ADVENT STORIES FOR
DECEMBER 12

CLARK/LEX

Title: Here We Come A-Caroling
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Author's e-mail: kelandris@drakmail.net  
Author's webpage: http://kelandris.iwarp.com/media/smallville/between.html  (at some point, more will be there, really)
Disclaimer: Yes, practically everything I write involves characters originally created by other people. Those other people will hopefully feel flattered. Especially anyone from Millar Gough Ink or Warner Brothers. I’m not worth suing, really.
Category: First Time / Holiday
Rating: PG? If we stretch it?
Spoilers: None
Summary: Lex is invited to the farm, and wonders why.
Author's notes: Written for Kira’s Advent Challenge. I didn’t think I was going to participate. Whee?

“Eggnog, Lex?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kent.” The young man watched as Martha Kent bustled around her kitchen, putting finishing touches on cookies and tiny cakes on platters, before pulling the eggnog out and pouring a cup. He accepted it with thanks, took a sip--not homemade, and no alcohol, but passable--and looked at Clark, arching one pale brow.

“What?” the boy asked. His green eyes were as guileless as he could manage--which at the moment, meant they were snapping with mischief and amusement. Lex carefully frowned in mock disapproval, taking another sip.

“Tell me, Clark.”

“Tell you--?”

“Why I’m here, for starters.”

“I asked him to invite you,” Martha said, turning from decorating a sheet of gingerbread men. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“No,” Lex said, stepping closer to Clark. “He did not.”

Clark tried to look embarrassed, but couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Now he was getting concerned; more so when Clark sat bolt upright from the kitchen island, and ran upstairs.

“I’ll be right back!” he yelled over his shoulder. Lex sighed, setting the eggnog down.

“Mrs. Kent…”

“I don’t know how many times I’ve asked you to call me Martha, Lex--do I have to get out a wooden spoon and swat you?”

“Threats of physical violence? I must be hitting a nerve.” He looked over at the stairs, lips quirking up in a near-smile.

“And how many spoons did you break on Clark?”

“*Clark*?” she asked, laughing. “*Sledgehammers* wouldn’t faze that one…I’d run out of wooden spoons!”

The image seemed to make her giggle, and she turned, gingerbread in hand.

“Cookie, Lex?”

“I…thank you,” he said, looking down at the small man in short pants he held. Not large enough for gumdrop buttons; Martha had settled for cinnamon candies and piped icing lines. He took a careful bite.

The cookie was very good, soft yet crisp, redolent with nutmeg and ginger. He looked up, impressed yet again with her cooking, and she smiled, looking at him.

“Caroling,” she said softly.

Lex swallowed, blinking. “Caroling?” he repeated.

“Caroling. We would very much like you to--”

“Oh, Lord, what’s *he* doing here?”

“Mr. Kent,” Lex said, without turning around. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Lex--” Jonathan said warningly. The clatter of Clark coming back down the stairs cut off whatever he’d started to say.

“Mom invited him. Here,” Clark said, thrusting a soft red bundle into Lex’s arms. He set the cup down, tilting the cookie in place over it, and unfolded the material. It turned into two soft, knitted objects in a dark red--a thick muffler and a knit cap with a long, trailing end. On the very end was a pouf with three miniature sleigh-bells sewn inside.

Lex arched a brow again, looking at Clark.

“You gotta keep your head warm if you’re coming. And the scarf’ll help with that too. And I’ll bring an extra coat. Please come?”

Martha looked at them, smiling, then her face grew stern and she pointed at her husband.

“You. Upstairs. We need to talk.”

“Martha--”

“Now!”

They went, Jonathan grumbling, and Clark and Lex were alone in the kitchen.

Clark stepped close, staring at him with shining eyes.

“Lex, please come? Mom thought of it, but I want you to come too.” He smiled, stepping closer, pressing against Lex’s side. His hand reached out, tracing patterns across Lex’s grey sweater.

“Please come? You can call the castle; have them build up a fire? And we can get warm in front of it after we finish singing.”

The warmth of Clark against his side--the warmth of what he was implying--was disorienting, dizzying. He couldn’t think of all the reasons he’d understood previously, on why this would be a bad thing. He just nodded, dumbly, as Clark stepped back. Martha and Jonathan came down the stairs soon after that.

**Nearly on cue,** Lex thought, stunned. He looked down at the red hat, pulling it on with fingers that shook slightly. Jonathan glared at him and Martha swatted her husband with a wooden spoon. Lex and Martha smiled at each other, looking away when it earned them another glare. The round of wrapping cookies and cakes for travel and shrugging into winter gear began, Lex in a semi-daze throughout.

**Clark for Christmas. The holidays are looking up this year,** he thought, fighting back giggles with effort.

“Everyone ready?” Clark asked, holding the door open.

Lex nodded. “Yes, Clark. I’m ready.”

Clark just smiled, and walked out the door with him, close enough to touch.

END
***********
Kelandris the Mad
hark how the bells

SPOCK/KIRK

Title: More Than Enough
Author: Acidqueen <a.q@gmx.de> 
RATING: PG
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Fandom: Star Trek
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom own Star Trek, I own my brain. No infringement intended, no money being made.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Author's note: Special thanks to my beta Farfalla! All remaining errors are mine.

