"You two were gone quite a while," Snape levelly commented as Harry closed the wooden door of the cottage and shrugged off his heavy cloak, gloves, and scarf.

The Potions Master had been writing something, but as Harry approached, he set his quill aside and performed a drying spell on his parchment. After that, he looked up at the boy, one eyebrow raised. Quite obviously, he knew there'd been more to their walk than a need for fresh air. "And so?"

Oh sure, Harry thought. You kept me in the dark for ages, and now you just expect me to spill all on your say so? I don't think so.

"We had a bit of a chat about Samhain," Harry answered, deadpan.

"Samhain," Snape slowly repeated, shifting in his chair to look at Draco, who nodded.

"You know, Samhain?" Harry lightly mocked, his irritation starting to rear its head. He'd managed to repress it fairly well before, but that was just because he'd been so determined to get Draco alone so they could talk. "I'm sure you remember it. You were there. Oh, that's right, you were both there. Funny how in all these weeks, nobody once thought to mention that."

"I told you, there are some things I believed Draco should--"

"Yeah, yeah, tell me for himself," Harry interrupted. A little imp began to whisper in his ear, telling him what to say. Of course, Harry knew he shouldn't say it, but he needed to, after all those weeks of worry that Draco might just be waiting for a good chance to hex him and drag him to Voldemort! He wanted to wipe that smug expression off Snape's face.

"Draco did tell me," Harry sighed, careful not to make the noise too theatrical, the way Draco often did. "He told me everything. Explained how it only took one meeting for him to see the truth about serving Voldemort. No way could Draco here stand to be a Death Eater when it would mean putting up with a honking great snake every time he got summoned--"

"Draco!" Snape shouted, his skin flushing with anger.

Draco cast Harry a panicked glance. "That's not what I said!"

Harry barked with laughter, but cut it off pretty quickly when Snape started to look even more incensed. "Sorry," he apologized, though he wasn't, not really. "Couldn't resist."

"I'm surprised you regard this as a laughing matter," Snape rebuked him, eyebrows still drawn together.

"I don't!" Harry retorted, shifting on his feet. "I just don't like secrets, and I damned well don't appreciate it that when you decided the truth ought to come out, instead of just opening your mouth like anyone else would, you had to get all Slytherin and start planting clothing around the house!"

"You told me you approved of that," Draco remarked, his silver eyes puzzled.

"I approve of the fact that he finally did something about the problem," Harry raised his voice. "But no, I don't happen to think it was the best idea I've ever heard. I'd rather he'd told me all this months ago, and in some halfway normal way!"

"If I'd done that," Snape explained, "you would have missed out on struggling with your decision to trust Draco despite everything. And it's out of struggles like that that the strongest kinds of loyalties are born."

Harry sat down on the floor in front of the fire and noticed Sals warming herself on the hearthstones. With a whisper of Parseltongue, he called her to climb up on his knee. After patting the little snake a few times, he lifted his face to Snape, who was still sitting at the table. "Did you plant that mask and robe?"

His eyes half-closed, Snape shrugged. "Define plant. I left them here when I brought you back to Hogwarts. Even then, I had an inkling that you might need to come live in my quarters, and I certainly didn't want you to encounter such items there. When I formulated our Christmas plans, I was aware that the robe and mask could well come to light."

Harry snorted. "So Draco's right. You were counting on him to investigate that box in hopes it was a present." When Snape said nothing to either confirm or deny the allegation, Harry went on, "You knew your spying days were over when you rescued me from Samhain. Why didn't you destroy those awful clothes?"

"They could have been of use to the Order in future."

"Right . . ." Harry murmured. "Well, not any longer."

"No. You did a rather thorough job of immolating them."

Harry took a moment more to think, his fingers stroking Sals' little coils as he sat and pondered the whole matter. All in all, he wasn't too pleased with how Snape had handled Draco's presence at Samhain, but neither did he want to let it stand between them. "I wished you'd have told me the truth much sooner," he announced, his serious gaze seeking out his father's half-concealed one. "And . . . I hope you won't be keeping secrets from me in future . . . but anyway . . . I forgive you."

"Oh, very magnanimous." Snape breathed out, his nostrils flaring as he leaned down, resting his arms on his knees, and peered more closely at the boy sitting on the floor. "But have you forgiven Draco?"

Harry favoured his father with a cool look. "I have, yes. But if you don't mind, I'd rather not go over it in detail. It's between him and me."

"Just as Draco's attending a Death Eater meeting was between him and me?"

"That involved me and you know it!"

Snape's voice was smooth and polished as he countered, "I had to do as I thought best."

Harry's voice was smooth too, but not in the same way. Rough edges of pain and resentment lurked beneath the surface tones. Edges he was consciously trying to blunt. "We disagree about what was best, sir. But . . . like I said, I forgive you."

Snape stared at him for a moment more, then briskly nodded. Harry noticed, though, that he kept watching both boys quite carefully for a while, as though verifying that the two of them were indeed able to get along.

Draco came and stood by Harry, a position which was awkward for conversation since Harry was at his feet. The Slytherin boy didn't seem to know what to do until Harry wryly remarked, "You could actually sit on the floor, Draco. You did the other day, remember? It didn't kill you."

"Come sit with me by the window," Draco suggested, gesturing toward the worn couch on that wall.

"There's a draft there; it's too cold for Sals." Realizing that he was still petting his snake, Harry slipped her into his pocket where she slithered in a circle, getting comfortable. "There, all gone. Sorry about the Nagini crack."

