A/N: Yorkshire Dialect Poems can be found here: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2888?msg
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Severus rose late on Christmas morning. A small pile of gifts sat on the small table next to his armchair, most of them were from his colleagues. He picked up a small rectangular package wrapped elegantly in silver paper with a green ribbon that was charmed to look like a coiled snake; it was from Lucius and Narcissa. Lucius had a gift for Potions-making. His skill didn't approach Severus', but he had some skill nonetheless. Lucius' specialties were poisons, anti-dotes, and anti-venoms. Snape flicked his wand and the snake unfolded itself with an audible hiss and settled on the table as a harmless green ribbon. He tore off the expensive silver paper and threw the wadded bundle on the floor. An old, very rare, and very expensive book of obscure anti-venoms for poisonous creatures lay in his hand.
Most people would think such a book to be a thoughtful and practical gift for an academic like Snape, but Severus knew better. This book was a warning. Lucius was terrified of Nagini; he'd confided in Severus that he thought Nagini to be a species of man-eating snake that had been long thought extinct. It was commonly called the 'wizard's serpent', not because of its popularity as a magical pet, but because of its preference for hunting magical people. This was a particularly large species known for its high intelligence, resistance to magical spells, and its ability to sense magic at great distances.
In the past, many dark witches and wizards attempted to keep wizard's serpents as familiars, but were usually eaten by their virtually uncontrollable pets. Their numbers had spread across Europe all the way to Southern England via animal trafficking. During the mid-sixteen hundreds, when the Great Plague of London was claiming muggles victims, there was a great rise in deaths from these snakes and a plan was formed to eradicate them. A slow-breeding creature, their numbers never recovered and they were thought to have become extinct.
Severus had already begun researching possible anti-venoms for Nagini's poisonous bite. He'd frightened Wormtail into providing him with a sample of Nagini's venom. The standard anti-venom used by St. Mungo's would be ineffectual with this particular snake's venom, assuming that Lucius' suspicions were correct, and Lucius was rarely wrong. The great Potions master, Zygmunt Budge, postulated that each individual wizard's serpent had slightly different venom, making a viable broad-spectrum anti-venom almost impossible to brew. Severus had just finished brewing a prototype potion for Nagini's venom when Dumbledore rushed in asking if he could help Arthur Weasley. Severus' anti-venom needed refinement, but was sufficiently potent to save Arthur's life; adding further credence to Lucius' theory.
He set the book down and turned to set the wad of silver paper alight when he noticed a large object propped against his portrait wall. He inspected it, and judging by its shape, it appeared to be a portrait wrapped in plain green paper and tied with a silver bow. He lifted a small card from it and read the familiar neat script inside.
Merry Christmas Professor Snape,
I hope you like it.
P.S. Hermione charmed it for me.
~ Lindsay
Thankfully the card was small and Miss Gray was unable to engage in her usual verbosity. Severus ran his hands gently over the paper, tracing the corners of the package. It had been wrapped by hand. He took out his wand and flicked it at the wrappings, which neatly came undone without damage. His jaw dropped in awe of what he saw. Nothing would've prepared him for a magnificent gift like this. He saw himself brewing what appeared to be a very complicated potion as evidenced by the vast number of ingredients laid out before him. The subject's face was angled slightly to the side. The hair on the fully visible side of his face was tucked behind his ear. The figure in the portrait stopped with a look of deep concentration on his face. He ran the tip of his index figure along his lips; then dropped his hand suddenly and looked as if someone not included in the scene had caught his eye. The figure's expression changed instantly as he turned his head toward the unseen person. The figure's eyes flashed with a look of mischievous glee and a devilish smile crept into his features. The portrait was clearly Snape and the likeness was very good. There were minute "improvements" in his features that subtly changed his overall appearance. The result was far from handsome, at least in the conventional sense, but it was clear that the artist viewed her subject very differently from most other people.
Severus stepped back, his eyes still locked onto his paint-and-canvas twin. He felt heat rise to his cheeks. What was he to do with this portrait? He couldn't possibly mount it next to his collection of macabre paintings. He conjured a small table and set the portrait on it. He flicked his wand again and the wrappings neatly and perfectly returned to covering the portrait. Snape moved back to admire this wonderful gift. He traced his fingers over the neatly tied bow. He liked the simple wrappings and could unwrap and rewrap them as his mood dictated. He hadn't planned on interrupting Miss Gray's holiday festivities, but he decided there and then to pay her visit later in the evening.
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Lindsay stood in a cooking apron with her hair pulled back away from her face and was placing plates piled with bread on the rows of tables. She greeted everyone by name—Mrs. This and Mr. That. Other volunteers were setting down plates piled high with a hearty Christmas dinner in front of the crowd of unfortunates who were packed together at the cheerfully, yet sparsely, decorated tables.
"It's not Christmas without carols," said one patron.
"Go on, Lindsay, sing for us," said another.
"Only if Mr. Stevens sings with me," replied Lindsay. A rough-looking man who appeared much older than his years smiled and set his knife and fork down. Lindsay moved to stand next to him. They talked for a moment, deciding on what to sing. Patrons and volunteers alike became quiet and listened as Lindsay's mezzo-soprano blended beautifully with Stevens' high baritone. They sang two carols, and Stevens refused to sing a third until after he'd eaten.
