On Christmas Eve 1999 at noon, Diagon Alley was thronged with well covered up wizards and witches who went about their last purchases for the Festival. There was a disoriented and slightly aggressive aspect to the swarm of people on the street, as if a bee hive had been emptied of their inhabitants, in the middle of the winter, that shilly-shallied about nonsensically.

Had any kind of bugs indeed been released in the air on this particular day, however, they would have dropped dead in the cold within three seconds, thought Severus Snape grimly. He had only just turned up by Apparition at the busy Alley and watched with distaste the buzzing scene before him. 

It was true that it must be the coldest Christmas for decades. Snape could not recall an end of December with this much snow and such a substantial dip below zero degrees Celsius on the thermometer. Dainty white flakes persistently danced in the air and added to the thick layer on the street. No one thought of spelling it away. The snow squeaked under Snape’s boots as he crunched the freshly fallen white powder. Every breath brought clouds of grey smoke out of people’s mouths and, in the stillness of the cold, you could almost hear the crack of vapour turning into tiny ice-flakes in the air. Christmas decorations were imbedded in layers of ice crystals, like white cloths that dulled the lights and slowed down the magically animated twinkling.

Snape only had two errands. Unfortunately, the shops were located at opposite ends of the street. He damned himself for even thinking of adventuring himself out on a day like this, loathing the busy crowd. But one of the items he was looking for was necessary for his Potion research during the coming weeks - Snape did not intend to take a holiday from his work - and the other item, that he had ordered a long time ago, was too fragile to be sent by owl mail, according to the salesman. Therefore he needed to collect it personally. He suspected the man who had imported the rare object just wanted to make sure that he paid the second part of the deal properly. The object had, after all, travelled by boat from Central America and could not be as easily breakable as that, he thought.  

Snape sighed and frowned with irritation. The horde of people annoyed him. They were buoyant and busy. Too happy and overstrained at the same time. They all had plans, expectations and a purpose for their errands, with the prospect of family reunions and various get-togethers in their minds. Snape, too, had had someone in mind at the time he had ordered the amulet that he was on his way to pick up, but contrary to his fellow-wizards, he had no plans for Christmas at all.

The original idea had been to give the amulet to Harry as a Christmas present, but somehow, deliberately or unconsciously, once he had ordered the object, Snape had avoided to think about the coming Festival. True, he did not celebrate Christmas as a rule. The years spent at Hogwarts had forced him to participate in the compulsory parts of the school traditions, but last year, when he had quit his post as headmaster, Christmas had passed completely unperceived by him in his lonely cottage. Only a visit to Draco Malfoy at St Mungo’s on Boxing day had taught him that the Festival had taken place. 

The undeniable fact that Christmas was now imminent had caught up with him in the morning, when he received an owl from the shop with a reminder to pick up the rare piece of American Indian craftwitchship. It had arrived two weeks ago. Why had he omitted to go and fetch it at the time? Snape wondered. Did he have doubts, all of a sudden, whether it was a suitable gift for Harry? No, it was, he was sure of it, the perfect present for the young wizard: a reminder of Harry’s own travels, a beautiful object and utile at the same time, especially for a young man like Harry who was becoming increasingly skilled in the domain of Ancient Magic and who had chosen to enter the magically intricate path of becoming a healer. 

Harry was doing well. Harry and Snape were doing well. There was nothing for Snape to complain or to worry about. Since last spring, the two wizards met at a regular basis, every week. Harry had stayed with Snape for a couple of months at first, to recover, thanks to Snape’s potion, from the Magical Ague that had plagued him since the war. The symptoms had abated and the condition was under control, with only very subtle manifestations emerging from time to time. Harry had studied hard under Snape’s tutorage and passed his NEWT exams before the summer with excellent grades. Snape was particularly proud over the fact that Harry had obtained an Outstanding in Potions. It served Harry well as he had entered the program for higher studies of magical medicine after the summer. At that time he had moved out from Snape’s house to get himself a students’ room in London, but Harry returned once or twice every week to visit his friend and mentor. 

Yet, for some reason, Snape was unsure about his relationship with Harry Potter. The role as a mentor was, Snape thought, not exactly accurate, because it was not only about teaching Harry things, or sharing his vaster experiences with the young wizard, or guiding him. There was an understanding that was mutual, Snape realised, and the relationship was more that of an equal to equal. Harry definitely contributed to the friendship and Snape definitely appreciated the young wizard’s company.

So much so, that he had been taken by surprise, on several occasions, by the strong reactions of disappointment when Harry had to inhibit or delay a visit to his cottage. There were a lot of social activities going on among the wizards and witches at St Mungo’s med school and Harry endeavoured to participate like any other student. After the confinement of disease and the voluntary exile the previous year, Harry needed to reintegrate into the magical society and make new friends. The young wizard also needed to spend time with his old friends from Hogwarts to make up for the year he had been away. 