Draco grimaced. "Well . . . the truth is, I wasn't too thrilled to see a . . . what did you call it, 'honking great snake' there at the meeting."

"I know," Harry admitted. "Sit down, why don't you?"

Draco made another face. "It'll dirty my clothes."

"Aren't you a wizard? Cleaning charms and all that? Come on."

With that, Draco finally acquiesced, sitting cross-legged on the stones.

Harry leaned in towards him, a little conspiratorially. "Good. Well done, even. Now, let's make a little plan for Christmas dinner, shall we? While I was asleep this morning, I don't suppose you managed to sneak a peek into all those crates Snape brought along . . . no? Okay, I'll distract him while you see what sorts of ingredients we have to work with. No, wait. You probably don't have a clue how to assemble a meal. Okay, you distract him while I sneak a peek--"

A slight noise of magic dissolving wood cut through his words.

"If you want to investigate the supplies I've laid in," Snape drawled, waving at the now lidless crates, "there's no need to sneak around to do so."

"But we're all Slytherins here," Harry gibed, feeling happier than he had in months, really. "Or sort of. We like sneaking, sir."

Draco burst out laughing. "That's not quite what Slytherin means." Jumping up, he took Snape up on that offer to sort through the crates. Harry wondered if the other boy was actually hoping to find some presents. No such luck, though. If Snape had brought along any, he'd secreted them elsewhere.

Two of the crates were spelled to stay cool, and a third one was actually frozen inside. Harry grinned, realizing that with wizardry any sort of container could become an icebox. "Hmm, looks like roast goose for Christmas dinner," he pronounced. "And we can thaw out some of these mince pies . . . Or did you have them in mind for Christmas eve?"

Snape shrugged as though he didn't care. "Why don't you and Draco decide the details? In fact, why don't the two of you work up something for our lunch?"

"Sandwiches," Harry decided.

Draco gave one of his theatrical sighs.

"It's about the easiest meal there is," Harry chided him, and proceeded to demonstrate. He had to laugh, though, when instead of doing something as "Mugglish" as slicing bread with a knife, Draco figured out how to make his wand do the cutting for him.

Just as well that the other boy took care of it, though, however he chose to do it. Harry's hands were really aching again. He wondered if the magic streaming through them had damaged the nerves. Leaving Draco to finish making the sandwiches, Harry took his problem to Snape, who examined his hands carefully with several spells.

"I don't sense damage," Snape finally pronounced. "But whatever's happening is definitely tied in with your magic. Something inside you is coiling, trying to break free. The conflict is causing the pain."

"So I just have to put up with it until I get my magic back?"

"I didn't say that." Snape tapped each of his fingers with his wand and lightly chanted some soft Latin phrases that wiped the pain clear away. "Ask me to renew it whenever you have need. I'll teach the charm to Draco too, so he can assist you as well."

Harry flexed his fingers, amazed at how light and free they suddenly felt. "You know, I expected more of a potion," he admitted.

"A potion might stop the source of your pain," Snape told him, "but to do so, it might have to repress the conflict inside you. If your magic is struggling to be reborn in full, I hardly wish to stop it. But the charm should be harmless. I merely told your hand to forget it hurts."

"Wish I'd have known a charm like that after a few of the rougher Quidditch matches," Harry said, smiling.

"It works best on magical, not physical, injuries."

Harry nodded. "Right. Well, thank you, sir."

Snape merely inclined his head.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The days passed more quickly than Harry would have expected. Maybe that was because the lack of any house-elves meant that there was quite a lot for them to do. Of course, Draco and Snape freely made use of magic to perform all their chores, but still, even spells took a certain amount of time.

Draco went flying every day, performing twists and dives and turns to do any Seeker proud. Harry wasn't too jealous of all that until the day he noticed Draco actually chasing a snitch. Then he realised how much he missed Quidditch.

The first chance he got, Harry put his Slytherin sneakiness to use and tested out his magic on Draco's broom. He didn't actually plan to ride it; he just wanted to see if it would respond to his command of up.

It didn't, which put him in a foul mood.

The mood didn't last long, however. How could it, when there was Christmas to prepare for? Harry would have thought, after spending every Yule holiday at Hogwarts, that he knew all there was to know about a wizarding Christmas, but he soon found out that he had a lot to learn.

First, there was the tree.

"It's a bit of a shame to chop down and kill a beautiful tree, I've always thought," Harry remarked when Snape said they'd see to the tree the next day. "Although I suppose it's not a total waste if we burn the wood after the season's over . . ."

Draco stared at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Chop down a tree! Honestly, Harry! We're wizards!"

"They always have trees at Hogwarts," Harry pointed out. "Twelve of them is the usual number, I believe?"

"And you thought they were real?" Draco asked in mock astonishment, his silver eyes glittering smug and superior. "They're spell-trees, Harry. Although I suppose it's a compliment to the house-elves that they seem so completely real." He appeared to muse that over a bit. "I wonder how many of the Muggle-raised students assume they are."

"Well there was a tree in the Gryffindor common room that was real!" Harry protested. "I know, because after Christmas was over it started to turn brownish and drop needles!"

"Some Muggleborn arranged for a real tree, then," Draco surmised, shuddering a bit. "It's horrible bad luck, though. Goes back to old wizarding ideas about the forest gods and all that. The fact that Muggles cut down trees just shows how utterly uncouth they can be--"

"Oh, stuff it," Harry said, turning to Snape. "Don't you think it's a bit ridiculous that I've been at Britain's premier wizarding school for six years, and I still don't know anything about basic customs? Why doesn't Hogwarts take into account that not all the students arrive at school already knowing all these things?"

