“Stupid Snape. Stupid, stupid Snape. Stupid, stupid, stupid Snape,” Harry chanted to himself as he stamped down the staircase from Gryffindor Tower towards the dungeons and his detention.
He’d been so looking forward to experiencing all the good things about Christmas this year at Hogwarts, everything previously denied to him by the Dursleys, and tonight there was a performance of Yule themed stories, with songs and carols, being put on by the Hogsmeade Players for the school’s entertainment. Harry had needed no persuasion from Hermione to attend, especially as she said it would help them, as Muggle raised, to understand how wizards celebrated the Yule season, and Ron had even been lured to join them by the promise of mince pies and fruit punch during the interval. Now Harry would miss out, and all because of the miserable old dungeon bat!
It hadn’t even been Harry’s fault. Professor Snape had decided to mix up the pairings in the last Potions class before term ended today, and Harry had been forced to work with Slytherin Gregory Goyle. Harry hadn’t been quite quick enough to stop Goyle throwing the holly berries into their potion before Harry had finished grinding up the fairy wings into the dust the recipe demanded. The potion had sent a stream of little bubbles up towards the ceiling, before melding solidly to the bottom of the cauldron. As the bubbles burst one by one they’d filled the Potions classroom with a strong aroma of dragon dung – Harry had delightedly stored that piece of information to share with Ron’s brothers, who would undoubtedly make excellent use of it. Of course, Snape had blamed Harry for everything and assigned him detention, while Goyle got off scot free.
Harry chanced a minute to take a quick peek into the Great Hall, where the tables had been removed and rows of chairs were awaiting the concert audience. He gazed at the twelve wondrously decorated Christmas trees. When most of the students had left for home tomorrow Harry was going to sneak into the Hall and just look at them. He’d made a vow to himself that when he was all grown up and had his own house he would have the biggest, tallest tree that would fit in, and it would be loaded with colourful decorations! The first one to be hung on the tree would be the slightly wonky wooden bell that Harry had managed to Transfigure from a conker in Professor McGonagall’s class yesterday. He’d been so proud of his success, finally understanding why the teachers kept talking about intent being key to spellwork, and McGonagall had awarded him five house points, and even magicked him a crimson ribbon to thread through the top to make a hanging loop. Harry had the ornament safely tucked away in the drawer of his bedside table, protected in an old Bertie Botts box.
He sighed, and turned away towards the dungeons. Stupid Snape!
*****
In the Potions classroom, Severus Snape was thinking along similar lines, although his thoughts were more “Pestilential Potter and annoying Albus.” Why did the boy have to look so exactly like his father that Severus’ tongue ran away with him? And those expressive green eyes! Potter’s physical appearance brought back both the best and worst of years gone by for Severus, and every time the remembered joys and lows took him by surprise, and made him feel completely off kilter.
Of course, Potter really did not deserve this detention – Severus knew perfectly well that Goyle was irredeemably inept at Potions, and that Potter was not skilled enough to keep their work straight, but no, he had to go and blame the Gryffindor, and in the process ruin his own evening by foolishly barking out without thought that Potter was to report to the Potions lab tonight. Added to that he couldn’t even administer his own choice of detention!
At the final staff meeting called after classes ended for the term the teachers had all settled comfortably in the cosy staff room; Professor Sinistra had provided everyone with their choice of tea or coffee, and a plate of Minerva’s special ginger shortbread was doing the rounds, when the Headmaster ambled into the room carrying a pile of small scrolls which he floated out, one to each teacher.
“If anyone absolutely must,” he looked darkly at Severus, “issue a detention to be served between now and the New Year, I ask you to use the format on this parchment.”
Severus snatched his scroll out of the air and unrolled it. “Are you serious!” he exclaimed as he skimmed the contents. It seemed that the Headmaster required the student in detention to list out three or four differences they would notice in spending the holiday at school compared to how they celebrated at home.
“I certainly am,” Dumbledore replied firmly. “You may add a small, but not onerous, practical task if you really must, but the results from this questionnaire will help the school to make the time happy for the children; even if not of use for this year the information will be valuable in the future.”
It was, in Severus’ opinion, a complete and utter waste of time, and he resented the Headmaster’s interference. After all, he was hardly going to issue an arduous detention that would require a lot of his time and effort to review during what was also supposed to be his holiday. Well, he’d certainly pass Potter’s mini essay over to Albus to read after he’d red quilled it, especially as there was an additional request for the pupil to list their dream wish for Christmas gifts! Whatever was the Headmaster thinking there? Potter’s effort was sure to be full of badly spelled complaints that he wasn’t being spoiled as he’d expect at home, together with a demand for expensive gifts. Severus would have to make sure the boy understood it was a rhetorical question; otherwise there would be a tantrum on Christmas Day.
