Harry Potter was sitting alone in the Great Hall, picking at his lunch. The other few students, who were staying for the winter holidays, were clustered in smaller groups at the other tables. He listened wistfully to the light-hearted banter and laughter that floated through the massive room, stirring his fork through his mashed potatoes and peas, mixing them together into an unappetizing lumpy mess.

He wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing – he was remembering back to the quick conversations he’d had with his best friends, Ron and Hermione, when he’d shuffled down to the Common Room that morning and discovered the entire Hogwarts contingent of Weasleys, as well as Hermione Granger, pulling on their heavy cloaks with packed trunks by their sides.

He had gaped open-mouthed at the sight as he had stumbled, shocked, into the room.

“What’s going on? I thought you lot were staying?” he’d asked the room in general.

Ron had looked embarrassed, as he’d taken in the pale visage of his best friend. “Sorry, Harry, but Mum and Dad changed our plans last night when Bill and Charlie said they were coming home this year. Mum said she’d tried to get Professor Dumbledore to let you come with, but he said you had to stay here.” Ron had clapped Harry on the shoulder in sympathy before turning back to join his brothers and sister. The twins said they would owl him a box of pranks for the holidays when they got to the Burrow and Harry had just nodded his farewell. Ron shrugged his shoulders in apology while Percy began herding his family through the portrait hole.

Harry turned to Hermione, who was fiddling with her scarf, raising an eyebrow at her in a silent question.

“My parents are going to America and wanted me to join them… actually they quite insisted upon it, stating it was going to be a very educational opportunity.” She walked over to him, smiling tentatively before enfolding him in a quick hug. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said as she grabbed the handle on her trunk and pulled it after her, following the Weasleys out the portrait hole.

Harry had looked around at the deserted Common Room that had suddenly felt cold despite the comforting colours, a beautiful Christmas tree in one corner and the blazing fire in the other. He was the only Gryffindor student left in the castle. Most twelve-year olds would have rejoiced at the freedom this offered; Harry was feeling a trifle depressed. Once again he would be spending Christmas alone.

Now here he was at lunch, and in the twenty minutes he’d been here, he hadn’t touched one bite of food. He finally came back to reality and, looking down at the disgusting mess he’d created, pushed his plate away where it promptly vanished to the kitchens, and stood to start wandering the corridors for the afternoon. Maybe he’d wander down to Hagrid’s… anything was better than sitting alone in the Common Room.

****

Severus Snape kept his Potions Monthly Journal propped up in front of his plate as he placidly ate his lunch, surreptitiously raising his eyes to periodically survey the Great Hall. He had quite a few Slytherin students spending the holidays at the castle and would have to keep a sharp eye on them. Currently they were behaving themselves as they ate the start of holiday’s meal, so he let his gaze search the rest of the room.

He took in the small amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who were chatting up a storm before moving to rest on the final table in the hall, Gryffindor. To his amazement only one lone figure sat at the table, shoulders hunched and a general dejectedness oozing from the small, messy-haired, second-year, as the child ran his fork through his food, but didn’t eat.

Snape inwardly sighed to himself as he turned towards his neighbour and speared another slice of turkey onto his plate. “Minerva,” he quietly asked, “where are the rest of your lions?”

The older witch pulled a sour face, her lips thinning into near-invisible lines, as she glanced at Potter sitting in the centre of the table. “They’ve all gone home for the holidays,” she snapped.

“Potter is the only one left?”

“Yes!” She stabbed her own slab of meat, forcibly sawing away with her knife. Snape wondered whose face she was carving up in her imagination.

“What about his friends?” he enquired.

“The two eldest Weasley boys had a sudden change in plans, deciding to come home for the holidays so Molly called the entire group home. She requested that Harry join them, but He said no!” She jammed a forkful of meat into her mouth and ceased talking, too polite to speak with her mouth full.

Severus had no need to ask who He was; the two heads of house had joined forces in watching over Potter after Severus had overhead the brat’s conversation with Weasley at the start of term. The pronoun in question was Dumbledore.

When Severus had walked into Minerva’s office that September afternoon with a question about what had happened when Potter had received his letter, he hadn’t expected the explosion that had resulted. The woman had been furious and was glad to talk about her favourite subject: Albus’ totally inappropriate handling of Harry Potter since October 31st, 1981. She knew in her heart that Harry probably was not treated well at his relatives, but, as Albus had forbidden any wizarding contact with the family during the intervening years, she had no proof.

