"This is not happening," Snape said. He closed his eyes, fully believing that when he opened them again, he'd find that he had merely been having a nightmare. Not one of his usual nightmares, but a nightmare nonetheless.

"I'm with you, sir," said Potter.

The boy was to the left of him, and that didn't fit in with Snape's nightmare scenario. He never had nightmares about Harry James Potter. His father, and mother, however, were a different story entirely. He'd had plenty of nightmares about the both of them.

"I can't believe this is happening, either," Potter added. "I mean...it can't be...I mean, we can't --"

"Potter, please cease your incessant yammering this instant," Snape said, opening just one of his eyes, and groaning, because the nightmare was clearly not over as he’d hoped it would be.

Potter was still to the left of him. The sky was still a bright and abnormally shiny blue, and oddly curved. There was no sun that Snape could see. They were still surrounded by a vast tundra of what appeared to be pearls of white snow. The air was stagnant, though it wasn't, surprisingly, biting cold. It was actually rather warm now that Snape thought about it. Not that he wanted to think about any of this right now, because to entertain these thoughts, meant to accept that this was not a nightmare, and he desperately needed it to be a nightmare.

Snape closed his eye and pressed a hand to his head, ignored the odd sensation that ran through him. What his eyes, when they were open, were telling him really could not be the truth. It was impossible on so many different levels.

People, wizards or not, simply could not be transfigured into gingerbread men and women. It wasn't plausible or feasible. Yet, as far as Snape could tell, that’s exactly what had happened.

There was no potion or charm or wand movement and incantation that Snape knew of which could render human beings into gingerbread cookies, animated or not. It just wasn't possible.

Maybe if the told himself that enough times, Snape could open his eyes and Potter would not be staring back at him from twin dollops of green frosting, and grimacing with licorice ropes instead of lips.

Snape opened his eyes and resisted the urge to curse. Potter was hovering directly beside him. The boy's famous lightning bolt scar was a streak of white icing across the ginger cookie's forehead, stemming from beneath a shock of black strands of icing for hair that appeared to have been painted on haphazardly. The boy's round-rimmed glasses were also etched on with black icing.

The boy's robes were different, though. They weren't the black that Harry normally wore, but were comprised of thick green frosting that matched his eyes. Both of them had pretzel sticks for wands. Severus did not want to know what he looked like as a gingerbread cookie, because, again, that would be admitting that the impossible had actually happened, and that this was not a nightmare.

It was all ridiculous and impossible, and a waste of Snape's time, really, because he should be at Hogwarts ushering students onto the Hogwarts Express that would take them back to their homes for the holidays, not standing in a tundra of white pearls next to the gingerbread cookie version of Harry Potter.

The ground shook, and Harry reached out for Snape with his rounded hand, his licorice rope mouth forming a silent 'o' as bits of rounded white fluff were kicked up into the air around them. Almost as though they were inside of a...snow globe.

Snape shook his head, as much as he could without the aid of an actual neck, and pursed his licorice lips. He tried to stay on his feet as the shaking increased with vigor, but it was impossible, and he fell with Potter landing on top of him into an ungainly heap of intertwined limbs. Potter clung to him with both of his stubby arms, his eyes wide and fearful, cheeks a sugar pink as he realized what he was doing, and that he was lying sprawled out on top of his professor.

When it was over, and the shaking had finally stopped, Snape felt shell-shocked. Harry's glasses, though they were made of icing, were askew, and the boy's attempts at freeing himself from his professor's limbs were starting to become comical as he kept slipping and falling, landing face first against Snape’s gingerbread chest.

"Stop," Snape commanded, voice a little tight and much quieter than he'd intended for it to be.

The truth was, his stomach felt a little queasy, and he did not want to see what it was that a gingerbread man would chuck up (little bits of fruit cake, or a whole pile of puke green frosting?). Snape shivered a little, and closed his eyes, again.