He should be happy that Harry did not develop an antisocial behaviour similar to his, Snape berated himself. At the same time, Snape could not help himself from being ridiculously disappointed each time Harry owled to cancel a visit. Most of the times, Harry used to come by the following day instead. Snape was deeply ashamed of his petty feelings of jealousy of Harry’s friends and the fierceness of his own reactions bewildered him. He could not, however, deny the depths of his engagement for the young wizard and he forced himself to try to understand and put words to his feelings.

It was a sense of kinship, he realised, at a deep level -  and something of tenderness to it. There were certainly times when Snape strongly recognised traits of himself in the young man, especially when it came to magical practice and intuition but also a certain weariness of people that they had in common. Snape thought that Harry had a much pleasanter, more vivacious character though, reminding him of Lily.

Snape realised that there were similarities in Harry’s and his own upbringings that could account for such likenesses. Their joint experiences from the war also explained some of the uncommonly deep understanding they had for each other. Moreover, the young wizard’s exceptional fate and the tragic aspects to it, in combination with Harry’s disease, had caused Snape to become extremely protective of the young man. He had to remind himself constantly that Harry was now recovered, that he was nineteen years old as well as a powerful wizard. Snape tried hard to hold himself back from making admonitions and giving un-asked-for advice. He did not want to scare his young friend away with overprotective manners that easily could be mistaken for criticism. 

Snape was so deep in thought, as he walked down Diagon Alley, that he did not take in his surroundings. He was moving against a stream of people and automatically turned and twisted to get around them, without really seeing them. Suddenly, a stout woman stumbled on the snow-threaded, uneven ground, took a step sideways and bumped into Snape’s side. She was nearly two heads shorter than the tall wizard and had to bend her neck to look up and meet his eyes to apologise. 

Snape recognised the flourished, round face of Mrs Weasley, even if it was partly hidden behind a thick brown muffler. He quickly made use of his Occlumency skills and schooled his face into blankness as he mumbled something and turned his back to her. Mrs Weasley’s face had lit up when seeing him. She had opened her mouth to say something when he pretended not to recognise her and moved along. He could feel her staring at his back as he walked away and felt a twinge of bad conscience for not acknowledging her, but he suddenly could not bear the thought of stopping to chit-chat or being social at all. His thoughts automatically returned to the subject he had been pondering upon.

Snape’s scrutiny of his feelings for Harry had, to his horror, led to the conclusion that they could only be described as parental. It should not be surprising, really, considering how much he had loved Lily Evans, but it disturbed him as he thought that he had no right to assume that part vis-a-vis Harry. First of all, Harry was an adult and in no need of a parent, secondly Snape abhorred the thought of usurping the role of another, especially as that other person was James Potter. Even if he had decided at that very first meeting with Harry in the Forbidden forest to put his grudge against Harry’s father aside and treat Harry as an individual independent of his biological and magical origin, it made him uncomfortable to realise that he had that sort of feelings for the young man. He tried to convince himself that his relationship with Lily entitled him to a part in Harry’s life, and that he could in fact, without being ashamed of it, consider himself a kind of self-appointed godfather. However, he miserably had to admit to himself that not even the role as a godfather sufficed to legitimise his protectiveness of Harry, which scared him with its fierceness. There was something so much more personal about it than it had ever been with Draco Malfoy, for example.

Sorting out and putting words to his feelings for Harry had made Snape extremely self-conscious around the young wizard. He had however not with one word breached the subject with Harry and their last meetings had as a consequence been slightly awkward. Which was probably the reason for Snape’s present precarious situation, namely that he did not know where Harry was spending Christmas and therefore had no clue where to deliver his Christmas present, nor did he know whether Harry had any intention of visiting him at all during the Festival, because Snape had not been able to bring himself to phrase an invitation.

Suddenly Snape was arrested by a small, but strong, elegantly gloved hand that was put square on his chest. This witch would not be ignored, he realised and sighed inwardly as he politely inclined his head to greet Minerva McGonagall.

”Severus Snape, what on earth are you doing here, on a day like this?” exclaimed McGonagall and continued without waiting for an answer. ”Last time I saw you, you had not spoken to a soul for three weeks, except to Harry Potter and your closest neighbour - and that only to agree to the planting of a hedge separating your pieces of land. This must be odious to you.” 

Snape glared at her, annoyed that she should know him so well. She had invited herself a couple of times and visited him at his premises outside London. Ever since McGonagall had learnt Snape’s true allegiance to Dumbledore and the Order, that day in the Hospital wing, just before the last battle, she had an unmovable faith in him and showed him an undisguised and almost embarrassing affection, that he was not sure that he deserved at all.

”Believe me, Minerva, it is odious to me!” Snape replied dryly. ”Merry Christmas to you, all the same.”

”Merry Christmas to you too! Albus sends his love. We were speaking of you just the other night,” said McGonagall. 

Snape gave away a reluctant, but genuine smile with just the least little bit of irony to it. Minerva had adapted to the role as headmistress with ease and seemed to be thriving in her office. She got along perfectly well with the portrait of Dumbledore and did not seem to mind that the old wizard was a slightly shallower copy of his former self. 