Draco opened his mouth, but then shut it without speaking. Just as well. Harry really wasn't in the mood to hear him spout, Because Muggleborns aren't supposed to be there to begin with, Potter.

"Perhaps in addition to Muggle Studies we ought to provide a Wizard Studies course," Snape suggested, nodding slightly. "I'll discuss the matter with the headmaster."

The spell-tree turned out to be a difficult bit of magic. Normally house-elves saw to providing one, but a strong, skilled wizard like Snape could also perform the necessary spells. He walked the boys to the edge of his property and let them study a little grove of pines growing on its western edge. After a bit of wrangling, they settled on a short, squat tree with widely spaced branches. Snape pointed his wand at it, enveloping the plant in a slight bluish haze for a moment . . . and incanted a few sentences that didn't sound like Latin at all to Harry. Celtic, maybe, considering what Draco had said about the old forest gods and such.

When they returned to the cottage, a perfect replica of their chosen tree was standing to one side of the hearth. It took up a good quarter of the room, and even made the whole cottage smell like the woods. Harry reached out and touched it, hardly able to believe it wasn't completely real. When he looked down, though, he saw that it couldn't be. There was no snowy tree skirt to conceal the cut end, and no tree stand to keep it upright. The spell-tree looked like it was growing straight out of the stone floor.

"Candles now," Draco announced.

Reaching into a crate, Snape drew out some green and silver tapers. Since Harry had been all through the boxes by then, he knew there'd been no candles laid in. Definitely, one crate was charmed to deliver up things on demand. Snape's demand, that was. Perhaps that was where the Potions Master was hiding their presents. Harry grinned a little when that though occurred to him. Draco's Slytherin influence was rubbing off; previously, Harry would never have dreamed of searching the cottage for gifts. Maybe, however, he just wasn't used to Christmas being a very exciting time. Draco's intense interest in what he "might be getting" really did spice things up, Harry thought . . . even if the other boy was a bit more materialistic than Harry thought good.

Snape lit the candles one by one with a spell, and sent them levitating amongst the branches of the tree. Overall, the effect was quite nice, the candles obviously magical in their own way. They put out light and heat, but didn't consume any wax . . . or drip any. Nor would they light anything on fire, Snape assured them. Candles like that could be safely left lit night and day.

Harry thought they were brilliant. Still, he couldn't help observing, "Slytherin colours, sir?"

"I thought you said we were all Slytherins here," Draco retorted.

"I said sort of, didn't I?"

"It's Severus' house, so of course the candles represent him," Draco explained, his tone just a bit sneering. "He's not just a Slytherin, he's Head of Slytherin! Now, if he were a cursebreaker, his colours would be purple and white. If he worked at St. Mungo's, we'd see orange and yellow candles on the tree. If he--"

"I don't actually need fifty examples before I get the point," Harry interrupted, wishing more than ever he'd had a chance to take a Wizard Studies course. "Are all the decorations going to be in Snape's colours, then?"

"For Merlin's sake, Harry! His name is Severus!"

Remembering Draco's words on the subject of real fathers, Harry managed not to reply to that.

Snape ignored the entire issue in favour of educating Harry a bit in wizarding customs. "It's no great wonder Harry has questions," he said with a brief glare at Draco. "Traditional Yule decorations are based on plants, so they aren't so colourful as the garish displays I've seen in store windows in Muggle London. However, this is your home too, Harry. There's no reason why we can't strew about some crimson and gold if it will make the holiday seem more festive to you."

Garish, Harry thought, was a pretty dead-on accurate description of Aunt Petunia's typical Christmas decorations. "Wizarding traditions will be fine," he answered, somewhat subdued.

For all that, though, Snape charmed the berries on the holly to be both red and yellow. Draco huffed at that, but Harry thought it a rather touching gesture.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Draco claimed he wanted to save the goose for Christmas Day, and though Harry personally suspected the other boy just wanted to put off the work that would go into roasting it, he agreed. They had chestnut soup on Christmas eve, along with piping hot whole-grain bread. Snape got that from the magic crate, but the rest of the meal they prepared at the cottage. It wasn't too much work, though. The house-elves had packed a lot of half-prepared items. The soup, for instance. It only needed to be thawed and then simmered a bit, which with magic was no problem at all, but Draco just wouldn't stop moaning.

Well, not until Harry threatened to withhold his Christmas present if the other boy didn't start behaving himself.

"You wouldn't," Draco sputtered, outraged. "That's just nasty, that is."

"I will if you don't stop all your whinging," Harry retorted. "Honestly! You don't complain like this in Potions class when you have to chop and stir and boil things!"

"An interesting comparison," said Snape from the table, where he was writing letters. Harry wondered who they were to, but felt that asking would be a bit presumptuous. "You've handled enough meals for us that I know you cook quite well, so why aren't you more skilled at Potions?"

Harry half-smiled as he sprinkled a bit of pepper into the steaming soup. "Well, with cooking if you add too much of an ingredient, you don't tend to get an explosion, you know. There's more room for error."

"Maybe Longbottom should train as a chef, then," Draco gibed.

"Maybe I'll send your present back owl-return," Harry threatened. "Neville's doing the best he can. I don't want to hear you insulting him. In fact, when we get back to class, why don't you try to help him for once? There's probably no better way to convince the Gryffindors that there might be something decent inside you, after all."