Potter, thankfully, had stilled his movements, though his pretzel wand was poking Snape in the underside in a manner which was distinctly uncomfortable. Snape cleared his throat, and opened his eyes to find that the pink sugar blush that had colored Potter's cheeks earlier had spread itself throughout the entirety of the boy's face.

"You should stop wearing your emotions out in the open where everyone can see them," Snape said sharply, voice a little raspy. He swallowed down whatever it was that was trying to work its way out of him, and took as deep a breath as he could with Potter’s full weight (though it was lighter than he’d expect a boy of his age to be) resting on top of him.

The sugared pink darkened in hue on Harry's face, spread down along his arms, and Snape took a deep breath to keep from snapping at the boy-cookie again. They were both in the same boat so to speak, and yelling at Potter wasn't going to fix that. Neither was lying on the bottom of a snow-globe, pinned beneath the young wizard.

"We're trapped, aren't we...sir?" Potter asked.

Snape took a deep breath, and nodded. "So it would appear."

"Do you think...do you think that Dumbledore will be able to get us out of this?" Potter asked.

Snape raised an eyebrow, and tried to figure out a way for the two of them to get their limbs and wands disentangled. He prayed to Merlin that whoever had shaken the globe would not shake it again. He didn't think he could survive another 'earthquake' of that magnitude.

"Hold still, Potter while I move my leg like this," Snape guided. "Yes, that's working, now you move your arm just so, and, wait until I tell you to move, Potter would you?"

The sugar blush rushed across Potter's cheeks, but he stopped moving, and with a few more coordinated movements, they were free of each other, and sitting side by side on the bottom of the snow globe. Stuck for the time being.

With nothing better to do, Snape found himself regarding the boy, and frowned at the way the boy rounded his back, and held his arms across his stomach as though to protect himself. Maybe he was just sulking about his ruined holiday. Snape's had been ruined as well, though.

"Have you been injured?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes at the gingerbread cookie sitting next to him.

Potter shook his head, refused to lift his head to even look at him. The boy was clearly pouting, and Snape felt a flash of anger toward Potter.

"Do not pout, Potter. I'm sure that as soon as the Headmaster learns of this he will put us back to rights, and you'll be able to return home to celebrate Christmas with your relatives," Snape said, keeping his voice as controlled as he could. They were trapped in a relatively small space, and there was no need to antagonize the boy and send him into hysterics.

"I'm not pouting, sir," Potter said. "And, I'm staying at Hogwarts over the holidays."

"Why is that?" Snape couldn't help asking. Apparently being a gingerbread cookie was starting to mess with his ability to control his tongue.

The ginger-boy shrugged, and Snape bit his tongue to keep from scolding Potter. Instead, he waited him out in a rare display of patience.

"They don't want me." Potter's voice was small, and Snape had to strain to hear it.

"They don't want you..." Snape repeated the words, the corner of his mouth curling, and his eyebrow twitching with disbelief.

Potter shook his head. "They don't want me," he repeated a little louder. "They've never wanted me. To them I'm just a freak and a burden, and they don't want me home for the holidays. I think they'd be perfectly happy if I never returned for summers, except then they wouldn't have someone to mow the lawn, weed the garden, paint the fence, cook the meals, dust, vacuum, and clean the toilets." Potter snorted and shuffled his pretzel wand from hand to hand.

For a moment, Snape found himself wondering how it was that they were able to hold their pretzel wands without fingers, but then he felt the tackiness of thick frosting in the palm of his hand. If he pressed the wand to his other hand, the frosting and wand would transfer to that hand.

It was quite ingenious, and distracting, and it helped Snape to avoid dealing with what Potter had revealed about his home life. Not that it was anything overly phenomenal, because being made to do chores was not that big a deal, though being called a freak and a burden could be bad for the boy’s self-esteem.

"The only thing I'm good for is hard labor," Potter huffed out with a humorless laugh.