”Thank you,” he answered. ”Give my respect to Albus.” Snape had declined to be painted and hung as a portrait in the round office at Hogwarts during his lifetime. He did not think that his brief service as headmaster deserved attention and he doubted that a copy of himself would bring any particular joy to the assembly of old and illustrious school leaders. He intended to spare them, and the sitting headmistress, his presence on the wall at least until he died. Minerva McGonagall had consented reluctantly. 

Despite the fact that Snape was still relatively young and that he had merely occupied the post as headmaster for nine months during the war, he had received all the honours and privileges due to a Professor Emeritus. It was to a great extent Minerva McGonagall’s doing. Jointly with the honours that he had received from the Ministry for his services during the war, those privileges made Snape one of the British Magical community’s most respected wizards. Snape was amazed by how well things had turned out after the war. Considering his actions, especially the murder of Albus Dumbledore, and his double play as a spy, it could just as well have ended in disaster and he realised that he could have been sent to Azkaban for life. As it happened, people actually seemed ready to forgive and forget that he had once been a Death Eater.

But Snape himself did not forget. It was true - he still had the mark on his arm to remind him of his previous dealings with the dark side. He felt uncomfortable with the attention, only ungracefully accepted the honours paid to him and declined every offer of a highly placed official position at the Ministry. Instead, he chose to withdraw from society and live in the country in a small but comfortable house. He did most of his research by himself in his private laboratory, sending instructions only once the formulas had been perfected, to the bigger research laboratory that he collaborated with, for large scale testing. It indeed meant that, concordant with Minerva McGonagall’s observations, he could go weeks without seeing anyone - except Harry. Snape wondered whether Harry realised the unique position he had acquired in Snape’s life, being the only one who Snape let close to himself.

Snape, who had never before in his life bothered about what others might think about him, found himself in the unusual position of spending an unreasonable amount of time pondering upon Harry’s opinion on himself. It irritated and bewildered him that he had such difficulties figuring out his approach to Harry. His confusion might have contributed to the negligence of the coming Festival. Maybe he wanted to defy his obsession with the young wizard and prove to himself that he did not in the least care whether he spent Christmas with Harry or not. But here, on Christmas Eve, he realised that he did care. He had not seen Harry for more than a week, he missed him and he had a damn good Christmas present to give the young wizard.

”Minerva, do you know if Harry’s going to celebrate Christmas at Hogwarts?” Snape asked quickly before his self-consciousness hit him. McGonagall lifted an eyebrow slightly. 

”No, he’s not. I invited him, and Hagrid made his best to persuade him, but he declined the offer only a couple of days ago. I believe Harry said he was going to celebrate with the Weasleys,” answered McGonagall.

”The Weasleys - of course, I should have guessed. Er… Do you know if Ginevra Weasley and Mr Longbottom remain a couple?” asked Snape and felt embarrassed because he did not, as a rule, gossip about that kind of things, but he could not help himself. He wanted to know for Harry’s sake. Harry was still in love with Ginny Weasley - he had gathered that much from what Harry let slip from time to time and it plagued him to see his young friend unhappy. Minerva McGonagall lifted the other eyebrow.

”I’m sorry, I don’t know about that,” she said. 

Snape mumbled something in response.

”Severus,” McGonagall said gently, ”you do know that you’re welcome at Hogwarts for Christmas, don’t you? I did not specifically send an invitation, because you declined last year and I thought that maybe…”

”No, I’d rather not,” Snape replied quickly. ”You are most kind, Minerva, but you know me, I’m not much for company. I might come by before the end of the year, though. I have asked Hagrid to collect some ingredients in the Forbidden Forest that I want to check out. I promise to mount the tower and pay my respects to Albus and yourself on the occasion.” 

Minerva McGonagall let herself be satisfied with that promise and gave him an affectionate hug that Snape did his best not to recoil from, before they parted.

Instead of Apparating back home straight away when he had collected the plainly wrapped gift that had travelled all the way from Central America, Snape found himself walking along the Alley once again, in the opposite direction. The crowd had, if possible, gotten even denser. This time, Snape looked attentively at the faces of the wizards and witches, turning his head to scan the entrances to the shops on either side of the street as if looking for someone. 

He finally caught sight of a plump figure outside Madam Malkin’s and after only a short deliberation, because he was painfully aware of having ignored the woman only a short while ago, Snape stepped up to Molly Weasley.

”Merry Christmas, Mrs Weasley,” he said in his deep voice. Molly Weasley turned around with surprise written on her face. 

”Why, Merry Christmas, Severus! ” After a slight hesitation, she added. ”You’re welcome to call me Molly, you know. Even if we don’t see each other very often, we worked in the Order together and have acquaintances in common - I’m speaking of Harry, of course.” Snape had to admire the woman’s candidness and ability to overlook his negligence before. This witch was the picture of humbleness and good nature.

”Of course… Molly… I was just about to ask you whether…” he begun to say, but Mrs Weasley rattled on. 

”Harry has become such a charming young man, really. Good looking too. Those glasses of his did not do him justice - good riddance, I’d say. Ron and he see quite a lot of each other, but he does not visit nearly often enough at the Burrow,” she complained. 

Snape hummed and she leant in closer to him.

