A few hours after the marvelous Christmas feast, Harry knocked gently on the door to Professor Snape's quarters. For a moment, he almost lost his nerve, and thought of running for safety. But before he could flee, the door jerked open, and Snape glared down at him. His irritated expression softened almost immediately.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Good afternoon, sir. May I.. . ? That is, I was hoping I could. . . uhm," Harry wanted to smack himself for getting so tongue-tied. "Uh. . . . . . HAPPY CHRISTMAS, SIR!" he blurted loudly, practically shouting in his nervousness.

Snape winced. "I'm not deaf, Mr. Potter," he smirked with mild amusement, "And thank you," he replied. "Happy Christmas to you."

"Thanks, sir," Harry sighed in relief. At least he seems to be in a good mood.

"I'm glad you stopped by, Potter," Snape said, stepping aside.

"You are?" Harry blinked stupidly at him.

"Yes. Well, come in, boy!" he prompted, motioning Harry forward.

Harry entered the familiar room and watched the Professor cross to the hearth. He took a small package from the mantle and held it out to Harry. "I did not get a chance to speak with you this morning, but I wished to give you this."

"For me?" Harry gaped at him. "You got me a Christmas present?"

Snape's expression tensed and he answered stiffly. "Well, let's call it a small reward for your scholastic progress, shall we?" He shook the package at him a bit impatiently.

Harry took the neatly wrapped package and sat on the sofa by the fire. He opened it carefully, not tearing at the paper exuberantly as his natural impulse dictated. He somehow didn't think the staid professor would appreciate such lack of control. He opened the slender box and examined the quill and ink inside. The quill was silky and graceful - exquisitely fashioned, with a solid gold nib and Hanson's Never-Leak etched along the spine in tiny calligraphy. The small bottle of ink was a deep purple, almost black, with just a touch of silver glitter mixed in. Harry gasped and stared at them in awe, touching the quill reverently. "Oh, Professor! They're. . .they're brilliant! I've...I've never seen anything so - so special! Thank you!"

"Yes, well. . .it's just a trifle, really," Snape seemed a bit taken-aback by Harry's enthused response. "Your penmanship has sufficiently improved to handle slightly finer writing implements. Since you only possess the most rudimentary utensils, I felt it was time you were better equipped. You will note this quill is charmed not to leak," he explained firmly. "That means I expect clean parchment from you in future, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, Professor." Harry smiled bashfully, then fumbled in the pocket of his robes, his face flushing a pale pink. "I, um, I brought you something too, Professor," he admitted, thrusting a folded parchment at Snape a bit hastily.

Snape took it with a quizzical glance, examining it silently for several minutes.

Oh. This was really stupid! He won't like it. I'm so dumb!

Harry's insecurity rose with the heat in his cheeks, and he cringed in embarrassment. "Um- it's nothing special," he muttered glumly. "I mean, it's just a Christmas card I made. I- uh - I wanted to get better presents for everyone, but I didn't have the chance, so I just thought. . .anyway, it's nothing, really."

Snape looked up and stared at him with an odd expression. His black eyes glittered enigmatically and he cleared his throat. "It's a very nice effort, Mr. Potter," he said gravely. "Did you paint this illustration yourself?" He pointed to the watercolor on the cover, of an owl perched on a snowy branch.

"Yes, sir," Harry admitted. "It's Hedwig, sir. My owl. She posed for me so I could paint it."

"I see." Snape opened the card again. "And this greeting - you composed this?"

"Yes, sir," Harry watched him hopefully.

"A most gratifying sentiment," Snape nodded, a tight, reluctant smile pursing his lips. He gave Harry a long intent look, then spoke solemnly. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. It was considerate of you to think of me. I am most pleased."

"You're welcome, sir," Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, Snape didn't seem to think his homemade gift was too terribly lame. . .at least he was polite enough not to say so, if he did. "Well. I guess I'd better go now. Ron and his brothers are waiting for me outside," Harry edged for the door, feeling a bit awkward. "Would it be all right if I come back tomorrow night, to work on my potions essay?"

"That will be fine," Snape nodded. "I am working on some research tomorrow, but I should be available after seven. You may come then."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry let himself out with a tentative wave. "Goodbye, sir. And thanks again for the present. It's great!" He closed the door and raced down the dungeon corridor, both relieved and a little pleased.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Snape studied the parchment in his hands, an unexpected glow warming his chest. It was a primitive creation, a bit sloppy and childish. . .but the watercolor was surprisingly good, considering the youth of the artist. It would seem the boy had some talent, as well as obvious affection for his subject. The snowy owl looked almost real against the too-blue sky behind it.

