Harry stirred the messy concoction in front of him, but even the foul odor that emanated from the cauldron couldn’t penetrate his thoughts. His mind just wasn’t on brewing, and unfortunately, the sticky mess in front of him proved it. Snape had set him a potion to brew while he was away, and Harry honestly tried to get it right, but he just couldn’t seem to concentrate.

"Who assigns homework on Christmas, anyway?" Harry mused as he listlessly tossed the last of the newts eyes into the brew. The answer was conveniently delivered from the back of his mind. Your father.

Harry snorted. Yep. It was true. Leave it to him to have the only father in the world that would assign homework on a holiday. It wouldn’t have been so bad, maybe, if he could get it right, but he had clearly messed something up. The ochre color potion was hissing and solidifying into a concrete like substance, and Harry was fairly certain that was not supposed to happen. He could just imagine Snape’s voice... Potter, can’t you do anything right!

Grasping the stirrer with both hands, Harry tried his best to mix the newt’s eyes in a little better, but without luck. His mornings work was relentlessly hardening in the cauldron, and there seemed to be no saving it. Having had enough, Harry finally laid the stirrer aside and gave it up as a bad job.

"Oh well," Harry consoled himself weakly as he vanished away the mess. "I’ll have to brew it again when Snape gets back, but at least I have the rest of the day free." The thought, however, didn’t give Harry nearly as much comfort as he wanted it to. Not that he missed Snape - no, the thought of having to spend Christmas with either Snape or Dumbledore left him feeling cold inside. But still, ever since he and Snape had returned from the Ministry, Harry had been consumed with an uncomfortable, restless energy that seemed to grip both his mind and body. And Harry knew why. It was the same thing at the Dursleys... best to keep busy, keep moving... because when you’re not moving, there’s time to think about things. And Harry really, really didn’t want to think about anything.

Taking a final look around the potions room, Harry vanished the mess in his cauldron, grabbed his book, and headed back to his room in the dungeon. He had no intention of staying there, but Harry was having a hard to figuring out what to do next... Sneak into Hogsmead? No, Voldemort would probably find him within the hour. The Great Hall? No, Dumbledore might be there. Library? No, too quiet. Harry mentally checked off each option as he stalked down to the dungeon quarters, let himself in, and made his way to the bedroom Snape had assigned him.

Looking around, the young wizard scanned the small, sparsely furnished room. No pictures adorned the walls, no colorful rugs softened the floor, and no comfortable chair waited in the corner. But despite its lack of personality, Harry didn’t think that the physical space itself was all that bad. Bigger than the spare room at the Dursleys, with a fireplace, desk, and a down-covered twin bed, the room was probably ideal for any other teenaged boy - functional, large enough to grow into, and holding the promise of warmth and comfort. But to Harry, the room felt barren, cold, and unfriendly. It reminded him of the relationship he shared with Snape... father and son... To some, a relationship of well-being and belonging. To Harry - a relationship of icy hostility....

Harry shook his head in an attempt to divert his mind from Snape, but it was hard. His thoughts drifted mercilessly back to the man whenever Harry let his guard down. Worse than that, though, were the nagging thoughts that flitted at the edge of his mind - the ones about Snape’s wife and child. Who were they? How did they die? Why did they die?... It was that last one the worried Harry the most. Why did they die...? Did they die because of anyone specific, he wondered... maybe because of himself...?

"It is not my fault," he announced to walls.

Even to his own ears, Harry thought his voice sounded small and hollow in the dampness of the chamber. There was no way it could be his fault... Harry had told himself that time and again since returning from the ministry. But still... it would explain Snape’s anger, wouldn’t it? It would explain why Snape, his own father, hated him... Harry could feel the tentacles of guilt, cold and unforgiving as they were, creeping into his conscience.

"This isn’t working," Harry told himself. And he knew it. He needed something to do. He needed to keep him mind and body moving, and that was difficult to do in the dungeon. No, he needed out. Out of the dungeon. Out of the Castle. Just out. Period.

Looking around, Harry spotted his cloak lying in a jumbled heap at the foot of his bed. Snatching it up, he bounded out of the quarters, up the stairs, and to the entrance nearest the Great Hall. He really wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but anything was better than hanging out in a cold dungeon with nothing for company but his own accusing thoughts.