More Than Enough

It was cold in New York, and the frosty wind that blew through the streets chilled Jim Kirk down to the bone. But he knew that soon he would be at the 21st Street Mission, and so he pulled the thin cotton jacket tighter around his chest and walked along.

When had he begun to think of this time, this place, as his home? They had stepped through the Guardian of Forever two years ago in the hope to find Bones here and restore their own timeline, but until now he hadn't arrived - or they had missed him. The latter had a possibility of 96% now, as Spock had told him just yesterday.

After a while the waiting had changed into living - Spock and he had rented a small apartment, and had looked for better jobs. The Vulcan soon had found a niche for his skills and developed technical solutions for automatisation companies, earning all the money they needed to live a comparatively comfortable life.

Kirk 's skills, in contrast, were not asked for here - as long as he didn't join the army that was setting up and would enter the Second World War in a few years. He would make a formidable commander, he was sure, but this was not his timeline. Even if they would have to stay here forever, he didn't want to change more than absolutely necessary. So for now he was their housekeeper and managed their outwards contacts.

And then there was Edith...

He had reached the Mission and stood before it, cautiously gazing through the window. He didn't really want to go inside, despite the cold that crept up his legs and under his jacket. Clamping his hands under his arm pits he stood in front of the inviting light and watched his breath freeze against the glass.

She was working inside, distributing the food to the poorest of New York like every evening, even though it was New Year's eve tonight. The small decorated tree in the corner brought him back to that day before Christmas when they had had another date. They had been to the cinema, and then he had brought her home, hand in hand like on so many evenings. When she had stood in her open door, she had smiled at him.

//

"You have to kiss me," she said. "I'm standing under a mistletoe branch."

He stepped into the room and gazed up to the wall."Admit - you put it there on purpose," he said teasingly.

"Of course," she said and clung to his neck with her long delicate arms. "I'll hang them up everywhere, and then you have to kiss me under every single one of them..."

He closed his arms around her in a tight embrace and kissed her.

"Will you stay here tonight?" she asked.

"That's against the rules," he muttered and buried his face in her hair.

"Jim - the landlord won't make any trouble, I am sure... and besides, if you marry me - " she traveled with her fingers over the soft skin between his shirt's collar and his hairline, "- we could do all we want to do."

"Edith...," he sighed into her neck.

She withdrew and walked a few steps away from him, before she turned back again. Unusual sadness clouded her face. "Do you think I will wait forever, Jim Kirk? I am a woman, I want to marry and have children, a family. Can't you understand that?"

He stood in the hall and looked down on his hands, at a loss for words.

"On New Year's eve, Jim. On New Year's eve I want to know if you want me as much as I want you."

He met her gaze. He didn't have to ask how much that was for her. Enough for a lifetime. But he, he wasn't sure...

//

Coldness enfolded him neatly now, and he shivered in his thin clothes. The temperature fall had come unexpected, and so he had left his long warm coat at home for Spock who had been freezing even in their apartment. Tomorrow he would have to organize more coals, he thought. Or to find another way to keep the Vulcan warm...

"Jim."

She stood in the door and looked at him. "Why do you wait outside in the cold?" she asked.

"I had to think a bit," he said.

She stepped outside and to his side. "What did you think about?" she asked in a low voice.

"Us," he replied.

She turned to face him. "Is there truely an 'us', Jim?"

"Edith," he said and put his hands softly on her upper arms, searching her eyes as if he could find his answer there. "You know you mean much to me..."

She fixed her gaze on his chest. "Enough to marry me, Jim?"

"Isn't it usually the man's job to ask that in this century," he said in a faint attempt for humor.

"Do you love me?" she asked, and raised her head. "Do - you - love - me, Jim Kirk?"

He felt his fingers around her arms slowly freezing in the wind of this night, and dropped them. "Let's go inside. You'll fetch a cold if we talk here in this weather."

"There isn't much to talk about, Jim. My question was plain enough. Do you love me, Jim? Enough to marry me, to stay with me for a lifetime?" She looked at him, and he averted his gaze, unable to stand the pain he could see there.

"So this is good-bye," she said, and her voice was void of emotion. She blinked at him, some tears hidden behind her lids. "Can I get a last kiss?"

"Of course," he murmured and put his arms around her. Their lips met, and for a moment all seemed wrong to him - how can you let this wonderful woman step out of your life? - but then their lips parted and he looked at her and no, it just wasn't enough.

She made a step backwards, distancing herself from him.

"I wish you luck, Jim. May you find the one you truly love." She dropped her head and turned away from him, disappearing into her Mission and out of his life.

Numbly he walked back the long way towards his apartment through the snow that was now falling, avoiding all cheering crowds and groups of kids which happily tested fireworks on the streets. When he arrived home, his fingers were so stiff that he couldn't even open the buttons of his jacket.

"Let me help you," Spock said, and carefully freed Kirk from it. "I have purchased some coals from the neighbor, so we will not get cold tonight."

