Foxfire Hall

December 20th, 1984:

Harry helped himself to another piece of bacon from the platter in the center of the table, ate it, then looked at his father, who was sipping some kind of odd potion from a tall glass and asked the same question he had asked countless times in the past week. “Papa, when’s Christmas coming?”

Severus ran out of patience. He was a bit hung over from last night’s banquet the Society of Potioneers had thrown for him, since he had won the prestigious Best All-Around Potion Master in Britain and Europe for his creation of the Auto Immunity Defense Elixir, the potion which increased a weakened witch or wizard’s failing immune system due to Auto Immune Syndrome. After a year of exhausting research and countless trial and error, he had finally done it. His potion was lauded as the best medical breakthrough to come out since the invention of the Nerve Repair Elixir.

I never should have drank that last toast, he thought blearily, nursing a pounding head. That was why he was sipping a Hangover Cure, which Augustus had brewed for him. “Normally, I’d let you suffer the consequences of overindulgence, but seeing as how this was a justifiable celebration and I am very proud of you, Severus, I’ll brew you up something that’ll rid you of your sore head,” the lord of Foxfire Hall had told him magnanimously.

But Harry knew nothing of this, he had been asleep when Severus had left for the banquet last night, and was his usual bouncy self that morning. And he was also into the “frightful fours” where he was constantly asking a zillion questions, sometimes over and over, and had the energy of a rambunctious Labrador retriever on steroids.

That morning, Severus just couldn’t deal with it.

“Papa, when’s Christmas coming?” his mischievous imp repeated.

He lifted his head and glared at the four-and-a-half year old dangerously. “Harry Snape, if you ask me when Christmas is coming one more time, it’s not coming at all! There won’t be a Christmas! Got me?”

Harry shrank back a little, for his father looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and stubble on his cheeks, as he had not shaved yet. But then his inherent courage reared its head and he asked, softly, “Why? There’s always Christmas.”

“If you don’t stop pestering me with questions about it, there won’t be, because we’ll skip it,” he threatened silkily.

Harry looked horrified. “No! We can’t!” He turned to Augustus, who was hiding a smile behind his napkin. “Grandpa, we can’t skip Christmas! It’s against the law!”

“It is? Who says?” asked the elder wizard, his lips quivering.

“I do!” answered Harry. Then he added, if that were not enough, “And so does every other kid.”

“I see. Did you know that once, many hundreds of years ago, it was against the law to celebrate Christmas?” inquired his grandfather wryly.

Harry gaped. “No way! You’re makin’ that up.”

“Upon my honor, young Henry, I am not.” Augustus said solemnly.

“But why’d anyone make Christmas against the law? That’s . . .dumb!”

Augustus smirked. “Yes, it was, but then the Puritans believed that Christmas wasn’t necessary. And when they ruled England, they banned Christmas. No one was allowed to celebrate it, and if you were caught doing so, they put you in jail.”

“That’s really stupid!” Harry declared. “I think they was tetched in the head.”

“Mmm . . .I agree with you,” chuckled his great-grandfather.

“When’s Christmas coming, Grandpa?”

Severus rolled his eyes. His son really did have a one-track mind.

Augustus summoned a calendar from his desk and laid it down on the table. “Look here, Henry. Here’s today . . .the 20th . . .and here’s the 25th, Christmas. Now, how many days is that?”

Harry counted carefully. “One, two, three, four, five . . .Five days!”

“Good! Now you know when Christmas is coming, you can stop pestering us,” Augustus said.

Severus heaved a sigh of relief. He sincerely hoped that would be the case. At least for this morning. Just then Warlocke, Augustus’ owl, flew down and delivered the paper to the elder wizard, who stroked him and fed him pieces of bacon.

“Thank you, my lad. Now go and get some sleep, I know you’re tired from being out all night with the ladies,” the suave Elemental Master said, his eyes lit up with a roguish twinkle.

Warlocke gently preened Augustus’ hair for a moment before flying back to his perch in the conservatory and settling down for the day.

Augustus opened the paper while sipping his morning cup of Chai tea. He always read at least the front page in the morning. His eyes widened as he read the cover story. “Great Merlin’s beard!”

Severus lifted his head from his contemplation of the threads in the tablecloth. “Anything interesting, Grandfather?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Here, read for yourself,” he handed the paper to Severus.

