To Snape’s surprise, the winter holidays went remarkably smoothly. Oh, the faculty went through their usual bout of Christmas insanity, only worsened by the fact that it was – for all intents and purposes – Harry’s first Christmas. But despite Snape’s fears that Harry would use the holiday as an excuse for all sorts of excesses, the boy was actually rather more subdued than usual. He stuck close to Severus and appeared content merely to spend time in his guardian’s company, preparing potion ingredients or doing his holiday homework while Snape corrected student papers. Snape found himself rather enjoying the brat’s quiet companionship, and his anticipated longing for his previous solitude never materialized.

Christmas Day itself was somewhat problematic. Snape's dire predictions were, of course, realized: the rest of the Hogwarts faculty showed up on his doorstep at daybreak in order to witness Harry's first real Christmas. As annoying as their blithe disregard for his privacy was, the presence of the other teachers became positively disastrous when Harry flatly refused to believe that all those presents under the tree were for him. Amidst loud whispers of "Awwwww" and "How sweet", not to mention Hagrid's noisy sobbing, Snape found himself in the unexpected position of having to publicly reassure Harry that he did deserve to enjoy the holiday and to urge the child to accept the gifts. There was more than one bout of “happy tears” as the boy reacted to the largesse shown to him, and despite his most menacing growls, the little monster flew to him for reassurance each time - smearing his dressing gown with alarming quantities of snot and causing the other faculty to suffer minor apoplexies as they struggled to restrain their glee.

Snape was fairly certain that Flitwick had ruptured something in his effort to suppress his hysterics, and it was the only bright spot of his morning. Harry destroyed any reputation for harshness Snape might have regained after giving the brat that oh-so-public smacking in the Great Hall by planting himself on Snape's lap to unwrap and exclaim over every single present. By the time the pile of gifts under the tree had been exhausted, Sprout and Hagrid had practically sobbed themselves sick in a rhapsody of joy over "poor little Harry's happy new life", and Hooch's smirk would have done credit to a Slytherin. Snape was close to his breaking point, and when Dumbledore suggested that they all share some eggnog and sing Christmas carols to welcome in the day, it was only Minerva's quick intervention that saved the Headmaster from receiving an Unforgiveable right between the eyes.

"Now, Albus, Severus and Harry are still in their pyjamas, and we do have other students here at the school who need looking after." She paused, turning an affectionate eye on Harry, who was still perched on Snape's lap, happily examining the flute Hagrid had carved him. "We can have your Christmas sing-a-long later this morning in the Great Hall."

"Well, if you insist," Dumbledore sighed, but the blissful expression on Harry's face soothed his disappointment. "Very well, we'll just leave you in peace for now, my boys. See you in the Hall for breakfast!"

Harry's close proximity prevented Snape's candid reply, and Minerva - after another glance at the vein throbbing in Snape's temple - efficiently shooed the rest out.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief as the door clicked behind them, and instantly raised and strengthened his wards in what he knew was a futile attempt to prevent Dumbledore from ever returning. A shrill toot in his ear made him jump and he directed a fearsome glare at Harry, who immediately lowered the flute and bit his lip.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, trying to hide the flute behind him. Would his da now confiscate and smash his gift as Uncle Vernon would surely have done?

An evil grin stole over Snape's face as a truly sadistic idea entered his mind. "You obviously need instruction in playing that flute," he told the brat sternly.

"Y'sir," Harry agreed unhappily. Here it came - the "since you can't play it, you have no use for it, so hand it over....CRUNCH!"

"I am certain Hagrid would be happy to provide that instruction," Snape continued, cackling inwardly. "I think you should restrict your playing to his hut while you are learning. If you present yourself at his hut several times a week, you will doubtless be able to play in no time." That ought to punish that numbwitted giant for giving the child such a noisy toy!

Harry brightened immediately. He was so stupid! Imagining that his da would destroy his gift when all he did was suggest a way Harry could get lessons. He hugged his da for the thousandth time this morning. "Thank you, Da!"

Now that there were no spectators, Snape was willing to give the brat a quick squeeze in return. "Yes, yes, all right," he said gruffly. "Foolish child, you have said that a hundred times already."

"But this is the best day in my whole life!" Harry argued, looking up at him. "An' it's all 'cause of you."