Kirk wearily walked to the small torrid coal stove and sat down on the chair that Spock had placed next to it for him. "The blood circulation in your hands has almost died," the Vulcan said with an accusing hint in his voice. "You have to take more care of yourself." He fetched the human's hands and enfolded them with his warmer ones, massaging the cold flesh.

"You're much better at that job than I am," Kirk said with a faint smile. He looked up and met the Vulcan's gaze. Had the dark eyes always had that shimmer in them, or did he only look at them in a new way? "What would my life be without you," he whispered.

The Vulcan's gaze didn't waver; instead, it seemed to get even more intense than before. "I am always there for you, Jim," Spock said finally quietly.

"I know," Kirk replied. "Somehow I think I always knew."

He closed his eyes and relaxed in the warmth of the fire and the caressing touch on his hands. More than enough for a lifetime...

*****
END

SPIKE/XANDER

Title: Worse Then Better
Author: Selene la Luna
Email: darkmooneternal23@comcast.net
Fandom: BtVS/AtS
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Category: Holiday, Angst, Sap
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to a bunch of people who aren't me. I'm just a fan, who in no way claims to own any of it, so don't sue.
Distribution: My site -- forsaken-faith.net, Slash Advent Calendar. Anyone else, ask and ye shall receive.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to and including season 7 episode "Same Time, Same Place"
Summary: Things are getting worse in Sunnydale, but Xander wants to make things better for Spike.
Author's Notes: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar here: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent. Flashbacks are in italics. Oh, and many thanks to my lovely beta, Min, without whom this wouldn't be fit for viewing. :)

WORSE, THEN BETTER

Willow hesitantly spoke first. "I... I've missed you, Xander."

Buffy quickly nodded in agreement and Dawn added, "We all have."

"That's nice," he replied in a bored tone. He could see Spike, who was standing beside him, fighting a smirk.

The red headed witch decided to try again. "Um... we've been doing some research about the... well, the evil thing. We haven't found much, but Giles called and said he's coming back to help."

Xander stared at her without saying anything.

"But we did find out something!" Dawn said hastily, desperate to interrupt the silence. "This thing, whatever it is, it's happening during the Spring Equinox."

Again, Xander didn't respond, but he quickly filed that information away. He was now certain that he had to start his own research soon; there was no way he was relying on this bunch to keep them informed.

Buffy put in uncertainly, "We think it wants to open the Hellmouth permanently."

Xander rolled his eyes, but grinned when he heard Spike growl in annoyance. Grin still in place he told the girls, "Well, of course it wants to open the Hellmouth, Buffy. They all want to open the Hellmouth."

The girls stood in silence for a few uncomfortable moments before Xander said, "If you're done, you can go."

They looked warily from him to Spike and, seeing he had no intention of going anywhere, slowly turned and headed up the stairs.

When they were gone, Xander turned to Spike and said, "I need to call Angel and find out what he knows first. Then I'll call Drusilla."

Spike growled again at the mention of his grandsire, but stopped abruptly when Xander mentioned Drusilla. Xander smiled slightly as he turned and headed for their room, hearing Spike's footsteps behind him.

It was very helpful that the L.A. gang no longer talked to the Scoobies. It was also good that Drusilla still loved her childe, and had a certain fondness for Xander, too. She'd called the phone Xander had installed in the basement within minutes of it being hooked up and thanked him for taking care of Spike when she couldn't. In conversations since she'd revealed she knew exactly how much he cared about Spike and said it was destined. Until he was certain of Spike's feelings, however, he chose to keep his mouth shut, much to Drusilla's displeasure.

Xander had talked to both Angel and Drusilla since the meeting with the girls. Angel was apparently having related apocalyptic problems in Los Angeles, and Drusilla had only said the stars were telling her to return to Sunnydale and she'd be back by the next new moon.

It was now Christmas Eve, and like on a Christmas several years ago there was snow on the ground. Xander was spending the evening watching Spike watch the Christmas tree he'd brought into the basement and they'd decorated together. The multi-colored lights twinkled on and off in time with soft music, and Spike appeared fascinated with them. Xander was fascinated with the way the lights altered the shadows that played over Spike's face.

He hadn't gotten Spike a gift, but he already knew what he would give him, and now seemed as good a time as any.

"Spike," Xander called softly to get the blond's attention.

Spike turned to look at him and Xander stood and made his way over to where he sat on the plush rug in front of the tree. After studying him for a moment, Xander moved closer and tilted his head to the side, revealing a smooth column of pale skin.

The vampire looked startled, instantly beginning to back away, but Xander reached out and used a gentle grip at the nape of Spike's neck to pull him back. He lowered Spike's mouth to his neck, and wrapped his other arm around the blond's waist to bring him closer. Feeling cool lips pressed against his pulse, Xander shivered slightly and Spike brought his arms up to wrap around the younger man's back.

Xander could have sworn he heard a whispered 'thank you' before fangs bit sharply into his neck. He groaned at the sudden pain, but the sound turned into a moan of pleasure as Spike began sucking on the wound to draw his blood out. Never in his life would Xander be able to describe the feeling of knowing that he was giving Spike life by allowing him to draw the blood from himself. It was the most amazing, awe-inspiring and erotic thing he'd ever felt.