Severus glared at the jars of ingredients shelved along one wall of his classroom. He had really been looking forward to the annual entertainment supplied by the Hogsmeade Players. Sometimes they would read one of his childhood favourite stories like ‘Babbitty Rabbitty’s Yuletide Adventure’ which allowed him to reminisce of the few happy times he remembered when his mother used to read to a very young Severus before she gave up making the effort, and he especially enjoyed the communal singing in the second half – he had a pleasant singing voice and loved to join in the familiar carols and songs. A thought struck him. Maybe he could salvage the situation without losing face by rescinding the practical part of Potter’s detention. Yes, of course. He could order Potter to attend the show, which the boy would certainly hate since he never sat still or quiet for long in class!
Potter tapped on the door and slipped into the classroom.
“Only just on time, Mr Potter,” Severus warned. “Sit down quickly.”
Potter sat, and rummaged in his bag for parchment and a quill. He looked at the chalkboard and made to copy down what was written on it.
‘Compare the effects of mistletoe berries in a potion when used with the different parts of holly – berries, bark and leaves – with attention to the different methods of preparation.’
“No, Potter,” Severus stopped the boy. “That essay is not for you – it was the holiday work set for my Fourth year classes. This is your topic – not my choice I may add, but the Headmaster’s wishes.” Was it his imagination, or did Potter look disappointed not to be writing a potion based essay when he handed over a copy of Albus’ request?
“Now, you may have until the 24th to hand that in, and your challenge is to be concise. Five paragraphs will suffice. Also, be aware that even if your greatest wish for Christmas is to receive the latest racing broom it will not magically appear as a gift on Christmas Day – this essay is for reference only. The second part of your detention will be to attend tonight’s concert.” Severus waited for the anticipated indignant explosion.
“Really?” The boy sounded suspiciously eager.
“Yes, really, Potter,” Severus answered sternly. “And there will be no gossiping, giggling or fidgeting. Do you understand?”
“No sir. I mean yes, sir, um…”
“You will not make a grand entrance by being late either, and by my reckoning that gives you ten minutes to get yourself organised. Off you go.”
“Yes sir, thank you.” Harry hurriedly shovelled his writing equipment back into his bag.
Severus watched with a glint of humour in his eyes as Potter virtually skipped out of the room grinning widely. It rather looked as though he had mistakenly given the boy a treat instead of a punishment. Ah well, ‘tis the season and all that.
Shrugging off his outer teaching robe and Banishing it to his quarters Severus strode off to secure a seat in the Great Hall, hopefully far away from Filius Flitwick who, given the slightest chance, would once again be trying to persuade Severus to join the school choir.
*****
Harry rushed upstairs to dump his bag, fighting against the flow of students moving in the opposite direction.
“Harry! What are you doing up here?” Hermione cried worriedly as he met her, Ron and Neville on the second landing.
“Yeah, how d’you manage to get old Snape to let you out early?” asked Ron.
“Tell you later!” Harry puffed. “I’ll catch you up. Save me a seat.”
He ran for the Common Room, determined not to miss his chance to see the show, and determined not to incur Snape’s ire by making it back downstairs even one second after the start time.
“Harry! How did you talk your way out of trouble?” asked the Weasley twin whose Snap cards had just exploded and singed his fringe.
“Didn’t even have to try,” Harry replied, throwing his bag behind a sofa and finger-combing his hair. “It’s weird – I‘ve just got to answer a couple of silly questions Dumbledore set, and,” he punched the air, “go to the show tonight! See you later.”
He dived back out of the portrait hole to a raucous Weasley chorus of “Snape’s gone soft for Christmas.”
He was still a bit puzzled by Snape’s almost pleasant behaviour and was wondering why on earth the Professor would let him off from scrubbing cauldrons or dismembering something slimy, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would enjoy himself with his friends tonight and mull over Snape’s actions later.
*****
Severus lounged on his sofa late on Christmas Eve, a mug of cooling hot chocolate perched on the corner of his coffee table which was littered with photographs, and the wireless playing softly in the background. He’d long stopped looking at the pictures, and was staring unseeing as he thought. He was still undecided about the contents of the detention essay Harry Potter had handed in to him during breakfast this morning. What had the boy written?
I’ll get to eat Christmas lunch with friends, not have to do most of the cooking and then take a plate into my cupboard. What did that mean?
I got to see a lovely concert instead of being locked in alone every year while the Dursleys went to a Christmas show in Great Whinging Town Hall. Locked in alone? Left behind?
I can look at and even touch the Christmas trees instead of having to watch from the doorway. Hmm, Severus had slipped into the Great Hall by the teacher’s door (not to admire the decorations of course) and caught Potter wandering the Hall in a world of his own, examining each tree and gently fingering the baubles with a look of pure delight on his face. Severus had quietly exited the Hall, wondering why he had never before noticed that for all his Potter-ness, the boy had a definite look of Evans about him, specifically Lily’s kindly old grandfather who had also shared the green eyes..