Snape fought back the lump in his throat. "Idiot. Do you not realize that you are the responsible party? Had you not behaved properly for the last several weeks, I assure you you would have found nothing but a few lumps of coal under the tree this morning, or perhaps a switch to be used on naughty children's backsides."

Even Harry wasn't fooled by the dire threat, and he just snickered as he burrowed his head deeper into his da's chest.

Snape blamed that pointy little forehead for the sharp pain in his chest that threatened to take away his breath. He found that bending forward helped - the fact that this made it seem that he was hugging the little brat was unfortunate, but couldn't be helped. Obviously he needed to do what he could to improve the sensation. He found his face buried in that unruly mop of hair, its strands tickling his nose. He had no choice but to do his best to force his face back and pressing his lips against the brat's scalp did seem to help.

Harry sighed in bliss as his da gave him a big hug and even a quick kiss on the head. He had never thought he'd receive such treatment, yet here he was - a big boy of eleven! - getting cuddled and fussed over. He squirmed closer. His da was even careful only to get mushy after the others had left. Harry wouldn't have wanted Professor McGonagall to see him getting snuggled like a four year old... though he wouldn't have given this experience up for all the chocolate frogs in Honeyduke's.

At long last, the feeling in Snape's chest eased enough for him to be able to release the boy. He clucked impatiently at the boy's wet cheeks and glowing eyes, and accio'd a handkerchief to mop up the brat. Honestly! These happy tears were extremely annoying... though he did feel a few tickles at the back of his own sinuses. Perhaps he was getting a cold. Yes. That must be it. The children were constantly brimming over with germs - it was a cold, nothing more.

"Oh!" Harry's eyes widened and he abruptly wiggled free of his guardian's grip. "I almost forgot!" He dashed into his bedroom, leaving Snape frowning after him. Such an impossible child! Always rushing hither and yon.

Harry hurried back into the room and stood before Snape, fidgeting nervously.

"Yes?" The Potion Master raised an inquiring eyebrow. The brat looked as if he were about to confess to some misdeed, biting his lip anxiously and with his hands out of sight behind him - protecting his backside from an imminent swat?

"I - I -"

"YES?" Snape's patience was rapidly running out.

"Erm, I - uh - thisisforyou," Harry blurted, abruptly thrusting a scroll, cheerfully bound with a brightly colored ribbon, at him.

As unusual as this morning had been, the notion that the brat had gotten him a present was still enough to rock Snape backwards, and he was very glad he was already seated. "This is for me? From you?" he asked blankly.

Harry nodded, blushing furiously and staring at the ground. "You'll prob'ly just think it's stupid an' all."

"Hmmmm." Snape eyed the scroll. Had Harry been more like his father or godfather, he would have suspected some stupid prank like the old "exploding scroll" gag, but he knew the boy well enough to know that such a thing would never have occurred to Harry. He forced back his surprise and pulled at the ribbon, little knowing that he was about to endure the greatest shock of the day.

He unrolled the scrolls and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. The brat’s gift to him was a surprisingly good if amateurish drawing of him, complemented by an essay titled “My Da”. He glanced over to where Harry was still fiercely examining the floor then began to read.

My Da, Harry wrote, isn’t like other kids’ fathers. My Da chose me after I asked him to. My Da is a Potion Master, which means he’s really, really smart. He’s also Head of Slytherin House, which means he’s really, really sneaky too – but in a good way. He takes care of all the kids in his House as well as taking care of me. He was a spy in the war against Voldemold, and he was so smart they never figured out that he was spying on them. He was the one who knew my parents had to go into hiding, and he tried his best to protect them, even if he didn’t like my dad very much, but he was really good friends with my mum. But that’s my Da – he does the Right Thing, even if he doesn’t want to. He saved my godfather for me too, but that’s a big secret so I won’t write how. But he did it just for me, and not because he likes my godfather, because he doesn’t really. But he still did it. And he makes potions for everyone who needs them, like Remus and Madame Pomfrey. He makes extra potions for me too, to help me grow taller and stuff. Sometimes I wish he weren’t a Potion Master because the potions taste awful!

