This whole damn year was turning out to be even crazier than the last. Students being petrified left and right, a Potter who was a Parselmouth, and now, with the holidays approaching, Severus was stuck sitting at his desk and looking down his rather formidable nose at the list of those Slytherins staying at school during the break. A nearly bi-polar seventh year, the most bitchy fifth year girl Severus had ever encountered in all his years of teaching, and Malfoy junior with his two pet gorillas. What a happy Christmas it would be.

With a longing look towards the cabinet that held his firewhiskey, the Potions Master fought the urge, instead pulling a random stack of essays toward him, just hoping to give his mind something to do. He noticed young Nott had chosen not to stay for the holidays, but that may or may not have been the boy's personal choice. If he recalled correctly, the child had wanted almost desperately to stay last year until he got a rather scathing owl from his father, demanding he come home. Purebloods were often expected at certain functions during the Yule season, after all, and Theodore Nott was the heir to the entire Nott family; but then again, Theo had also seemed to be doing better lately. His depression had, if not improved exactly, at least leveled out. He was eating at almost every meal, the dark circles beneath his eyes had lessened dramatically, and he'd damn near shocked Severus out of his chair when he smiled openly at Zabini in the Great Hall the other day. Though unsure of what had brought about such a change (it certainly hadn't been his efforts, seeing as how the boy still refused to say more than a few words whenever they met), Severus wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It's not as though the reasons for his progression were important so much as the result.

There were other interesting developments throughout the student body as well. For instance, ever since the attack on the Finch-Fletchley boy, more and more of the students had been continuously treating Potter as a leper. It was extremely satisfying to see the tiny, messy-haired thing walk down the hall to class only to have people scramble to get out of the way, some of them going so far as to flatten themselves against the walls, duck into the nearest classroom... at first. Then it started to become more annoying than anything else. By now, it was just pathetic. Severus damn near pitied the brat, and he certainly never wanted to pity a Potter.

What the dour man found most interesting about Potter's relationships, however, was the slowly changing climate between himself and the other two/thirds of the Golden Trio. Unless they were headed to meals or to class, it was becoming more common to see Weasley and Granger together as a pair with Potter wandering around somewhere off on his own. Most recently, Severus had even caught the other two giving Potter looks, curious, speculating looks, the kind Severus recognized as damn near suspicious. Like they were wondering if they hadn't been wrong about their friend all along. Surely they weren't actually buying into all this Heir of Slytherin rubbish themselves?

-Mutilated-

"The Polyjuice will be ready any day now. We can use it over the break. It will be perfect, there are only a few Slytherins staying, so the common room will be nearly if not completely empty no matter what time of day. We just need to figure out how to properly distract Crabbe and Goyle so we... Harry, are you listening?"

"Hm?" Dragging his eyes away from the fire, Harry let them rest on his only real female friend, making it rather obvious that no, he hadn't been listening at all. "Sorry, Hermione, I'm just distracted today. Actually, I've got some things to do... I'll see you later, all right?"

Ron began sputtering, red-faced and clearly angry, while Hermione just scrunched her forehead in a concerned gesture. Biting her lip and darting a quick look around, she gently caught her friend by the wrist, stalling his departure. "Harry..." She shot Ron another glance before bravely pressing on, "Harry, you're really starting to worry us."

Hearing those words, the boy hero paused, blinking down at the girl in genuine surprise. Worry them? "What? Why?" What could he possibly have done now? Last he checked, he hadn't set anymore snakes on people lately. In fact, "I've barely even seen you two the past week."

"Exactly!" Slapping a hand over her mouth when she realized just how loud her voice had come out, Hermione looked over her shoulder to be sure their private conversation was indeed still private before going on in a whispered tone, "We've barely seen you at all, Harry. Every day you disappear somewhere, alone, and we have no idea where you've gone or what you're doing." Her brown eyes sought his out beseechingly, the hours she'd spent worrying blatantly clear if you looked into them. He chose to look away instead. "Harry, what's going on? You know you can tell us anything, don't you? Please?"

"I know that, 'Mione," the boy mumbled, still keeping his eyes carefully averted from her face. "There are just some things... I don't want to tell you. I want some privacy, that's all." Couldn't they understand?

