Harry looked up dully as heavy footsteps traversed the darkened park, approaching his sanctuary within the three evergreens. His first thought of, Please don't let it be Dudley, was replaced with shock. "Snape?" he whispered in disbelief. Maybe Dudley had hit him so hard that he was hallucinating…

"Potter."

Harry sat, slack-jawed, staring at the thick robes trailing across the winter grass. "You came," he said inanely. "You came back…"

Although the park remained deserted, Snape looked quickly around to ascertain that they were unobserved by Muggles. He then Lumosed his wand and examined Potter's visible wounds, wondering how many more remained unseen. That led to him casting a diagnostic scan, which revealed a broken rib, another with a hairline fracture, multiple breaks in the left ulna, an assortment of contusions, and a mild concussion. In addition, the scan revealed the very beginning stages of hypothermia.

The man frowned at the silent boy. "You walked here all the way from your home?"

"It's NOT my home," Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. "It's … just where I live. Where I have to live. When I'm not at school, that is." He glowered, then added, "Yeah. I walked here. There was nowhere else to go."

Snape studied him quietly for a moment. "Well, you can't spend the night here in the park. You'll freeze before dawn. Come with me." He stood up and held out a hand to assist Harry to rise from the cold ground.

Utterly bemused, Harry accepted the proffered hand, not even questioning where they might be going. The possibility of the Leaky Cauldron crossed his mind. He knew Tom kept rooms upstairs for guests. But really, it was enough to know that Snape had come back. Some instinct told Harry that the man wouldn't take him back to the Dursleys.

The Potions Master pulled him close, and in a wink, the park vanished to be replaced by the interior of a small shed. The stale air, smelling of dust and dry cobwebs, hinted that the structure had not actually been used in some time.

"Follow me," Snape ordered, opening the shed's door, and the crisp smell of a winter night greeted Harry's nostrils when he stepped outdoors. Glancing up once at the stars overhead, he followed the trailing robes across a walled-in back garden where planting beds and a collection of deciduous shrubs lay dormant, barely visible by the scant light of a quarter moon. A tiny greenhouse abutted the rear wall of a sad-looking brick house, and Snape barely paused long enough to wave his wand to unlock the back door.

They stepped directly into a kitchen, and the Potions Master quickly locked and warded the door behind them. Another wave of his wand lit an old-fashioned oil lamp on the plain wooden table as well as several candles in mirrored holders affixed to the walls. The angled triple mirrors multiplied the light for each candle, and the kitchen took on a homey glow, for all that it felt unused. Another flourish of Snape's wand instantly heated the smallish room.

"Have a seat."

A ladderback chair slid across the linoleum flooring, and Harry gingerly lowered his aching body onto the wooden seat. "Where are we?"

A tiny quirk tugged at the corner of Snape's thin lips. "Spinners End."

Harry frowned. "What's Spinners End?"

"Somewhere safe." Snape did not elaborate, and Harry didn't press him for further information, merely watching as the man opened his potions pouch and began extracting several vials.

"How long since you last ate?" Snape asked, adding at Harry's hesitation, "One of these needs to be taken on a full stomach."

"Oh." Harry bit his lower lip before replying, "Um … lunch."

The dark man narrowed his eyes. "Lunch today?"

Harry flushed. "Well, yesterday, actually."

"Was that your choice?"

The boy shook his head, causing Snape to mutter something sounding rather dire concerning Muggles under his breath.

"Right. We'll deal with the bone fractures first." True to his word, the Potions Master healed the skeletal injuries, vastly reducing Harry's immediate pain. Then he healed the abused, swollen eye with his wand, following that up with a gentle application of Bruise Balm to the darkened tissues. "You may take the concussion potion and pain reliever now," Snape said, handing him a vial of coppery-looking liquid, then one of clear, pale violet. "We'll eat before you take the boneset decoction."

Harry swallowed the contents of the two vials, grimacing. Each tasted different, but equally vile in its own way. He handed the vials back to the man, flexing his healed arm experimentally.