”I suspect it has something to do with Ginny,” she hissed confidentially. ”He tries to avoid her when he visits. Not that he has said anything, but I have eyes of my own, don’t I?” She lifted one eyebrow as if to defy Snape to contradict her and when he said nothing, she continued. ”I guess that relationship of hers with Neville Longbottom was inevitable, as they were left to each others during the war and that sort of experiences create all kind of strong bonds between people. Just look at yourself and Harry… But I really don’t know why they carried on their relationship for so long after the war. He’s a nice enough boy, Neville is, but they are so different in temperament, you know?” She looked at Snape who put on a noncommittal expression.

”So how is… Miss Ginevra doing?” he asked.

”She’s doing quite well, she is, considering that she broke up with Neville only a couple of weeks ago. She’s got hold of another young man, though - someone at her quidditch team. Next time, you tell Harry to show his interest a little plainer and expressly. She’s impulsive and impatient, my daughter is. I don’t think this is serious, though, just a fling. She’s not even bringing him home for Christmas. It will end in a few weeks, I’d say. Maybe it’s just as well. After a long relationship like the one with Neville and her being on the… what do the young people call it?… the rebound… Harry had better step in when she has stabilised a bit. We wouldn’t want him to get hurt now, would we?” She looked sternly at Snape who shook his head without having to pretend his whole-hearted agreement. 

”Molly,” he said, ”I wonder if you could do me a favour?” He offered her the small package. ”Would you give this to Harry from me?”

Mrs Weasley had reached out to accept the parcel, but withdrew her hand.

”I don’t think I’ll see Harry the next couple of days,” she said. Snape frowned.

”Is he not celebrating Christmas at the Burrow?” he asked.

”No. I invited him, of course, but he declined a couple of days ago. I think he said he was going to spend Christmas at Hogwarts. Hagrid had persuaded him to come,” answered Mrs Weasley. The furrow between Snape’s eyes deepened. 

”I’m sorry, but I need to be off,” he said hurriedly. ”If you come across Harry, please tell him… please tell him I would like to see him… as soon as possible,” he added. Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to reply, but finally contented herself with nodding. ”Greetings to Arthur and the rest of your family,” Snape said distractedly and lifted a hand as sign of good-bye.

When he moved away, Snape’s heart was racing and causing him a dull pain in the chest that he chose to ignore. When he lengthened his steps, however, his breathing became markedly laboured and he had to stop to calm down, which was just as well because it forced him to consider where he was actually going. 

Harry had declined both Minerva McGonagall’s and Molly Weasley’s invitations, Snape realised. Moreover he seemed to have used the one as an excuse to escape the other. What did it mean? The sudden dread that filled Snape made it difficult for him to think coherently.

What if Harry was planning to leave? What if the extreme cold the last week had precipitated a relapse in the Ague? Snape damned himself for not having thought about the possibility. He had been so full of his own preoccupations that he had not thought of checking on Harry. 

The young man had had one single relapse during the autumn, but he had been wise enough at the time to seek Snape out and tell him about the rising cravings for heat and sun. Snape had praised Harry for confiding in him and they had parted together on an unplanned holiday for the warmth of Mexico and Peru and Harry’s symptoms had abated promptly. It was during the same voyage that they had met with the powerful American Indian witch in the Aztec mountains who, later, had made the amulet Snape intended to give Harry for Christmas. 

That episode had given Snape a false sense of security that Harry would act in a similar way should a new relapse occur, but now he was far from sure. He was aware of the fact that he had acted more than reasonably odd around the young wizard lately. Harry was a sensitive person, just like Lily had been, sure to pick up the slightest shift in behaviour or countenance in a friend and with a propensity to put guilt on himself, as well as a tendency to resign and withdraw, without actually sorting things out with the person in question, that reminded Snape painfully of himself. Once again Snape damned himself for his complicated feelings and his reluctance to share them with Harry.  

What stood absolutely clear to him, however, at this precise moment, was that if Harry should leave, like he had done after the war, for an undeterminable stretch of time, impossible to reach - if that would happen again, it would be unbearable to Snape. He did not think he would be able to survive such an abandon - it was as simple as that. 

With a deep gasp for air Snape started to run towards the exit to Muggle London at the Leaky Cauldron, once again ignoring the squeezing feeling in his chest. 

Snape was striding down the corridor on the fifth floor in a students’ hostel in the outskirts of Muggle London. A simple, wandless Alohomora had bypassed the ridiculous Muggle code protection. Why on earth Harry had decided to move to these dreadful lodgings was beyond his comprehension. He had never visited before, Harry always came to him. 

Snape had been forced to go by Muggle underground transportation, as he knew this to be a busy Muggle area and not suitable for Apparating at. He did not want, in the middle of this turmoil, the Ministry’s minions to turn up and lecture him about Magical dissemblance. It was bad enough to be stared at, up and down, by various Muggles, as he had not thought of transfiguring his black wizard’s coat into something closer to Muggle fashion. They clearly found it striking. It had taken him an inordinate amount of time to get to the area and to find the right building among several similar blocks of houses. The delay had done nothing to soothe his worry, only resulted in making him uncomfortably hot, despite the cold outside, from all the running.

