A/N: For @happy-snape-week 2017
I realize this is a little late for Christmas, and ALMOST late for Sev’s birthday (it’s not quite midnight where I live). I meant to get this done sooner, but I’ve been in the middle of traveling halfway across my country and haven’t had much time for writing. Also, I stand by this story as being happy, technically, although it’s the kind of happy that makes you cry, for parts of it. At any rate, it’s done, so enjoy!
Christmas Eve had once again arrived at the Burrow, and it smelled like cinnamon and ginger and rosemary and sage. Snow, which had begun to fall gently in the outside night, was already sticking in a soft, clean layer, but inside, a fire was blazing cheerily, and familiar faces buzzed about, talking, laughing, embracing each other, hands and hearts thawing in the warmth of it all. Dinner had been prepared and enthusiastically devoured, and even the grownups had indulged in far too many of Molly Weasley’s sweets. When even the latest arriving guests had been served a plate, everyone had settled in for the lovely holiday evening. The children had sat in front of the hearth, playing boisterous games of Gobstones and Exploding Snap, until they were sent upstairs when they got too loud, while the adults had gathered in armchairs and sofas and at the kitchen table with steaming mugs in hand, smiling, remembering, and enjoying each other’s company.
Molly was in an old, patchy brown recliner, cooing at her newest grandson. Arther stood behind her shoulder, his elbows on the chair back, chatting with a smiling Hermione Granger, whose happy brown eyes kept darting between him and the baby. She and Ronald Weasley sat comfortably together on a settee, a navy blue knitted blanket across their laps. The longest sofa had been claimed by the Potters, and a small boy was slumped between Harry Potter and a very pregnant Ginny. She had her legs in her husband’s lap, and his hands rested on the tops of her feet. Other Weasley boys, extended family, and friends were scattered around the house. Conversation was carried about in the typical, noisy, Weasley fashion, and continued to be so until a very unexpected guest walked through the front door.
In an instant, the whole house became silent. Judging by everyone’s faces, Molly and Arthur were the only ones who knew of his possible arrival, and, Severus would assume, Molly was the only one who expected him to show up. The others wore looks of shock and horror so vast that Severus immediately regretted his decision to come. For what seemed an infinitely long time, he stood there, fingers still terribly cold, blood rushing in his ears, stray snowflakes melting in his hair, feeling the appalled stares burn into him while completely unable to meet anyone’s eyes.
Then Molly was rising from her seat, and then the baby was in Arthur’s arms, and Molly was right in front of Severus, who was still frozen, and then… and then…
Before Severus had time to process what was happening, Molly had pulled him into a tight, warm hug.
“I had hoped you’d show up,” she said loudly, still with a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “You go sit yourself down and I’ll fix you up a plate.” Giving his shoulder a last affectionate squeeze, she turned to do exactly that.
After one brief, uncomfortable second, the silence ended, and hushed but urgent conversation broke out.
Arthur, who had deposited the infant, who had a rather thick mop of brown curls, on Hermione’s lap, hurriedly stepped forward and guided Severus to the recently vacated brown chair.
“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Arthur admitted, and Severus resisted the urge to snort. Obviously. And then, as if realizing how that statement could be interpreted, Arther hastened to add, “But I’m glad you’re here.”
It wasn’t the words, so much, that caused such a foreign, and almost uncomfortable pang of something in Severus’ chest, but the sincerity with which they were said. Arther had really meant that, and so had Molly.
Severus inclined his head.
“I thank you, and your wife, for the invitation,” he said, his voice stiff with formality.
“Nonsense,” said Arthur. “You know you’re welcome here, any time. You’re family now.” Strangely, he darted a glance at his daughter and son-in-law before giving Severus a half smile that was equal parts nervous and honest. “Well, I’ll go see if Molly, needs a hand, now,” he said awkwardly, and almost fled to the kitchen to ‘help’ Molly, leaving Severus to wonder what that bit about family had meant, as he hardly felt welcome at the moment.