Looking dejected, Hermione released his wrist while Ron glared daggers at him from her side. Maybe they didn't understand the way he'd like them to. Maybe they couldn't. "I'll see you later." He left the common room at a dead run and didn't stop once until he'd finally reached the Astronomy Tower.

-Mangled-

The planets circled slowly round the sun, in a sluggish dance of monotony that was actually quite calming to watch. Nearly hypnotizing, really. Though, the chamomile tea definitely helped with that, having natural relaxants in it already. Blinking sleep heavy eyes, Harry lifted his head from its tilted position when he heard the familiar voice say softly, "You're awfully quiet today, Harry. Anything on your mind?"

Studying the man, Harry took another swig of steaming tea, debating on how to answer that particular query. There was quite a bit on his mind, certain matters more pressing than others, but he didn't know how much of it he really wanted to share. Finally, "Sir, it's almost Christmas."

Chuckling, Jenkins nodded his agreement. "It is indeed. I noticed you're staying at the castle this year."

"Yes, sir." The boy made sure to keep his answer short and blunt there. No reason to bring up the Dursleys and ruin the whole afternoon. "Are you staying as well, sir?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Though he had a feeling he should be sad for the man that he didn't have any family to go home to either, Harry was positively delighted by this revelation. He wouldn't have to spend the whole holiday now missing the professor and their shared talks. Feeling brave, he decided to bring up one of the things that had been plaguing him recently. "Professor, I... want to get you a gift. Please. I just have absolutely no idea what you'd like, and I don't know who else I could ask; so... is there anything you'd like?"

The man seemed to have frozen at the boy's words, the only discernible movement the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He was staring so intently at some papers on his desk, Harry thought for a moment maybe he was, in fact, reading them, until he looked up suddenly, eyes boring holes into green. Serious, intense, and not at all like the soft brown eyes Harry had become so accustomed to. "Yes, actually. There's something I would love to have from you, dear."

Missing the overly informal endearment for the second time now, Harry excitedly cried, "Great! Just let me know what it is, and I'll get it. It doesn't matter how much it costs either; I'm... well, I'm loaded, to be honest."

Chuckling lightly at that, familiar smile back in place, Jenkins assured him, "Oh, this is hardly an expensive gift, Harry. In fact, it won't cost you a single knut."

Harry blinked, baffled. The professor wanted something that was free?

Laughing again at the boy's blatant confusion, Jenkins reached out to pat his much smaller hand gently. "Just come spend the day with me on Christmas, Harry. Your presence is really all I ask for."

Bright jade widened substantially before, "Oh but, sir, really—"

"No no, I insist. Come on Christmas, spend some time here... I even think there's something else you can do for me if you're amenable. We'll discuss it then."

Letting himself sit back again in his seat Harry cautiously muttered, "Well, if you're sure..."

"I am, Harry, really." His smile took on that odd shape again, the one the boy still couldn't quite recognize the meaning behind. "Trust me, your... company is more than enough of a gift to me."

-Warped-

Christmas. The most miserable time of the year. True there were very few brats still around to bother him, no classes to teach, but it was small compensation really for all the horrid, blasted emotions and memories the holiday inevitably brought back each and every winter. All the reminders of how very little he truly had when he woke up cold and alone on December 25th only to find the space under his tree (yes, for reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom, he always had a bloody tree) incredibly empty and bare. Usually four or five packages at most, a few obligatory cards. That was all. That was what his disconsolate, lonely life had become; and it was never more spectacularly clear than that one awful day.

After opening his gifts with dread rather than excitement, noticing how not one, not even Albus' truly had a personal touch, he banished away the wrapping paper, skipped breakfast after finding his appetite absent, and spent the rest of the day in his lab, brewing the most complicated, attention-consuming potions he could think of, noting how he'd now have more than enough of the complex arthritis balm he always kept stocked for the old and often stiff Professor Kettleburn. At least something good had come from the miserable day.

Cursing himself and everything around him, the man stormed his way up the stairs to dinner in the Great Hall, wishing more than anything Albus didn't make the damn meal mandatory every year. In fact, he thought being given permission to skip it would be just about the best present he could possibly receive from the Headmaster, but that would mean he'd actually gotten something he wanted. He wasn't foolish enough to think that would ever happen.