When Spike pulled away a few moments later, languidly licking the marks on his neck, Xander said in a tired but sated voice, "Merry Christmas, love."

fin

HARRY/SNAPE

Title:   Happy Solstice, Professor Snape
Author:   Witch Hazel
RATING: PG
Pairing:  Harry/Snape
Fandom:  Harry Potter
Disclaimer:  I did not create nor do I have any ownership of authority over any of the characters in this story.  The world of Harry Potter is the sole domain of J.K. Rowlings.
Thanks to my betas, J. Love & Nika (and her Muse).
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback welcome at: jaiken2002@aol.com

HAPPY SOLSTICE, PROFESSOR SNAPE

Friday Afternoon

The Christmas holidays were rapidly approaching.  One last weekend in Hogsmeade, two more final exams, a farewell feast and the Hogwarts Express would head to London for the break.

Harry was staying at school, of course, this year as he had all four previous years.  The only home he'd less rather spend Christmas in than the Dursley's would be... the Malfoy's, maybe?  Now, that would be a fun time.

Unbelievable as it seemed to Harry, he would be spending Christmas with Draco Malfoy.  Not that it was unbelievable that Draco would rather stay at school than go home.  But it was incredible to Harry that the boy and his cohorts were even allowed back in school this year, now that their parents had rejoined the throngs of death eaters working on Voldemort's behalf as he moved quickly to regain his power.

But Dumbledore had insisted that no child who wanted to attend Hogwarts be turned away, no matter what his or her parents' affiliation.  And since there was not yet a school devoted to the Dark Arts, there wasn't really a better option for a young witch or wizard's education.  Harry figured if Voldemort ever did come into full power, such an alternative school would be developed.  But in the meantime it wasn't as if the Death Eaters had time to home school -- their time being consumed with murder and mayhem and whatnot.

Harry understood that Dumbledore hoped to break the cycle of darkness by providing acceptance and nurturing to the Death Eaters' children -- something they might not be getting a lot of at home.  If the kids could see the good that good wrought, surely it would influence them.  Or not.  The house of Slytherin was, after all, named for Salazar Slytherin, and he had managed to turn out badly despite the positive influence of Hogwarts.

Yet Dumbledore had hope.  And that was enough for Harry.  So he had tried to be nice to Draco.  Not particularly successfully, but he had tried.  And he had tried to go on this first term of the new, dark time as if thing were normal.  And so he found himself sitting in the last Potions class before the exam on Monday, pretending to listen intently to Professor Snape.

Funny, it used to be that when he pretended to listen to Snape it was because he found Snape boring and annoying.  Today it was because he was so far ahead in his potions work he didn't need this review.  Harry had had a job of it, acting as though he still hated Snape and hated his class once he knew of Snape's amazing work as a double-agent for Dumbledore.  Only a handful of people knew what Snape was up to, if that many.  But with the knowledge had come to Harry a fascination for all things Snape.  And not only had Harry suddenly found potions interesting, but he had also discovered he had a real aptitude for the subject. 

Which is why he could now let his mind wander to the weekend at Hogsmeade ahead which he, Harry, would miss because of the danger he, Harry, would be in if he strayed from the over-protective presence of Albus Dumbledore.  According to Dumbledore, of course.  It had been an uneventful term at Hogwarts, and there was no indication that Voldemort or the Death Eaters were even in the area.  Why Hagrid couldn't chaperone him into town for a butter beer with his friends was beyond Harry.  Well, not really.  But at 15 he was perfecting sulking almost as well as he was mastering jerking off.

"Potter!"

Harry started.  Everyone in the class was staring at him - the Slytherins smirking and the Gryfindors looking uneasy.

"Yes, sir?"  Politeness.  Respect.  That's the ticket.

"Five points from Gryfindor for making me repeat my question.  Twice."  Snape growled.  "Now, what is the antidote to the Moping Misery Mud Mask?"

"Um..." Best not to appear too smart in Snape's class.  "A lavender and lilac infusion?"

"Administered how?"

"In toothpaste would work."

The class erupted in laughter.  Even Snape seemed to be suppressing a smile, which frankly looked rather horrific on him.  But he nodded.  "As a matter of fact..."

The class went silent.  "...it would."

"It would?"  Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself. 

Everyone laughed again.  Snape turned away quickly and strode to the blackboard.  Harry was pretty sure he was trying to mask laughter, but when he turned back to the class he looked as stern as ever.

"Antidotes... as well as poisons," Snape paused and looked suggestively over at the Slytherin students, "can be quite effectively administered in any number of innocuous, undetectable manners."  He turned briskly toward the Gryfindors.  "Five points to Gryfindor for Potter's creative thinking."

Everyone gasped.  Had Snape just given points to Harry Potter? 

"Let this be a lesson to you all that in this dark, dark time we must be inventive if we are to prevail."    As the bell rang Snape nodded knowingly at the Slytherins.  Harry noticed Draco Malfoy sneering.

Ron shook his head as he gathered up his books.  "That Snape is such a slimy git.  Like we don't all know whose side he's really on."