Draco huffed in indignation, and didn't directly reply.

"Speaking of owls, though," Harry continued, "I was wondering if the cottage is charmed to keep them away."

Snape nodded. "There is little cause for concern, but still . . ." He lifted his shoulders in an eloquent gesture.

Harry nodded as well. "Right. Constant vigilance. I just thought it might be nice if my friends' presents could make it through, though. They'll be delivered to Hogwarts, won't they, not returned to the senders?"

"I did apply a sensible redirecting spell, yes," Snape drawled.

Harry couldn't help but notice the slightly offended tone underlying those words. "You're a great and powerful wizard," he admitted, and then realizing what he had said, chortled a bit. "Sorry," he gasped when Snape and Draco both gave him a look. "It's a line from a Muggle movie. Um . . . The Wizard of Oz. I just laughed because the 'great and powerful wizard of Oz' couldn't possibly be more unlike you, Professor."

Draco quite obviously didn't get it. "Where's Oz?" he asked Snape, who looked a bit bemused.

"It's fiction," Harry stressed.

"Oh, like My Broom Can Zoom?" Draco asked. "That was my favourite book when I was little."

"Uh, yeah, bit like that I guess," Harry mumbled.

"So how am I different from this 'great and powerful wizard'?" Snape inquired.

Harry blushed. "Oh, well really he wasn't a wizard at all, didn't know any magic, he just knew how to invent things. I think. I don't remember it very well."

"Muggles have very odd ideas about wizards."

"We definitely need that Wizard Studies class," Draco agreed.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Snape set a snowy white candle on the table. Unlike the tapers that were glowing everywhere --apparently in some pureblood families, it was traditional to have no wizarding light on Christmas eve, only candles-- this one was one of the tiny votives Harry had seen burning in churches. Not that he'd been to church much at all, but Uncle Vernon had had a thing about midnight mass on Christmas eve. Mostly, Harry remembered being yelled at the whole way there to keep his hair flattened down over his scar, then yelled at the whole way back that somebody had probably seen it.

And then the next morning, his "misbehaviour" at church the night before would be used as a pretext for why he didn't have any presents.

He'd always known that Christmas was supposed to be a happy time, but it really never had been for Harry, not until he'd spent one at Hogwarts.

Looking at the votive now brought back bad memories, but Harry didn't know that his eyes were actually haunted with them. He wasn't even aware that he was nervously tugging down his fringe, not until Snape reached out and placed a hand over his, guiding it back down to the table, then holding it firmly. Harry looked up, a bit surprised. He might have told Snape about the cupboard and the missed meals, and Snape was smart enough to guess that Harry'd never got proper presents from his relatives, but he was sure the man didn't know what the small, short candle represented to Harry.

Apparently, though, Snape didn't need to know details. He knew Harry, which was better. He could tell when the boy was lost in painful recollections.

To Harry's great surprise, the unlit votive upset Draco as well. The blond boy stared at it, leaning both his elbows on the table, his shoulders rising then collapsing in a sigh that wasn't theatrical in the least. "I'm the youngest here too?" he confirmed with Snape, who nodded.

"All right," Draco breathed, pushing off from the table. "I wonder who's doing this at . . ."

He never finished the sentence.

Harry watched in confusion as Draco touched his wand to the wick to light the candle, then walked to set it on the windowsill. He charmed the curtains to stay apart enough that the flame could be seen through the glass. That done, he flopped onto the worn couch, leaning against one end of it and propping his crossed ankles on the other as he stared and stared and stared at the flickering candle.

His attention on it was strange enough, but what was even more unusual was the Slytherin boy's posture. Draco usually sat as though he was demonstrating an etiquette lesson, which was one reason why it was hard to get him to unbend enough to join Harry on the floor.

The smell of melting wax floated through the room, making Harry think the votive might actually be a regular candle, the kind that slowly melted into nothingness.

Realizing that Snape's long fingers were still clasping his, Harry pulled his hand away. "What's wrong with Draco?" he whispered.

The words breaking the vigil, Draco shifted on the couch to make room for Harry, then beckoned him over. He waited until Harry was next to him, then murmured, "It's just that I'm youngest at home, too. So, the candle . . . you know." A brief pause. "Oh, maybe you don't. I don't know if Muggles have the tradition."

He looked back at the votive. "The youngest in the family puts a candle in the window to await the arrival of Father Christmas, that's all." His voice broke slightly. "My father used to hold my hand when I was little, and we'd incant Incendio together to make it light . . . Sorry. I know how much you hate my father. I hate him too. Well, most of the time."

"It's hard when the people who are supposed to love you the most . . . don't," Harry softly answered, feeling Draco's pain as he never had before. He should have realised sooner that Christmas, being such a family time, would bring it out. Draco was probably wishing everything could be different, wishing he could be home . . . and knowing that things had changed forever and he'd never go home again.

"Yeah, I suppose you would know," Draco murmured. "I wonder if everybody's messed up inside, or if it's just us."

"I think most people have problems," Harry admitted, glancing toward Snape. The man didn't appear to be listening; he had a book open by then, but Harry didn't count that for much. "Take Neville, for instance, with his parents where they are." Normally Harry wouldn't have mentioned that, but thanks to Death Eater gossip, Draco knew already. "Or Ron--"

"Oh please, what problems has the Weasel got, except for a stunning lack of brains?"

Harry supposed Ron probably deserved that. His comments about Snape truly had been brainless. "He's got five older brothers and one younger sister," Harry retorted. "He's lost in a crowd at home. And with me for a best friend, he's sort of overshadowed all the time at school, too."