"Chores have never been the death of a child," Snape said, wincing as he recalled some of his own chores and the punishments that were meted out by his father if he hadn't done something the way his father had wanted it done, which could change at any given moment. Chores might not kill a child, but fists and overzealous beatings with a belt could. Surely that was not the case for Potter.

Potter shook his head, and continued laughing. When he'd finished laughing, he turned toward Snape, his frosting eyes somehow greener.

"Tell me, Professor Snape, could starving a child while he's performing all of these harmless chores kill him?" Potter's voice was shaking as he asked the question. His eyes practically shining.

Snape didn't back away from the boy's anger, didn't feel like laughing at all though the gingerbread cookie version of Potter's hair was nearly standing on end in his anger.

"Or how about a crack upside the head with a frying pan when the eggs are burnt because the child couldn't sleep the night before?" Potter asked, voice growing in volume.

"Or what about keeping the child locked up in a cupboard for days on end as punishment for saying the word, magic, or for getting a drip of paint on the sidewalk? What about choking the child when he misses a smudge on the kitchen floor?" Potter's voice lost its steam toward the end of his string of questions, and a pair of red hots popped up on his cheeks, replacing the pink dusting of sugar that Snape had grown used to seeing there.

Snape blinked at the boy, momentarily at a loss for words. He had never really been good with handling emotional displays. Usually he steered his students in the direction of other professors when they started to get emotional, but that was not an option here.

Snape was no stranger to abuse, and he'd helped remove a number of his students from abusive homes over the years, but this was different. This was Potter. A boy who should never have been abused in the first place. A boy who, in all likelihood, could not easily be removed from his home.

It was an uncomfortable thought, but Snape realized that, whatever it was that kept the boy at Hogwarts over the holidays, was bad enough to warrant removal from his relative's home. Something that Dumbledore had told Snape was impossible because of the blood wards protecting the boy from the Dark Lord.

If only the blood wards could be transferred to someone else, Snape thought. Someone who would care for the boy as though he was their own.

"I know that I have to go back in the summers," Potter said, eyes once more a duller green, cheeks that sugar pink, hair plastered to his head in a way that was devilishly disheveled, much like his father’s had been when he’d been Potter’s age.

"I do, but, when it's winter holidays, I like to pretend that I don't have to go back, that this is the year when my Christmas wish to Father Christmas will finally come true. That I'll get a new family. A family that will love me like Ron's family loves him."

Snape was no good at this. He lifted his clunky hand to rest on one of Potter's but pulled it back when Potter flinched, and then blushed.

"Sorry," Potter said.

Snape lowered his hand to his lap. "Don't be."

"Yeah, well, I just kind of unloaded on you," Potter said. He was twirling his wand in his hand, staring at the balls of Styrofoam snow that surrounded them. "Here we are, trapped in a snow globe, and I'm going off on you about chores and stuff, whining about my family when I should be trying to figure out how to get us out of this."

Snape snorted and then laughed at Potter's words. "Ever the hero, Potter," he said. "I'm the one who should be trying to find a way out of this. You do realize that you're not alone in this, don't you?"

Snape let his question linger between them, read the boy's understanding of the dual nature of it in the way that the licorice lips quirked upward on Potter's face, and his eyes seemed to soften. The boy nodded.

"Good." Snape would find a way to get them out of this, and a way to get Potter out of the home that he was trapped in, even if it meant going against Dumbledore's better judgement. The wizened wizard could be blind to things that were right in front of his face when he was looking at the bigger picture.

While preserving Potter's life for the greater good of man and wizard kind was more important than a happy childhood, it wasn't more important than the boy himself. At least Snape, or maybe it was just gingerbread Snape, didn't think so.

A large, shadowy shape loomed over them, blocking out the light. Potter trembled beside him, fear clearly written in his overly animated features. His green eyes were large and round, nearly popping out in three-dimensional relief against his paling face. The boy was way too expressive, even when he wasn’t a cookie, but Snape couldn’t help but think that this was a little over the top.

