Snape raised a brow as he scrutinized the contents of the vial he'd just been handed. While the potion seemed to be the right consistency, it was slightly off-color. "You ought to focus more when you're in class, Potter," he admonished, then waved the boy off so the next student could hand in their brew.

"Yes, sir," Potter murmured. Draco Malfoy was smirking at him as he approached Snape's desk.

"Good consistency," Snape remarked, "Proper color." Draco beamed. "I'm afraid I'll have to dock points for sabotaging another student's potion, however."

The Slytherin's expression became one of shock and alarm. "Sir, I don't –"

"I am neither blind, nor ignorant, Mr. Malfoy," his head of house drawled. "Mr. Longbottom is perfectly capable of brewing potentially deadly concoctions without your assistance. If you wish to continue arguing with me, you'll spend the first week of next term scrubbing cauldrons."

"Yes, sir," the blond muttered. It was Harry's turn to smirk and even Neville (who'd been told to return that evening to attempt his antidote again) seemed a bit heartened by Draco's chastisement. For his part, Draco glared at Harry, thinking that the Gryffindor had clearly been a bad influence on his godfather.

Once everyone had turned in their potions, the class was assigned their holiday homework and dismissed. The students poured from the room, all thankful to finally be done with classes for the term and most excitedly looking forward to the Ball the following week. Harry was just glad he had one less thing to worry about. At the beginning of the week, Trelawney had predicted that he was going to have a horrible holiday, and for once, Harry was inclined to believe she was right.

He quietly walked alongside his friends, lost in thought. Ron was trying to get Hermione to tell him who she was going to the Ball with while she retorted that he should mind his business and find his own date. Harry remained largely oblivious to this, which is probably why he didn't notice that their bickering was half-hearted, at best. Soon, the topic changed to the last Hogsmeade visit the following day, but even that failed to draw Harry into the conversation. After Harry had excused himself to return to Snape's quarters, his two friends fell quiet.

"Seriously," Ron said after a few moments, "what's wrong with him, 'Mione?"

Hermione shook her head, as she always did when he asked that question. "It's for Harry to tell us when he's ready," she stubbornly replied.

Ron wanted to comment that she'd already found out without Harry telling her, but somehow managed to restrain himself. "Well, I hope he snaps out of it soon. It's depressing when he's like this."

"He is depressed, Ronald."

"Which is why it's depressing." The girl rolled her eyes at this. "I just want him to be Harry again," Ron added quietly.

Hermione smiled sadly at him. "Me, too," she agreed.

0o0o0o0

Harry opened his eyes. The light filtering through the window suggested that it was early morning, and probably snowing. Christmas. The thought was almost enough to make him want to turn over and go back to sleep. He had thought the excitement of everyone leading up to this day was nauseating, he wasn't sure how he'd survive it without vomiting on one of his overly cheerful classmates.

He usually liked Christmas since his arrival at Hogwarts, but just then, he would have liked to skip the holiday altogether. Would he even have another Christmas? Would anyone even care if he didn't?

The boy thought that maybe his two best friends would care, would probably even miss him when he was gone, but what about others? The Dursleys certainly wouldn't care, nor would any of the Slytherins. Snape... Harry wasn't sure, anymore. Before, he would have stated without doubt that the man would just as soon have him dead, but now... He simply didn't know.

When thinking about who may or may not miss him after his demise served only to make him feel more depressed, Harry threw back the covers to get out of bed. He was mildly surprised to find his customary gifts at the foot of his bed. Though it was a gesture which he'd received every year since first coming to school, it still touched him deeply just then and he had to scrub tears from his cheeks.

Emerging from his room later, Harry found Snape seated in one of the chairs in the living room, reading from a book. Harry sat down on the couch, picking up his vial of potion from the coffee table as he did so. The taste had improved since he'd first taken it – or maybe he'd simply grown accustomed to it – but it still was his least favorite part of the morning.

"Happy Christmas, sir," he said, putting down the empty vial.

Snape looked up at him, his expression neutral. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter," he returned. "I'm afraid all I have to offer you is the assurance that I am still trying to develop an antidote for you."

"Thank you, sir," Harry told him. "I... I don't have anything for you."

"There is nothing I either want or need," Snape responded disinterestedly, "nor do I expect you to get me anything."

Not certain how or if he should reply to this statement, the teen looked down at his hands. He began absently picking at his fingers – a habit which had been occurring with greater frequency since the onset of his depression.

"Do you have dress robes, Potter?" the professor asked, effectively distracting his charge from the attack on his cuticles.

Harry looked up, mildly confused at the sudden change in topic. "What for, sir?"

"The Yule Ball, Mr. Potter. You may have heard of it?"

"I'm not going, sir," the boy stated.

Snape, having fully expected this response, set aside his journal and fixed the boy with a stern gaze. "The headmaster has required me to attend," he informed him. "If I have to go, Potter, you have to go. Do you have dress robes?" When Harry took too long to answer, the man decided it didn't matter. "Hana."

The elf appeared a split-second later. "Potions Master is needing Hana?"

"Hana, I want you to locate the robes given to me by Professor McGonagall several years ago," the man directed.

"Is Potions Master going to be wearing them, tonight?" Hana asked excitedly.