A small-framed thin man dressed in rags entered the room; skulking the edges of it before taking a seat in the darkest corner. Lindsay spotted him immediately and thought there was something familiar about him. The odor wafting from him was so offensive that the people closest to him slid down the benches to the farthest end of the table. The man grinned to himself, which went unseen as his face was obscured by a hood drawn low over his face, only the thick stubble of a day's old black beard could be seen. He was amused that he could manage to smell worse than a room packed full of impoverished vagrants. Most of the people who worked here noticed him immediately and one came over to greet him. She was very young, late teens perhaps, a pretty girl with dark-blonde hair. She tried to pretend that she didn't notice the odor from him.
"Happy Christmas, sir," said the young girl nervously.
"'appy Christmas," he replied in a low rough-sounding voice with a thick, Yorkshire, country accent.
"Can I get you something to eat?"
"Nay, I just came in fer the warmth. I'll be on my way shortly."
"A cup of tea then?"
"Aye."
The girl moved away very quickly, not out of fear, but to get some distance between herself and the smell. She returned seconds later with a hot cup of tea, which she placed in front of him. She didn't try to engage him conversation as one of the patrons, a worn-looking elderly woman, called her away.
The odiferous gentleman chose a convenient vantage point where he had a clear view of the entire room. His attention rested heavily on Lindsay, who had just slapped a man's hand away from her backside. Another man pounded his fist on the table and shouted, "That's enough o' that, Phil! Keep that up and I'll plant me boot in yer arse!"
"Thank you, Mr. Johnson," said Lindsay. "You're always such a gentleman." She bustled about talking and laughing, stopping only to sing a requested song. She stopped in front of the Yorkshire man with a tea pot in her hand. "Hi, sweetie, would you like a refill?" He pushed his teacup toward her, but said nothing. She noted the long spider-like fingers extending from his fingerless black gloves. She filled the cup and pushed it back to him, noting that he didn't take sugar. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Nay."
"Well, it was good to see you again, Mr. Stern." She winked at him and moved on to the others at the end of the table. The Yorkshire man rose and left, leaving the unsweetened tea untouched. Almost three hours later, a new shift of volunteers arrived and Lindsay exited the building with the young girl that had spoken to him and two older women. A man exited behind them and walked the three women to their cars. Lindsay waved to the man saying, "Thanks, I'll be fine, Rick." She unlocked and opened her car door and was greeted with a putrid odor. "Hi again, Professor, I was wondering where you went."
Snape sat up, hood still over his face, as she started the car's engine. "How did you know it was me?"
"You can change your accent and hide your face, but you can't change your body language. Also, your hands have a very distinctive shape." Frowning, Snape pulled off his gloves to inspect his hands. "I heard you talking to Sally. How did you learn a Yorkshire accent?"
"That's a trade secret."
Lindsay beeped the horn and waved at Rick as she drove past his still-parked car. "It's a fabulous accent. I met a couple people from Yorkshire when I was a student. I loved talking with them. I didn't understand half of what they said, but still..."
"Would you like to explain to me what you were doing?"
"Hmm? Oh, never been in a car before? This is the steering wheel; it makes the tires turn—"
"I'm talking about the soup kitchen!" barked Snape. "We've discussed this before, Miss Gray. You're not to leave your home without me. It's for your safety as well as mine."
"I do this every Christmas. It's a family tradition, and I won't give it up."
"Associating with smelly libidinous vagrants is a tradition?"
"My dad always said that giving money is the easiest form of charity. To feel real compassion for people, you have to look them in eyes and get close enough to smell their smells. Poverty has a distinctive and unforgettable odor. Every time I go home from a place like that, I'm reminded of just how fortunate I am. And while I'm on the topic of smells; what did you do, roll around in some cow patties?"
"It's the essence of carrion flower," replied Snape with a grin. "I smeared it on my hair and these clothes I found in the garbage."
"You picked clothes out of the trash?" blurted Lindsay. "They could be soiled with infectious body fluids, or crawling with vermin."
"I do feel a bit itchy, now that you mention it."
"Nasty, Professor, just nasty."
"You mean nasteh," teased Snape as he returned to the Yorkshire accent.
Lindsay laughed, "Say something else."
"No."
"Please, I'm not above begging, Professor. Besides, I need something to take my mind off that smell."
"A short one," said Snape, and began to recite a short poem called 'The Bat.' "Black-black-bearaway, coom doon by hereaway."
"Are you sure that's English?"
"Quite certain, yes."
"Will you do another?"
"Sneel, sneel, put oot your horn. Your fayther an' muthel'll gie ye some corn."
"Oh, I love that accent. Do another."
"No."
"Please, just one more."
" 'The Natterin' Wife' ," said Snape. "The parson, the squire an' the divil
Are troubles at trouble this life,
Bud each on em's dacent an' civil
Compared wi' a natterin'(nagging) wife.
A wife at mun argie an' natter,
She maks a man's mortal life hell.
An' that's t' gospel-truth o' t' matter,
I knaws, 'cause I's got yan misel."
"Natterin?" said Lindsay. "I guess that means I'm annoying you?"
"Well spotted."