Harry wasn’t surprised that the moment he stepped out of the Great Hall, Snape was behind him.

“Detention, Potter,” he snarled, and Hermione and Neville didn’t even put up a fuss as Harry was pulled to the Headmaster’s office by his arm.

Snape was livid with the headmaster. He could have smacked him at the table, when Dumbledore had informed him. He had looked right over at Potter, then, at Potter’s small little frame at the table, and he almost blurted it all out right then. But he wouldn’t, not without Potter’s permission.

“We’re telling Dumbledore right now,” Snape said, and Harry started to put up resistance.

“Sir, no! Please—please, it’s only two weeks. What can happen?”

“You can be deposited on a London street corner in the middle of a snow fall with both legs broken, that’s what!”

“I can’t—I won’t tell Dumbledore. You can’t make me.”

“I will tell him, then.”

Harry looked panicked for a moment. “You can’t. You don’t understand. I can do it! Please, I can, just for two weeks!”

Snape didn’t slow his step until he felt the boy’s arm shiver in fear.

He stopped right there and released the boy.

“Potter, you are endangering yourself.”

“I’m not, not really. I can handle it, sir, I promise.”

“The Weasley’s are all staying, something about an Egyptian dragon that’s escaped to Romania. Lacking as Weasley is in wits, he would make better company than those excuses you have for relatives.”

“I don’t want to tell. I can’t tell him sir, I can’t, he won’t understand, he’ll kick me out—“

“You are willing to risk your life rather than tell the Headmaster?”

“It’s not risking my life, sir. It’s just Christmas. I’ll tell Neville and Hermione not to send gifts and it’ll all be fi—“

“How much of the holiday do you expect to spend in your cupboard, Potter? Those relatives of yours don’t exactly sound like they have much Christmas cheer.” Snape was perfectly willing to fill them with cheer—he’d insert it into their abdomen after he had sliced open their miserable stomachs.

“I—I like the cupboard. It’s peaceful. I’ll bring some of the books me and Neville bought in the Alley and I’ll read them when I get shut in, it’ll be relaxing—“

“Potter, you could relax here. I’m sure the Headmaster would let you stay—“

“Please—sir, I’m not ready. I can’t yet. Please—I promise, I’ll try really hard to be good, I won’t give them any reason to put me in the cupboard!”

Severus looked down at the boy and he saw himself at a cross roads.

He cared for the boy. He did care. And that was what made it so difficult.

Betray the boy’s trust and lose him forever? Or send him into a potentially lethal situation?

He would not lose the boy. Whatever it took, he would not lose the boy.

He cast a quick spell over Harry, and a small necklace appeared around his neck.

“It’s a connection spell. It anything goes wrong, it will contact me immediately and allow me to Apparate to your coordinates.”

Harry nodded, relieved. “Yes, sir. But you won’t need to, you’ll see. I’ll be very good.” He paused, then asked shyly “May I leave my trunk with you again, sir?”

Snape nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

If the boy was hurt, he would never forgive himself.

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Harry had not expected Uncle Vernon to pick him up at the station, so he took precautions. He emptied what remained of the money he had taken from his vault that summer for the Diagon Alley trip and sent half of it in to Gringotts to be exchanged for Muggle coins. The other half he hid, taped to the inside of his trousers and shoes. He was pleasantly surprised, then, when he saw Uncle Vernon as soon as he came out of the platform.

The pleasantness of the surprise ended, however, when Uncle Vernon again latched on to his shoulder and pulled him to the car without a word.

He had told Hermione and Neville not to send gifts and he had the little chain Professor Snape had made him tucked inside his shirt. He wouldn’t get in trouble, this time. He wouldn’t let himself.

Uncle Vernon did not speak to him the whole car trip, and even when they arrived at the house he didn’t say a word, so Harry slipped into his cupboard and hid the galleons and pounds in little nooks and crannies. He had just finished that and was about to take out his book (the fourth in the series, where Liam is taken hostage by French pirates and meets another cabin boy, named Roux, who helps him escape. Harry found it thrilling.) when the door flew open and Harry found himself being pulled by his tie out of the cupboard.

He had left his robe behind, and all his other school things (except his wand) but Dudley’s clothes had been taken by Gus Longbottom and mended during his stay there. They barely looked like Dudley’s anymore, and he knew he would get in trouble for altering them, so he thought his school uniform was the safest thing. It didn’t even look magic in the slightest—tie, trousers, sweater, shirt. Completely ordinary.

Uncle Vernon took great pleasure in ripping the tie off his neck.

