”Severus Snape, what on earth are you doing here, on a day like this?” exclaimed McGonagall and continued without waiting for an answer. ”Last time I saw you, you had not spoken to a soul for three weeks, except to Harry Potter and your closest neighbour - and that only to agree to the planting of a hedge separating your pieces of land. This must be odious to you.” 

Snape glared at her, annoyed that she should know him so well. She had invited herself a couple of times and visited him at his premises outside London. Ever since McGonagall had learnt Snape’s true allegiance to Dumbledore and the Order, that day in the Hospital wing, just before the last battle, she had an unmovable faith in him and showed him an undisguised and almost embarrassing affection, that he was not sure that he deserved at all.

”Believe me, Minerva, it is odious to me!” Snape replied dryly. ”Merry Christmas to you, all the same.”

”Merry Christmas to you too! Albus sends his love. We were speaking of you just the other night,” said McGonagall. 

Snape gave away a reluctant, but genuine smile with just the least little bit of irony to it. Minerva had adapted to the role as headmistress with ease and seemed to be thriving in her office. She got along perfectly well with the portrait of Dumbledore and did not seem to mind that the old wizard was a slightly shallower copy of his former self. 

”Thank you,” he answered. ”Give my respect to Albus.” Snape had declined to be painted and hung as a portrait in the round office at Hogwarts during his lifetime. He did not think that his brief service as headmaster deserved attention and he doubted that a copy of himself would bring any particular joy to the assembly of old and illustrious school leaders. He intended to spare them, and the sitting headmistress, his presence on the wall at least until he died. Minerva McGonagall had consented reluctantly. 

Despite the fact that Snape was still relatively young and that he had merely occupied the post as headmaster for nine months during the war, he had received all the honours and privileges due to a Professor Emeritus. It was to a great extent Minerva McGonagall’s doing. Jointly with the honours that he had received from the Ministry for his services during the war, those privileges made Snape one of the British Magical community’s most respected wizards. Snape was amazed by how well things had turned out after the war. Considering his actions, especially the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and his double play as a spy, it could just as well have ended in disaster and he realised that he could have been sent to Azkaban for life. As it happened, people actually seemed ready to forgive and forget that he had once been a Death Eater.

But Snape himself did not forget. It was true - he still had the mark on his arm to remind him of his previous dealings with the dark side. He felt uncomfortable with the attention, only ungracefully accepted the honours paid to him and declined every offer of a highly placed official position at the Ministry. Instead, he chose to withdraw from society and live in the country in a small but comfortable house. He did most of his research by himself in his private laboratory, sending instructions only once the formulas had been perfected, to the bigger research laboratory that he collaborated with, for large scale testing. It indeed meant that, concordant with Minerva McGonagall’s observations, he could go weeks without seeing anyone - except Harry. Snape wondered whether Harry realised the unique position he had acquired in Snape’s life, being the only one who Snape let close to himself.

Snape, who had never before in his life bothered about what others might think about him, found himself in the unusual position of spending an unreasonable amount of time pondering upon Harry’s opinion on himself. It irritated and bewildered him that he had such difficulties figuring out his approach to Harry. His confusion might have contributed to the negligence of the coming Festival. Maybe he wanted to defy his obsession with the young wizard and prove to himself that he did not in the least care whether he spent Christmas with Harry or not. But here, on Christmas Eve, he realised that he did care. He had not seen Harry for more than a week, he missed him and he had a damn good Christmas present to give the young wizard.

”Minerva, do you know if Harry’s going to celebrate Christmas at Hogwarts?” Snape asked quickly before his self-consciousness hit him. McGonagall lifted an eyebrow slightly. 

”No, he’s not. I invited him, and Hagrid made his best to persuade him, but he declined the offer only a couple of days ago. I believe Harry said he was going to celebrate with the Weasleys,” answered McGonagall.

”The Weasleys - of course, I should have guessed. Er… Do you know if Ginevra Weasley and Mr Longbottom remain a couple?” asked Snape and felt embarrassed because he did not, as a rule, gossip about that kind of things, but he could not help himself. He wanted to know for Harry’s sake. Harry was still in love with Ginny Weasley - he had gathered that much from what Harry let slip from time to time and it plagued him to see his young friend unhappy. Minerva McGonagall lifted the other eyebrow.

”I’m sorry, I don’t know about that,” she said. 

Snape mumbled something in response.

”Severus,” McGonagall said gently, ”you do know that you’re welcome at Hogwarts for Christmas, don’t you? I did not specifically send an invitation, because you declined last year and I thought that maybe…”

”No, I’d rather not,” Snape replied quickly. ”You are most kind, Minerva, but you know me, I’m not much for company. I might come by before the end of the year, though. I have asked Hagrid to collect some ingredients in the Forbidden Forest that I want to check out. I promise to mount the tower and pay my respects to Albus and yourself on the occasion.” 

Minerva McGonagall let herself be satisfied with that promise and gave him an affectionate hug that Snape did his best not to recoil from, before they parted.