Severus scanned it and his breath caught. Screaming in bright red ink across the front page was the headline: BOY-WHO-LIVED MISSING—PRESUMED DEAD! Harry Potter kidnapped by Muggle child slaver, all attempts to locate the missing celebrity have failed!

Severus raised an eyebrow. That was a new one. He began to skim the article, nearly laughing aloud when it stated that Harry’s Muggle aunt, Petunia Dursley, was “beside herself”. I’m sure she is, all flustered and afraid she’ll be found out. She never cared at all for the boy, else she would have never done what she did. I remember her as a child, she was always jealous of Lily and I because we had magic and she didn’t. She tried to act all high and mighty, but then we found the letter she’d written to Dumbledore, asking if she could come to Hogwarts too, and I think it was then that her resentment turned to a kind of hatred. And she passed that resentment and hatred down to Lily’s son. Wicked bint! The article went on to say that Petunia had been out shopping with her son and nephew and had glanced away for a moment only to check a price when a tall masked man “came out of nowhere” and snatched away Harry. There had been a rash of child abductions going on in that area, according to local Muggle police, and this one had yet to be caught. It had been a week since the abduction and there had been no ransom note and though the Aurors had tried to locate the boy themselves with their tracking spells and mirrors, they had turned up nothing. Which had led them to believe that the boy was dead.

Severus had to admit, if only to himself, that he was relieved. It meant there would be no one looking for Harry Potter any longer, and it also meant that the Prince protections upon Foxfire Hall were second to none, proof that the old magics sometimes were the best ones. Severus doubted if any wizard now alive could have cast such thorough wards and had them last so long. “What a tragedy,” he murmured, but there was an odd note in his voice that puzzled Augustus, because it sounded suspiciously like relief, and that did not make sense at all, since a missing child was a parent’s worst nightmare. “Dumbledore made the biggest mistake of his life, I’d say, placing him with those Muggles.” Now there was a note of savagery in Severus’s tone, and that was more like what Augustus thought should be there.

“Hmm . . .I’d have to agree with you. I still don’t understand why he would do such a thing, when there were plenty of willing families who would have taken in the child. A wizard such as he was supposed to be belongs with wizards, not Muggles who have no comprehension of how to raise a magical child.”

“You are right, Grandfather. There are some people who simply can’t accept us and our world. Petunia Dursley is one of them.”

“You know the woman?”

“Knew of her, she was the sister of one of my schoolmates,” Severus hastily improvised. “Who said once that wizards and witches were all freaks of nature.”

Augustus frowned. “It seems to me that Albus Dumbledore ought to have done his homework before placing the Boy-Who-Lived with them. One should always do reconnaissance before venturing into unknown territory. Then again, Gryffindors are known for rushing into danger like a beheaded chicken and thinking about it later, if at all. I suppose he figured they were the boy’s only living relatives and should bear the responsibility of raising him, which would normally be the case, but he should have made certain they were willing to take him in, instead of “dumping him on our doorstep” as the woman says.”

Severus nodded, thinking that he wouldn’t have trusted Petunia to raise a goldfish, much less Lily’s child. “We have tried to raise him as best we could since he was dumped upon our doorstep all those years ago . . .” she was quoted as telling a reporter. Ha! What a crock! You rid yourself of him at the first opportunity, you inhuman harpy. If it hadn’t been for me, that headline would have come true. If I didn’t think the risk too great, I would expose you for what you truly are.

For one instant he contemplated revealing all, but he swiftly rejected that idea. According to magical law, if a child’s blood relatives proved to be unfit guardians, the child then became a ward of the Ministry, and was placed with a family of the Minister’s choosing. Severus did not trust Cornelius Fudge, who was easily influenced by people like the charming cobra Lucius Malfoy and well-meaning yet manipulative Albus Dumbledore. Fudge would not have Harry’s best interests at heart, he would seek to use the child for his own ends, as a political tool.

All of them would use him for their own ends—to help their public career, to use as a pawn to defeat a dark wizard, none of them would care for Harry as a person, though they claim they have the child’s best interests at heart. And he deserves better than that. He deserves to live an ordinary life and to be a child, not a child savior.

“Now they reap what they have sown,” Severus said darkly. “I suppose that makes the prophecy null and void now that the Boy-Who-Lived is gone.”

“Indeed. What bitter irony,” remarked the elder Prince. “He survived Voldemort only to be undone by a Muggle criminal.”

