For the first time in his whole life, Harry was looking forward to Christmas. He was so excited about Christmas at the castle he was practically vibrating. In fact, he was running through the corridors with a grin on his face for no good reason, Ron and Hermione trying to keep with him. They were on their way back from visiting with Hagrid, and Harry just felt the overwhelming need to burn off excess energy. His friends pulled up mere milliseconds behind him at the tower portrait.

“Harry what’s gotten into you?” Hermione asked, a little breathless.

He sat down and began scribbling an answer as they arrived in the common room.

‘Christmas break in just a few days, ‘mione! Not to mention the little tidbit Hagrid let slip about Flammel!’

“That was rather serendipitous.” She agreed with a smile. “Now we have somewhere to start our research!” She was getting just as excited as he was, Harry noted with a wry grin. Ron, on the other hand, had groaned and mumbled something into his hands that sounded like “bookworm!”

“So shall we start planning then? We should make a list of all possible references in the library and then split them into three – each of us taking a section obviously.” She pulled out a spare piece of parchment and began to list library books off the top of her head. Harry and Ron just stared in horror and fascination. For a moment, anyway, until Harry came back to himself - he didn’t want her to get carried away.

He grabbed her elbow to get her attention, and when she turned he signed three words in succession. ‘I. Go. Snape.’

He tried to not notice her miniscule little frown.

“You’re going to Snape’s?” She repeated for Ron’s benefit. “But why Harry? I mean, you’re in such a good mood, I thought you only needed to go there when you’re sc—upset.”

He just shrugged and signed, ‘Want. Go. Snape.’ Oddly enough it was Ron that came to his rescue.

“Hermione, I hardly think we ought to hold him prisoner here in the tower. If he wants to go to the Dungeons, then he ought to go. Don’t worry mate,” he added, slapping Harry on the back and not noticing the smaller boy flinch. “I support you.”

Harry just raised an eyebrow. There had to be a catch.

“Sooooo,” Ron finally drew out, “I guess we’ll have to start on researching Flammel another day.”

Harry snorted with laughter, and turned towards the stairs to his dorm. As he climbed he could see Hermione place her hands on her hips with a huff, glaring at their friend.

He ran all the way to the dungeons as well, his book bag banging against his back, and slid to a halt it front of the big oak door that led to Snape’s work room. If he knew the man at all, he was likely sitting at the desk marking papers. Hopefully not the one he had handed in this morning, as he had to admit he’d ripped through it rather quickly, and mostly on the nights he couldn’t fall back asleep. Pushing that small insecurity out of his mind, he raised his hand to knock.

Severus paused briefly in his marking at the sound, and without looking up called out, “Enter, Mr. Potter.”

The boy practically bounced through the door, and Severus resisted the urge to shudder. Hyper children were almost worse than sniffling ones. He was selfishly glad that Potter couldn’t speak, as children in this condition usually never shut up.

Not that that seemed to stop the boy. As soon as he caught his eye he pointed at the door to the rooms, a question clearly on his face.

As the boy took his usual seat in front of desk he explained, “Not only does everyone knock differently, Mr. Potter, your knock usually comes from somewhere lower on the door, compared, to say, Headmaster Dumbledore. I have simply learned to recognize it.”

The child seemed to accept that, and after he settled back in the chair, Snape returned to his marking.

For about 30 seconds. That’s when Harry shoved his parchment under the man’s nose.

‘Sir! Christmas break is coming! Did you know they put 13 trees up in the great hall every Christmas?’

“I do spend occasional holidays here supervising the students that stay behind, so yes, I did know that.”

Then, ‘How come it’s always so much colder in the dungeons?’

“Heat rises, Potter.”

‘Don’t you get cold?’

“I know how to dress appropriately.”

‘Are those essays any good?’

“I wouldn’t know,” he growled, “I keep getting interrupted.”

He got a full two minutes before another written question passed under his eyes.

‘Sir whose room is it I stay in? I mean, it looks like it was someone’s once.’

That one hit a little too hard, and he snapped. “ENOUGH with the infernal questions!” Grabbing up Harry’s parchment he tore it twice down the middle. “If you do not leave me be I will put you out of my quarters this second, boy!”

In retrospect, it was probably his use of the word boy that shoved Potter over the emotional edge. Well, that and his snarling. But at the moment he didn’t think of Potter at all, he just turned back to his marking.