Harry hadn't even confided in Ron and Hermoine, his two best friends in the world, what he knew about Snape.  Snape's very life, as well as the lives of many others, depended on no one slipping up.  The fewer people who knew about his double identity the better.  Still, Harry wished he could defend the man.

Luckily Hermoine always did it for him.  "Professor Dumbledore trusts him.  And he did save Harry's life first year.  And he hasn't joined the Death Eaters, now, has he?  Even though he was one before?"

Ron snorted.  "Probably wouldn't have him back.  Who'd trust that creep?"

"Dumbledore, that's who.  And that's good enough for me."  Hermoine stomped off to the Gryfindor dormitory to drop off her books before dinner.

"What's with her?  You'd think she's in love with the bugger."

Harry shook his head.  Ron's not-so-subtle obsession with Hermoine was getting harder and harder to ignore.  But Ron seemed oblivious, and far be it from Harry to point it out.  Eventually it would dawn on his best friends that they were in love with each other.  Harry hoped they didn't kill each other first.

* * * *

Saturday Morning

Harry awoke to a soft pecking on his forehead.  He fished his glasses off the table and a treat for Hedwig out of the drawer, and sat up in bed.  "Thanks, girl.  Out a bit late, aren't you?  The sun's up and everything."

Hedwig took the treat and flew out the window, choosing not to dignify Harry's teasing with a response.

A spare yet elegant script met Harry's glance.  "Bring your father's gift to my room as soon as the others have left.  Come alone.  Tell no one."

"For crying out loud," Harry said softly, "Why didn't he just tell me to eat the note when I finish reading it?"  Oh.  No need.  The note burst into a cold, silent flame that disappeared in moments leaving no trace behind.

"Paranoid bastard!"  Harry exclaimed, louder than he'd meant to, apparently.

Ron's sleepy voice came through the bed curtains.  "Who's a paranoid bastard?"

"No one.  Bad dream.  Come on, then.  The faster we get to breakfast the faster you can get in to Hogsmeade to buy my Christmas present!"

An hour and a half later Harry was standing outside Professor Snape's private quarters, the invisibility cloak his father had left him tucked under one arm hidden within his robes.  As he raised his hand to knock on the door Snape's voice accosted him.  "Well, don't just stand there gaping.  Come in. Come in."

"What a charmer," Harry muttered.

"But not deaf yet," Snape replied as Harry entered the bedroom.  Snape stood by the fireplace, looking rather overly-warm in his woolen winter cloak.

"Rabbit fur?"  Harry remarked.  "Funny, you strike me as more the wolf type."

"It's faux."

"What?"  Harry always had trouble following Snape in personal conversations.  Whether because Snape was beyond him or because Snape was just plain incomprehensible Harry hadn't yet determined.

"The fur isn't real.  I don't believe in killing animals unnecessarily."

"But you use animals in your potions."

"And you don't listen.  I said unnecessarily.  Animal ingredients are sometimes necessary in potions.  If there is a suitable substitute I will use it.  If I can synthesize one, I will.  As a matter of fact I hold a number of quite profitable patents on synthetic animal substitutes I've designed..."

"The proceed of which you use to support your extravagant lifestyle, I see."  Harry gestured to the sparsely furnished quarters.

"Did you bring the invisibility cloak?"

"Did you ask me to?"

Snape smiled slightly.  "Good.  Put it on, then, and come with me."

"Mind if I ask where we're going?"  Harry pulled the cloak out from under his robes and began to pull it over his head.

"Take your robe off."

"Again, what?"

"You are dressed under there aren't you?"

Harry blushed at the question.  "Of course."  He pulled off his robe to reveal jeans and a "Smallville" t-shirt.

"What on earth is that?"

"A TV show."

Snape snorted.

"Well, look, there's nothing else to do all summer at the Dursley's but watch the telly, is there?  I mean, I can't do magic."  Besides, thought Harry, that Lex Luthor is hot.  Harry blushed again.

"Right.  London."

"And once more... what?"

"You asked where we're going.  I'm responding.  London.  We'll travel by floo powder.  You will remain invisible from the moment we leave here until after you return.  You will be silent.  You will listen and remember everything you hear."

Harry nodded.  "Will I be in danger?"

Snape shook his head.  "The risk is slight if you remain silent and invisible.  And of course I will protect you if the need arises.  Try not to let it.  Here."  He handed Harry a small pouch of floo powder.  "You'll need this to return."

"So I'm returning on my own?"

"Most likely."

"And how will I know when to leave?"

"You'll know.  There is no more time for questions.  Come."  Snape opened his arms to Harry in a way which flustered the boy to no end.

"But..."

"Harry.  Do you trust me?"

Without hesitation Harry nodded firmly.  "Yes, sir."

"Then that is the only question that matters.  Don't let that trust waver for an instant, no matter what happens.  Now, come.  Put on the cloak and stand here, in front of me."

Harry followed Snape's direction, pulling the hood of the cloak over his head as he did so.

"Closer, Harry.  Floo powder is not the most accommodating form of transport."  Snape turned a now invisible Harry away from himself and then drew him close against his body.  As he wrapped his arms tightly around the young man's chest, Harry shivered in spite of the warm winter robe that enveloped them both.