Comparing notes, they had come to the conclusion that all was not Rosy and Bright in Potter land, and they had begun to watch the budding Saviour of the World more closely. Severus had kept to the shadows at first, watching the boy’s interactions with other students, as well as his closest friends; kept tabs on his scholastic progress by having conversations with the other teachers and slipping Potter’s name into the discussion.

His most illuminating discoveries, however, had come from speaking with the Medi-witch, Madam Pomfrey; whom he almost considered a mother-figure, having known her since he had been a first-year. He’d been able to be quite frank with her, as she was one of the few individuals in the castle who knew his real self concealed underneath the gruff, snarky exterior, revealing what he had heard in the corridor from the Boy-Who-Lived’s own mouth.

“I’m not surprised, Severus,” she’d said before taking a sip of her tea. They were sitting in her sunny office, enjoying a late Saturday afternoon tea. “When Harry came in for his start of term Physical, he was in no way a healthy young boy of eleven.”

“What problems were there?” he gently asked.

She set her cup down, fiddling with the placement of the handle before sighing and Accio-ing a chart from her large wooden filing cabinets that ranged along two walls of her spacious office, capturing it as it came floating towards her while she stood up from her chair.

She ran a thumb along the width of the file, fanning the papers a little, the rustling sound echoing around the room before she placed the folder dead centre on her desk. “I’ve just remembered I need to check in on Miss Brockelhurst – you may find some interesting reading on my desk,” she said before stepping out of her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Severus had retrieved the already-large medical chart and returned to his seat to peruse the contents. He had come to the conclusion that Lily would have flipped several times in her grave if she’d known how her son had been raised for the last eleven years. He really shouldn’t have been surprised at the contents of the folder, but he had been. Apparently Potter had not been exaggerating about his treatment at the hands of his relatives when he’d spoken so vehemently to Weasley. If anything, the boy had understated his home life.

When Poppy had returned, he was just finishing up his reading and had placed the chart on the low table in front of him, tapping it with his finger.

“The headmaster knows?”

“He knows,” she affirmed. “He said the child still had to return for the wards to stay active.”

Severus was incredulous. “How can they stay active? Blood wards feed off intent – Potter can’t possibly consider that house to be a home?”

The Medi-witch shrugged in resignation. Severus snorted to himself as he poured a fresh cup of tea. Pomfrey cast a glance in his direction; she had expected more of an argument from her sullen friend.

“What are you scheming about, Severus?”

“Scheming? Who said I was scheming? I can’t scheme when it comes to Potter – at least not overtly,” he qualified slyly as his friend hmphed to herself. He just gave her a sidelong glance that caused her to chuckle.

“Of course you aren’t.” She’d patted him on the knee. “However, you know that I will never forgive you if you don’t let me in on it,” she teased.

Snape relaxed in his chair, crossing his legs and bringing his teacup to his lips for a long sip. “When I know, I’ll tell you,” he promised, and she’d had to be content with that.

Severus watched as Potter eventually pushed his still-full plate away and rose up to walk out of the hall before speaking to Minerva again. He generously cut two pieces from a large pumpkin pie that had popped into existence, placing one in front of the irate professor sitting next to him, adding a large dollop of whipped cream from the end of his wand onto her slice. She sighed and, after giving him a grateful look, dug in to the pastry with relish.

“Thank you, Severus, you always know just how I like my pie!”

“Minerva, after twenty years of observing you, I should have been able to pick up some clues – what kind of spy would I be if I wasn’t that observant?”

“Dead, I suppose,” she responded with a quip.

“Thus so,” he agreed, taking a bite of the confection himself, savouring the blend of spices. He could detect a little too much nutmeg in this batch, but it didn't deter from the flavour so he continued eating the slice.

“So, what to do about Potter? Should we start our campaign sooner?” he posited as they both wiped their lips clean before descending down the length of the hall.

She pondered her answer for a moment before agreeing with her colleague. “Yes, we won’t have a more opportune time than this; with Dumbledore gone to his nieces house for the season, he won’t be able to interfere. We’d be able to present him with a fait accompli when he returns.”

“My thoughts as well,” Snape agreed as he opened the door for the older woman. "After you, professor," he said waving her through with a quirk of his lips. She returned it good naturedly, bowing her head in thanks at his chivalrous manner.

“Good, we’ll begin tonight,” she said determinedly.