"Best friend?" Draco scathed. "My, we are forgiving. No offence, Potter, but I can tell you're going to be an idiot and still want him for a friend. Well, mark my words, all right? He won't even bother sending you a present, that's how little he wants a half-Slytherin Harry Potter for a friend."

"Presents can't get through to us anyway," Harry retorted.

"Assuming he could even afford to buy anything," Draco sneered.

"That's just plain mean, judging people for things they can't help."

"Maybe it's better than not judging them for things they can help, Harry. If you ask me, after what he said about Severus, you ought to never speak to him again!"

"Well, I'm none too happy with him, but never is a bit much, don't you think?"

"Not if you're going to give Severus the respect due him as your father," Draco sternly replied. "But enough of that. I'm not going to let a Weasley ruin my Christmas . . . So, we've done the candle . . . Severus," he called. "Maybe we should let Harry here do one of his Christmas traditions, too." Turning, Draco looked at Harry expectantly. "Well?"

Dumbfounded, Harry questioned, "You want to do a Muggle tradition?"

"No, but I want Christmas to seem like Christmas to you." Draco shrugged. "So, what sorts of Muggle things did your family do?"

"Um . . ." Harry actually had to think about that. It had been years and years since he'd celebrated the season with the Dursleys, and even back then, he hadn't really done much celebrating. He hadn't been included. "Oh, well there's this deal where you go around singing carols to all your neighbours. Christmas songs," he clarified. "I never went . . . actually, the Dursleys weren't so big on going carolling, but I used to hear the groups strolling past singing."

"All right then," Draco nodded. "Sing us one of these carols."

Harry blushed. "I don't sing. And I don't know the words very well, and--"

"Oh, come on. You can defeat a Norwegian Ridgeback with your eyes closed, practically, but you can't sing us a single song?"

"It was a Hungarian Horntail!"

Draco smirked. "So I wasn't such a big fan of yours back then. From now on, I'll pay attention to your mighty exploits. Hmm, maybe I'll write a tell-all book. The Time I Lived with the Boy Who Lived . . ."

"That sounds a bit salacious," Snape put in, pulling a chair over to join them by the window. "How about . . . Down in the Dungeons with Harry Potter?"

"Stop it," Harry laughed. "I don't want a book about me. It's awful enough reading about myself in the Prophet."

"Oh yes, getting all that attention must be just dreadful," Draco sneered. Then he seemed to calm. "I'll forgo my million-Galleon book deal if you sing me one of those Christmas songs."

"Professor," Harry protested. Fat lot of good that did him.

"I'd like to hear one," Snape merely replied. "If you would?"

"Oh, fine," Harry muttered. "I don't know the words so well. So don't say I didn't warn you." He thought for a moment, then came out with one, his voice wavering on an uncertain, off-key tune,

"It came upon a midnight clear,
that glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
to touch their harps of gold.
Something, some-omething, something-ing,
From heaven's all gracious King.
Something, some-omething, something-ing,
To hear the angels sing."

When the room fell silent, Draco glanced at Snape and then back at Harry. "What does that even mean?"

"I have no idea," Harry admitted, feeling a hot blush suffuse his face. "I told you I didn't know all the words!"

"But the words that were left didn't make any sense either!" Draco retorted. "Not that I expect Muggles to make sense, I suppose. So that's all right. How about another one, Harry? There must be one you know better than that."

"No way," Harry announced. "I've been humiliated enough for one evening."

Draco's smile sparkled with malicious delight. "Humiliation would be Harry Potter: Up Close and Personal . . ."

That time, Harry scoffed. "Oh, I think I could write just as many embarrassing things about you."

"Ah, but nobody wants to read about me," Draco argued.

"They'll read anything I write, won't they?" Harry argued right back. "Anything by Harry Potter'll fly right off the shelves. So don't tempt me, Malfoy."

"He is sort of Slytherin," Draco complained to Snape.

"The Sorting Hat does know what it's about." Drawing his wand, Snape summoned forth three drinking vessels that looked a bit like Uncle Vernon's imposing brandy snifter . . . except that these were made of engraved bronze. They were half-filled already with mulled wine fragrant with clove and cinnamon. Harry cupped his hands around the goblet and savoured the warmth.

After they'd drunk their wine, Harry and Draco each hung a sock from the mantel. A real sock. Harry thought they looked a bit silly; he was used to bright red fuzzy Christmas stockings. Large ones that could accommodate some pretty serious presents. Of course, Harry'd never had such a stocking, but since Dudley had had three all to himself, the Dursley mantle had looked quite festive indeed.

Perhaps even garish, Harry allowed.

Whereas this mantle looked . . . homey and comfortable, like the cottage itself.

"Well, then, off to bed with you both," Snape announced as he set out mince pies and a miniature wine glass filled with sherry.

Draco laughed. "We aren't children, Severus. We know you're the one going to be eating the tidbits left out for Father Christmas."

Snape's brow furrowed with what looked like genuine puzzlement. "You don't believe in Father Christmas?"

"Well, I don't," Draco lightly scathed. "I can't speak for the Muggle-raised among us."

Harry supposed he could have taken offence, but actually he thought it was pretty funny. "Hey, the way I was raised, I barely believe in Christmas at all," he informed them.

"But he's quite real," Snape insisted. Harry studied his dark eyes for a twinkle, but didn't find one.