My Da takes really good care of me. He has his whole House looking out for me, and if anyone tries to hurt me, he gets rid of them. He’s really strong and powerful. Those Ravenclaw boys were too scared to stay at school when he was mad at them! He lets me stand up for myself too. I don’t have to just sit there and let people like Dudley hit me anymore. My Da told me that if I ever see Dudley again and he tries to punch me, I can hex him all I want! He says I could even hex Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia – but I don’t know if I could really do that. I would probably just let my Da do them.

A lot of people are scared of my Da. I think that’s because he’s really tall and dresses in black and he glares in a really scary way. But he doesn’t yell or throw stuff. Even when he’s mad, he still talks really low and uses big words, so you can tell that he’s not out of control or anything. He knows how to use words really well and he knows a lot of really big words so you have to think about what he says before you actually understand it. And sometimes you don’t even realize that he just called you dumb or something, which is pretty funny if you think about it.

My Da has to be mean in class so we don’t do stupid stuff and melt our cauldrons, because that would be really dangerous. It’s not like in Charms or Herbology where nothing really bad can happen even if you mess about. Potions are really cool and blow up if you do even the tiniest thing wrong. My Da lets me help prepare his potion ingredients. That is really cool. All the kids are jealous of me and keep pestering me to let them come and help too. It is fun to see all the slimy, smelly stuff and get to squish them and chop things up. My Da doesn’t let us fool around though. Even though it is really fun to squirt bubotuber pus at each other, he told Ron and Draco and me that if we did it again, we wouldn’t be able to sit down in class the next day. He says stuff like that and people get really scared because they think he means it, but he really doesn’t. He just doesn’t want us to act like dunderheads.

He is always thinking about me and he likes me. He thinks I’m really smart, and he expects me to act like it. That’s why he sometimes gets mad when I do something stupid. No one before ever told me I was smart. But my Da says I am. He says I’m TOO smart sometimes, but you can tell he actually thinks that’s a good thing. He helps me with my homework and he won’t let me skive off the way a lot of kids do. He can always tell if I’m not doing my best, and then I get in trouble. He can say stuff to me that makes me feel like I’m about two inches tall, but even then he also says nice stuff like how I’m too smart to act so dumb. So even when he’s angry with me, he still tells me I’m smart and all. He never calls me bad names, or says that I’m useless or that he wishes I was dead the way my aunt and uncle used to. And he won’t let me call myself names like freak. If I forget, he goes all mental and he’ll even whack me for it. He really hates my relatives for what they used to do to me. I hate them too.

My Da is always nice to me and to my friends too. He lets us study in his House or in my room and he’s always really patient about letting me ask him questions, even though a lot of my questions are dumb because I’m not used to the Wizarding World yet. He doesn’t make fun of me though, no matter what I ask. Sometimes the other kids laugh at me for stuff I don’t know, but my Da never does. He just sits down and explains. He’s never ever said he wishes he hadn’t agreed to be my da.

I like the other teachers here too – now that Quirrel is gone – but none of them are as nice as my Da. He gave me a really great room and filled it with all sorts of great toys and books and stuff. I almost wish I could bring Dudley here, just once, to show him how great my room is. He would be really jealous! My Da also got me the best broom ever and let me play on the Quidditch team even after I was bad. He bought me new clothes and incendio’d all of Dudley’s old ones so I don’t look funny and the other kids don’t laugh at me like they did at my old school. He buys me so many presents, almost as many as Dudley got, but Dudley got prezzies because he yelled and screamed if he didn’t. My Da gets me presents to show me that I did something right and because he loves me.

My Da doesn’t even get mad when I ask him to say that. A lot of guys won’t you know, but my Da says it right out. My Da doesn’t like it when I talk about how good he is. He would rather be nonymous and not let people know how great he is. I think it’s because he gets embarrassed easily.

My Da is really gentle too. Even when he is smacking me, he never hits really hard, and he doesn’t yank me around or grab me by the hair or anything like that. I almost never get swatted though. My dad mostly just scolds me or takes away my broom or puts me on restriction or has me write an essay or lines. I think the scolding is the worst. He always knows what to say to make me realize that what I did was wrong and then I feel really stupid and I start to cry like I was three or something. It’s funny because I never was allowed to cry when I lived with the Dursleys, so I just stopped. But my Da doesn’t mind if I cry and so I started again. But even though I sometimes get snot and stuff all over him, he doesn’t get mad. He never tells me I’m being a baby or makes fun of me or hits me until I stop crying. He just gives me a hug or pats my shoulder or something until I stop on my own. He never just leaves me alone when I’m crying, even if I’ve done something really bad.

