mini_fest | fic: Auld Lang Syne

Title: Auld Lang Syne
Author:

torino10154
Disclaimer: The characters in this fic are not mine. They are the creations of JKR.
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Characters/Pairings: Minerva McGonagall; Severus Snape
Prompts: 16: Gift giving at midnight, 51: Auld Lang Syne
Summary: Minerva receives a surprise Christmas gift.
A/N: Thank you to my betas, J and J. Happy Holidays!

Indulging in her years old Christmas Eve ritual, Minerva took a sip of her whisky, the amber liquid burning its way down her throat.

This Christmas was different, though, from the last few. This would be the first in the new era, finally without the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads. Just cause for celebration, to be sure, but so many had been lost...on both sides. The ache was still fresh, even though it had been over six months since the final battle. What was six months when you'd known some of the casualties for six years or sixteen or even sixty?

She was so proud of Potter, her Gryffindors, and the rest of the houses.

Even Slytherin.

Especially Severus.

She thought back on the previous year, when he had served as Headmaster. Oh how she had despised him, how she'd defied him. Even during the battle, the words Potter had spoken in Severus's defence hadn't registered; it had been too much to take in all at once. Potter later confirmed it for her, although he'd refused to allow anyone to see memories in a Pensieve. It was all true—the man had had a brave heart.

If only she'd known.

She sighed as she recalled the holiday tradition they'd begun his second year teaching. She'd bought him a bottle of Ogden's Old. He'd claimed to have personal reasons for preferring it to her usual Glenlivit, but never explained what they were. He'd bought her a bottle of the aqua vitae and a tin of her favourite biscuits.

Even last Christmas, he had bought her the customary gift, but she'd refused to accept it. His face had remained inscrutable; although, his eyes had flashed with emotion for only a moment.

Looking up at the clock on the mantel, Minerva noted it was very nearly midnight. She refilled her glass, intending to drink to her former colleague.

Just as the clock struck its final note, a house-elf popped into her presence.

"Headmistress," the elf squeaked. "Mipsy is meant to give this to you on Christmas." The creature handed her a bottle of whisky and a scroll of parchment. With shaking hands, she unrolled the scroll.

Minerva, it began, and she gasped—she knew that handwriting. She was fortunate her armchair was directly behind her or she might have ended up on the floor. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then opened them and began again.

Minerva,

I believe you have been looking for this for some time.

Unbeknownst to you, I have always remained,
Your humble servant,

Severus

Looking at the label more closely, her eyes widened. A forty-year-old Bruichladdich. She and Severus had argued over many a glass about which was the best whisky, with him always favouring the Glenfiddich and her, the Bruichladdich.

"Is there anything else mistress requires from Mipsy?" She shook her head, unable to speak, and the elf popped away.

Clearly, one of Severus's very last acts had been to arrange this gift for her. He knew he wouldn't live to see this Christmas, she thought, overwhelmed with emotion.

She wrapped a blanket around herself, settling down on her sofa, glass in hand, to drink to the memory of a brooding but brave young man she'd once had the honour to have known.