"Take care not to stress the mended bones," Snape cautioned as he tucked the emptied vials away.

"Okay," Harry said agreeably. "How do you know so much about healing, Professor? You're as good as Madam Pomfrey."

Was that a chuckle? Surely not. Snape was merely hrumphhing. "I make it my business to know certain things which often prove useful."

"Oh." Not that Harry considered that to be a proper answer, but it sounded typically Snapish.

Meanwhile, the man was fishing through a kitchen drawer. He withdrew a handful of shiny, colorful cards featuring photographs of food. Honestly, they looked like menus, thought Harry. As it turned out, they were. The boy looked questioningly up at Snape.

"Wizard Order-In," Snape explained. "Decide what you would like, and I'll place the order."

"Anything?" Harry gaped at the varied menus. There must be at least a dozen different types of food: from French to Italian, Indian and Greek to Chinese, seafood, pizza, deli sandwiches, steaks, Granny Gwen's Home-Style Hash, 24-hour breakfast, sushi, bakery pastries and cakes and pies, gourmet coffees and teas, and even a substantial wine list including selections from both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.

Noticing the wine list amongst the pile of menus, Snape slipped it out of Harry's reach before saying drily, "Your choice. However, anything totaling over three galleons, you'll need to reimburse me the balance when you're back at school."

Harry laughed. "I couldn't possibly eat three galleons' worth."

"You haven't seen the prices on the seafood menu," Snape pointed out. "Or the French."

His eyebrows rising beneath his fringe, Harry carefully perused each menu card. "These are all Wizarding restaurants?"

"More like food services," Snape explained. "I have an account with each service. I use my wand to place the order, and the amount is deducted from my Gringotts account."

"Wicked! I've never heard of anything like this." He ran his finger down the list of deli sandwiches, then made a face at the sushi photos. Those poor little shushis were so raw they looked like they were in PAIN. "I think I'll go with this," he decided, pointing to Granny Gwen's home-style menu. "Shepherd's pie and green beans. And milk, large. And treacle tart. That doesn't add up to two whole galleons. Is that okay, sir?" He peered hopefully at Snape.

The dark man nodded, then instructed, "Observe." He carefully tapped his wand tip against a blue dot beside each requested menu item, and Harry saw the dots turn glowing gold. "Anything else?" When Harry shook his head, Snape tapped a box marked "Order Complete". The box glowed green. After a few seconds, a card listing the ordered items and the total due appeared on the table. Snape tapped his wand in the box labeled "Order Confirmed", then pressed his thumbprint into a flashing red box. The thumbprint glowed green just before the entire card abruptly disappeared from the table.

"Now what?" Harry asked, staring at the empty spot on the scrubbed wood where the card had lain.

"We wait."

But not for long – in less than two minutes, Harry's meal arrived. The food appeared to have been lovingly plated, including authentic Blue Willow china, silverware, homespun placemat and matching napkin. The entire setting was encased by a glowing stasis dome.

"How do we – "

"Stop!" Snape grabbed Harry's wrist as the boy reached toward the dome. "Don't ever touch the stasis field. You could lose your hand."

"Whoa!" exclaimed the startled Gryffindor. And at Snape's responding glare, he added, "Sorry, sir. I didn't think."

Biting back a customary retort, Snape focused on continuing educating the boy. "First, you need to confirm 'Order Received'," he said, tapping a new card which had arrived with the food. As he did, the stasis field disappeared, and Harry's mouth watered as he suddenly smelled the delicious aromas. "Now you may eat," said Snape, using his wand to maneuver the placemat closer to Harry's side of the table.

"How do they know when to take the plates away?"

Snape pointed to the final box on the card, marked "Render Final Service".

"Do you have to reactivate the stasis field?"

"No. Just tap the card with the wand, and everything disappears automatically."

"Awesome!"

For his own meal, Snape chose hot-and-sour soup, spicy shrimp with garlic sauce and steamed rice, and hot oolong tea from the Chinese menu. Harry avidly watched the ordering process all over again, asking, "What's with the thumbprint?"