I shall have presents this year! Hermione has left me a wrapped package, and Ron says there may be something from his Mum.
Could it be that Petunia had carried on her feud with Lily, fuelled by jealousy over magic, with her sister’s son? Severus knew how petty Petunia could be when she took against someone, but she had always loved children, although, it seemed, not the magical kind. Severus had always assumed that Potter would be well cared for and even rather spoilt living with his Aunt and so the boy’s words bothered him. It would definitely be wise for him to consult with Albus (and did the Headmaster have suspicions?) on the veracity of Potter’s words, as, while the boy might consistently irritate him, he had never yet found Potter to be a liar.
My wish for Christmas would be to have just one time I could remember with my parents, being loved. I know that is not possible so it would be nice to have a photograph of them so that I could pretend, but this year will be the best anyway because I’ll be spending time with friends.
Severus made his decision at last. He could do something small towards granting the stated wishes and then push Albus to find out if the boy was telling the truth about other things later. After all there was no immediate rush. Potter wouldn’t be going back to Privet Drive for some months yet.
He selected three photographs from the top of the pile and quickly duplicated them, adding a charm to the only one he possessed that included James Potter, and put them into a plain envelope. He guessed that Harry would have liked photos from after his parents had graduated, but sadly Severus had none to share.
“Twinkle,” he called, choosing to summon his favourite House Elf who was a little less exuberant than some, a little less timid than others, and whose huge brown eyes were almost as dark as Severus’ own.
“How can Twinkle be serving master Professor, sir?” she asked.
Severus held out the envelope. “Please would you put this with Harry Potter’s other gifts ready for the morning.”
“Of course,” the little Elf bounced with pleasure. “We elves will be delivering gifts as soon as the children is being asleep. But…”
She clicked her fingers and the envelope turned a shiny forest green sprinkled with tiny golden stars. “There! That is better.”
“Thank you, Twinkle,” Severus smiled as he began packing away the rest of his photograph collection.
*****
Harry went to bed very late on Christmas Day, still too excited to sleep. He’d had such a wonderful day! He’d eaten too much, but so had everyone else, and he’d had a good time with the Weasley brothers, plus he’d got presents! There were plenty of sweets to sample tomorrow, he’d been given a lovely warm Weasley jumper, and he had pictures of his parents. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure who they’d come from but it felt SO good to have them. It wasn’t Hagrid because Harry had received a hand-carved wooden musical instrument of some sort, wrapped clumsily in brown paper, from his friend. He strongly suspected the photos came from Professor Snape because of what he’d written in his stupid detention essay (Harry really hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble for that – Aunt Petunia would be so angry if she knew, but what else was he supposed to have said?), and because the handwriting on the back of one ‘Lily August 1969’ looked spikily like Snape’s. He’d tried to catch the Professor’s eye at lunchtime, and while the man hadn’t co-operated Harry was determined to solve the mystery. After all, whoever owned the photos must surely have known his parents and would maybe have different stories to tell than the tales Hagrid had shared with him. Harry wondered if Snape might be the same age as his parents; he seemed old to Harry, although he’d never given it much thought in the past, but was definitely a lot younger than most of the other Professors, so it was a possibility. Harry was going to FIND OUT! Maybe, just maybe, the Potions Professor wasn’t quite such an evil old git as everyone said he was.
The first photo was of a group of students about Harry’s age, with little spotlights on his Mum and Dad – he knew it was his Dad because it was like looking in a mirror – and they waved at him when he put his finger near their spotlight, then there was a Muggle picture of his Mum aged about nine sitting on a swing in a park, and finally one taken at Hogwarts, maybe in her Third year. Harry could see where he got his green eyes from in that picture, and she was smiling demurely at the camera before giggling at someone off to the left. Now that he’d seen what his parents looked like it would be easier to pretend he remembered them, and the physical resemblances made him feel he truly belonged somewhere.
It had started to snow just before teatime (platters of turkey sandwiches and sausage rolls, bowls full of crisps and bright cherry tomatoes, gingerbread men and an individually iced Christmas cake for each person at the table!) and so the twins had challenged all the remaining students to a massive snowball fight on Boxing Day morning. Even pompous Percy had seemed excited at the prospect. Harry had spent the last half hour before climbing into his four poster bed sitting on the window seat in the dorm watching the fat snowflakes float down in the light from the castle windows; Ron was sprawled on his back already asleep and snoring softly. Harry had heard that every flake was unique, but couldn’t quite believe it – there were so many! There would certainly be loads of snow to play in tomorrow. Then, in the afternoon, he and Ron were planning to explore the castle and try out his Dad’s wonderful, magical, Invisibility Cloak which had also come to Harry as an anonymous gift – he had no idea who it could have come from and there were no clues in the unfamiliar loopy handwriting on the parcel – and which was a gift that Harry fully intended to use well.
The rest of the holidays were going to be so busy, and so much FUN!