"So why did my parents take credit for all those presents over the years?" Draco challenged.

"Yeah, and Dudley never deserved anything, believe me," Harry added. "So if Father Christmas is real, he's doing a pretty terrible job of deciding who's been naughty and who's been nice." He decided not to mention that Draco had also belonged on the naughty list every year.

"Ah. Well, he doesn't visit Muggles, so that explains your cousin's bounty," Snape announced, shaking his head. "And as for your family, Draco, no doubt a great many of those presents were from your parents."

"And your point is?" Draco asked, his own brow furrowed by then.

Snape shrugged. "Nicholas is a notoriously unreliable wizard."

"What?" Harry gasped, never having expected to hear that. In a strange sort of way, it made sense, though, didn't it? If there was a Father Christmas at all, he'd have to use magic . . . Hmm, and elves definitely did exist . . . "Oh, you're having us on," Harry said when he'd got over the shock.

Another shrug. "As you wish. I'll merely say that there's a reason he doesn't visit Muggles; he long ago realised he couldn't keep up with the work load. And of course wizarding parents know better than to depend on him. My understanding is that some years he stays up most of the night drinking wassail and then rushes out, only to turn back from Finland at dawn."

"That's a completely stupid story," Draco objected.

"Perhaps so," Snape allowed, "but one thing I do know for certain. On the years when he does make his rounds, he doesn't stop at homes where the occupants are still awake. Now, if you don't mind, I'll need the two of you to remove yourselves so that I might get to bed, myself." He made a shooing motion with his hand.

Once Harry and Draco were in their bedroom, the door closed, the only light the single candle Draco had snatched off the tree as he'd passed it, Harry whispered, "He looked serious. Was he, do you think?"

Draco snuggled down into his covers and quietly called across the room, "How should I know?"

"You grew up a wizard! If Father Christmas actually is one, wouldn't you know?"

"Well, everybody says he is, but you get to a certain age and you realise it's all just a story," Draco explained.

"What if it's not a story?" Harry mused. "I mean, it could be true."

"No, it couldn't," Draco retorted. But then he said, "Tell you what, though. Let's go to sleep now . . . just in case."

-----------------------------------------------------------

Harry was woken the next morning by the feel of a hand shaking him awake. "Get up, Harry, up," he heard Draco's voice urging him. "Come on! It's Christmas!"

"Ten more minutes," Harry mumbled, brushing off Draco's pestering hand and rolling onto his other side.

"No!" Draco shouted, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and bouncing on it. "You can't sleep in on Christmas! You have to get up! We'll have presents!"

Half asleep, Harry groaned at the way his bed was wiggling and jiggling. Instinct had him booting the other boy off the mattress. Literally, his feet kicking out to shove Draco arse-first onto the floor.

That turned out to be a mistake. The next thing Harry knew, the bed and mattress beneath him vanished into thin air and he was sent hurtling to the floor in a tangle of sheets and blankets.

"Draco!" he chided, sitting up. "Control your . . . er, enthusiasm. There's no rush! You aren't even dressed!"

Draco was practically jumping up and down. "Honestly, who gets dressed before they open their presents? Come on out!"

"In pyjamas?"

"Yes!"

Unable to wait any longer, Draco snatched Harry's hand, yanked him from the bedding on the floor, and literally dragged him to the door.

Harry hung back. "Snape might not even be out of bed. What time is it, anyway?"

Letting go of Harry's hand, Draco snatched his watch from the windowsill where he'd set it the night before, and thrust it in Harry's face. "See? See? See?"

Sure enough, a tiny dial was pointing to even tinier lettering, but when Harry looked close, he could read the words.

Time to open presents.

"All right," he finally gave in, laughing. "Just let me find some socks. The floors are freezing here, not spelled warm for the morning like in Snape's rooms . . ."

Draco waited impatiently while Harry pulled on his warmest pair, then yanked open the door and rushed to the mantle. He was about to pull his sock down when a chiding voice from the sofa said, "Patience, patience, Mr Malfoy."

Snape was sitting there, looking as though he'd been awake for hours. As he'd done throughout the holiday, he'd left off his voluminous robes. Dark grey trousers and a black jumper weren't terribly Christmassy, Harry supposed, but anything more colourful than that just wouldn't be very Snape, would it?

Harry gave him a sleepy little wave, then wondered what he was supposed to do, really. He wasn't used to a family Christmas, to say the least.

At Snape's words, Draco had backed away from the mantle. Harry actually wondered what the big attraction was, there. Presents were strewn across the hearth and under the tree. He recognised the ones he'd given to Snape to hide when it became so very obvious that Draco simply could not be trusted to wait for Christmas morning. He supposed the others were from Snape and Draco, but that wouldn't account for the numbers he was seeing.

And why was Draco still staring at his sock, which looked . . . well, like a sock and nothing else?

"Happy Christmas," Snape said, nodding at them both.

"Happy Christmas," the boys echoed in unison. Immediately after the formalities were seen to, Draco began to complain. "I'm about out of patience. What is it, you want Harry to look in his sock first?"

Harry cleared his throat. "There's nothing in it. I can tell that from here."

"Oh honestly, we have got to make a proper wizard of this boy, Severus," Draco complained. "Go on, Harry, look."

"Look together," Snape mildly corrected. "I didn't want you rushing ahead of Harry."

When Harry took his sock down, it felt oddly heavy, though it looked like a perfectly normal sock. Out of it, however, he pulled a candy cane that must have been two feet long. It was in Gryffindor colours. Draco, he noticed, had a similar candy cane in green and black. Along with the candy cane spilled a variety of small, wrapped chocolates and, of all things, a top.