“What’s this trash?”

“It’s my House tie, Uncle Vernon.”

“It’s absolute rubbish. Dudley, throw it in the fireplace.”

Harry wouldn’t look as the tie went up in flames. He reminded himself, nearly desperately, of his other ties. Of his row of ties. And of Neville’s ties, and Dean’s ties, and even Seamus’ ties. Seamus’ mum had embroidered little S.F’s on the ends of his, so no one could take them. Harry and Neville were planning on taking one and changing the F to a B, in honor of Seamus’ great trick. Ron’s ties all had ink spots on them, and he tended to play with the ends of his during quizzes. Hasrry reminded himself of Hogwarts, and he had almost relaxed when he looked up at his uncle.

Uncle Vernon then proceeded to slap him.

Harry just grasped his cheek and gaped.

“I don’t want you here, boy. I wouldn’t have let you come here at all, not in my house, but I don’t need a bunch of freaks coming here and ruining Dudley’s Christmas.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t interupt me. This is how this break is going to work. You will get up. You will sit in your cupboard. You will make breakfast. You will return to your cupboard. You will make dinner. You will go back to your cupboard. And then you will start the whole thing again, am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry could almost sing. He could do that. He could do that! He would be so good, Snape wouldn’t even know what hit him.

“If I see you at any other time, I’m warning you, I won’t be held responsible. Petunia’s made us take you back, but don’t think that means anything to me, boy. Nothing’s changed.”

Harry nodded respectfully and almost skipped back to his cupboard.

“And get out of those clothes, you look ridiculous!”

Harry just nodded and shut the door.

He worked hard for the next few days. He made breakfast and lunch and dinner and he didn’t burn anything. Aunt Petunia begrudgingly gave him a baggy pair of jeans and an enormous grey t-shirt, which he wore day in and out. He scrubbed every inch of his cupboard until it was spotless, he read his book, he dreamt about how surprised and happy Snape would be when he came back to school.

‘You’re all right?’ he would ask, and Harry would nod.

‘I was good.’

And Snape would smile at him like he had smiled in the mirror last year, and then he would never let Harry come back to the Dursleys again. He would maybe even adopt him. They would live in a big house with a big yard and have a cat. Harry would get to name the cat, even, and it would be named Lily, like his mum, and Hedwig would fly over the table in the morning and in the summer Neville and Hermione would come and be in awe of the house and of Snape—

The fantasy broke when the cupboard door flew open and Dudley grinned down at him maliciously.

“You’re in trouble now.”

Harry looked up at him, confused. He hadn’t been out of the cupboard since breakfast. Aunt Petunia had even given him the extra toast.

“What?”

“I said, you’re in trouble now. I told Daddy what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry said, bewildered.

Dudley’s grin widened. “You broke the computer, stupid.”

Harry sat up on his bed quickly. “No I haven’t. I’ve never touched the computer.”

“Well, I wanted a new one, but Daddy just got this last one last week and I probably wouldn’t get a new one for at least a month, so I smashed the screen and told him you did it cause you’re freaky.”

Harry paled. “But—but, Dudley—“ he said, and Dudley laughed meanly.

“You’re in trouble now. Dad’s on his way home right now, and he sounded really angry. You’re gonna get it, Potter.” Dudley slammed the door shut and pounded up and down the stairs, laughing.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and leaned his head against the wall and tried to breathe deeply, but he was too scared.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He had been trying so hard to be good, and he had been, but now he was going to get into trouble anyway and Snape wouldn’t love him. He could barely even remember the fantasy he’d been imagining, because now it was long gone. Long gone. As soon as Snape found out how Harry’d been in trouble, he wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

Unless.

Unless Snape never found out.

Harry hesitated a second, then pulled the little chain over his head and wrapped it in a wad of paper towel before putting it in his pocket.

He then tried to relax and convince himself it would all be fine.

It wasn’t, though.

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On Christmas Eve, Hermione Granger smiled at her parents and at their tree and at her Aunt Rachel and her Uncle Rob. She opened her presents and read books by the fire and baked cookies with her mother and laughed with her father. She worked her way through a Muggle maths workbook she had bought at the book shop, she sent Neville his gift and a letter and played a Candy Land tournament like every Christmas and had fun.

But something in her stomach kept poking her and she didn’t know what to do.

She kept looking at Harry’s present and wondering why it would be so bad to send him an owl. She thought about Harry, having a presentless Christmas tomorrow and a joyless evening tonight, and it made her stomach hurt and her fingers itch, and she promised herself that, after break, she was going to go to Snape and find out the truth.