Making his usual entrance, black robes billowing, sour scowl in place, mood brightening just a little as he passed a nearly quaking first year Ravenclaw, he took a seat stiffly next to Minerva at the staff table, ignoring the smirk she sent in his direction and the, "Couldn't wear something just a bit more festive for the holiday, Severus?" He decided that was a rhetorical question and didn't deserve an answer, not even of the scathing variety.

Dark eyes scanning over the tables, he noted all of his Slytherins were properly present. He also couldn't help but notice a conspicuously absent Potter despite the fact Weasley and Granger were already at their seats. Just where was the little brat and what had he gotten up to now that had him separated yet again from his two shadows? Surely, despite the tension he'd seen between them lately, they'd be together on Christmas.

His questions were resolved when the doors opened and a laughing pair of males stepped through, the smaller of them with a generous amount of snow dusting his dark, messy hair. So that's where Potter had been, he'd toddled off to follow Jenkins around like a lost puppy, apparently taking a walk around the grounds with him if his appearance was anything to go by. He tried not to get sick from the adoring looks the rest of his colleagues sent the pair, the new professor taking a special interest in the fatherless orphan on Christmas. Pathetic.

Ignoring Jenkins when he took a seat on his left, Severus stoically and methodically ate his dinner, not joining in on the happy conversation, eyeing the clearly arguing Golden Trio with vague interest, and wishing the whole time the day would end so he could just crawl into his bed, go to sleep, and wake up when this disgusting festival was officially over; which, of course, meant that after the meal, Albus literally forced him to accompany the old man to his office for a "pleasant holiday chat".

By the time he finally managed to escape nearly two hours later, Severus was about ten seconds away from ripping his own hair out in frustration and just plain old irrational anger. Storming through the corridors towards his dungeon, he opened his mouth to verbally eviscerate the child when a student came rounding the corner and barreled into him at full-speed. Unfortunately his voice caught in his throat the moment he took in said child's countenance.

"Potter. What's wrong?" Because something was clearly wrong. Not only was the boy extremely pale, worryingly so, but if he didn't know any better he'd say the child was terrified— just not in the usual 'there's a monster under the bed' type of way. This was something different, something deeper, and yet something certainly no less disturbing. Severus hesitated a moment, wondering if he should take the child up to see Poppy, a frown marring his features when his question went unanswered and he noted just how glassy the normally vibrant green eyes were. "Potter?"

Slowly reaching out a hand (the Hospital Wing was definitely looking like a good idea now), he planned to feel the child's forehead, check if he was feverish or contrarily in a cold shock, but the boy jerked violently away before he could make contact, eyes wide and breathing fast. Severus stared, unwilling to make any sudden moves. Again, slowly and evenly, "Potter?"

"Sorry," the boy choked softly, taking a quick step back. He resembled a trapped animal, panicked and afraid of his own shadow. "Sorry, Professor, sir. I'm sorry."

Severus actually had to fight to keep his expression neutral. Whoever this boy was, it wasn't Potter. Where was the stroppy little brat he was used to, the cheeky, defiant lion cub? This was all wrong. "Potter, what happened?"

"No!" The boy's howl resounded off the stone walls, echoing down the corridor. "Nothing happened, nothing! It— I— I'm sorry!"

Before Severus could even think to respond again, the boy had spun on the spot and taken off like he was being chased by the Dark Lord himself, leaving the Potions Master to stand there in stunned silence as he listened to the fading sound of the twelve-year-old's frantic footsteps. What the hell had just happened? What had the brat managed to get himself into now to cause that kind of reaction?

He must have stood there for a full minute, just staring at the spot the boy had previously occupied, mind running through a number of scenarios, each more unlikely than the next. Whatever had happened, he certainly couldn't figure it out. He debated going after the boy, making sure he'd at least made it back to his common room all right, possibly inform Minerva that something may be wrong; but really, why bother? It was likely nothing in the end, just Potter being his usual, melodramatic self. It was his job to care for his students, yes, but the child had been uninjured, hadn't seemed sick, and definitely hadn't looked suicidal. In other words, whatever was bothering the brat was not his problem; he certainly wasn't about to go above and beyond the call of duty for a Potter.

Frowning anew, he turned with a sweep of robes and made his way to his dungeon quarters, downing firewhiskey like it was water and putting Potter and the entire deplorable day out of his mind. By the time he literally passed out on his couch about an hour later, he really had nearly forgotten the whole odd encounter, too busy instead staring through teary eyes at the pictures that decorated his shelves of a jubilant fiery redhead and a tired but pleasantly smiling older woman with long, lank dark hair; just like every other year.

