Christmas of 1998 was a raucous event at the Burrow. Molly Weasley had invited just about every wizard there was, it seemed, and that only added to the disorder that came with seven children.

Severus Snape stood outside, ankle-deep in the snow. He wasn’t sure why he had come. Normally he spent the holidays alone, but there was a certain jovial air this Christmas that was inescapable, even by him. He attributed this to the fact that Voldemort was dead and gone for good, and the wizarding world was free. No longer was he bound in service to the Dark Lord, and no more would he risk his life.

He had only meant to step out for a moment to escape the organized chaos of the (admittedly well-made) Christmas dinner, but he found himself enraptured with the peacefulness of the winter snowscape. He had always enjoyed the stillness and quiet the snow brought with it, and even more so now with the loud atmosphere of the Burrow. The Weasley home did bring with it a strange homey feeling that he found himself enjoying, but regardless, it felt good to just step out of the whirlwind of Christmas and into the stillness of winter.

So there Snape stood, the cold biting at his cheeks as he took in the view.

Not more than a few minutes later, Harry Potter stepped outside the Burrow, intent on collecting bowls of snow to pour sugar over and eat. However, he was diverted from his task when he rounded the corner of the house and sighted Snape standing some distance away, a dark sentinel against the pure white snow.

Harry almost called out to him, but stopped himself as an evil plan began to form in his mind. A younger Harry Potter would never have dared to do such a thing, but he was older, and the animosity he once had with Snape was in the past. Smirking to himself, he deposited the bowls and set about his plan.

Ron stuck his head out the door. “Oi, mate! What’s taking so long?”

“Shh!” Harry hissed at him. “Come here!”

Ron hurried over to where his friend crouched in the snow. “What are you doing?”

“Keep your voice down!” Harry gestured to the corner of the house. “Snape is over there, and I’m going to get him good with this snowball.”

Ron took a quick glance at Snape’s figure before looking back at Harry. “Have you gone loony? He’ll use an Unforgivable on us if you do that!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, he won’t. Besides, he needs to lighten up a little. It is Christmas.” Before Ron could argue further, he rose, a snowball clutched in his hands. He snuck around the corner, inching a few feet forward so his chance of missing lessened. He poised himself to throw at the Professor’s back.

Snape’s hand shot out. “Accio Potter’s snowball!”

Before Harry could process what was happening, the projectile had flown from his hand into Snape’s. The dark man turned to face Harry, eyeing the snowball with something like contempt.

“A feeble attempt at a snowball, Potter,” he said after a long moment.

Harry stared. Instead of saying something about the fact that he had obviously tried to pelt him with snow, Snape was critiquing his snowball as if it were a bad potion in class.

“I-it’s not bad!” he spluttered.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He tossed the snowball into the air and it immediately broke apart, resulting in a small shower of snow. “Contrary to popular belief, I was once a child, Potter, and I think I know a good snowball when I see one.”

“Well, how would you make one, then?” Harry shot back.

Wordlessly Snape pulled forth his wand with one hand and stretched out an open palm with the other. He made a waving motion and a small amount of snow flew up from the ground, coalescing in his palm and forming a perfect sphere.

“Like so, Potter,” he said tonelessly.

“Wow.” Harry blinked. “That’s—” He did not get a chance to finish his sentence, for his mouth was suddenly full of snow. Snape had thrown with deadly accuracy.

Ron nearly slipped and fell flat as he laughed at Harry’s hysterical expression.

Even Snape’s mouth twitched upwards. “If you learn nothing else from me, let this be the one thing you do,” he said, sounding amused. “Never cross me when it comes to snowballs.”

Harry scrubbed at his face, shouting, “You’re on!”

As the snowy battle began, Ron ran forward, eager to join in. “Hey, I’m coming too!” Whap! Two snowballs hit him in the side of the head.

***

“Where are those three?” Molly Weasley clucked in disapproval. “It’s time for dessert and Harry hasn’t brought me that snow!” Muttering to herself, she bustled from the Burrow, promising woe upon the boys who were holding up her dessert.

As she stepped outside, the sounds of shouts and laughter drifted to her ears. When she rounded the corner, she was greeted with the sight of Harry, Ron, and Snape chucking snow at each other from across her backyard. Harry and Ron were doing most of the shouting and laughing, but Snape (encrusted with his fair share of snow) looked to be enjoying himself.

“Severus Snape!” Molly called, arms akimbo. “I never thought I’d see the day when you would be frolicking like a child!”

“I am not frolicking, Mrs. Weasley,” Snape said, somehow managing to maintain an air of dignity though snow was all over his clothes and hair. “I am merely teaching these boys how to make proper snowballs.”

She managed to keep a straight face. “And then throw them at each other, I assume!” Without waiting for an answer, she snorted as she took in their disheveled appearances. “Come inside. It’s time for dessert, and it seems I’ll have to get my own snow.”

Harry and Ron started after her, still laughing to themselves, when as a final parting shot, one more snowball smacked against each of their heads.

Harry rounded on Snape. “That’s not fair, Professor!”

“Life isn’t fair, Potter,” said Snape, though he was smirking as he dusted himself off.

“Whatever,” Harry grumbled, though he was smiling.

They all went inside to the warmth and happiness of the Burrow and enjoyed the rest of their Christmas Day. Over the years it became a tradition, and it seemed that it wouldn’t be Christmas without a snowball fight between them.