Draco whooped and set his spinning at once. It shot off sparks in every direction . . . sparks that rose toward the ceiling before exploding like miniature fireworks. Harry tried his too, then . . . and found out that once the top was started, it seemed it would spin forever on its own. He watched the fireworks going off all around, his green eyes a bit dazed by the display.

"So, what first," Snape asked, a small smile on his features as he studied Harry. "Breakfast, or presents?"

"Presents!" Draco shouted, clapping his hands down on Harry's top and then his own to stop their frantic activity.

"I rather thought you'd say that," Snape dryly remarked. "Harry?"

He didn't want to seem greedy. It reminded him too much of the disgusting way Dudley had always behaved. "Perhaps breakfast," he temporized, frowning slightly as he wondered how Dudley was faring with Aunt Marge this morning.

"Harry," Snape quietly advised, "There's nothing wrong with wanting your presents first. In fact, as I'm aware you've never had a proper Christmas in your life, I'd thought to make this a truly memorable one?"

"I just thought you might be hungry . . . sir," Harry murmured, distinctly uncomfortable.

"Presents first it is," Snape announced in answer to that. "Go sit by the tree, both of you. I've already warmed the stones."

Harry noticed that Draco had no trouble sitting on the floor on this particular morning.

Once the boys were in place, Snape flicked his wand at a gift and made it fly to Harry.

"From Professor Dumbledore?" Harry wondered aloud, glancing at the charmed tag which featured a little animation of two teacups madly dancing with each other. "Did he . . . er, stop by?"

"He portkeyed it to me," Snape explained. "Along with some other things." A pause, and then, "Are you going to open it?"

Harry tore off the wrapping to reveal a pair of socks that were actually furry, they were so soft. Of course purple fur was a bit strange, but Harry liked them all the same. He slipped them on over his other socks and wiggled his toes. Mmm, nice and warm. "He told me once that a man can never have enough socks," Harry remembered, laughing.

Snape flicked his wand again, sending another gift spinning through the air to Draco.

The Slytherin boy looked at the package doubtfully. "This is from the headmaster, too. It's probably also for Harry."

Leaning over, Harry pointed to the clear writing on the tag. "D. R. A. C. O., see? That's not how I spell my name."

"Let me guess, it's more socks," Draco drawled, prodding the wrapping a bit. "And if you got purple, these are probably . . . pink."

He wasn't too far off; they were a warm peachy colour. Draco didn't put them on, but Harry thought he looked pleased, all the same.

Snape's present from the headmaster wasn't socks. Harry thought that a pity. Instead, Snape received a tall, thin bottle of something called Galliano.

"Liquorice flavoured liqueur," Draco explained. "Muggle-made, but Severus has adored it for years. My turn now, I think." With that, the Slytherin boy rose onto his knees to sort through the presents until he'd found what he wanted. He shoved one into Harry's hand and tossed the other one through the air at Snape.

Harry found himself holding a thin rectangular box, and saw that Snape had a cube-shaped package. Both were wrapped in shiny silver paper and tied with a green ribbon.

"From you?" Harry asked Draco, a little unsure what my turn actually meant.

"No, it's from Crabbe and Goyle," Draco joked, his grin about as bright as Harry had ever seen it. No doubt about it, Draco just adored Christmas. "Go on, open it."

"After you, sir," Harry said, gesturing towards Snape.

He thought Snape gave him a bit of an odd glance, but then the man was opening his gift, his stained fingernails neatly slicing through the wrappings, ribbon and all, to reveal a plain white box. Opening it, he withdrew a small round jar fashioned of clear glass. Inside the jar was a thick, viscous substance that shimmered with gold and blue highlights as Snape tilted it in the weak sunlight streaming through the window.

The jar was unlabeled, but Snape seemed to know what he'd been given. "Thank you, Draco," he said in a voice gone suddenly serious. "This is . . . very much appreciated."

"What is it?" Harry had to ask.

"Oh . . ." Draco looked to Snape before answering, his voice purposely offhand, "Um, just some skin cream."

"There's more to it than that," Harry retorted. "I can tell when you're holding something back, remember?"

Draco flushed. "Well, if you must know, it's one of Severus' own formulations, but I did a bit of experimenting in his lab over the last few weeks, and I think I just might have improved it! A little, at least."

"All right, all right," Harry said, verbally backing away before the exchange could spin itself into an actual fight. Snape didn't seem the skin cream type to Harry --pampered was actually an adjective that fit Draco far better-- but there was no doubt that Snape had really liked the present.

"Open yours now," Draco urged, apparently forgetting they'd just had words. "I want to see if it works."

Harry tore the wrappings as he answered, "Why would you give me something you aren't sure works?"

"Works with your magic," Draco clarified. "It should. It's triple-charmed so the slightest whisper of active magic will do the trick--"

He stopped talking as Harry pulled a shirt out of the box. A deep, beautiful maroon with gold buttons embossed with the figure of a lion, it was one of the nicer shirts Harry had ever seen. The fabric was completely opaque, yet so thin it fell through his hands like water. "It's beautiful," he thanked Draco. "I really like it. But . . . um, what's magical about it?"

"I think you have to put it on to see," Draco explained. "Go on . . ."

Harry wasn't too sure it was the done thing, but with Draco looking so expectant and excited, he found himself quickly shrugging off his pyjama shirt and doing up the buttons on the long-sleeved shirt.