Happy fucking Christmas.

-Twisted-

The day after Christmas had always felt a bit melancholy, but waking up this year with a pounding headache and eyes that were red and raw was absolutely terrible. Even worse was the flood of thoughts that accompanied them, though Harry was doing his absolute best not to actually pay attention to those. They were all jumbled and confused and made his poor head hurt more; they also just plain weren't very pleasant. Why worry himself over it? Everything was going to be fine, the professor had said so himself. Nothing was wrong.

Climbing reluctantly from underneath his cocoon of warm covers to stand on slightly shaky legs, the boy made his way to the showers, dousing himself leisurely in hot water for nearly half an hour before shoving himself into an over-large pair of denims and a Weasley jumper, descending the stairs with his hair sticking in all directions and immediately making a beeline towards his two friends in the otherwise empty common room. "G'morning," he said as cheerfully as he could muster, watching in amusement as they jumped upon his arrival. "What's going on?"

Harry may not have been the brightest boy in school, but he couldn't possibly miss the shared look the two sent one another before Hermione forced a smile and a falsely lighthearted, "Oh, nothing really. Just the usual."

Smiling as though he wasn't aware of something being amiss, Harry took a seat, wondering exactly what time it was and whether or not he'd slept through breakfast. Not that he was particularly hungry anyway. "Listen, I was thinking maybe we ought to— er, put our plan into action tonight. After dinner maybe?" He knew by the way both of them turned red and gave another look something was definitely up. "What's wrong?"

"Malfoy isn't the heir of Slytherin," Ron grunted in clearly disappointed tones. "He barely knew anything about it, other than it was opened fifty years ago and someone died."

Horrified, Harry managed to squeak, "Someone died?" before the implications of what he was being told started to strike him. "Hang on... how do you know this?" Had they found another way to question Malfoy while he was out?

"How do you think we know?" the redhead chortled. "We went ahead with it last night. 'Cept I was Crabbe and Hermione was Goyle, 'stead of Millicent Bullstrode."

Blinking stupidly, Harry turned his gaze on the female of the group, asking in slight bemusement, "You were Goyle? Doesn't that mean you turned into a boy?"

"Polyjuice Potion is not only for same gender transformations," she answered primly.

"Well yeah, but if you were Goyle, doesn't that mean you had—"

"I didn't look, Harry!" the scandalized girl cried, all the excess blood in her body rushing to her face.

For a moment, Harry was genuinely amused by her reaction. Then everything they'd told him truly began to sink in and he could only stare, stunned. Surely he hadn't heard correctly. They would never... "You two used the Polyjuice without me."

Hermione looked quickly, guiltily away. "Well..."

"How could you do it without me?!" He was so angry and hurt right then he didn't care that his voice came out in a shout. He also missed the way Hermione positively flinched, as though half expecting him to strike out physically and the way Ron very purposefully moved closer to her. How could they possibly— They were supposed to be friends, they'd come up with the plan together, since the troll incident last year they'd always done these things together. Didn't Harry take them with him when he went after the Sorcerer's Stone? How could they suddenly up and leave him behind?

Glaring daggers, Ron jumped to his feet, towering over the smaller boy still in his chair. "We didn't want to do it without you, stupid. We tried to get you to come back with us after dinner last night. You're the one who was too busy with something else to be bothered with us."

Getting up himself, yet still only reaching around the redhead's shoulder, he snapped, "I was busy last night, Ron! Why didn't you just wait?"

"Why should we? If we're not even important enough to be told what you're doing, why should we wait around and put things off until it's convenient for you?"

"Ron," Hermione urged softly, warningly, but the brash boy pushed on.

"I don't know what you think you're playing at, mate, but we don't follow your orders. If you want some brainless minions, go steal Crabbe and Goyle from Malfoy; or maybe you can just wait until that Creevey kid wakes up. I'm sure he'd be happy as hell to serve the precious Boy-Who-Lived. Don't expect us to fall at your feet like everyone else."