Snape tamped down on the protective surge he felt for the young wizard, and stood, a sudden idea forming in his mind. Potter gasped and pointed toward the right of Snape's head when he glared at the boy.

Hovering just over where his right shoulder would have been had he not been transformed into a gingerbread cookie by that bright white light that had encompassed Potter and him a half an hour or so ago, was a little yellow light bulb made of frosting. It seemed to wink at him before it disappeared with an audible 'pop' that made Potter jump.

"Stay here, Potter," Severus said. "I'm going to see if there's a way to communicate with whoever it is that owns this snow globe." Hopefully before they see fit to shake us up again.

Snape stomped over to the edge of their odd prison, and tapped on the glass with his rounded stump of a hand. The looming shadow seemed to back away before returning seconds later. Snape could see the blue of a familiar twinkling eye as it peered in at him. The globe shook a little, as though the great child of a wizard had tapped it.

Lips thinning, Snape tapped on the glass of the globe again, and shouted, "Is that you, Albus? Potter and I appear to be trapped within this infernal globe."

The blue disappeared, and Snape tried not to panic at the thought that maybe he'd mistaken the merry twinkle in the overly large blue eye for the sinister one of a Malfoy, though really, Draco's, and his father's eyes were more gray in color than they were blue.

Trapping Potter and one of his professors in a snow globe, and trans-morphing them into gingerbread cookies did not seem like something a Death Eater would do (it was far too festive), but some of the Death Eaters (himself excluded) were a little on the crazy side, and Snape realized that he couldn't put such a scheme past any them. No doubt Bellatrix would get a kick out of this. She'd probably shake the globe until one of their limbs fell off, or they lost a head.

"Severus? Harry?" Dumbledore's voice boomed at them, echoing off of the glass walls of the globe.

Snape raised his hands to the side of his head and winced. He could sense Potter standing behind him, doing the same. Of course the boy wouldn’t stay put when he’d been told  to.

"Oh, sorry my boys," Dumbledore said a little softer, chuckling. "Didn't realize just how loud I was just then, especially for as small as you two currently are. Are you..."

"Yes, we're gingerbread men," Snape said, rolling his eyes, and wondering what that would look like to Dumbledore and Potter.

He could just make out some of his reflection in the glass. He, too, had dark hair drawn on with black icing, a mouth comprised of licorice ropes. His eyes were two black dots of some kind of candy that he'd never seen before. His robes were black frosting, and he had half of a sugar coated gummy orange slice for a nose. Potter's was a pink necco candy dot. He frowned at that, but shook it off, and returned his gaze to Dumbledore's blue eye.

"Can you fix us?" Potter asked, pressing his face and hands against the glass of the globe, and leaving a smudge on the glass.

Dumbledore's eye moved away, and Snape wanted to growl. He could practically hear the older wizard pacing the floor in front of his desk.

Waiting for an answer from Dumbledore could be maddening at the best of times. This was not the best of times. Snape did not relish the thought of being a gingerbread cookie for the rest of the winter holidays, or beyond.

"He can fix this, right?" Potter asked, eyes wide as saucers in his panic as he turned toward Snape.

Nodding, Snape pushed his own misgivings aside. He had no idea how they'd been transformed into gingerbread cookies and placed inside of a snow globe in the first place. It was not typical magic. Maybe something ancient?

He remembered the blinding white light, and then waking up disoriented and with a headache the likes of which he'd never had before. When he'd noticed that he wasn't alone, that he'd been trapped with Potter, the headache had increased. It was gone now.

What had he been doing before this had happened? Oh right, scolding Potter for loitering in the hallways when he should have been in his dorm room packing or doing something that wasn't being in Snape's way when he was in a bad mood, because the holidays always stressed him out just a little. Okay, more like a lot.