Snape exhaled gently and said, "Lucius Malfoy's parlor."  And before Harry could even think about the implications of their destination, the room began to spin.  A moment later Snape gracefully lifted Harry slightly so as not to trip over him, and stepped out of the Malfoy fireplace into a room full of Death Eaters.

"Ah.  And here he is now."  Lucius Malfoy stepped forward toward Snape and clasped his arm.  "Let me take your cloak, Severus."

Snape turned his back to Malfoy, taking Harry around with him.  With a grand gesture he spread his arms and the cloak wide.  Harry looked about and saw he was facing a large suit of armor, with just a small space between it and the corner of the wall.  He felt a slight bump of Snape's hips and was propelled forward.  Quickly he dodged the armor and shrunk against the wall.

Malfoy sneered mockingly at Snape's theatrics as he too the cloak from his shoulders and resumed an innocent expression as Snape turned back to the room grandly.  If anyone had noticed the purpose of Snape's little maneuver no one indicated as much.  Neither Snape, Malfoy, nor the rest of the Death Eaters even glanced in Harry's direction.

Malfoy continued speaking as he poured Snape a brandy.  "We have just put the finishing touches on the plan Severus.  We need you to mix the potion, of course, to be assured of its efficacy and undetectable nature.  No one leaves this house now that things are in motion.  Crabbe's house elf will deliver the package to Hogwarts late this afternoon, none the wiser. "

As the conversation continued, Lucius Malfoy outlined the plan to Snape.  Dumbledore was to be poisoned within the very walls of Hogwarts.  The poison would be impossible to detect after it was ingested, and any evidence of it would disappear within the uneaten food after 4 hours.  As symptoms would not appear for six hours, by the time anyone figured out what had happened -- if they ever did -- the poison would be gone and impossible to trace.

Harry memorized every detail of the plan.  After three-quarters of an hour the group retired for lunch, after which Snape would mix the potion and it would be sent off.  During that time the entire group would remain in each others' presence, not even allowed to go to the bathroom alone.  Trust was not a strong suit among Voldemort's followers, apparently.

When the room had been empty for a full five minutes, Harry decided he could risk moving.  He quickly stepped into the fire while blowing the floo powder and intoning "Snape's quarters."  After a dizzying, sickening few moments, during which he forgot to draw in his elbows and so got banged about a bit, Harry stepped out of the fire and back into Hogwarts.

* * * *

Saturday Night

Harry had never seen Dumbledore so angry.  And that was saying a lot.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Severus?  Taking Harry into a den of Death Eaters?  You know how important he is!  The risk!  There can be no justification for it!"

Snape remained calm.  "I do know how important Harry is to our cause.  His death is a veritable obsession for Voldemort, and would be an incredible blow to the morale of our side and an amazing boost to theirs."

"That's not the half of it, for God's sake!  He's more than a psychological weapon, and you know that!"

"Of course, Albus.  But hear me out.  You are as important to our cause as Harry, if not more so."

"Certainly not more so!"

"Well, then," Snape smiled slightly as he nodded in acquiescence.  "Will you concede to as important?"

Dumbledore hesitated briefly, then nodded.  "Of course."

"I knew that there was a plan afoot to assassinate you.  I had no idea of the particulars, however.  They don't trust me fully yet, and would not share anything with me ahead of time.  I was called.  I went.  But I was aware that it might be impossible for me to get a warning to you if I went alone.  I knew Harry had the cloak, and that very few others know of its existence."

Dumbledore interrupted, "Surely someone else..."

"It had to be someone small enough to fit under my robes undetected."

"Professor Flitwick..."

"There is no one else with Harry's ability to be silent and still, his size, his memory and attention to detail, nor his common sense and calm under pressure.  You know there isn't, Albus.  Had my spy been detected I would have been revealed, and things would have gone much worse for us in the long run."

Dumbledore sighed.  "It is untenable."

"The entire situation was untenable.  It was what I believe muggles call a no-win situation.  I found a way to win."

"You risked Harry's life."

"Had he been found out I would have grabbed him and apparated to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, where Hagrid was standing by to let down our defenses long enough for us to slip to safety.  I might have been ruined, but I assure you I wouldn't have let Harry get caught."

Dumbledore stopped pacing for the first time since the conversation began, and slumped into an armchair by the fire.  "Of course you wouldn't.  I know that."

"Albus, I..."

"No.  No.  You were right.  The information had to get back to Hogwarts, and there was no other way to make that happen.  Harry was the only one for the job."

"And had I told you about it ahead of time you would have forbidden it."

"Yes, I most certainly would have."

"So... May I ask how you have covered up your fore-knowledge of the plot?"

"The story is that Crabbe's house-elf died a horrific death in the Hogwarts kitchens.  We enchanted enough elves to believe they saw it that there are plenty of witnesses.  As far as anyone knows, we never found out about the plot at all.  The stupid elf merely ate the lemon tarts that I had ordered from Hogsmeade.  It should suffice."

"Yes, I think it will do.

Harry finally spoke.  "And the house-elf?"