It took only a moment for the realization to set in that he was now in the dubious company of four former students and their progeny, all of whom were still mutely starting at him. Severus then became acutely aware that he had not seen any of them for over a decade, and as his dark eyes roamed over all of them in turn, seeing their faces - so much older, more mature- it occurred to him just how much time that really was, and how much had changed without him being a part of it. It wasn’t as if he’d missed it, exactly, but, to be fair, he had never imagined that he would willingly attend a Weasley Christmas.
Surprisingly enough, it was Weasley who seemed to come to his senses first. He leaned forward in his seat, blanket shifting from his lap, to extend his hand to Severus.
“Professor,” he greeted in a voice that was not the least bit hostile, and if it was strained, it was only from surprise.
Severus accepted the handshake, halfway wondering what alternate dimension he’d managed to step into. And then he saw Granger surreptitiously wipe her eyes, and the look of utter devastation on Potter’s face. It hit him, suddenly, that the silence and tension of earlier wasn’t because of disappointment at seeing a hated face, but because at least some of them -Granger, Potter, and the two youngest Weasleys included - hadn’t known he was alive.
Still, apart from the shock, their actions confused him. Why the tears? Why the sadness? He’d understand it if it had been Potter’s beloved Godfather, or even Lupin that had walked back from the dead, but him? All four faces were looking at him, eyes shiny with wonder and… something. And he didn’t understand. They hadn’t… mourned him, had they? It was impossible. If anything, they should have been glad that he was gone. Or indifferent. But this? And yet, the grief on their faces was undeniable. They truly had missed him while he was gone.
The pang in his heart was so strong that time that he reached his hand up to rub at his chest. Why? Why would they miss him? Why would they care?
Silence fell once more, all of them stunned, until a soft, gentle voice began to speak.
“Mum told us that someone would be here tonight. A special guest she said. None of us imagined it would be you.”
It was Ginevra who had spoken, and she smiled, despite the tears running down her cheeks. She gave a shaky, overwhelmed sort of laugh, and then she was sobbing. Potter had his arm around her in an instant, his hand running soothingly across her back, but he had yet to take his eyes off of Severus.
Granger seemed to have recovered by then, and she tenderly placed her son in Ronald’s arms before standing and gently pulling Severus to stand as well. And then she hugged him, tightly, her head against his shoulder as if they were the best of friends, as if she were truly glad to see him. And then Severus, despite trying desperately not to, began to believe that she - that all of them - really were.
It was a long moment before Hermione pulled away, both of them blinking fiercely.
“Don’t you dare leave again, don’t you dare,” she said vehemently, but quietly. She sat back down, and Ronald took her hand. There was a respectful kind of silence as everyone waited for Severus to pull himself together.
“Mummy? Who’s that?” a small voice whispered loudly.
Everyone’s attention was then drawn to the little boy who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and tugging on Ginny’s sleeve with the other. It was Potter’s boy, it had to be, with the same messy black hair that seemed doomed to run in the family. And then the little brat turned to point at Severus, and Severus drew in a sharp breath as he was once again looking into achingly familiar bright green eyes, which also must have been genetic. He looked at Potter for a fraction of a second, but he could not keep himself from staring at the boy, who couldn’t have been more than two, maybe three years old.
“Alby,” said Potter slowly, and Severus realized that his voice was different than he’d last heard, deeper, and rough with emotion, “Why don’t you go and introduce yourself.”
Severus once again looked at Potter, but was confused to see that he was looking at Ginevra with an intensity that didn’t seem to make sense.
Slowly, and a bit shyly, the little boy walked to Severus and stopped by his knees, raising his arms as if asking to be picked up. Severus darted a glance to Ginny for reassurance before setting the child gently on his lap and giving him his full attention.
The boy, who Potter had called Alby, surprised Severus by giving him a blinding smile, all shyness forgotten, and once again, he was looking into those eyes.
“I’m Albus. Albus Sev'us Potter,” the boy said with a slight lisp, but evident pride in his voice. “What’s you’re name?”