Now inside, Snape tugged impatiently at the black scarf around his neck to loosen it up and let some steam off. A door to one of the rooms stood ajar to his right. He distinguished some plain furniture and a worn plastic carpet. Suddenly, two Muggles barred his way in the corridor - a tall boy who looked suspicious and a girl that had an intrigued but not condemning expression on her face.

”Harry Potter,” said Snape without preamble. ”Does he live here?”

Even if Snape checked his countenance out of habit and looked outwardly calm, he was in fact, at that moment, worked up enough to Imperius or Blast his way to Harry, if needed. A swift Legilimency of the Muggles told him that the boy sensed the threat and was on his guard, but that the girl was going to show him without compulsion.

”Yes, he does. Are you a relative of his?” she said and put a hand on the boy’s arm as if to reassure him. The young man shrugged, shot Snape a dark look and walked into his room.

Snape chose to nod cautiously.

”Here. I’ll show you,” the girl said and brought him further down the corridor. ”He usually doesn’t answer when you knock, but he trusts me not to disturb him without reason so I know the secret code.” She smiled and winked at Snape and tapped a series of knocks at the door. ”He never lets me in, though,” she said regretfully. ”He’s social enough when you meet him in our kitchen or in the common room, but he keeps to himself. A couple of friends who comes by on a regular basis only. Who are you - his father? Or an uncle? I can see familiar traits in your…” She made a gesture with her hand towards her own face and looked at him with curiosity again. ”I’m an artist. Working a lot with portraying. I tend to notice that kind of things. That’s why I trusted you… Maybe he’s not in… Haven’t seen him much these last days.” She rattled on and Snape, thankfully, did not have to answer, waiting only, with a hammering heart.

The door opened slowly a few inches.

”Sammy? Thought it might be you… Listen, it’s not a very good time,” a voice from inside said.

”Someone here for you, Harry,” the girl explained and Snape stepped into view. It was dark inside the room and he could not distinguish Harry’s face well enough to tell the young man’s reaction to his presence.

”Severus,” said Harry and there was a pause. ”Please come in.”

The girl looked enviously at Snape as he turned to shut the door after him.

It took a while for Snape to adjust his eyes to the sparse light. As he did and advanced a few steps, he understood why Harry did not let any Muggles in. The room was obviously transfigured from its original state and looked comfortable with a lot of dark cloth covering the windows, thick carpets on the floor and many cushions on the couch. The room contained a great number of books and magical objects on the shelves that lined the walls. Harry might live in a Muggle building, but his closest space was more stuffed with magic than most wizards’ homes.

”Are you well?” asked Snape and stared at Harry who seemed a little reserved. 

Harry raised his eyebrows.

”Is the cold causing you trouble?” continued Snape and stepped up closer to scrutinise Harry’s face. Harry made a vague gesture and recoiled imperceptibly.

”I’m fine. Augmented the dose of your potion, though, just out of precaution. And I avoid going out, if I can, as long as the cold goes on. I had my exam three days ago. I think I did pretty well. You know, on diagnosing spells. The teachers don’t realise it, but there are elements of Ancient Magic in those spells and I believe they could be ameliorated substantially if you only… But I’ll tell you about that another time. How come you’re here? You never came before. It’s true, I never invited you. It’s so small in here. We’re usually more comfortable at your place. Sit down, please. I’m afraid the couch is the only alternative.” Harry grinned apologetically and Snape started to relax. Harry did not look ill. Snape sank down on the edge of the couch. His legs were trembling a little. He had taken the stairs two by two all the way to the fifth floor. 

”Earlier today, I was doing some shopping at Diagon Alley,” said Snape.

Harry’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. Another one who knows me too well, Snape thought annoyed.

”I ran into Minerva… then I spoke to Molly Weasley,” Snape continued aloud. When Harry did not grasp his meaning, he elucidated. ”They seemed to have been deluded as to your plans for celebrating Christmas.”

”Oh,” said Harry, embarrassed when the knut dropped. ”I did not mean to deceive them. I couldn’t make up my mind about Christmas and the lies just came out naturally, I guess… I mean, it was not exactly lies, as I had not decided what to do and wanted some more time to think it over. It wasn’t very nice of me to omit explaining that to them, though. You know it’s really hard to visit the Burrow when… when Ginny is there. She’s got a new boy-friend,” Harry supplied defeatedly. 

”Hmm, yes, Molly told me. She said she did not think it would last,” said Snape. ”But why did you… What were your plans for Christmas?” Snape tried not to sound accusing. Harry fretted a bit and went over to sit down on his bed which was covered with boxes, what looked like scrolls of parchment and other items. 

”I… er… I didn’t really feel up to… I mean, I’m used to being alone and… It doesn’t bother me…” said Harry.

Snape looked at him with knitted eyebrows.

”And I was thinking of popping by at your place…” confessed Harry. ”But I did not know if you’d want me to… You’ve seemed a bit… off… at times, lately, and I was not sure whether maybe you’d had enough of me… or something. I do visit quite often and maybe you just don’t…” Harry stammered.