Having reached the entrance, Harry wrenched open the door and was nearly over the threshold when a soft "pop" sounded behind him. It was Dobby, the small house elf whom Harry had struck up a friendship with after his second year at Hogwarts.

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed, "You startled me. How are you?" Dobby was the first person... or well, creature, Harry had seen all day, and he found himself suddenly very happy to see the little elf.

"Dobby is fine, Sir," the elf answered. "Dobby is enjoying Christmas!" Dobby’s eyes were large and excited, reminding Harry of the wide-eyed wonder children experienced at Christmas. Well, most children, anyway.

"I see you’ve dressed for the holiday," Harry quipped as he eyed Dobby’s fashions. "Are those new?" Harry pointed to the top of the elf’s head, where two bright red stockings, trimmed in green and gold fringe, covered his ears.

Dobby beamed. "Oh yes, Master Harry. Professor Dumbledore is giving them to Dobby. Professor Dumbledore is giving Dobby lots of clothes." Dobby pointed proudly to his new outfit, which included a sparkling gold jersey, brilliant purple sash, and a matching gold trimmed breeches. A pair of bright green suspenders with miniature twinkling holiday lights rounded out the outfit. Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear that it came from Dumbledore.

"Looks great, Dobby." Harry smiled. "I have something for you, too, but it’s in Gryffindor Tower right now. Can I get it for you later?" Harry had found an old muggle fedora in Hogsmeade a few weeks ago, and he’d picked it up for the elf. But with everything going on... well, it had just slipped his mind.

"Harry Potter thinks of Dobby!" The elf gushed. "Harry Potter is kind and good wizard!"

Dobby was practically bouncing with excitement, making the tassels on the ear-stocking flap wildly around, giving Dobby the somewhat humorous look of a deranged Christmas elf. Harry grinned, but Dobby’s near-adoration made Harry feel slightly awkward. Harry had never really been comfortable with praise, and despite his goodwill towards Dobby, Harry again found himself itching to get out into the cold winter air and away from the confining walls of the castle.

"Of course I think of you, Dobby!" Harry forced himself to keep his voice light. "You’re my friend. I’ll come down to the kitchens with your gift a little later. For now, I’m heading out for a walk before it gets too cold out. I’ll see you later." Harry gave a half-hearted wave and turned towards the door.

"Oh, no, Master Harry," Dobby squeaked. The little elf grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him back into the castle. Harry tried to pull free, but the elf’s grip was surprisingly strong.

"Dobby, what are you doing..." Harry protested, but it was no use. The castle doors had swung silently closed - compliments of Dobby’s magic - and Harry was being dragged down the hallway.

"Master Harry must go to Professor Dumbledore’s office," Dobby exclaimed. "Professor Dumbledore is saying that Harry Potter has a gift there!"

They were moving up the winding staircase now, and Harry cringed at the thought of facing Dumbledore. He toyed with the idea of making a break for it, but ultimately decided to follow Dobby without argument. There was no sense in fighting Dobby, especially since Harry knew that Dobby could probably levitate him to Dumbledore’s office by force, anyway.

Trudging obediently next to the little elf, Harry wondered what the Headmaster could have gotten him. There was nothing he needed, really, and very few things that he wanted. And probably more to the point - Harry felt a little uncomfortable accepting a gift from the Headmaster after everything that had happened. The man had manipulated Harry’s life even before Harry’s life had official begun, and for that, Harry was deeply, profoundly angry. But on the other hand, he also knew that Dumbledore cared for him. And maybe Dumbledore didn’t show his concern in exactly the way Harry wanted him to, but still... shouldn’t the mere fact that the man cared for him count for something? The Dursley’s never cared for him, Harry mused. And Snape, his own father, never cared for him... so, shouldn’t it mean something that Dumbledore, despite his lies, did care?

Harry sighed in frustration. It was just too complicated to consider for very long. Eventually, they reached the winding staircase leading to the Headmaster’s office, and the gargoyle stepped aside without delay. Clearly, Dumbledore was expecting him.

"Harry Potter is going in now, " the elf proclaimed as he shoved Harry none to gently towards the staircase. "Harry Potter is having a good Christmas!" And with a parting wave, Dobby quietly vanished.