He opened the homemade card and reread the painstakingly neat inscription.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Professor Snape;

Thank you for all the help you have given me in my studies and for helping me learn to write better. And thank you for letting me stay for tea all those times. I really liked it.

I hope you have a very Happy Christmas.

Sincerely Yours,

Harry Potter

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snape smiled - a genuine smile now, for there was no one to see it. He rarely received gifts from his students, except for Draco, of course. He could count on one hand how many times it had happened over the years. He wasn't flattered by most of them - the impersonal gifts were usually some failing student's ludicrous ploy to win favor. Only occasionally had a student expressed real gratitude for his teaching.

Harry's card was different. He had put personal effort into it, and Snape did not doubt his sincerity. He hated to admit it, but he was rather touched by the boy's gesture. Snape thought of all the brightly decorated cards the other Professors shared and bragged over every Christmas, and he felt oddly vindicated. He might not have a desk covered with flashy holiday accolades, like Flitwick or McGonagall - or even Albus himself. But this one card was worth far more to him than all their superficial greetings and good wishes.

He glanced around the room for a moment, wanting to keep the parchment handy, but not accessible to prying eyes. He deplored the bizarre Muggle custom of displaying sheets of children's doodles on kitchen appliances, and he especially didn't want Albus to discover it. A friendly card from Harry Potter might be a little difficult to explain. He finally carried it into his bedroom, and propped it up on his bedside table, where he could be certain no one else would ever see it. He wandered back into the lounge to treat himself to a warm brandy, in honor of the season. Then he sat before the fire and pondered Harry's reaction to his own gift.

He was genuinely pleased, I think. . . almost stunned. No doubt he never expected a gift from me. It was a very fine quill, of course. . .the best quality, and a tad expensive. . . but I didn't really expect a child to recognize that. Harry did, though. I could see it in his face. . .such an expressive face.. . . .everything the child thinks shows on it. I was afraid the gift might seem too stuffy a choice for a child his age. Well. I'm glad he was happy.

He nursed his brandy and enjoyed the fire for the rest of the afternoon. When he rose before dark and began to dress in his warmest robes, he was feeling especially mellow and contented, and he looked forward to his secret rendezvous to come.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Harry rushed out of the common room and hurried down the vacant stairs, praying that Peeves was occupied elsewhere this evening. It had taken him almost twenty minutes to convince Ron to play a game of chess with Percy, and another ten to slip away unnoticed. Dusk was approaching quickly and he worried he would be too late. At the second floor, he sat and yanked off his shoes, hiding them behind a suit of armor. He skittered along the empty corridor in his sock feet, ignoring the cold stone floor. This was one time he definitely didn't want to be heard!

He swiftly reached his destination - a little alcove tucked away at the furthest end of the corridor. Hidden in the shadows of the alcove was an old door that lead to a small abandoned turret. Harry had found the place earlier that day while exploring, and knew it was perfect for his purposes. A soft ‘alohamora' (Thank you, Hermione!) unlocked the door, and the oil he had swiped from Filch and applied generously to the ancient hinges, ensured his arrival in the empty structure went unnoticed. He dropped to his knees and crawled across the chilly, cramped turret to the tiny window. Listening intently, he slowly raised his head and peeked over the stone casing.

Down below, the snowy north lawn sparkled in the final glow of the dying day. It was encircled and protected by evergreens; a deserted upland tucked against the north rampart. A history of fierce winter winds ensured no other windows breached this wall of the castle, and the lawn beyond was secluded and rarely visited by either student or staff.

Tonight was an exception, however, for two staff members had claimed the isolated slope for their own, according to a private tradition that they did not share with their colleagues. . . (who most likely would not have believed them anyway). One of them - an elderly witch of surprising agility - took a stance at the western edge of the lawn, behind the cover of a gale-worn Frazier fir, its branches heavy with snow. The growing mound of frozen spheres at her feet were small but cunningly fashioned, for both speed and accuracy. She added to the mound with determined industry, all the while keeping a sharp eye peeled for her hidden opponent.