“Yes,” was all Severus said. Grandfather, I’m sorry, but I must keep my secret a bit longer. I hope someday you will understand and forgive me. He handed the paper back to Augustus.

Augustus took it and peered at the somewhat grainy photo of a young Harry Potter below the article and thought that the boy looked like a sweet child, and it was a shame he had such a brief life. He reminded him a bit of his great-grandson, with similar coloring. But there are lots of boys with Henry’s coloring, and besides, anyone would know The-Boy-Who-Lived by his scar. And Henry has none, he reminded himself, looking at the little boy sharply.

Harry had just gotten his first pair of glasses, they were wire-rimmed bifocals and made him look like a little owl. The Occular Specialist who had examined him said that when he was much older, around thirteen, he might be eligible for corrective spell surgery, but until then he would need to wear glasses all the time. Luckily, Harry didn’t care, he thought the glasses were neat. Severus was relieved, it could have been something more serious, and though wearing the glasses reminded him of the child’s real father, it was better than letting Harry go blind.

The conversation between the two adults had gone on right over his head, he usually tuned them out when they spoke of things he didn’t know about. Right then his top priority was Christmas and presents. Namely if Father Christmas had gotten his list or not. He had a special request this year and he hoped that the wizard or whatever he was could fulfill it.

“Papa, do you think Father Christmas got my list yet?” he asked, eating a piece of toast.

“Harry, chew with your mouth closed,” Severus ordered. “I don’t need to see your half-eaten breakfast. Yes, Father Christmas probably has gotten your list by now. Why? Was there a particular toy you wished to get the most?”

He always asked some form of this question during the weeks leading up to Christmas, so he could figure out what to get Harry for Christmas and not ruin the magic of the holiday. Harry usually received around four gifts from him and two from Augustus and five from Father Christmas. Eventually he would increase the amount to twelve presents, but had determined to never go beyond that amount. He didn’t want Harry to become a spoiled brat by getting too many gifts. Twelve was plenty, he had been lucky to get five when he was growing up. Also, Harry almost never got everything on his list for the same reason.

Harry nodded eagerly. “’Member that time we went for ice cream at Di’gon Alley, Papa?”

“Two weeks ago?” Severus clarified.

“Uh-huh. When we went past the Quidditch store I saw it.”

“Saw what? A broom?” Severus prayed it wasn’t that. He didn’t think Harry was old enough to have a broom yet, even a training one. He didn’t want the boy to become Quidditch-obsessed too soon, and Harry was already impulsive enough on the ground, Severus feared he would break an arm or worse if he let him fly at such a young age. Six was plenty young enough to get a training broom.

“No. I saw Josef Wronski—the action figure, Papa!”

“Who?” Severus looked blank. He didn’t really follow Quidditch, it just wasn’t his thing.

“The Seeker, Papa! He’s really cool! He flies and dives and you can move him and he says six different things. All the kids were outside the store and they all were gonna ask Father Christmas for him for Christmas. And I did too. I really hope he brings me him, Papa. It’s all I really want this year.”

Severus could feel his headache returning. A Quidditch action figure, Merlin help him! Harry didn’t even watch Quidditch matches on a regular basis, though Augustus had taken him to see one or two this year as a reward for doing well with his studies, but local teams, nothing major. Augustus was not a big fan of the sport either, he preferred botany and horseback riding. Severus supposed Harry wanted the figure because all the other kids wanted it. He was easily influenced by older children at this age and the toy did sound interesting.

Looks like I’ll be braving the insane masses at Diagon Alley this year, Severus thought with a silent shudder. I just hope this toy won’t prove impossible to find. He’s been making a real effort to behave this year, a few tantrums notwithstanding, and I’d hate to disappoint him by not getting that one present. It won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t get it, but still . . .I remember wanting a certain set of books when I was little and never getting them because my mother couldn’t afford them, most likely, they were an entire collection of Merlin’s Adventures in Avalon, and every year I’d put them on my list and every year keep hoping they’d be under the tree when I woke up Christmas morning, and each year I’d be disappointed, until I was too old to believe anymore and understood that some things were too expensive for an apothecary’s assistant who was married to an abusive drunk.

He didn’t want Harry to feel that way, though, not if he could help it. So he resigned himself to mingling with crowds of last minute, hyper, pushy, rude shoppers, and go to Quality Quidditch Supplies tomorrow and see if he couldn’t get this Wronski whoever figure.