”No!” exhaled Snape as if he had held his breath while Harry spoke. ”Not at all. You have misunderstood me. I truly enjoy your visits, enjoy your company. I might have behaved in a strange way, lately, and I apologise for that. I will try to explain to you at some time… soon… if I can…”

Harry looked intrigued. 

”Would you like to spend Christmas at my house, then?” asked Snape. ”I usually don’t do much for Christmas, but it’s calm and I keep my house warm, as you know. Mr Farmington, my neighbour, actually brought me a tree. I have not taken it inside yet, but if you like, we could decorate it and get into the proper Christmas spirit… I’m not adverse to getting into the spirit, within limits of course, on our own terms…” Snape was slightly incoherent in his eagerness to persuade Harry to come with him. Harry gave away a happy chuckle as he jumped up from the bed.

”Great! I believe it would suit me. I’d love to come with you. I’ll just…” His countenance grew serious as he watched the mess on his bed and he sighed deeply. ”Maybe I could bring all this with me,” he said, as if to himself.

”Some project of yours?” asked Snape. 

”Er… Stuff from the Dursley’s attic, actually. My uncle died several months ago, but aunt Petunia didn’t get hold of me until last week. She’s selling the house and wanted to get rid of these old boxes with my mother’s things. I’ve been pretty engrossed by going through them - that’s why I haven’t been in touch with you. There’re her old schoolbooks and drawings… and letters…” Harry looked at Snape and coloured a little. ”…from you too… a lot… but I haven’t read any of them, I promise. I was going to give them to you.” Snape had to clear his voice to answer.

”Thank you. I’ve got hers. I’m not sure I’d want to reread mine, though,” he said. ”I’m sorry about your uncle,” he added. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

”I really don’t care about my uncle,” he said rather coolly. ”There are things here that don’t make sense, though,” he continued in a puzzled voice. ”I’ve read some letters from James and… they are… friendly, I suppose… quite witty at times, but… there’s no ardour, if you know what I mean? At times, they are rather businesslike - when approaching the date for their wedding for example. He only speaks of practical things… And I have not been able to find their magical contract of matrimony. There’s the Muggle certificate of marriage, but no magical contract - that’s strange, no? In the wizard world their marriage would not be valid without such a contract.”

Snape too looked puzzled.

”And then there’s this correspondence that my mother had with a healer at St Mungo’s. They have owled the message between them, so you can read what both have written. It’s about some healing spell I suppose - I don’t recognise it. ”Gestatio Prolongatus”. What is that? Was she sick? Did she need treatment - do you know?” asked Harry as he handed a parchment over to Snape, who accepted it automatically and started to read. Meanwhile, Harry went on. 

”Prolong… prolong what? Life? What if she had some serious illness and that’s why she left you like that? Maybe she didn’t want you to pity her and care for her, or something, when it only meant danger to you and she was dying, anyway? That might explain why she deserted you so callously. It always bothered me that she did. What if…?” Harry rattled on, but stopped abruptly as he watched Snape’s countenance change dramatically. Snape’s eyes widened and his face drained from blood. 

”Harry… Harry… This means that maybe… maybe…” Snape whispered hoarsely but his face screwed up in pain and he put a hand on his chest, tried to draw his breath, leant forward so that his long hair hid his face, doubled up further and finally, to Harry’s horror, slid to the floor, lifeless.

When Snape regained consciousness, he was lying on his back and Harry was on his knees beside him. Harry’s face was so taught with fear and concern that it almost looked like he, too, would pass out any time. He held his wand in one hand and the other rested in the middle of Snape’s chest.

”Don’t move! I need to check the effect of my heart jolting spell,” he said in a shaky voice. 

Snape did not answer but continued to stare at Harry. 

”Merlin!” exclaimed Harry in a muffled voice, after performing a series of spells on Snape. ”You had a heart attack! Just like you have threatened me with so many times. You’re just so lucky that you’ve scared me enough to have me check up on every single heart-saving spell there is. It was the first thing I did when I started magical med school. But why on earth haven’t you had yourself checked by a proper healer if you knew you had a heart condition?”

Snape blinked a couple of times and sat up. He suddenly gripped Harry’s both arms forcefully, like clutching to a life buoy. Harry’s concern augmented and he grasped Snape’s elbows back and tried to stroke Snape’s arms soothingly. 

”Easy, please, Severus,” he whispered pleadingly. ”Don’t get yourself worked up. It was not an ordinary heart attack, but a heart racing attack. Your heart tried to go at a rate of three hundred per minute and of course that made it impossible to pump efficiently. At the same time, the heart muscle suffered severe ischemia as its demands of oxygen increased exponentially. I’ve spelled it to go at a rate of seventy per minute, but if you get excited again the arrhythmia might brake through.” Snape opened his mouth to speak for the first time since regaining consciousness. 

”That spell that Lily was checking out,” he said, looking so intently at Harry that he almost scared the young wizard, ”…Gestatio Prolongatus… is a spell to prolong pregnancy. To prolong the time the child spends in the womb,” said Snape.

Harry's eyes widened.