"It's to keep unauthorized people from using the account holder's registered wand to withdraw funds from Gringotts. For example, a child could nick a careless parent's wand while the parent slept or was in the bath. But the thumbprint requirement would prevent the child from ordering a secret or overly-expensive meal without the parent's knowledge."

"I see." Harry chewed thoughtfully. "I can just imagine how fast Dudley would get over his aversion to magic if he had complete freedom to order all the food he wanted!" At another thought, he snickered, adding, "But of course a wand wouldn't work for Dudley, so he'd just die of envy!"

"I believe that is exactly what happened with your Aunt," Snape said quietly, tapping the "Order Received" box for his Chinese meal. "Petunia, that is. She quite envied your mother's magical gift."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You knew my mum?"

"We'll discuss that later. For now, eat." Snape poured hot oolong into the tiny china teacup and unwrapped his chopsticks before spooning up hot-and-sour soup.

Harry stared at the man for a moment longer, dying to ask questions about his mother but sensing it would only anger Snape if he were to push. Still, the Potions Master was treating him … hospitably … so Harry decided to try to keep the conversation going. "Does each wizard have to have his own menu? Or can other people order from the same menu?"

Snape took a bite of the spicy shrimp dish before answering. "As long as a person has an account with a particular Order-In service, that person can order from any menu for that service, whether as a guest in someone else's home or in a hotel. The menu itself is not coded to a particular wand. The account is registered to respond to the account holder's wand and thumbprint."

"Gotcha. So, how do I set up an account?" Harry's mind was already spinning with visions of treating Ron and Hermione to endless feasts, and personally, he couldn't wait to work his way through the entire Indian menu – he did so love curries…

Snape smirked. "First of all, you would need to be an adult. Seventeen, in the Wizarding world."

Harry's shoulders slumped as Snape chuckled aloud. "Scratch that, then," he said morosely. "That'll be another five years for me."

From that point, they finished their meal in silence, but for once, Snape's company felt comfortable to Harry, not awkward or intimidating. When they were done, Snape tapped each service's card, and Harry smiled as the dragon-patterned bowls and plates, along with the woven bamboo placemat, vanished back to the Chinese place, and his own homey setting popped back to Granny Gwen.

"And now you may take this," Snape said, handing Harry the remaining boneset potion.

The boy screwed up his face, but he swallowed the contents quickly, washing it down with a glass of water which Snape had suddenly conjured. "Thank you, sir. I'm already feeling much better."

The man nodded, rising, and gestured for Harry to follow him through a slightly-warped door and across a tiny passage that couldn't really even be considered a hall. They entered a gloomy room which appeared to be completely lined with books, aside from a small window and door facing the dimly-lit street. Snape lit the fireplace with a casual Incendio and settled into a well-worn lounge chair, motioning for Harry to take the equally worn sofa. To Harry's surprise, Snape cast a charm into a dark corner, causing a tiny Christmas tree to suddenly appear, perched upon a rickety table. The boy smiled at the unexpected tree, his face softly illuminated by the marble-sized magical light orbs hovering amongst the branches.

"Is this your home, Professor?"

"This is where I live, when I'm not in residence at Hogwarts," Snape replied quietly. "I consider the castle to be my true home, Potter."

Harry nodded empathetically. "Me, too."

"Tell me about the people you live with."

Cringing, Harry automatically shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about the Dursleys," he mumbled unhappily, staring determinedly at the tiny tree. "It's disrespectful. And against their rules. I'll get in trouble."

"More trouble than spending the night in a city park?" Snape probed. "In freezing weather?"

"Way more. And besides, I'd have had to go back anyway. To their house. To sleep, you know."

"In that cupboard under the stairs?"

"What?" Harry's eyes bugged out like emerald marbles.

"I've seen it," Snape said flatly. "Also, I've collected all of your belongings. I'll be taking you back to Hogwarts, but not until you've told me about your life with the Dursleys."

Harry stubbornly clamped his lips shut and crossed his arms defensively across his chest.