"Not yet," Harry replied to no one in general. "But maybe it will get better." Squaring his shoulders, Harry stepped onto the winding staircase, only to be deposited at the Headmaster’s door a second later.

"Hello?" Harry called through the open door. He wasn’t sure if he should go in or not. The door was open, but he didn’t feel comfortable just marching in like he owned the place.

"Headmaster?" Harry called again, as he walked hesitantly into the room. Maybe the Dobby was wrong, he mused, and Dumbledore really didn’t need to see him. Harry felt his hopes rise slightly at the thought, only to be deflated when a rich, warm voice sounded from the far corner.

"Ah, Harry!" Dumbledore called. The elderly wizard was glancing lazily through an ancient looking tome; however, he quickly placed the book on a deep shelf and smiled warmly at Harry. "Please come in," he finished, and waved Harry toward a comfortable chair near the desk.

Harry, resigned to the coming encounter, inched a little further into the room. His last few visits to the Headmaster’s office hadn’t been good ones, and the young wizard suddenly found himself on edge.

Dumbledore’s smile was genuine, but he was careful to keep some distance between himself and the younger wizard as he settled himself behind his desk. Harry wasn’t happy about being back in the Headmaster’s office, but he was thankful that Dumbledore seemed to sense his reservations and kept his distance.

"This office does not hold good memories for you, I’m sure," Dumbledore said quietly as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth and waited for a response.

Harry didn’t reply immediately - he was waiting for something witty - or even vaguely interesting - to enter his mind. But for some reason, the gift of speech seemed strangely unreachable. Idly, Harry wondered if it was related to the uncomfortable burning that was blossoming at the back of his throat. He swallowed hard, and finally managed to croak out a response.

"No, Sir," he mumbled. "Not recently."

The Headmaster nodded gently, and Harry noticed that the elder man’s eyes seemed distant and sad. When he spoke, there was a heaviness in his voice that Harry was unaccustomed to hearing.

"For all the hurt that has been generated here, I do apologize," Dumbledore said. "It is my wish that someday, time will once again allow you the opportunity to find solace within the walls of this room."

The words flowed through Harry, and he felt his heart constrict painfully. It was all he could do to contain the storm of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t want to break down - not now, not ever. But it was hard, because, much to Harry’s surprise, he found himself wanting the same thing as the Headmaster - to feel, once again, like he was safe... welcome... like he belonged.

"Me too, Sir." Harry’s answer was simple, and in the end, as heartfelt as possible. And since Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say, he stayed quiet, allowing the silence that had blossomed to fill the space between himself and the Headmaster. After a few moments, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Well, then. That’s enough unhappiness for one day," the Headmaster announced crisply. Harry looked up. Dumbledore was standing smartly beside his desk, hand clasped behind his back, while he looked at Harry appraisingly. Harry could see the tell-tale twinkle in the man’s eye again, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the Headmaster had up his sleeve. Clearly, something was going on...

"Today is a day of celebration," Dumbledore cried jovially. "And I do believe there is a gift for you here. Or, at least, nearly here."

Harry had no idea what the man was talking about. There didn’t seem to be any gifts in sight... maybe he was missing something... He looked around quickly, but there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary.

"Sir?" he asked in confusion. Dumbledore just winked.

"I shall be leaving now, Harry," the Headmaster stated. Harry immediately stood to follow, but Dumbledore stopped him.

"No, no, Harry," he chided. "You will wait here. I’m certain the loss of my company won’t cause you too much distress, and in any event, your present should be here shortly. Please make yourself at home." As if to make his point, Dumbledore drew his wand, lit a warm fire, and conjured a few plush, deep chairs - the same kind that were in the Gryffindor common room - near the hearth. He motioned Harry towards a chair, smiling in satisfaction when Harry obediently took a seat. With a nod, Dumbledore stepped out of the room, but before leaving, he turned once again to the younger wizard.

"Harry," Dumbledore prompted, "I meant what I said. Make yourself at home. There are no ears listening, nor any eyes watching. You are safe here, I promise."

And without further comment, Dumbledore was gone, leaving Harry bemused and more than a little nervous about the "present" to come. He didn’t have to wait long, though, as in the next moment, the floo blazed brightly, and a lanky, red haired figure stepped out of the grate.