”It means… It might mean that…” Snape’s voice cracked with emotion. ”It means that I might be your father, Harry.”

Harry gasped and jerked, but Snape held on to him by the arms. Harry stilled and his gaze dropped to the floor.

”I want you to come with me and do a test. I’ve got everything we need in my laboratory,” said Snape with an intent voice. Harry raised his eyes to meet Snape’s. They were full of concern and pain.

”I know how much you wanted a family with Lily,” Harry said softly. ”I understand why you’re hoping, but…”

”You don’t believe it, do you?” said Snape and added in a whisper. ”Don’t you want it?” Snape’s face took on so vulnerable an expression that Harry almost cried out his protest, and when Snape released Harry and dropped his arms along the sides defeatedly, the young wizard launched forward and gripped Snape by the shoulders and drew him to his chest in a hug. 

”I’m sorry. Yes I do! Of course, I do…” Harry’s voice trailed off. He disengaged from Snape and looked gravely and pleadingly at him. ”I just wanted to say that it does not matter that much to me, because I already… love you as a father…”

Snape jerked his head up, features twitching out of emotion.

”I assure you, my feelings and esteem for you could not get any deeper than they already are, even if we were to be related by blood and magic,” whispered Harry. ”But I’m afraid… if it means so much to you… What if it’s not true? If we are not father and son? Will you distance yourself from me, then? Will you leave me?” Harry was embarrassed and near tears.

Reminding himself of his own panic when he had thought Harry gone, Snape understood perfectly Harry’s fears of being abandoned. The realisation that Harry wanted him as a father, regardless of the blood bond, warmed his heart and he raised his hand to stroke Harrys’ cheek.

”I won’t leave you. You’re right - it does not matter… so much. But I need to know. I need to understand why Lily acted like she did. And… and… I’d like to know,” Snape finished lamely, unable to explain all the complex thoughts that were rushing through his mind. ”Please, come with me,” he said and stretched out his hand to Harry. The young man drew a shaky breath, nodded and they pulled each other up from the floor. 

Shortly before noon, on Christmas Day, Minerva McGonagall stamped the snow off her laced boots, before she knocked on the dark green door to Severus Snape’s cottage. Her countenance was determined and her eyes grave. As soon as Snape opened the door and let her in with a slightly surprised look on his face, she started to explain. 

”I’m sorry to intrude on you, Severus. This will shock you, but I’ll go straight to the point. No need to beat about the bush. Harry is missing. I’m sorry I told you yesterday that he was with the Weasleys. I didn’t realise until this morning that so was not the case, when all these Merry Christmas owls turned up at Hogwarts for Harry from his friends. I flooed the Burrow, spoke to Molly Weasley and it appears that we had both been misled by the elusive young man. And, as you had already asked me about him, I concluded that you were as lost about his whereabouts as I. Molly thought of Neville - it would be so like Harry to sympathise with a former rival and to offer comfort to a friend - the poor boy has been quite down since Ginny broke up with him… I’m afraid I called on Augusta Longbottom - on Christmas Day morning, no less! I can’t believe that I got away with it, but I did. Naturally, Augusta would be understanding when it comes to the wizard who conquered Voldemort - the old lady venerates him. While I contacted Mrs Longbottom, Molly sent Ron all the way, by Muggle transport, to Harry’s room in London to check the place out - such an inconvenient place to live at - but he was not there and we just can’t think of anyplace else… I wanted to ask you if you could come up with something, but I didn’t want to floo you, because I knew how worried you would be, so I came in person. Please think of possible locations where Harry could be and let’s…” 

During her torrent of words, Snape ushered McGonagall in front of him, through a corridor down to the biggest room of the cottage which was a combined library and a living-room. He said nothing, but pushed the door open to let her have a free view inside. What she saw made her speechless. 

Harry Potter had his wand drawn in one hand. The other was clutching a small object, maybe an amulet. He was standing in front of a magnificently decorated Christmas tree. McGonagall had never seen such fine details and delicate decorations since Albus Dumbledore’s days. Harry had his eyes closed but snapped them open as if he had sensed their presence.

”Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Harry with a happy smile and continued in an excited voice to address Snape. ”It works magnificently! It brings me in contact with my deepest layers of magic. Like a key that is unlocking the Ancient forces. It’s beautiful! Look, Professor, I got this amulet from my… from Severus this morning.” He walked over to show her the amulet that he was holding in his hand. ”Merry Christmas, by the way, Professor!” Harry smiled widely and seemed so radiantly happy that Minerva McGonagall could not bring herself to utter a single word of reproach because of all the trouble he had caused her during the morning hours.

”Harry, I believe we owe Minerva an apology and an explanation,” said Snape gently. He continued in an almost shy tone of voice. ”Will you… would you do the explaining, Harry? I’ll… er… I’ll… go put the kettle on…”

The dumbfounded gaze of McGonagall followed him out of the room. She turned mutely to Harry who gripped her elbow to guide her over and offer her a seat in front of the fire. 

”Just a second,” he mumbled and went out of the room, only to come back again carrying a small, ornate case. He opened it reverently and, without a word, showed its content to Minerva McGonagall. 