Snape blew out his breath in irritation. "You may start with your recent injuries. How did that happen?"

Harry stared down at the floor. The threadbare carpet stared mutely back, offering no clue what he should do. Did he dare tell, he wondered. Would Snape use the information against him somehow? But then… Snape had rescued him, hadn't he? Taken him home instead of back to the Dursleys. Fed him. Harry's own choice of food at Snape's expense. That was a far cry from having to eat the Dursleys' leftovers. And with Aunt Marge staying for the holidays, not as much had been left over as usual…

"Dudley," he whispered, raising his eyes to gaze at the Christmas tree. It seemed to be the safest anchor in his dangerously tilting world. He was actually going to confide in Snape… "Dudley … punched me in the face." At this admission, a small gold onion-shaped ornament appeared among the magical lights on the Christmas tree. Harry suddenly realized that the tree had only been decorated with lights until now. Wondering what would happen, he murmured, "Then he shoved me down the stairs." A red glass ball appeared, reflecting the soft magical lights. "Backwards." A silver angel materialized, swinging gently from a lower branch.

"Why did Dudley do that to you?" Snape asked very quietly, barely audible above the faint crackle of flames in the fireplace.

"On account of Aunt Marge being angry that I took too long washing my face when she wanted in the bathroom." A green glass pinecone appeared.

"Do your relatives often physically abuse you?"

Harry stared at the glowing tree for the longest time. Did he dare reveal any more details? Could he trust Snape – really trust him – not to tell the Dursleys if he told? But Snape had said he WOULD take him to Hogwarts… "Will I have to go back to the Dursleys?"

A faint sigh drifted across the book-lined room. "Not if it were up to me, Potter, but it's not up to me. Unfortunately. I will advise the Headmaster against sending you back, but it will be his decision in the end. I can make no promises." He paused, almost adding something, then fell silent.

"Oh." Harry's face fell, and he hunched in on himself. "Then I will have to go back."

Snape breathed in and out several times. "It might … help … if he had more information upon which to base his decision."

"Oh." Now it was Harry's turn to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In…

At length, he nodded, silently offering a response to Snape's earlier question, but no decorations appeared on the tree.

"You must speak aloud," Snape told him softly.

"Yes," Harry whispered. "They always have done." A goldfish ornament appeared, beautifully detailed down to the very last tangerine scale.

"Tell me," murmured Snape.

And branch by branch, the small tree gradually filled with some of the most beautiful ornaments Harry had ever seen as he admitted hurt after hurt. Eventually, the tree relocated to the floor and repeatedly added inches to its height to accommodate the necessary decorations. More lights appeared spontaneously to illuminate the newest dark branches, and Harry felt as if some of the darkest parts of his own soul had filled with comforting illumination as well. His confessions of the Dursleys' atrocities came faster now, tracing back farther and farther through all the years since he'd been left in a blanket-lined basket on their doorstep. Not just the physical pain he'd suffered, but also the psychological and emotional torment he'd endured – the result of being told and shown time and time again how much he wasn't wanted in their home, how much he wasn't loved, and no matter how much he'd tried, nothing he'd done could ever change any of their hatred toward him.

The Christmas tree had grown nearly seven feet tall by the time Harry ran out of things to say. Every lush evergreen branch glowed with magical lights, and a plethora of ornaments filled in the empty spaces between the layers of greenery. Glass balls of all sizes and colors, molded glass animals and objects, hand-painted wooden ornaments, sequined geometric shapes, beaded wires, crocheted snowflakes – all combined to create the most breathtaking Christmas tree Harry had ever seen.

"That's it, I guess," he said, feeling a bit lightheaded at having released so many burdens which had weighed down his soul for far too long.

Atop the tree, a magnificent star materialized, its surface appearing to be encrusted with brilliantly-refracting diamonds.