“Well, son, if you’ve behaved as best you can this year, maybe Father Christmas will bring you it.” Severus told him. Then he helped himself to a piece of toast and some fruit. “Drink your milk, Harry, so you’ll grow up big and strong.”

“’Kay, Papa,” his son said, and obediently drank his cup of chocolate milk. Then he ate another piece of bacon and some eggs. He couldn’t wait till Christmas came and he found the Wronski figure under the tree. He really hoped it would be there because he had tried so hard to behave this year, and he hadn’t gotten time out as much as he had last year since he had not really thrown any tantrums . . .well, except the one over eating his broccoli. He really hated broccoli. But surely Father Christmas would understand, right? Harry didn’t think any kid liked broccoli. That was stuff only grown-ups ate and made their kids eat ‘cause it was good for them. Only Harry could never figure out just what was good about the stuff. It tasted nasty. Even smothered in cheddar cheese.

He made a face and crunched his bacon. Hurry up, Christmas. I wanna play with the Super Seeker!

* * * * * *

The next morning, Severus rose early and dressed in his warmest clothes and winter cloak spelled with a permanent Warmth Charm. He left Harry asleep and ate a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee before Flooing to Diagon Alley, since Apparating such a distance was bound to give him another headache and he didn’t want to spend the morning nursing another one like yesterday.

Even at eight o’clock in the morning, the streets were crowded with shoppers, trying to buy or find that last minute Christmas gift. They all wore expressions of determination, despair, hope, and annoyance, because Merlin only knew that shopping at this time of the year was hazardous to one’s mental and physical health. It was a known fact that someone usually got into a fistfight or worse every year over someone shoving their way onto a line or taking the last self-brewing kid’s cauldron on the shelf when the sales clerk had promised it to Miss Whoever first. And there was always the inevitable shouting match over which broomstick was better, or how much powdered longhorn was worth, and someone always ended up hysterical over some gift they just couldn’t find that year and had to have or else their darling Bibbykins was going to just die!

Severus plastered his most forbidding scowl on his face and glided through the streets, his black cloak billowing behind him like dragon wings. Pedestrians took one look at the young man and hastily moved to the other side of the street. There was an aura about the wizard, despite his youthful appearance, that screamed danger and beware, and people found themselves moving away before they were quite aware of why they were doing so.

Severus was pleased, until he thought he might be channeling Tobias, and then he wished he hadn’t learned to be quite so . . .intimidating. Then he realized how quickly he had gotten to the Quidditch store and changed his mind. Sometimes intimidation was a good thing.

But the queue was around the building, and Severus knew a mere look wasn’t going to help in this situation. He heaved a martyred sigh and went to stand at the back of the line.

A friendly witch with bushy red hair turned about and smiled at him. “Let me guess, you’re here to buy that Wronski figure too, aren’t you?”

“Yes. My son told me it’s all he really wants for Christmas this year.”

“Mine too! Practically begged me on his hands and knees to get him one. He’s twelve.”

“Mine is four-going-on-forty,” Severus said proudly. It was the truth. Harry continued to astound him with his intelligence.

She chuckled. “I know what you mean. So smart, it’s scary.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here. I don’t even know how much this toy is going to cost.”

“It should run about 20 Sickles and a Knut, I think. Not too overpriced, considering its popularity. It’s the hot new item this year, and every child who plays Quidditch wants one.”

“What makes this figure so special?”

“You mean besides the fact that it talks and flies? It’s a limited edition and the card that comes with it is signed by Josef Wronski himself.”

“I see,” said Severus, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. All this fuss over a signature and a toy! If you think it’s so ridiculous, then why are you here? demanded his conscience. He told his conscience to shut up and then said, “That’s probably why children all want it this year. For the autograph.”

“Oh yes. The great Wronski signature is something every Quidditch fanatic must have,” the witch said wryly.

While they were talking, the line had moved a total of two inches closer to the store entrance.

“I just hope they don’t run out before I get in there,” she said worriedly. “They weren’t taking reservations, because the store manager said they couldn’t guarantee how many figures they were going to get from the supplier. So it’s first come, first serve.”

“Wonderful,” Severus muttered. With his luck, they’d probably run out just before him and poor Harry would have to make do with some other action figure for Christmas.

“You don’t sound too thrilled. You mean, you aren’t a die-hard follower?”