Dumbledore smiled.  "He's been relocated -- against his will, I'm afraid -- to America, where he will serve a shaman on an isolated Hopi reservation in Arizona with very little chance that anyone will ever find out he still lives."

Harry nodded.  He hadn't thought they would kill an innocent, but he was glad to be sure.

"Now, Harry.  I suggest you go to bed with Severus."

"Sir?"

"I don't want you walking the halls alone at this time of night.  You will escort Harry back to Gryfindor Tower, won't you Professor?"

Snape nodded curtly.  "It's out of my way, but... Of course.  Come along, Potter."

"And Severus."  The soft tone of Dumbledore's stopped Snape cold.

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you.  Once more I owe you my life.  It is adding up, you know?"

"No one is counting except you, Albus.  Good night."

With that Snape strode out of the room, and Harry raced to keep up with him.  He would love to hear the story of the other time (or was it times?) Snape had saved Dumbledore's life.  There was so much more to Professor Snape than Harry knew, and increasingly he found that fact occupying his mind -- even his dreams.  He wanted to know everything about Snape.  And the more he did find out, the more he wanted to know.  It was becoming an obsession, and one Harry wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"Potter, that's not the way to Gryfindor Tower."  Snape was trying to lead him up a stairway, while Harry was heading down another hall.

"I know, Professor.  I was going to your quarters."

"Whatever for?"

"I left my school robes there this morning.  Remember?  You made me take them off?"

"Of course."  Snape changed direction and followed Harry.

When they reached Snape's bedroom he quickly gathered Harry's robe and handed it to him.

"Can I talk to you, Professor?"

"It's late, Potter.  We've both had a long and difficult day."

"Do you really think that of me?"  Harry blurted out.

"What?"

Harry spoke in a jumbled rush.  "That I'm good at keeping quiet, that I have common sense under pressure, that I was the only one for the job today?"

Snape nodded.  "Yes.  I think you are the sneakiest, most conniving, lurking weasel I have ever met.  Take that as a compliment if you like."

Harry smiled broadly.  "I like."

"Now come on," Snape dragged Harry out into the corridor and toward the Gryfindor quarters.

As they got closer and closer to Harry's room, he tried to work up the courage to speak his mind.  After all, he might not get the opportunity to have another private discussion with Snape for who knew how long.  "Professor..."

"Bloody hell.  What is it now, Potter?"

"When you drew me against you, and when you bumped me away at Malfoy's..."

"That's enough.  We are not having this conversation."  And Snape's stride lengthened so Harry was panting with the effort to follow.

"It just seemed to me," Harry continued, "that perhaps you were a bit stiff."

"A purely autonomic reaction to the excitement of the coming mission and the physical contact."

"Oh, sure.  I figured that.  It's just..."  They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady which guarded the entrance to the Gryfindor common room.

"What's the password, Potter?"

"In a minute."

"I told you we are not having..."

"Well, I am.  If you want to leave, leave.  But I'm saying what I mean to say."

Snape scowled.  "Of for God's sake.  Out with it, then."

"I liked it.  That you had that purely autonomic reaction to me.  I like that."

"Fine."

"I like you, Professor."

Snape shook his head slightly.  He glanced up and down the corridor, and pulled Harry slightly away from the portrait.  Even though she seemed asleep, one never knew.  The walls of Hogwards did, literally, have ears. 

Snape spoke softly.  "Harry.  First of all, your trust in me this morning meant quite a lot to me.  I'm glad you believe we are on the same side.  I'm glad you've been able to put aside your hatred for me and accept that I may be one of the good guys, as you would say.  Because we will have to know who our friends are in the coming days and weeks and even, perhaps, years.  And I am your friend.  But that is all I am.  Your ally.  Someone you can trust in the battle against Voldemort.  Your childish passion for me has swung from hatred to infatuation in the blink of an eye, proving ever more clearly how immature and unformed your feelings really are.  And even if I thought for one moment that your feelings for me were true and well grounded, it is not going to happen.  Harry, hear me in this.  It is not going to happen."

"And why is that, Professor?"  Harry snapped.  He didn't like being condescended to, or being called immature and childish.

"For more reasons than I can enumerate, though if you think about it you will surely come up with all of them on your own.  But I only need one reason.  You are 15 years old and I am a 37-year-old teacher at your school.  It is simply not going to happen.  Period."

Harry laughed.  "I won't be 15 forever, you know?"  And with that Harry moved in quickly, drawing Snape to him and kissing him full on the lips.  He could feel Snape's growing hardness as he pulled them hip-to-hip, and felt the moment's submission as the kiss deepened.  Then, as expected, Snape pushed him away.

"Happy Christmas, Professor."  Harry smiled warmly.

Snape spoke so low that Harry barely heard him.  "I don't celebrate Christmas, Potter."

"Well Happy Solstice, then."

Snape started as the Fat Lady's portrait swung open.  Harry laughed once more.  "Solstice.  That's the password."

In one fluid motion Harry leaned in and ardently kissed Snape again and then withdrew and entered through the door.  The portrait swung closed behind him. 

Snape wasn't sure how long he stood in that hall, motionless and in fact nearly breathless.  When he finally roused himself out of his reverie, he smiled.  "Happy Solstice, Potter."