"Wow!" Harry breathed, as shimmering icicles appeared on every branch as the final touch. He sat and gazed upon the mesmerizing sight, his eyes traveling from one sparkling wonder to the next, feeling lighter inside than he could ever recall. In the past, the Christmas season had always filled him with a leaden weight as he watched everyone else burbling joyously about sales and giftwrap and roast goose. The mingled scents of mince and eggnog on the carolers' frosty breath could turn his stomach in a heartbeat. But this softly-glowing tree felt like fragile perfection and bore no resemblance to the electric frenzy permeating Little Whinging.

Just out of Harry's range of vision, Snape's wand performed a series of complicated patterns in the firelight, and a wrapped flat box popped into place beneath the tree.

"Sir?" asked Harry, his quiet voice hesitant as he turned his head to look back at Snape.

"You may unwrap it," the Potions Master said, even as he held up a cautioning hand. "However, I must ask that you keep this … gift … confidential. Strictly between us."

Harry hesitated even longer before nodding. "Yes, sir." He bent down to retrieve the package from beneath the lowest boughs of the glowing tree. The wrapping paper was a plain, shiny white, but it reflected back all the colors now lighting the Christmas tree. Carefully, Harry unstuck the edges of the paper from the mild magical seal. The paper slid off and he laid it aside, surprised at the box revealed. Yellowed with age, it smelled "old", but not unpleasantly so. Just "old". Wondering what could possibly be Snape's idea of a gift, Harry slowly pulled up on the lid, then laid back one side of a concealing sheet of dark blue, crinkled tissue paper. Something black … and delicate…

"A scarf?" Harry asked as it unfolded coming out of the tissue. "A woman's scarf?" Confused, he held up the sizeable length of black lace.

"A mantilla," Snape corrected him. "It belonged to your mother. There is also a peineta comb…"

Harry lifted out the ornate black comb, inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. "This is Spanish, right? And it belonged to my mum?" His emerald eyes wide with surprise, he stared at the Potions Master. "How?"

"Your mother … Lily … and I were in the same class at school. She … was a friend. We'd known each other since childhood."

"Here?" Harry gasped. "She grew up around here?" His eyes flew to the window. "Is her home nearby?"

Snape shook his head. "A distance from here, actually. She grew up in a better neighborhood than I. There was a play park near her house. That's where we met. I knew she was a witch from the moment I saw her, but she had no clue about herself and became quite angry when I called her one to her face."

"Really?" Harry's eyes glowed in the firelight. "Tell me more. Please!"

Snape shrugged, looking almost as if he regretted saying even that much. "We remained friends through our first few years at Hogwarts, but she was a Gryffindor, and eventually House … tensions … led to a parting of the ways."

"Oh." The boy stroked the pile of black lace in his hands. "That's sad. But what about the mantilla?"

Snape sighed, his eyes gazing at the lace. "Lily saw one in a Muggle movie, and from that moment she became obsessed with having a mantilla. She wanted to 'dress Spanish' for the Halloween Feast. She thought it would be the most elegantly feminine costume imaginable. Highly romantic, extremely graceful… Although she was quite talented at Charms, her Transfiguration skills took a while to develop. Since my abilities were more advanced than hers in Fifth Year, I managed to Transfigure a small tablecloth into her mantilla, and an oyster shell into the comb. Lily made her own Spanish-style dress to go with them."

"Cool!" Harry grinned. "She must have been impressed to see you do such complicated Transfigurations when you were only fifteen. This is so beautiful, Professor!"

"Actually, Lily didn't see me. I lacked the confidence that I could really pull it off, so I worked in secret, and she only saw the finished products. And truth be told, it did take me several attempts to get it to come out right."

"Maybe there's hope for me yet," Harry said, admiring the lace more closely, holding it up in silhouette against the dancing firelight.

Snape snorted. "Transfiguration requires diligent EFFORT, Potter."

Harry nodded, then asked, "So, how do you have this now, sir? The mantilla and comb, that is?"

The man remained silent for several long minutes before replying. "Lily returned them to me at the end of our Fifth Year. She had enjoyed 'dressing Spanish' on weekends since Halloween – it became 'her thing' – and she'd even go to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley like that."