But Severus didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. He looked up in shock, eyes flicking between Ginevra and Potter, mouth open and unable to fully take in the entirety of it. And then Arther’s words were ringing in his ears: “You’re family now.”
It was like a damn had broken inside. He was horrified to find tears came to his eyes, but there was nothing he could do. He was completely helpless against the emotion that overwhelmed him. Maybe they hadn’t been as happy as he’d have imagined by his death, but this was simply too much. It had to be too much.
“Severus,” he told the child distractedly. “Severus Snape.”
Alby, of course, was too young to realize the significance of what had just occurred, and contented himself by leaning against Severus and closing his eyes, seeming happy enough to just be held by a perfect stranger, albeit one with the same name as him. Severus’ hand, without conscience decision on his part, came to rest against the child’s dark hair, as he pulled the boy just a bit closer to himself. And finally, he looked at Potter and spoke.
“He looks just like his father,” he said softly, his voice coming out altered and thick. “But he has-”
“My mother’s eyes,” Potter finished for him with a grin.
Severus nodded helplessly. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the boy - man, now, he realized - smile, but it was the first time he had smiled at him, and, at some point, due to his face maturing into that of an adult, his grin had stopped looking like a carbon copy of James Potter’s. And with that came the realization that Potter was now older than his father had ever been.
This time, the silence that followed wasn’t weird, but comfortable, and even pleasant. Severus wasn’t used to being around this many people, especially not this many people who seemed to like him, and he certainly wasn’t used to having children on his lap, but as it was, the child’s warm weight was rather soothing, and his hair was very, very soft.
Eventually, Molly came in and set a plate of food on the table beside him, and Severus realized vaguely that her waiting for the tension to ease before interrupting was thoughtful, but then, Molly usually was.
Knowing from experience that he’d get a thoroughly embarrassing scolding, even at his age, if he were to not eat, he picked up his plate, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy in his lap. The plate was piled high with turkey, served with stuffing, gravy, and current jelly, roasted potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and Yorkshire pudding. There was even a smaller dessert saucer of sherry trifle, and Severus wondered if it was a coincidence that it was one of the few puddings he was fond of. He made a valiant effort to eat as much as he could, but still didn’t even manage half of it before he had to set it aside.
There were a few quiet minutes where the only sound was the deep, steady breathing of the - currently - youngest Potter. Then Ginevra stood and walked, or rather waddled, over to take Alby to bed.
Severus looked at the young, obviously pregnant woman, and then at the stairs, and hesitated. To Severus’ amazement, she rolled her eyes at him and huffed.
“This is the third one,” she said dryly, hand over her belly to indicate the child within. “I assure you, I know my limits.”
Severus spent the next second patently horrified at how very much Ginevra resembled her mother, and the openly fond smile she gave him as she picked up her son didn’t help at all.
“You should see the way she scolds James when he misbehaves. It’s like Molly all over again,” said Potter, rightly interpreting the look on Severus’ face. He was clearly amused, by the way the sides of his lips had curled up, and the way his eyes sparkled, just a bit.
It then clicked that James must be the third child Ginevra mentioned, and the oldest by the sound of it.
“It’s a redhead thing, I assure you,” said Severus after a moment. “Your mother could be the same way. She could be downright lethal with a wooden spoon.”
Talking about Lily was less painful than he had imagined it would be, and Potter’s face immediately brightened, making him look younger, so much so that couldn’t help but remember the years he had spent as the boy’s teacher.
Harry smiled at him, a genuine, happy smile that was apparently contagious, because, after a second of hesitation, Severus felt himself smiling back.
At that moment, George Weasley walked into the room and promptly froze at the scene before him.
“Woah,” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. “We must be on a different planet, right?” He looked between Harry and Snape in amazement.
“Never imagined you’d see Professor Snape smile, eh?” Ronald joked lightly. “And at Harry, no less.”
“No indeed,” replied George mildly.
“Oh, but it is Christmas,” said Hermione, joining in on the teasing.
“Yeah,“ said George with a grin. "Christmas on Mars.”
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