Severus made a face. “I can’t stand the sport or the players who strut about thinking they’re God’s gift to the universe.” Like James bloody Potter used to do. “The only reason I’m here is because of my son.”

She grinned. “I sympathize with you totally.”

Severus checked his watch. They had been standing there for fifteen minutes and the line hadn’t moved at more than a snail’s pace. “Is this the only shop that sells it? Maybe we could go somewhere else to find it?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a QQS exclusive.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Just then the line moved another two feet and Severus started to hope that he might be able to get what he needed and be home before dinnertime.

Until a well-dressed man in a dashing black cape carrying a silver snake-headed walking stick walked up and tapped the witch on the shoulder. He had long flowing blond hair and carried himself like a lord. “Excuse me, madam, but I seem to have dropped something.”

“Oh? Where?”

“My ring, it’s an old family crest, and quite valuable to me,” said the wizard smoothly, and he knelt down before her to search the ground.

The witch backed away a bit to give him room.

With a start, Severus recognized Lucius Malfoy, his old prefect of Slytherin House. He hadn’t seen Lucius since he had rejected his offer to join Voldemort’s supporters back in school, and had been glad of it. Now here he was, like a fake Knut, turning up where he was least expected or wanted. Up to your old tricks, eh, Lucius? If you dropped a ring on the ground, I’ll eat my boots, you conniving viper!

Sure enough, Lucius stood up a moment later, pretending to slide something on his finger.

“Did you find it?” asked the witch.

“Yes, I did.” Then he turned and faced the opposite way, now two positions ahead on line.

The witch frowned. “Sir, you need to go to the back of the line. I was here first.”

“Were you?” drawled Lucius. “But you stepped out of line, madam, and so your place is now forfeit. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m sure there will be other figures to buy besides the Wronski if I get the last one.”

“But that’s not fair, sir!”

Lucius merely smirked smugly and turned away, clearly finished with the conversation.

Severus’ blood boiled. He never could stand those like Lucius, who used their position and power to take advantage of those less fortunate, Lily had been dead wrong when she thought he would ever support those kinds of people . . .people like Tobias . . .he despised them.

“Allow me,” he murmured to the now angry witch.

“Be my guest,” she hissed.

“Malfoy,” Severus drawled in his best patrician tones. “Fancy meeting you here after all this time.”

Lucius turned. “Snape! Well, well. I see you’ve made a name for yourself as a Potions Master since school.”

Severus snorted. “Obviously. And you’ve made a name for yourself as well. As a rude ignorant lout who cuts women in line over a mere toy. Proud of yourself?”

Lucius went red. “I don’t know what you mean, Snape.”

“Don’t you?” sneered the other. “You don’t fool me. I know you, Malfoy. All too well. Now why don’t you go and wait on the back of the line like you’re supposed to?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Snape? Before I lose my temper?”

Severus drew himself up to his full height, he was now taller than the older man, and his eyes flashed black lightning. “Back off, Malfoy. Before I lose mine.” His wand slipped into his hand in one fluid motion. His magic surged through him and filled him with power and confidence. He knew he could take the other wizard, Augustus had taught him all new battle spells and defense charms, different from those he had learned in school. During that time, they had also learned that Severus had an affinity for water and air, a latent talent, but one that was slowly starting to wake. He could feel it stirring, and clouds scuttled across the sky in response.

Lucius hesitated. There was something different about Snape now. This was not the insecure boy he had known in school, desperate to belong, the unwanted skinny kid, the loner without friends. This was a new Snape, older, more confident, and blazing with a magical power second to none. “Now Snape, show some respect, after all we’re both Slytherins.”

“So? You’re not my prefect any longer, Malfoy and the fact remains that you’re not going to cheat this lady out of her spot as long as I’m around.”

“I could make you vanish,” threatened the other, his wand now in his hand.

“Ha! You wish.” Then Snape waved his wand in a short sharp gesture and Lucius was lifted into the air and tossed head over heels behind him, to land with a bone-jarring thud on his backside . . .at the end of the line.

The witch he had defended began to clap and so did several of the other people nearby.

“That was great!”

“Good for you, teach that line jumper a lesson!”

“What spell was that? I never learned that one.”

Severus hid a smile. That spell was not one taught at Hogwarts. He had invented it right then and there, out of sheer necessity.