Once again it was the silence that broke him. He hadn’t even lasted 10 minutes. When he lifted his head he had a glare placed on his face so there would be no mistake of an apology.

But the boy wasn’t in his chair. Nor was he in the rest of the work room. Snape cursed softly. He didn’t think Potter had left his quarters, as he had left behind his battered little book bag. Picking it up, he moved into his personal quarters and straight to the spare room.

He let out an exasperated sigh upon finding it empty.

“Potter where are you? I don’t have time for this nonsense! I am not playing a ridiculous game of hide and seek with you.”

Oh no. Not again.

There was Harry curled into himself, huddling at the bottom of the closet, with pieces of the parchment scattered about his feet. Severus couldn’t help but flash back to that day in the infirmary, Harry hiding in the bottom of the gown wardrobe.

If he had to admit it to himself, he had been sorry for snapping at the whelp, but never had he expected this. He shut his eyes for a moment as an overwhelming feeling of inadequacy washed over him. What was he thinking, taking on an emotionally damaged student? That was surely the forté of Hufflepuff house. At the very least he should have let Gryffindor take care of its own, in its own fumbling way.

But there was nothing for it. The situation was what it was, partly at his own hand, so he would have to deal with it. He took a deep breath and settled himself.

Bending down he cast a lumos and leaned further into the closet. He was relieved to see that the boy’s head wasn’t buried in his knees like the last time, although he had a blank look about his eyes. “Potter?”

The boy didn’t reply, and resigning himself that this was going to take more than a few seconds of his time, Snape bent down on one knee. He reached forward to rest a hand on the boys shoulder, and predictably, Harry shot back from him. The small wizard moved his arms for a moment but then returned them to his lap, as if he had intended to protect himself and then changed his mind.

As if it was pointless to even try, Severus realized sadly.

“Harry I need you to look at me.” That got him to raise his eyes, but he stared off at an unknown spot just past his teacher’s right ear. Good enough.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Do you know where you are?”

“H’wrts.” Came the harsh whisper.

“Yes, Harry. But use your signs; we don’t need anymore damage your throat again. Do you know who I am?”

His sign then, the one the boy had indicated was made just for him. This was good, at least Potter wasn’t having a complete breakdown. “Let’s get you out of here” he said, and moved forward to reach for Harry only to have him flinch, screw his eyes shut, and tense, clearly waiting for a blow.

Snape bit his own tongue in an attempt not to vocalise his frustration. No need to dig yourself in any deeper, Severus, he thought to himself. “Take my hands Potter. If you take my hands I can’t hurt you with them, right? Try and trust me.”

Feeling incredibly foolish but with no other ideas how to make the boy feel better, he slowly reached out his hands. Harry eyed him suspiciously for a moment, and even dropped his eyes down to the man’s feet, to see if a well placed kick was coming his way. Snape held himself as still as a statue. He barely blinked. Eventually, however, Harry slowly reached out his own hands to grab the bigger ones hovering in front of him.

Snape found himself slightly taken aback at the warmth of the touch, but shook himself out of his reverie. Now was not the time to get lost in thought.

“Will you come into the bedroom now?”

A hesitant nod, but proof, he thought, of the Gryffindor bravery hiding underneath all the boy’s troubles.

They both stood somewhat awkwardly and moved into the room. Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at Snape. Not yet anyway.

I can’t believe I did that again! Harry thought mournfully. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. It just seemed like instinct: someone gets angry - head for the cupboard. Or any small space, really. Whatever would keep him out of sight would hopefully also keep him out of harm’s way.

Although really, Snape could have dragged him out of there whenever he chose. Uncle Vernon had certainly done it enough times; usually by his hair. He could have, but he hadn’t. It took a moment for the realization to settle, and for a brief moment Harry felt a warmth in his chest. As angry as the man had gotten, he hadn’t punished him.

In fact he had taken the time to coax him out of his self-imposed exile . . . like a baby! The fleeting wonder was quickly replaced by a renewed frustration.

If I’m going to force every adult around me to treat my like a 5 year old, why can’t I get . . . No! He wasn’t going to start missing something he had never had. Not now. But the images came anyway; unwanted.

Images of being hugged, and held and cared for.

Unconsciously he wrapped his arms around himself, in a pale imitation of what he really wished for. He was brought out of his daze by the sound of murmuring and his teacher calling his name. Snape was sitting on the bed, with the now repaired parchment held out as an offering.