It was time.

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On Christmas Eve, Neville Longbottom smiled at his Gran and tended to the plants and helped decorate the house. He greeted his Uncle Algie with a smile and showed him how big Trevor had gotten. He had lemon meringue and Yorkshire pudding and chocolate cake. He went to Diagon Alley with his Gran to select presents for his parents and he bought Harry his present and sent Hermione’s off. He made a card for his mother and father, he colored it in carefully as he told his gran about Harry, Hermione, and his latest escapades.

But something in his heart hurt and he knew exactly why.

Harry and Hermione always were kind and straight with him. It wasn’t fair, keeping this a secret from them. He knew Harry’s parents were dead and Hermione’s were dentists, he knew Harry didn’t care for his relatives and that the feeling was mutual and he knew Hermione’s father Dave was an excellent footballer. He knew all about their families, but all they knew about his was that he lived with his gran. So he promised himself that, after break, he was going to sit down and tell Harry and Hermione all about his parents.

It was time.

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On Christmas Eve, Harry Potter lay on his stomach in his cupboard crying quietly into his pillow. He hadn’t cried at the Dursleys home for years. He had sealed himself off from them, so that whatever they did, it never hurt him. Not inside. They didn’t matter to him, and even though it would be nice if he mattered to them, he knew it wouldn’t ever change, and he accepted that. He didn’t care if they hurt him, because it didn’t touch him inside. It didn’t touch his magic, because to do that they would have to get closer, and they would never get close to Harry Potter.

But he lay there on his stomach crying and he knew why.

It wasn’t the Dursleys that hurt him. Or, rather, it was, but it wasn’t what made him cry. The pain wasn’t even that bad, not if he didn’t touch them. He could feel his magic soothing it, and he knew that it wouldn’t hurt anymore by the next morning. But he had lost something. He had lost the dream he had, because he could never imagine he would be good enough for Snape now. But he kept trying to remind himself, Snape never had to know. Snape would never guess. All Harry had to do for the rest of break was be good, and Snape would never know. So Harry lay there and made himself stop crying, wiping his nose and carefully avoiding his wounds. He waited for a little over a week, until he could get back to Hogwarts and Professor Snape.

It was almost time.

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On Christmas Eve, Severus Snape sat in a chair in his rooms staring into a fire. He had no relatives and few friends, so all he did on Christmas Eve was sit in front of the fire and read. Tomorrow he would make a perfunctory visit to Lucius Malfoy and his brat of a son, and he wished he could be visiting Potter, giving Potter gifts. He drank brandy and stared at the fire and all he saw, playing over in his mind, was him and Potter being happy together. His hand went, for the thousandth time that day, to his wand, and he absently flicked it and saw the connection spell statistics come up.

Something in his head started to pound and he looked at it closer.

The chart looked exactly the same as it had this afternoon, and earlier this evening. That shouldn’t be possible. The boy was not suspended in time or motion, he had feelings. But the charm showed nothing, and Snape started to cast more spells at a hurried, frantic pace.

But nothing said anything. They didn’t say he was dead.

They didn’t say he was alive either.

With that thought, Severus picked up his cloak and swept to the front doors of the castle.

Dumbledore met him there.

“Ah, Severus. I was about to have some hot chocolate with the other teachers, care to join us?”

“No,” Snape snapped, and he started to pull at the door handles.

“Do you have somewhere you need to go, Severus?”

“I do, actually, Headmaster.”

“There is a blizzard outside, Severus. I believe the castle herself has sealed herself, to protect her inhabitants.”

Severus whirled around, his eyes blazing so that Albus thought for a second that real flames might leap. Then the man turned and walked away.

Severus Snape returned to his quarters and slammed the door.

He was too late.

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Harry had been sitting in the bathroom on the Hogwarts Express ever since it left the station.

He knew Hermione and Neville were probably looking for him and probably worried. But he needed a little bit, before he went to them. He needed some time to himself.

He spent nearly the whole train ride there before he fought his way past the firsties to where Nev and Hermione had claimed a compartment. He smiled at them as he slid open the doors.

“Sorry I’m late, the trains a madhouse. How was your Christmas?”

And Harry lightly chatted the whole ride, terrified of what would happen when he hit Hogwarts and saw Snape. The train seemed to try to be reassuring him—heneverhastoknow, heneverhastoknow, he neverhastoknow.

When they reached the carriages and they left the train, Harry was sweating, but determined.

Snape never had to know. And Harry wouldn’t tell him.