December brought with it a biting chill. The wind howled like an angry beast, and snow once again spun outside the castle windows, tapping against the frozen panes with icy fingers. The surface of the Black Lake had long since solidified into a smooth, slate-grey mirror, glinting with a cold, metallic sheen.
Christmas was fast approaching. Hagrid could be seen lumbering around the Great Hall once more, struggling—though not complaining—as he hauled in twelve towering, freshly cut fir trees.
Garlands of glossy holly and glimmering tinsel twined around the stair bannisters. Candlelight flickered from within the helmets of suits of armor. Mistletoe bunches hung at regular intervals down the corridors like dangling bells, swaying gently with every draft.
"He didn't invite you to his Christmas party?" Abbot asked, eyes wide with exaggerated surprise.
They were crunching across the frost-hardened earth of the vegetable patch, heading toward the greenhouses. Abbot turned his head as he walked, smirking.
"Looks like the old slimebag's finally seen your true, evil nature."
"Quite so," Snape answered with serene satisfaction. "That's why I've decided to spend the entire evening glued to your side, dragging you down into a claustrophobic abyss of despair."
"No, thank you—" Abbot widened his eyes dramatically, waving his arms. "You know I've already made plans!"
"That's alright. I don't mind watching you the whole time." Snape smiled in a way that made Abbot groan.
With a snort of disdain, Abbot picked up his pace.
The weeklong gales had finally subsided, but a strange, dense fog had returned. It took them far longer than usual to fumble their way through the mist and locate the greenhouse where their class was held.
"I'm serious," Abbot said under his breath as they donned dragon-hide gloves near a knotted stump of Gnarledroot Vine, one of their more dangerous subjects this term. "Are you really going to spend Christmas alone?"
A short distance away, Pandora was strapping on her protective resin mask with quiet focus.
"I'll invite her to join the two of you," Snape said, his voice muffled behind his own mask.
"I swear, if the two of you spend Christmas together, I'll have to greet what's left of you in a box—several boxes, actually," Abbot muttered, fumbling with his goggles. He adjusted too quickly and snapped the band into his own eye socket with a yelp.
"Careful, mate." Snape let out a dramatically long sigh. "Madam Pomfrey can't mend an exploded eyeball. You'll end up with a magical prosthetic—maybe even a Moody-grade Mad-Eye."
"No more talking!" Professor Sprout's sharp voice cut across the greenhouse as she approached at a brisk pace. "You're behind—everyone else has started already. Even Pandora's extracted a pod!"
They turned and sure enough, Pandora sat nearby, her lips bloodied and her cheek scored with claw-like scratches, but her expression one of fascination. She held up a pulsating pod the size of a grapefruit that writhed obscenely in her hands.
"Yes, Professor, we're getting to it now!"
Once Sprout moved on, Abbot leaned over again and whispered urgently, "I take it all back. If you two are left alone for an entire Christmas, I fear for your safety."
"Oh, shove off," Snape groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't forget my protective enchantments are better than Gropplank's now."
They both drew in deep breaths and bent over the misshapen root.
It reacted like a beast rudely awakened, launching thorned tendrils from its crown with a crackling whoosh, swinging them wildly through the air.
One lashed into Abbot's hair. Snape immediately batted it away with a set of pruning shears.
Abbot wrestled two tendrils into a knot, yanking them together with considerable effort.
Between the writhing branches, a narrow hole was exposed. Snape seized the moment and plunged his gloved arm in. The hole clamped shut on his elbow like a vicious trap.
Abbot scrambled to pull and twist the vines apart again. The opening relented, and Snape withdrew his arm, victorious—clutching a pod nearly identical to Pandora's.
The tendrils shrank back. The root fell silent, now just a gnarled husk.
"Blimey," Abbot coughed, still recovering, "how'd she do that alone? She's terrifying."
"Good question," Snape muttered, holding the pale green, worm-like pod between two fingers. "I've always wondered how her experiments succeed at all.
"They defy logic. She managed to turn sage into something more vicious than Devil's Snare…"
"Don't dally!" Sprout barked from across the greenhouse. "Extract the juice while it's fresh—that's when the quality's best!"
Abbot returned to his earlier topic, now pressing the pod into a bowl with both hands, straining visibly. "I've never seen anyone like her. Even after seeing that lab… I mean, she's unnerving, sure—but also brilliant."
"If there were more like her," Snape replied, flipping through Carnivorous Flora Compendium for the proper juicing technique, "it'd be far more terrifying."
"No use fussing with that," Abbot said. "Look here, we need to pierce the pod."
He reached for the shears Snape passed to him. "Oh, right—did you hear? After the holidays, the Ministry's sending an Apparition Instructor. We'll finally get training!"
"Of course. I can't wait," Snape said eagerly. "I turn seventeen on the ninth of January."
"I'm in March," Abbot replied as he pierced the pod. "So that means we're both eligible."
"How brilliant would that be?" He snapped his fingers. "Once I've mastered it, I can go wherever I want in Hogsmeade weekends…"
"Exactly," Snape said, eyes bright with anticipation. "And the Trace disappears after that…"