He isn’t all girlie though – he pulls me up and gives me little pushes and he swats me sometimes, but the way guys do to be friendly and all, not to hurt. He’s really careful about that. Even when he’s mad and gives me a smack for real, I know it’s coming. He never sneaks up on me or pretends he’s not angry if he is. My Da always tells me the truth, even if sometimes it’s scary. My Da trusts me. He tells me stuff that most other adults wouldn’t tell kids. He knows I can keep a secret and that I won’t tell anyone ever, even if they pull out my fingernails or something. He treats me like a grown up – well, sort of. I mean, he doesn’t tell me EVERYTHING – and he gets mad when Padfoot does – but he doesn’t act like I’m four years old either and don’t know the difference between really important things and stuff that doesn’t matter. He trusts me to do what he tells me. And I trust him. I know he’s smart and he’s going to take care of me and keep me safe. I know that he’s not going to hit me or be mean to me. I trust my Da. He makes me feel safe.

Sometimes when I want to do one thing and he says no, I get mad. But he’s usually right. And usually I remember that and I do what he tells me. But even if I forget, he doesn’t hate me. He just explains what I did wrong (and then he punishes me) and then it’s all over. It’s sometimes hard for me to remember to listen to him, but I’m getting better. And if I ask him why he is saying no, most of the time he’ll tell me, and then I see his point. Sometimes I still think he’s wrong, but by then he’s usually distracted me with something else, and I forget what I wanted to do. Like I said, my Da is pretty sneaky! Even for a Slytherin!

When I grow up, I want to be like my Da. I want to be brave and strong like him. I want to help people like he does. I want to be smart and know practically everything like he does, and I want other people to respect me like they do him. And when I have kids, I’m going to treat them like he treats me, like they matter and are important and all. Uncle Arthur once told me that I didn’t really understand what dads are like. I thought dads either just smacked you for being bad, like Uncle Vernon used to do to me, or they got you lots of presents and treats and stuff, like Uncle Vernon does for Dudley. Now I know what a good dad is though, because my Da has showed me.

It took me a long time to believe that my Da loves me. I didn’t think kids could really be loved by anyone but their own parents, so I figured that since mine are dead, no one would ever love me. But my Da showed me that I was wrong. He loves me, and he makes sure I know it. He says he loves me, but he also shows that he loves me. He shows me every day. I am a really lucky kid.

I love my Da.

Dear Da, I didn’t know what to get you for Christmas so I asked Professor McGonagall. She told me to write this essay. I don’t know why because you already have lots and lots of essays to read. I thought at first you might like some potion ingredients instead, but she said that you’d like this a lot more. I couldn’t let anyone else read it because there’s some stuff in it about Padfoot and all, so I didn’t get to ask her if I did it right. I hope you like it but if you don’t I can still go and get you some potion ingredients if you’d rather have that. Love, Harry.

Even his iron control was insufficient to the task, and Snape had to claim a sudden, serious cold to explain his watery eyes and runny nose to the worried brat. Then of course, Harry promptly summoned both Madame Pomfrey and the house elves who forced him to consume disgusting potions and numerous hot drinks. “It’s really bad,” Harry anxiously informed Poppy. “He needed like two handkerchiefs before he felt better!”

Poppy studied her scans and gave the glaring Potion Master a sharp look. “Hmmmm. Yes, well, I think he’ll get better quickly now, Mr Potter. Perhaps some quiet time would be best, however. I’ll tell the Headmaster not to expect either of you in the Great Hall until dinnertime.”

That news brightened Snape’s spirits considerably, and Harry was reassured by the prompt “recovery”. Snape was even able to convince the brat to spend the afternoon building animated snowmen with Hagrid and the other students, thus providing him with privacy in which to reread the essay over and over. The picture he placed in his bedroom – it wouldn’t do for Albus to spot it and think he was getting all soft – but he placed the essay next to Lily’s sweater for safekeeping. They were his two most prized possessions, even if he had no intention of revealing that fact to anyone. Ever.