It took a while for her to understand what she was looking at. She had, after all, not seen many of these in her days. It resembled a silvery casting of the tea grounds, at the bottom of a cup, that you use to make predictions from, in divination. It was an uneven medal made of two slightly different metals meeting and melting together to form a beautifully flourished form. McGonagall gaped at Harry as she realised what it was. Harry nodded his confirmation.

”The drops of our blood - Severus’ and mine that is - transformed within the Potion and formed this. Unmistakably, irrevocably, without any doubt at all, it confirms that…” he said and McGonagall filled him in. 

”You are father and son,” she said, shocked. 

Harry nodded, his eyes glowing with intense joy.

”Congratulations, Harry,” McGonagall said softly. ”Tell me, how is it possible?”

Harry started to tell her everything. About Severus’ secret relationship with Lily. About the betrayal and the misery. About the friendship that had formed between Snape and himself during the war and the strange feeling of kinship. He told her how he had come into possession of Lily’s documents and about the Gestatio Prolongatus spell that had enabled Lily to keep her baby - him - in the womb, six weeks past the normal length of a pregnancy. He told her about Snape’s collapse at the realisation of what it might imply. Minerva McGonagall’s eyes brimmed with tears and she put a hand over her mouth when she heard about Snape’s heart attack.

”It turns out that he had similar spells a couple of times when he was younger. It’s a problem of conductance in the heart and he has a potion that counteracts it, but he has not needed it for years, until the stress yesterday caused him to have a new attack. But he’ll be fine. He doesn’t think it will happen again, but he has promised me to take the potion for a while, just in case,” explained Harry. 

”He’d better,” McGonagall said sternly and glanced over at the other side of the room, where Snape was discreetly dressing a table for tea. He did not interfere in the conversation and kept his face turned away, but you could tell, from the slight stiffness in the way he held his head, that he was listening intently at the conversation.

”When we came here to do the test, it was my turn to break down,” confessed Harry. ”I think that I dared not believe that it was true, so I steeled myself for a disappointment. I did not… I could not fathom that I would finally have a family…” His voice wavered and McGonagall swallowed spasmodically, to prevent herself from starting to sob. ”I have longed for someone who would care for me, all my life,” whispered Harry. ”When the kinship medallion formed, it just became too much for me. I don’t think I have ever cried as much in my entire life…” He gave McGonagall a little embarrassed smile. ”But Severus was there and he was… so calm. As soon as the bond was confirmed, it was like all his anxiety disappeared and he was so serene… He held me and comforted me and… We sat in front of the fire long into the night and talked. We figured out that Lily did this to protect me… and Severus. Once she realised that she was pregnant, she did not think it would be possible for Severus to leave Voldemort without provoking him to kill us all. It was such a relief for Severus to realise that she had not in fact stopped loving him. James Potter helped her stage the deception. Their marriage was only a Muggle facade, not real in the magical sense of the word.” 

”So very strange. We never knew anything about it at the time. Not even Albus could have known,” reflected McGonagall. Harry nodded and smiled again.

”Severus and I - my father, I mean to say, but it’s hard to start calling him that, although I’m all excited when I do -  we talked for ages… It has never been so… easy to talk to anyone… and…” Harry leant forward to Mcgonagall. ”And I felt completely warm… you know? Completely. I have not felt that way for years, if ever. So I believe I’m cured of the Magical Ague. The proof is that I went out with Se… with my father this morning to help him bring the Christmas tree in. The cold was severe, but I did not feel any discomfort at all, can you believe it?” 

”I’m so glad!” McGonagall reached out and pressed his hand. She glanced over at Snape who left for the kitchen again, but their gazes met for a second.

”Look at him,” McGonagall whispered to Harry. ”He’s radiating happiness. I never thought I would see Severus Snape completely content. I belong to those who have always considered him more sad and sorrowful than gloomy and bitter, but this, I could never have imagined… You’re doing him the world of good, Harry. Merlin, he must have wished for this all his life. Just think…”

At this moment, Snape was back with a tea pot in his hand. He gestured for them to come over. McGonagall rose and Snape hastened to deposit the steaming utensil on the table, as he seemed to know what was coming. Sure enough, Minerva McGonagall clutched him to her bosom. When she released him, she padded her eyes with a handkerchief, before she cleared her throat. 

”You two owe Molly Weasley and myself to attend the Boxing day Feast at the Burrow. It will be a great opportunity for you to tell everyone of this wonderful development of events,” she said in a determined voice. ”Because you were not thinking of keeping it a secret, were you?” she added with narrowed eyes.

”We haven’t had much time to think about it at all, Minerva. But…” 

Snape glanced at Harry who nodded his approval. 

”We will attend and…” A new glance at Harry. ”I will tell them the truth. I’m not a coward, you know.” 

Harry smiled and shook his head. 

”I’ll just have to try to prevent myself from bursting with pride,” Snape added dryly, sounding more like his former self, but eyes glowing with tenderness as he looked at Harry, who coloured slightly. 

”I believe we’ll do fine, Father,” said Harry simply.