The fury was so palpable by then, Harry was literally seeing spots of red. "Everyone else?" he bit out through clenched teeth. "Just who the hell is everyone else, Ron? The Slytherins who try and curse me in the corridors? The Ravenclaws who look at me like a science experiment, the Hufflepuffs who're afraid of me? Or maybe the Gryffindors who can't even be bothered to have my back when the rest of the school is busy spreading nasty rumors about my heritage. Please, Ron, tell me... just who do you think everyone else is?"

Ron snorted nastily and sneered, in a way much reminiscent of their Potions professor, "Save the sob story for someone who'll buy it, Harry. I'm not that thick."

Tears stung the back of Harry's green eyes, threatening dangerously to fall as he valiantly fought them off. It wasn't a 'sob story' and he wasn't saying it for pity, it was just the truth. Ron was supposed to understand that. How was this happening? "I thought you were my best mate."

The Weasley scoffed. "Yeah, sure, your best mate who you keep secrets from and can't be bothered to spend time with. Y'know, Harry, it's no wonder you never had any friends before me. You make a pretty lousy one."

It literally felt as though he'd just been slapped in the face. That... that wasn't fair. Ron knew about Dudley, Harry had finally worked up the courage to tell him more about life at the Dursleys that past summer, he knew what things had been like for him before Hogwarts. How could he... How could Ron take what he'd told him in confidence, use it against him? If this is what people did when you finally spilled your guts to them, was it any wonder he wanted to keep some secrets?

Taking a deep, shaky breath, refusing to cry in front of them, he managed to choke out, "You're a real prat, Ron. You know that? Just sod off," before turning to flee, trying not to listen to Ron's irate call of "Good riddance to bad rubbish!" that followed him as he went.

Fine. Ron didn't want to be his friend anymore, fine. He had someone else now anyway, someone more important, more reliable... Someone who liked him as more than just a friend. Rapping his knuckles frantically on the door until they stung, he all but threw himself at the man who wrenched it open, barely noting the disheveled state of his hair and clothes, uncaring he had woken him. Thin arms coming up to wrap around the taller man's waist, Harry gasped desperately from where his face was buried, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about last night."

Shooting a careful look up and down the corridor, relieved to see they were indeed alone, Jenkins brought an arm up around the distraught child's shoulders, drawing him into his private quarters to shut the door, away from prying eyes. That really could have ended badly. "Here now," he said softly, letting a hand rest gently atop the messy head, "what's all this then?"

"I'm sorry," the boy repeated earnestly, looking up with big, pleading green eyes. "Last night I shouldn't've... I'm sorry I left like that. I do like you, I... Please... please don't hate me."

The floored look that crossed the professor's face was quickly replaced with compassion and the hand began to stroke softly through the dark locks. "Of course not, dear, I could never hate you; regardless of your answer. We'll still always be friends."

The words shook Harry down to his very core, coming out physically in the near frantic shaking of his head. Friends... friends left you, could leave you at any moment, turn their back on you... But if they were more than friends... "No, no I want to do it. Like you said last night. Really."

Jenkins made a small noise in his throat, inquiring softly, "You're sure about this, Harry? You know it will require a lot of effort on both our parts."

"I know." The boy lifted his face beseechingly once more, eyes shining with unshed tears now. "I'll make the effort, really; and I'll be really careful. Just... please. I— you said— please—"

"Alright, alright, no need to get so worked up," the teacher gently assured. "I never meant to make you cry, sweetheart."

"I know." Rubbing a fist impatiently over his left eye (he was twelve and he was a boy, not a Hufflepuff girl), he went on softly, "I just don't..." I don't want you to leave me too.

Continuing to pet the boy, Jenkins looked down and implored seriously, "And this is definitely what you want, Harry? If we get caught, I'll be in a lot of trouble. People wouldn't understand."

"I know," the boy insisted for the third time, Gryffindor determination and stubbornness shining through. "We'll just keep it a secret. No one will know... I want to."

Smiling brightly, happily, Jenkins pulled the boy tight into his chest. "That's good to hear," he breathed, leaning down to bury his face in the raven mop. "Very good."

Nodding slightly, though he could barely move in his current position, Harry forced himself to hesitantly agree despite the lingering reservations still stirring in the back of his mind. He just needed to trust the older, more experienced professor because he was still too immature about these things. Everything would turn out fine.

Who really needed friends anyway? He'd survived most of his life without them. He could do it again.