Her adversary - a tall, graceful specter of a wizard - slipped soundlessly between the deepening shadows, apparently preferring mobility over fortification. He, too, molded snowy globes in preparation, but instead of stockpiling them in a single location, he scattered his ammunition around the park-like lawn, behind numerous trees and shrubs, to facilitate his own roving style of combat.

The combatants moved silently, speaking not a word, but keeping a close watch on the shifting shadows with a growing sense of anticipation. The quiet was finally broken when the chimes of the clock in the Hogwarts Tower began to ring out over the white landscape. On the fifth chime, a brief hush settled once more, only to be shattered by a shrill, blood-curdling yell that made every hair stand on end.

Minerva McGonagall had darted from behind her cover with a rousing battle cry that would have made her Scots warrior-ancestors proud. She hurled a glistening snowball with deadly accuracy, smacking the startled Potions Master right between his eyes. Snape gasped and sputtered crossly, then whirled to take cover while letting loose a rapid barrage of snowy bullets of his own.

McGonagall ducked behind her living shelter with a shriek, avoiding all but one of Snape's missiles. Shaking the snow from her shoulder, she proceeded to launch one snowball after another with impressive speed. Snape, however, was almost too fast for her. He twisted and leapt from one cover to another like a whirling black shadow, flinging his icy weapons with an erratic rhythm that was hard to anticipate. More than once, McGonagall jumped out from her barricade taking aim in one direction, only to be showered with a snowy bombardment from another.

She finally retreated to a position of defense, and waited breathlessly for the man to come to her. Snape of course, could not resist the challenge, and he crept forward, recklessly within her range, to try and draw her out. It proved a less than successful strategy. Perched within the safety of her snow-covered fir, McGonagall snickered, patiently firing icy volleys at Snape every time he moved.

By the time the last rays of sunset were fading into dusk, Snape appeared to have suffered the worst of the skirmish. While McGonagall's dark green cape and tartan cap were mostly dry and free of snow, Snape looked like a stalking polar bear. His black cape had grown soggy, and great clumps of white clung to nearly every inch of him, from his damp hair to his black boots. Convinced of another victory, McGonagall called out to him, smugly offering him the chance to surrender honorably. Silence met her teasing offer, and she studied the nearby trees with some amusement.

"Come, come, Severus! Concede and let's be done with it! You must be freezing, you poor dear!" she taunted, chuckling wickedly. Still no answer was returned, and Minerva began to speculate on what the wily wizard was up to. Several long minutes passed.

"Severus Snape, if you have retreated and left me here to freeze in this bloody bush, I'll denounce you as a coward to the whole student body!" she yelled in exasperation.

"Now would I do such a thing?" came a low, silky voice just behind her.

Minerva whirled and tried to rise from her low crouch, but she was too badly startled and Snape was too fast. With a roguish grin, Severus offered her a mock bow, then shook the trunk of her sheltering fir with savage force. With a shriek of outrage, Minerva went down under a cold wet blanket of snow, as the tree was freed from its heavy burden.

"You! You. . .!" she sputtered, shaking her head furiously. A shower of snow scattered around her. Snape laughed. . .a rich, hearty, triumphant laugh that would have shocked his students to the core. "You cheated!" Minerva pronounced with mock indignation.

"But of course, dear lady," Severus chuckled, leaning down to help her to her feet. He brushed the snow from her cloak, laughing when she shook herself like an offended housecat.

"Tradition calls for snowballs, Severus - not an avalanche!" Minerva complained. "That wasn't fair!"

"All's fair in war and love, Minerva," Snape teased. He cast a quick drying and warming spell on them both and eyed her with a grin. "So - do you concede - or shall we continue the battle?"

Minerva snorted and gave him an evil look. Then she sighed in submission. "Oh, all right. I concede - under protest, mind you. It's too cold to argue about it. Let's retire to my fire - I've a new bottle of the Highland's best that should warm us up nicely."

"An excellent proposal," Severus agreed, gallantly taking her arm and ushering her back across the cold expanse of snow to the castle.

"I still think you're a shifty, double-crossing snake, Severus," Minerva commented curtly.

"Why thank you, Minerva! Flattery is unnecessary, however."

She smacked him playfully on the back of the head, but the tall Potion Master only chuckled.

Unobserved, a dozen feet above their heads, a small boy smothered his giggles with tightly-clenched hands, and held his breath until the stately pair had long disappeared into the castle. Then, with a little chortle and numerous poorly-controlled snickers, he snuck back to his dorm with shoes in hand and a gleeful grin on his face.