Being a gingerbread cookie was messing with Snape's ability to keep his emotions in check. He wondered how animated his own eyes and mouth were. If they gave away what he was thinking when Potter looked at him.

"I guess it's not so bad..." Potter said, turning around to survey the white fluff that surrounded them.

The snow globe wasn't even one of those fancy ones that contained buildings and designs on the glass. It was empty of all, save for the fake snow, and he and Potter as animated gingerbread figurines. Snape didn't waste any time wondering why. It wouldn't change anything about their circumstances.

"It's kind of like a winter wonderland," Potter mused aloud, smiling, eyes lighting up. "Except, without the cold."

Snape supposed that they did have that going for them. When he'd first woken up to the blinding white of the 'snow', he'd thought that he and Potter had been sent straight into a blizzard by a wayward port key; then he'd gotten a good look at Potter, and realized that something else was going on. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Potter reached into the 'snow', pushed it around some, and frowned. "It's too powdery to build a snowman with."

As if Snape had been concerned about the ability to build a snowman with the little balls of white that they were surrounded by.

"Once we're free of this glass orb, there will be plenty of snow on Hogwart's grounds with which you can build a snowman," Snape said, dismissing the thought, and ignoring the way that Potter seemed to light up at his words.

Yes, being a gingerbread cookie was really throwing him off his game.

Potter suddenly threw himself onto the bottom of the snow globe with a loud, "Oomph."

Snape's heart nearly jumped out of his chest...actually did, in the form of one of those candy hearts that kids exchange for Valentine's Day. He rushed over to the foolish boy who'd sunk down into a pile of those tiny white balls, nearly tripping over his rounded feet in the process of getting to the boy, fearful that he'd somehow gotten injured, or that maybe the boy was dying.

Potter was far from being injured, though. He had a huge grin on his face, the licorice ropes forming a sideways uppercase D, and he was waving his arms and legs up and down.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked. He was towering over the boy, lips pressed together in a thin line, his candy heart visibly thumping beneath the frosting robe.

Potter started, limbs stilling before resuming their path through the 'snow'. "I'm making a snow angel," he said, green eyes wide with incredulity, as though Snape should have known what he was doing.

Snape was reminded of the time that Lily had pulled him down into a pile of fall leaves, giggling like mad as she implored Snape to make a Fall angel with her. Feeling foolish and well out of his element, Snape eventually (after much boyish grumbling) complied.

He'd been unable to keep the grin off of his face when he'd returned home in the late afternoon. Not even his father's harsh, acerbic words could take away the joy he'd felt in making an angel in the fall leaves.

Lily had called them twins, and had taken a picture, one that, even now, Snape kept hidden between the pages of one of his favorite books (a gift from Lily). Every once in awhile, he'd pull that picture out and reminisce about his lost childhood over a glass of firewhisky or fine wine, tracing the twin angels with an index finger, remembering the lilting sound of Lily's laughter, and how contagious it was. How silly and childish he'd felt that day.

Then he'd tuck the picture back between the pages of his book, and finish his drink, remember their falling out, which was the subject of some of his nightmares.

Looking down at Potter, Snape realized that the boy was not the spitting image of one of his former tormentors, James Potter, but rather of Lily Evans, the girl that he'd secretly, not so secretly, loved.

A girl who'd held great love, even for those undeserving of it, in her heart, and who had a streak of pride that was a mile wide. He should know. He'd insulted it. She was stubborn to a fault. Witty and beautiful. She was the only person that Snape had truly loved, and here was her son, in gingerbread form, bringing Snape back to her. It was a little startling.

Candy heart throbbing in his chest, Severus fell to his knees beside the boy, and, without asking permission or explaining himself, he lay down on his back and started to move his arms up and down like Potter was doing. He got up when Potter did a few seconds later. They carefully tiptoed away from their creations, and then turned around to survey their handiwork.