He made his sign at the same time that Snape said the words. “I’m sorry.” He was so shocked at the apology that he barely registered the chuckle the normally grumpy man let out. “It seems we’re both regretful. Shall we call it even then?”

Harry could only nod, slack-jawed.

“Change into your night clothes and when you’re ready I will come and answer your question.”

If he didn’t know better Severus would have thought Harry had transfigured his clothes, he had changed so fast. He had barely had time to return to his chair in the work room when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

Rising he put one hand on the boy’s shoulder and began to lead him back to the spare room, only to stop with the second wry chuckle of the night. Glancing down he admonished quietly, “Slippers next time, Harry.”

Harry flushed, and walked faster, as he reached his room he made a move to put them on, but Severus stopped him, saying,

“There’s no point now. Just get under the covers.”

As Potter settled himself the older wizard picked a stuffed toy off the hutch and transfigured it into a chair. He procrastinated for a few moments, making the chair more ornate and more comfortable, until he could avoid the conversation no longer.

“You asked me earlier whose bedroom this was. I know you regret the question,” he continued, despite the clear remorse on Harry’s face “but you need not. It is a fair inquiry, and most anyone in your position would be curious as to why I happen to have a fully equipped child’s bedroom in my quarters.”

“I promised to answer you, and I will. You will have to bear with me, however, for it is not an easy tale for me to tell.”

“I did not have many friends here at Hogwart’s. I only truly began to develop a – social circle, if you will -- ” he tried not to sneer at the words, “several years after I graduated. I was an apprentice to a potion’s master, along with another young wizard, Jakob.

“I began to socialize with Jakob and his wife somewhat regularly. It would not be erroneous to say we became close.”

He paused here, a bitter taste in his mouth. He forced himself on.

“As our apprenticeships came to an end, my friends had a son. His name was Luka. They asked me to be his godfather, and I agreed. By the time Luka was a toddler I was working here at Hogwart’s, and he was old enough to have a room here so that he could visit.”

He could see the realization fall over his student. His entire posture and comportment changed, and he stiffened. It was if he was trying not to touch anything. He glanced about the room with a sort of reverence, and began to climb out of the bed looking as if he had stolen something.

“There is no need, Harry. Luka is not here, nor will he be. You see, when my godson was about 10 years old, not so many years ago really, he fell ill. It was a rare malady. We were never able to truly diagnose it. All we knew was that not a single potion I or Jakob made had any effect. After a week of this, Luka fell into a coma. He died a few days thereafter.”

He had not spoken of Luka in years. It was the most he had said about his godson to anyone since the boy had passed away. His very name sounded rusty to his own ears. He swallowed thickly, realizing that he ought to look at Potter, to control his emotions. He did not get very far, as in the next instant he found himself being hugged about the neck.

He thought in that confusing moment that he must be hallucinating. That his grief in talking about Luka had caused him to imagine the boy alive once again, sitting in his lap, giving Severus one of his rare hugs. But the cold of metal of glasses against his neck made him recognize that it was Potter. Harry Potter was trying to give him some comfort.

“Really Potter, you should have been in Hufflepuff” he choked out. But even the boy must have realized it was half hearted, as he did not loosen his grip. For the briefest of seconds he allowed himself to rest a hand on the back of Harry’s head, in a self-conscious half-embrace. But only for a second. “That’s enough now, Harry. If you wish to suffocate me this is not the most effective way to do so.”

He noticed that Potter did not avoid his look, and unlike his teacher he did not seemed concerned at his outburst. In fact, he seemed more at ease than ever. That is, until Snape shifted in his chair, ready to leave. He did not say anything, but he did not have to. The way he shivered just a little and slammed his eyes shut after a quick glance at the closet gave him away.

“Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?”

A violent shaking of the head that contradicted itself. Foolish Gryffindor. “Remember what I said about asking for help. I will ask one more time. Would you like me to stay?”

He was flushed with embarrassment, but Harry nodded.

So Severus stayed where he was, silently hoping it wouldn’t take long for his charge to fall asleep. After all the gratuitous emotion of the evening he would be grateful for his own bed.

His wish was granted, as 15 minutes later it was clear that the boy was slumbering deeply. Standing, he transfigured his chair back into its original form. He paused on his way to the hutch however, and before he could rethink it, he laid the stuffed toy on the bed beside the sleeping child.