"She must have turned a few heads."

"Indeed." Snape sighed again. "Including that of James Potter."

"Uh-oh… Did he object to the mantilla?"

"No. Only to the fact that it was Slytherin-made."

"Oh. I see," said Harry. "He was jealous."

Snape shook his head, his long hair swinging gently. "Lily only ever saw me as a friend, but when … when Potter began to notice her, things … changed between us. Eventually, we went our separate ways. Lily returned the mantilla and comb to me before boarding the Hogwarts Express for the summer holidays."

"James … my dad … made her return them?"

The dark-robed shoulders shrugged, ever so slightly. "Lily never said. But they eventually began going out and later married. I CAN say that she treasured this mantilla and comb during the time that she had them. I think she would be pleased to know that her son could have two of her favorite possessions, regardless of her reasons for returning them to me."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry murmured. "I promise I'll take very good care of them." Something suddenly occurred to him. "I don't suppose you'd have a photograph of her wearing this, would you? Dressing Spanish?"

But Snape merely shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Oh, well. It was just a thought." Carefully, Harry refolded the black lace, marveling that his own mum's very fingers had touched it in the distant past. He stroked the sleek, tall comb, knowing that the teeth had slid through his mother's silken red tresses, holding up the cloud of black lace which would have draped so gracefully around Lily's slender shoulders as she dressed like a Spanish lady of a bygone era. He smiled softly, imagining that, for all of the unusual styles of dress he'd seen worn in Diagon Alley, his mum would still have stood out from the milling, admiring crowds. Gently, he replaced the comb in the box, covered it with the folded black lace, then overlapped the sides of the protective tissue paper before lowering the yellowed lid.

"Thank you so much, Professor." The boy looked earnestly into the man's black eyes. "I promise to keep your gift confidential – not to tell anyone that you were the person who gave it to me, that is. But do you mind if I told people it used to belong to my mum? They might think it kind of odd that I'd have a woman's mantilla and comb, you know?"

"You may tell them it was your mother's," Snape assured him. "That would be acceptable."

Harry beamed at him before his mouth flew open in a gigantic yawn. "What time is it?"

Snape cast a Tempus, then announced, "Nearly midnight."

Eyes wide, Harry asked, "You mean, I talked THAT long?"

The man gestured at the numerous ornaments on the Christmas tree. "You had a lot to say."

"I suppose so."

Silently they sat, gazing at the glowing tree, until the sound of a distant church bell striking midnight sounded faintly through the night.

"Happy Christmas, Professor."

"Harry Christmas, Potter."

After another moment of silence, Harry just had to ask, "So … um … when do we go back to Hogwarts?"

Snape smirked. "You'll be there in time for breakfast, Potter, never fear. In the meantime, why don't you take a nap?" He pointed his wand at the sofa, and Harry felt it change beneath him, shifting in to a comfortable single bed, complete with a puffy pillow and a fluffy duvet.

"What about you, sir?"

When the man sighed this time, the lines on his face suddenly looked deeper in the firelight. "I need to … think," he replied. "To plan, if possible."

"Oh. You mean Dumbledore."

"PROFESSOR Dumbledore, Potter," Snape admonished, but at least he didn't deduct points from Gryffindor. "I'll wake you before dawn."

"Right," said Harry. "But before I sleep, could I use your bathroom, please?"

Snape waved his wand, and a bookcase swung forward on silent hinges. "First door on the right," he said, illuminating the concealed hallway and the room which was Harry's goal.

Later, Harry stretched out under the warm duvet, his head sinking so far into the pillow that he was practically asleep before he could close his eyes. His last sight was of the beautiful Christmas tree, and then he fell into dreams of sunsets and fireplaces, of tree lace and mantilla lace…

Snape watched the sleeping youth, wondering how on earth Albus Dumbledore could have left Harry Potter at Number 4 Privet Drive for all those years. Had the old goat EVER checked on the boy? Even once? The Potions Master shuddered to think that Dumbledore really might NOT have done…

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