The angels were far more bulky than they'd have been had Snape and Potter been in their true bodies, and not their gingerbread cookie bodies, but they were, in a way, perfect. Snape knew that Lily would’ve gotten a kick out of this.

Potter gave the angels, and then Snape, a crooked grin. "They're like twins," he said, sighing. "Except, well, yours is a little taller, and mine is--"

"Your mother said the same exact thing to me when we made angels in a pile of leaves the fall before we got our acceptance letters to Hogwarts," Snape said, interrupting Potter before his inner critic could warn him that it was a bad idea to divulge something so personal to Potter. He was meant to protect the boy throughout the school year, not become the boy's confidante, or mentor.

"You knew my mother?" Potter's voice was filled with awe, and his eyes were practically swimming with tears that made the green of his eyes stand out. It was rather impressive in gingerbread format, the blue icing edging the corners of Potter’s green eyes.

Snape nodded. "We lived in the same neighborhood. We were good friends until we had a falling out."

He felt as though he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, that Potter would call him out on it and mock him. No doubt there was an actual candy heart on his arm, revealing his past love for Potter's mother. He refused to look, Potter didn't look either, his eyes were locked on Snape's.

Potter opened his mouth and closed it on a question that he was about to ask. Though Snape was curious as to what it was the boy wanted to ask him, he was relieved that Potter had thought better of the question. It was probably something of a personal nature that Snape would rather the boy not know. Like what he'd done to lose the gift of Lily's friendship.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," Potter said, sincerity ringing in his tone and reflected in his eyes. "I...I'm sure that whatever it was that you'd had a falling out over wasn't worth the loss of your friendship."

"Yes...well." Snape cleared his throat and looked away from Potter's gaze. Right now it seemed as though the boy could see right through him the way that he could usually see right through Potter.

"Were you friends with my Aunt Petunia as well?" Potter asked in a voice that was a little strained.

Snape barked in laughter and shook his head. "Merlin, no. Petunia was a shrew...that is, what I mean to say is --"

Potter's laughter cut off Snape's bumbling attempt at rectifying what he'd said about the boy's aunt. When he turned to look at Potter, the boy was doubled over at the waist, his gingerbread body quaking with laughter, and light blue teardrop shaped bits of candy flowing from the corners of his eyes. It was enough to make Snape laugh, too, and that's when the world of white they were trapped in spun around them, the fake snow spinning and whirling around them like a cyclone.

Snape was still clutching at his stomach, bowled over in laughter when he found himself no longer trapped in the snow globe, but standing in Dumbledore's office, Potter holding onto his arm in an effort to stay upright as he continued to laugh.

Dumbledore politely coughed to get their attention, and, supporting each other, exchanging looks of suppressed mirth, they sobered up and stood to their full heights. Snape was aware of the hand that he had on Potter's shoulder, of the shudder that ran through the boy, of the fact that the boy's shoulder was far too thin for his liking.

"It appears that you two were the victims of a certain, mischievous  Christmas elf who was roaming the castle halls earlier today," Dumbledore said, gaze straying to a corner of the room where a short, green-clad elf stood scowling at the three of them.

"No harm has come to them, just as Maddox promised." The elf's voice had a distinctive lilt to it, and he sounded angry. He'd crossed his arms over his chest. To Snape, he looked like an unruly child with dark, curly hair that fell into eyes which were a shade of blue that rivaled that of the sky.

"Calling Maddox mischievous, honestly, sir. Maddox is not mischievous, he's helping these two to get along with each other. Building Christmas spirit. Answering young Harry Potter's Christmas wish," the elf said with a huff.

Dumbledore looked like he wanted to argue further with the elf, but Potter stepped forward and the elf smiled at him. "My Christmas wish?"

"The one to have a family. To have someone who loved you, yes," Maddox said. "The one you've been sending up to Father Christmas every year since you were no taller than Maddox."

