. As though it were a ridiculous wish list. As though she should not have wanted such a thing at all. Nor requested it from him.

“I did not expect a reply.”

**************

“Albus.”

“That’s your answer?”

“Do I really need to explain further?”

“Yes.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “dunderhead,” but she felt enough of the Christmas spirit to overlook it.

“It appears he has friends in cold places.”

“So, Dumbledore knew Saint Nicholas? Kris Kringle? Papa Noel?”

“And whatever other names we have for him, yes. Apparently, Mrs. Claus has been advocating retirement, but Santa felt it would be better to simply take some time off and ‘give the youngsters a go at it.’ It seems that before he died, Dumbledore… recommended… me… if and when the war ended.”

***************

“Do you like your life up here?”

“Do you like your life down there?”

“England is tolerable this time of year.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Nor did you answer mine.”

“I find it to be less complicated.”

“I also miss the complications.”

“So you understand then.”

“Yes, Severus, I understand completely.”

“It’s colder here.”

“Obviously.”

“As you discovered. I’m… sorry… for that.”

“Mmm… England is cold, too.”

“But not like this.”

“No, I imagine it’s much the same sort of cold.”

“Would you like to step back outside? You’ll be numb in moments.”

“Yes, exactly the same as in England.”

****************

Hermione hoped he would understand her metaphor and hoped he wouldn’t understand at all. Because if he did understand it… her… she couldn’t leave. The arctic temperatures had frozen her to the core, but the thawing had been surprisingly pleasant. She could easily imagine spending days cooped up with this man, who seemed to have melted a bit here, curled up together in his fireside chair. Who needed sugarplums when there was enough wine and cocoa to last all winter? Yes, she could hibernate there, with him. But would he share in springtime with her? Hermione grew weary of metaphor.

*****************

“At the risk of sounding trite and sending you into a hypothermic coma, would you care to take a ride in my sleigh?”

Hermione laughed merrily and placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her out into the cold once more.

The barn was dark, save for one blinking red light.

“It isn’t,” she whispered reverently.

“It is.” She could hear his smile in the dark and felt the flourish of a wand. His nonverbal Lumos revealed a stable filled with reindeer and one sleigh in Gryffindor red.

“It won’t respond to any Color Charms,” he said moodily.

******************

Hermione vastly preferred this method of travel to any other in the wizarding and Muggle worlds.

The earth below them was like a Christmas lights display, twinkling in a visual symphony.

Their sleigh ride was serenely smooth as Rudolph led the way through the cold night.

Hermione shivered, so Severus pulled a blanket out of Santa’s infamous sack of toys and tricks. She smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy from the brisk wind. He raised his two gloved hands to cup her cheeks.

“My lips are still cold,” she mumbled bravely.

He had a solution for that, as well.