Title: The Night Before Christmas (Man on a Mission Remix)
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona (amchau@popullus.net)
Summary: Bill Weasley has a Mission in life. It's a little bizarre and has greasy hair, but he's fond of it.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Warnings: Strong language.
Spoilers: None.
Title, Author and URL of original story: "Preferences", by wyomingnot/Camille, http://www.wyomingnot.com/redpen/hp/christmas.html
Author's Note: Raven, thanks for the beta-- very much appreciated.

 

William Weasley, cool Christmas connoisseur, was a man on a mission.

Not just any old mission, either, but a Mission with a capital em, a Mission which the combined wisdom of the wizarding world would, had they only known about it, have most certainly deemed a Mission Impossible.

He had set out to cheer up the infamously miserable Severus Snape.

He'd been sleeping with Severus for-- he counted quickly-- five and a half months. In that time, he'd seen the sarcastic potions master swing through many subtle changes of mood, but they all had something in common: they were bad moods. Severus could do anger, impatience, sulky, tired, vicious, ironic, antisocial, and plain gloomy without missing a single beat, but try and get the man to crack a smile and you might as well try and talk a portrait into three dimensions. For Bill, who'd grown up in a lively household which tended to value jokes-- even the cruel ones Fred and George favoured-- as second only to food, with academic achievement a poor third (despite Molly's best efforts), it was... different. At times, especially times like Christmas when family were central, it was difficult.

Six months ago, when he'd met Severus by accident in a slightly seedy gay bar in the back streets of wizarding London, he'd never imagined that it would come to this.

Five months ago, when he'd realised that Severus didn't actually regard him as a means to release and was prepared to consider a long term relationship, he'd started to imagine this sort of scene and had quickly dismissed it as the kind of fantasy that could never come true.

Four months ago, when he'd moved into Severus' small house in a London suburb and started his new desk job at Gringotts', he'd been too busy being in shock, trying to explain his choice to his family, and being utterly and completely overcome with wonder at this opportunity to get to know Severus better, that he'd almost forgotten the fantasy.

Three months ago, Ginny had asked, with that you're-my-wonderful-big-brother-but... look on her face, whether he was really planning on this relationship lasting or if it was just a quick fling, and he'd told her, wanting to be honest, that he was planning on it lasting. "I've already bought him a Christmas present, so it'll have to last until December." She'd smiled.

Since then, he'd been working on the details of the Ultimate Make Severus Smile plan.

He'd conducted careful preliminary experiments, and made observations. Yes, he could make Severus scream. Yes, he could provoke him-- with the right clever line, sharper than he'd learned at home but in a similar wise-cracking mode-- to a snort of laughter or even a wry twist of the mouth that could be a sneer or a sort of grin.

He still hadn't managed to get a true smile, a smile of real happiness, out of Severus, but that was obscurely okay; if it had been easy to get, it wouldn't have been any fun. He missed the excitement of hunting for gold now that he was on a desk job, and this wasn't a bad replacement.

Early testers-- "We'll have a Christmas tree, of course,"-- had produced only bitter responses.

"We'll have nothing of the sort," Severus had snapped. "I bought this house in order to escape the dreadful business of staying at Hogwarts' over the holiday." Bill had remained determined-- quietly, but surely.

And now the moment was upon him.

He gave the bare tree one last look up and down, re-cast the Needle Fixing spell, and smiled to himself. Any moment now, Severus would be home, and he could set about playing out his fantasy.

The door opened softly, and he heard Severus' light footsteps. He didn't turn. If Severus was trying to creep past, as he most likely would be, it would be better to wait and catch him when... "Good evening, William," ... he thought he'd got away with it and was heading for the stairs.

Bill turned, smiled in genuine welcome, and asked, "Severus? Aren't you going to help decorate the tree?"

"No," Severus snapped. "It's your bloody tree. You decorate it."

He tried to leave the room again, but Bill stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his path. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"

Severus sneered, a sneer that had been terrorising classes for many years. Bill had stopped worrying about it quite quickly once he realised that it was Severus' habitual reaction to anything in his way. "I left it in my other robe."

"Very funny," Bill said dryly. "Come on. Please?"

Sometimes, 'please' would help. It seemed to be a novelty to Severus that anyone would want him or his help enough to say 'please'; Bill, who had been brought up to say it at every possible occasion, had been startled by that, but was often glad that it did work.

Severus scrubbed the heel over his hand over his face, and looked Bill straight in the eye. "You're not going to allow me to leave until I do this, are you?" He looked tired, Bill noted-- probably the mixed Slytherin/Gryffindor sixth year class he'd been bitching about since the first week of September-- but Bill was generally of the opinion that tiredness and stress could be overcome in ways that were more fun that Severus' normal 'plunge into work and bite people's heads off' technique.

"You know it." Bill gave Severus the benefit of his cheekiest grin to underline the words.

Studying the man's moods hadn't yet given Bill any insight into their causes or patterns. He had a moment of hope left for his fantasy scenario when Severus heaved a resigned sigh, stalked over the box of decorations Bill had been secretly collecting for a month, and lifted out a strand of tinsel; but it died, almost instantly, when Severus plonked it on a branch, said, "There. I've decorated," and turned to walk out of the room. Bill stood in shock, watching at a remove as Severus glared at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

The shock lasted for a moment or two as Bill watched Severus stride up the stairs (observing almost abstractly that the movement and lighting combination was more than flattering to Severus' arse) and then broke. "Hey!" Bill called, dropping the garland he had been holding and hurrying after his lover. "Wait a minute!"

He caught up with him just as Severus laid his hand on the workroom door handle. "Severus," he said, pleadingly, laying his own hand over the older man's. "What is going on?"

Severus looked at him, blankly. "You should know well enough by now that there are times when I simply prefer to be left alone," shaking off Bill's hand. "This is one of those times." He opened the door just enough to step inside.

"I don't understand," Bill began, watching his fantasy crumble.

"William?" Severus said, in the same tone he used for pupils that annoyed him, sales staff in the potions ingredients shop who claimed that the delivery would be there next Friday, and newts who were reluctant to have their eyes extracted.

"Yes?" Bill said, because hope springs eternal and also because even he was well trained.

"Fuck off."

It was succinct, and startling. "I can't believe you just said that," he said, keeping the door pushed open to the best of his ability.

"Well, I did," Severus said coldly, clearly at the end of his temper. "Now go."

Crushed, his fantasy in shatters, Bill stepped back from the door, and said the important thing-- the thing he'd been saving for after the present, for after the hugs and kisses and sex in front of the fire. "I love you."

As Severus closed the door, he thought he heard the words, "Goodnight, William," but it could have been his imagination.

He waited for a moment, wishing desperately for a respite, but when it didn't come, he turned sadly back towards the living room. If Severus wasn't ready now, he could wait. In the meantime, he'd decorate the Christmas tree himself.

Mission temporarily Stalled.

 

Stories