"But...how?" Potter's eyes, though they were no longer made of green frosting, were still expressive, and Snape could read the turmoil in them.

Maddox wiggled his nose and winked at Snape, and Snape felt as though his head was in a fog, but he knew the answer to Potter's question, and spoke it as though it was someone else (Lily? Father Christmas?) speaking through him.

"Me, Potter. I'll be your family, though I cannot guarantee to love you the way that the Weasleys love their children. I don't think it's possible for any wizard to love their children as much as those two do, but," Snape paused, and took a deep breath. "But I promise to try to love you at least half as much as your mother did."

"She loved you to the moon and back, Harry," Dumbledore said, voice soft. "And while I can't say as I understand what caused Severus to have such a change of heart, or that it will be easy to find a way to keep the both of you safe from Voldemort, I am willing to try."

"Now, Maddox's work is done," the elf said. "When Maddox has disappeared, you will find that he's given a gift to you as well, Professor Severus Tobias Snape. One that you would never ask for, but which Father Christmas desires to gift you nonetheless."

With a self-satisfied smile and a nod to each of them in turn, Maddox snapped his fingers, and disappeared, leaving a pile of colorful, glittery dust in his place.

For several seconds after the elf had disappeared, the three of them stood as though frozen in place. Snape blinked and drew in a deep breath. It felt as though he was waking from a deep sleep. His hand was still on Potter's shoulder, the pile of colorful dust in the corner the only proof that what had happened had, indeed, happened.

Lying on Dumbledore's desk was a set of legal papers, transferring, not only Harry James Potter's guardianship over to Severus Snape, but also, somehow, the very blood wards that had forced the boy to stay with the Dursleys for his own safety. It was, indeed, an ancient magic that had taken place this day, and it wasn’t even Christmas yet.

Snape felt oddly unburdened, and, pushing back the sleeve of his robe, he was shocked to find the Dark Mark gone, his skin smooth and untarnished, as though it had never been there in the first place. Father Christmas’ gift to him.

"A bit of Christmas magic," Dumbledore mused aloud, scratching his chin. "All that's left is for you to sign the adoption papers."

"Is this real?" Potter asked, voice filled with awe, eyes wide, and bright green. The boy pinched himself. "Ouch."

Snape lightly smacked Potter on the back of the head, and squeezed his shoulder. "It's real."

"Yes, boys, I do believe that it is," Dumbledore said, the twinkle in his eye sparkling like mad. He rubbed his hands together, and Snape almost groaned aloud at the playful look in the elder wizard's eyes.

"Now that this has all been settled, what do you two think about making gingerbread houses in the kitchens. I heard that the house elves have --"

Potter and Snape both rolled their eyes and groaned at the same time, making Dumbledore clasp his hands together and laugh.

"Well, I do suppose it is too soon after your...mishap... to be thinking about anything gingerbread related," he said, gesturing for Snape to step forward and sign the papers that would make Potter legally his son. “But, there’s no time like the present to redeem Father Christmas’ present.” Dumbledore chuckled merrily at his own joke.

I suppose that I've got to start thinking of him as Harry, rather than Potter, now, Snape thought as he signed the last document.

Dumbledore rolled the papers up, tapped them with his wand to seal them, and then sent them off to the ministry. Snape was surprised at how light he felt, and at the jolt of happiness in his heart when Harry smiled at him.

"Now, about those gingerbread houses..." Dumbledore placed his arms around both Snape and Harry's shoulders, and guided them out of his office, nattering on about decorating houses and Christmas trees.

Harry was nodding along and inserting sounds of agreement into the one-sided conversation every now and again, but Snape wasn’t paying attention to any of it, because he’d already started planning Harry's room in his quarters.

He’d have to sell his childhood home, and buy a new one to make this a fresh start, not only for Harry, but also for him. There was much to be done, and only a few months left before school was out. Snape would leave the decorating of gingerbread houses to Dumbledore and Harry. He had a real home to build.