"Definitely not. I want them refitted so Mr. Potter can wear them."

Hana looked disappointed for a moment. As her gaze fell upon Harry, however, she immediately brightened again. "Master Harry will look very nice in them!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. She vanished, then reappeared an instant later. "Master Harry is needing to go to his room to try on the robes!"

"I do?" Harry asked.

"It would probably be best to do as she says," Snape advised, rising from his seat. "Be sure to attend breakfast once you are finished."

"But, sir, do I really..." the boy began, but trailed off as an insistent house elf grabbed him by the arm and attempted to tug him off the sofa.

"Master Harry, hurry!" Hana exclaimed. Left with no other option, Harry obeyed, albeit a bit dazedly. Snape smirked to himself, knowing how persistent the little elf could be. If nothing else, Hana would keep the boy's mind occupied for a while. And that was certainly better than leaving him to his own devices.

0o0o0o0

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" Hermione greeted him when he arrived for breakfast. "I love the book you got me!"

"Glad to hear it," Harry returned, taking a seat next to Ron. "Happy Christmas, Hermione, Ron. Thanks for the book and the dungbombs!" Hermione, who had given Harry Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland, frowned reprovingly at Ron, giver of the dungbombs.

"Sure thing, mate," Ron told him, gleefully ignoring their friend's disapproval. "Thanks for your gift, by the way – it's brilliant!" He was speaking of the Chudley Canons hat Harry had gotten for him.

"It clashes horribly with his hair," remarked Hermione. Harry grinned at the image this conjured and Hermione nearly dropped her spoon. She stared at the dark-haired boy, who had started talking about Quidditch with Ron. Their friend was talking more than he had in a month and he was smiling. It was still a bit tentative, but it was genuine – the first real smile he'd worn in what felt like an eternity.

It was as though some higher power had seen fit to give a Christmas gift for which she hadn't even dared to hope: a glimpse of her friend, who'd been present in body, but absent in spirit.

"You alright, Hermione?" Harry was looking at her with concern. "You're, uh, staring at me."

Hermione continued to stare several seconds longer before putting down her spoon and rising to her feet. Dashing around the end of the table where they sat, she threw her arms about her friend and hugged him tightly. "Harry, I've missed you!" she exclaimed, her tone thick with emotion. "I've missed you so much!"

Harry awkwardly patted the arm wrapped across his collar bone, uncertain how to reply. Finally, Hermione released him and straightened up, brushing tears from her cheeks. Telling them she'd see them later, she fled the hall.

Ron turned back to Harry after their friend had gone, eying him appraisingly. "You do seem different today, mate," he noted.

"I do?" Harry asked in surprise, looking down at his own attire. It was nothing different from what he usually wore.

"Yeah," the redhead replied. "You seem... more like yourself, actually. It's like we've had another Harry, and he's not near as much fun. Ah – not that you're boring, mate. You've just been a bit sad, is all. 'Mione's been real worried."

Harry considered this, realizing that he hadn't really been the best of friends, recently. He wondered if the gifts he had gotten them were enough to help make up for it.

"So, what are you gonna do, tonight?" Ron's question pulled him from his musing. "Maybe I can join you."

"You don't want to go to the Ball, anymore?" Harry asked in surprise.

"I didn't find a date," murmured Ron. "My robes are awful, anyway. I thought we could hang out. It's been awhile, y'know?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, but, um..."

"What? You don't think we can?"

"Well, I... I have to go, actually," said Harry.

Ron frowned. "Go where?"

"To the Ball," his friend clarified.

"So, you're going? Really? Do you have a date?"

"Well, no. I didn't find out I had to attend until this morning," Harry responded, flushing slightly. "We don't have to have dates, do we? Can't we just go by ourselves?"

"We could..." Ron hedged.

"Great – nothing to worry about, then."

Or so Harry had said at breakfast. Later, in the dorm, however, he and Ron stood staring at the redhead's formal robes. They consisted of a long sheath of maroon fabric with unsightly lace trim at the neck and cuffs. Harry had thought them ugly the first time he'd seen them – now, they seemed even more hideous.

"I don't think I'll go, after all," Ron moaned, looking a bit ill. Harry didn't blame him. If he had to wear Ron's robes, he wouldn't attend, either, and nothing Snape was able to do could make him. It was then that he had a burst of inspiration.

"Hana," he said aloud.

Ron looked at him in confusion. "Huh?" But he received an explanation as a house elf popped into the room.

"Master Harry is needing Hana?" she asked excitedly.

"Erm, yes," Harry replied. "Hana, I have a set of black dress robes in my closet. Do you think you could alter them to fit Ron?"

"Master... Ron is much taller than Master Harry," Hana began uncertainly, eying the boy in question.

"I know, but the only other option is for him to wear those," Harry told her, indicating the maroon robes.

Hana glanced at the robes, her eyes bulging. She looked back and forth between them and Ron. "Hana will do her best!" she exclaimed. She disappeared with a crack.

"What are you going to wear?" Ron asked Harry.

"I, uh, have another set of robes," his friend answered.

"You do?"

Hana reappeared with Harry's black dress robes. "Master Ron is needing to try on these robes," she declared. And with that, yet another refitting session began.