Lucius stood up and brushed himself off, furious but not wanting to make an even further scene by attacking Severus again. But he vowed someday to make Snape regret what he had just done. Nobody humiliated a Malfoy and got away with it.

When they finally reached the store entrance, there was a blue robed wizard standing there, handing out badges. “When I call your number, step up to the counter and wait on the assigned line. You will be given one figure per family—NO exceptions. If you attempt to hoodwink us, you will not be given a figure and no using hexes to confuse the issue. One figure per household and that is all. Break that rule and you’ll be talking to the Aurors. We have a limited number of stock and once it’s gone, that’s it. Some of you may not get one, and if that happens, we’re sorry but that’s the breaks.”

Severus took a badge, it was number 97 and the witch in front of him had number 96.

They went into the store and waited till their numbers were called.

On the last line at the counter, Severus gazed at the packages of figures and prayed his number would be called before they ran out.

But the pile dwindled until the witch in front of him received the last figure Severus could see.

“That’s all, witches and wizards! Sorry if you didn’t receive one. But we only have a limited number and—”

Severus turned away, tired and wishing he had gotten up earlier or something. He had wasted two or three hours for nothing. He just hoped Harry wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Until the witch he had spoken to came and touched his arm. “Excuse me, sir, but you dropped this.”

Severus looked up. She was holding out a Wronski figure.

“I don’t understand . . .”

“Take it. It’s yours.”

“But your son . . .”

“Will get his. I told the manager of the store what you did outside and he took his own figure he had set aside and wishes you to have it. So please, take it. Make your little boy’s Christmas be merry and bright. And have a happy holiday, Mr. Snape.”

“I . . .” Severus was at a loss for words. She pressed the figure into his hand. “Thank you, ma’am. Might I know your name?”

“Molly. Molly Weasley. I have a son around your little one’s age too. But this is for his brother Charlie. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too. My name is Severus.”

“Pleased to meet you and maybe we’ll see each other again some time? Like when our children are old enough to go off to school?”

He shook her hand. “I look forward to it.” Then he gave her a rare smile and bid her good day before tucking the figure under an arm and Apparating back to the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home. All this fuss over a toy!

Augustus looked up when his grandson stepped out of the fireplace. “Well? How did it go?”

“Don’t ask,” said Severus shortly.

“You didn’t get it?”

“No, I have it. Just . . .I’ll explain later, Grandfather,” Severus replied, then he headed upstairs.

Augustus frowned. There were a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to ask—such as why his great-grandson resembled Harry Potter, or what Severus was concealing from him about the little boy. But someday, he would have answers to all his questions. Someday.

* * * * * *

Christmas morning, Harry woke with the sun, jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs to the drawing room where the Christmas tree was, sliding on the polished wooden floor in his green socks with small cauldrons on them. He nearly crashed into the tree before stopping himself.

“He came! Father Christmas came!” He shouted, loud enough to wake the dead.

Upstairs, Severus groaned, rolled over, and woke. Christmas morning seemed to come earlier every year.

Minutes later he heard the pitter patter of little feet on the stairs and heard his son bellowing, “Papa, Papa! Get up! Christmas came and I wanna open presents!”

And I want to sleep in for once, Severus thought waspishly. Guess who’s going to get what they want for Christmas?

He forced himself to climb out of his warm cozy bed and meet his son at the bottom of the staircase.

Harry’s face was alight with the wonder of the holiday, his evergreen eyes sparkling. He was gyrating in place. “Papa! Come n’see!”

Severus allowed himself to be dragged into the drawing room. Harry looked at the presents and then his father. Severus nodded and said, “Go on, imp. You can open them.” He knew Harry couldn’t wait for Augustus, who was probably sleeping in today, because as the Lord of Foxfire Hall, he could do so.

Harry raced over to the tree, reached under it and pulled out a certain package.

Severus watched with bated breath as the child tore off the rainbowed paper.

The look of utter joy and contentment upon Harry’s face when he saw the Wronski figure made Severus’ heart constrict with happiness.

“He brung me it, Papa!” the little boy cried, beaming from ear to ear. “He knows I was good mostly and he brung me it!”

Severus smiled, not bothering for once to correct his son’s speech. Suddenly all the hassle of waiting on line and nearly dueling Malfoy had been worth it. And if he had to, Severus knew he would go through the whole crazy business all over again.

The look on Harry’s face was the best Christmas present ever.