He strode down the darkened hallway, oblivious to the Fat Lady's indignant remarks as her portrait swung unnecessarily open.  Behind the door the common room was empty.  Harry was already in bed, drifting to sleep with thoughts of Severus Snape promising to haunt his dreams.

END

JIM/BLAIR

Title: Nog
Author: ren
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Disclaimer: So, you all know they don’t belong to me, right?
Rating: PG-13, if you’re feeling charitable
Notes: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent and inspired by the world’s most vicious hangover, and the fun I had acquiring it. Many thanks to Michelle, who provided me with a speedy last-minute beta when all the usual suspects were tucked into bed. She, in turn, thanks me for the smutless fade-to-black. Damn it.
Feedback: Would be lovely. humbleren@hotmail.com 
Summary: Blair gets nogged for the holidays. Stuff happens.

NOG

“Have yourself an eggy noggy Christmas…something something briiiiiiight…”

Jim Ellison paused in the middle of stamping snow off his shoes, and directed a puzzled frown at his front door. That drunken nightmare warbling almost sounded like Sandburg…

“Have yourself an eggy noggy Christmas niiiiiiight…”

Oh, Jesus. It *was* Sandburg – no one else Jim knew could reach that level of tunelessness whilst sober.

Only he wasn’t sober, Jim realised, catching the thick scent of rum smoking through the keyhole. Full as a Christmas tick, by the sound of him, and by the smell of him, and by the…hmm…

“My, what red cheeks you have. Santa must be jealous.”

Sandburg jumped and spun, the startled accusation in his eyes fading back into good-humoured drunkenness. He smirked lopsidedly. “Jim, come on, man. Santa only *wishes* he had cheeks like these.”

He turned back to the kitchen bench to pour himself another drink, and Jim directed his gaze back downward to the reddened cheeks in question, allowing himself a brief moment of gratitude that Simon had turned down his offer of coffee. He had the feeling no amount of ball scratching and grunting about football would counteract the sight of his roommate prancing about like a drunken, naked Christmas elf.

Blair shifted so he could lean back against the bench, drink in hand, and Jim noted with some interest that the alcohol-flush extended all the way down in the front, as well.

“So,” he asked. “You want to tell me what’s going on? Christmas isn’t for another two weeks, yet.”

He was favoured with a broad, lopsided grin as Blair toasted him with his glass, eggnog slopping over the sides and running over his fingers.

“Well, you see, it’s like this,” Blair began. “I was at this Christmas party on campus, and they had this really terrible eggnog there. Man, it was like the anti-nog, I mean completely lacking in noggy goodness, and by the end of the night I had a nog craving like you wouldn’t believe –“

“Sandburg, could you stop saying ‘nog’ every five seconds?”

Blair blinked at him. “I…doubt it. Anyway, I stopped on the way home and I picked up all the n…all the ingredients for the…um. I picked up everything I needed, and I got home and I made this magnificent…Jim, can I say it now? Because this really is the champion of all nogs, here. This –“ and he held up his glass in another toast, “is the God of Nog. You with me here, Jim?”

Jim sincerely hoped not. “I…yeah, I get it. Bad eggnog at the party, you came home and made your own and then, what, it was so good you decided to drink all of it at once?”

Blair shot him the most expressive ‘Duh’ look he had ever seen, and shook his head. “Nooo, Jim, I saved some for you. Geesh, what kind of a shitty friend do you take me for?”

“That was nice of you,” Jim told him sincerely, “but Sandburg, what happened to your clothes?”

“Uh, nothing. Why do you ask?” Obviously, there had been a *lot* of nog concocted.

“You, uh. You do realise that you’re naked?”

Blair glanced down at himself and chuckled, starting to weave slightly on his feet. “Oh, that. Yeah, when I was making the eggnog I kinda slipped and spilled stuff all over me, and I figured if I kept drinking all that rum I’d probably do it again, so I just stayed naked. You know, in the interests of labour conservation.”

“Labour conservation,” Jim said blankly.

“Yeah. I just thought what was the point of putting more clothes on, if I’d only have to take them back off again anyway?” He looked directly at Jim, then, and abruptly the glaze over his eyes seemed more like a…glitter. “You know, Jim, if you’re gonna have some nog, maybe you should take your clothes off as well. You wouldn’t want to get them all sticky.”

Somewhere in the back of Jim’s brain, a tiny voice started singing ‘we WISH you a merry Christmas, we WISH you a merry Christmas…’

He cleared his throat as Blair started walking towards him, glass in hand. “Uh, well, you never know. If it’s such wonderful eggnog, maybe I’ll just try really hard not to spill it, so I don’t…” Blair came to a halt in front of him, close enough that his warmth prickled Jim’s skin. “…Waste any,” he finished in a strangled tone, as Blair raised the glass and calmly up-ended it all over his shirt.

“Oops.” Rum scented breath hung in the space between them, flavoured sweet by the eggnog.

And as sticky lips closed over his, Jim closed his eyes and let all his Christmases come at once.

END

MISCELLANEOUS STARSKY/HUTCH

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