"Looks good on you," Draco smiled. "But I bet it looks even better when you touch the top button three times in a row. Try it."

Harry did, and jumped back startled when the shirt instantly changed itself to a dark green with silver buttons bearing a snake figure.

"I knew it!" Draco crowed. "It works!"

The shirt was no less beautiful than before, but now, Harry felt a little bit strange. Wizards didn't go around wearing magical clothes very often. At least, not that he knew of.

"I got the idea when you said you were going to have that house-elf sew ties together so you could wear the colours of both your houses at once," Draco explained, smiling triumphantly. "That would have just looked stupid. But with this, you can go from common room to common room and feel right at home in either."

Harry nodded, but said, "I can't really see being welcomed in the Slytherin common room, even so." Another thought crossed his mind. "Hey, you said my Christmas present was that thing you tried to give me while I was blind in hospital. You didn't know I'd be in both houses, not then!"

Draco looked mildly offended. Or scandalized. Harry couldn't really tell. "Did you think I was only giving you one present, Harry?"

Harry set his teeth. "I only got you one. So sorry if that's not the way wizarding Christmases are done, but I didn't know!"

"No, I meant . . . it'd be pretty rude to make a present do double duty, Harry. That other one was really your get-well present! I decided a long time ago to try to give it to you at Christmas, but that was just because I thought you might accept it, then. It was never really your Christmas present. Anyway . . . think I'll give it to you a bit later, if that's all right."

"Oh, okay," Harry said, though it seemed to him that Draco was putting a lot too much importance on being proper, and not enough on just being a friend. "Well, it's a lovely shirt," he said again, tapping the top button three more times to turn it back into a Gryffindor shirt.

Draco actually stuck out his tongue at that.

"My turn now, I do believe," Snape murmured, distributing presents with his wand.

Perhaps realizing that he'd been behaving like a nine-year-old all morning, Draco waved for Harry to open his first.

"A . . . box," Harry said, looking down at the gift he'd unwrapped. That's all it was, an empty box. Made of slightly tinted glass --oddly rough glass, come to think of it-- it was about the same size as one of his fattest textbooks. The strange thing was that there was no way to open the box. No hinge, no lid . . . though it did have a hole the size of a Galleon on each side. "It's really beautiful, sir," he said, anxious not to offend. "Really. I've . . . er, never had one . . ." Giving up finally on being polite, Harry turned to Draco. "Um, is this some wizarding thing I'm supposed to have heard of by now?"

Draco burst out laughing. "I was going to ask you later if it was some Muggle thing I'd never heard of!"

Both boys turned to look at Snape.

"It's a box for Sals," the Potions Master explained. "It's charmed to warm up to the temperature of the Floo whenever she crawls into it."

Harry's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Oh, thank you, sir," he said with much more enthusiasm. "It's just perfect! And something I really need . . . I've been worrying myself silly that someone will come through the Floo when Sals is in there . . . she just won't listen to me . . ."

"Yes, raising pets is very challenging," Snape drolly agreed. "Sometimes they think they know what's best, but with your superior experience you know perfectly well they don't--"

Somehow, Harry knew that Snape wasn't thinking of pets when he said that.

"I get it," he laughed. "Really, I do." Unable to stop himself, Harry went to the couch and wrapped the man in a big hug. Snape stiffened, seeming very surprised, but then his arms came around Harry and pulled him close.

"Ehem," Draco broke in after a moment. "I am actually waiting to open my own present from Severus, you know."

"Go ahead," Harry said, moving out of Snape's embrace. Liking the feeling that they'd passed some sort of obstacle, though, he sat down next to his father on the couch.

Next to his father. Harry sort of hugged the phrase to himself as he watched Draco pull a picture frame from a box. Just a frame . . . no painting or photograph within.

Unlike Harry, Draco wasn't baffled by the present. "Brilliant," he said, smiling brightly at Severus. "Let me think . . . it will show me what I most want to see?"

"Hold it up to a wall and find out."

When Draco did, the frame filled with a view of the meadow outside. "It's to help me endure yet more months of being confined to the dungeons," Draco surmised. "It shows whatever's at ground level on the outside of a wall."

"At times," Snape murmured. "If you concentrate, though, I think you'll find you can view any part of the grounds."

Draco's smile grew devious. "Oh, indeed. I can find out just who's kissing whom in the rose garden . . ."

"Knowing you as I do, Draco," Snape drawled, "I took a few precautions. The frame won't show you any people, though you may watch the giant squid to your heart's content."

"Oh, thank you, Severus," Draco returned, the words a tad sarcastic. But his smile was still just as delighted . . . and devious. Harry had a feeling Draco intended to tamper with the frame just as soon as he could. Snape had probably thought of that, though, so Harry wasn't too worried.

"Harry, this one is for you," Snape remarked. Now that the boy was closer, Snape summoned the present to himself and simply handed it to Harry.

"From Hermione," Harry said, reading the tag. It wasn't charmed like all the others had been, and the wrapping paper had that dull sheen that meant it had come from a Muggle factory.

"Let me guess. From Granger? . . . A book," Draco wryly put in.

The other boy's tone set Harry on edge. "Perhaps I should open this later," he quietly murmured to Snape. "I mean, I doubt she sent Draco anything at all, so--"

"Oh, please, I am not as immature as all that," Draco interrupted. "Open it. I'd like to see what Granger thinks you need. Because I bet you that's what she did, Harry. It would be just like her to ignore what she knows you want, in favour of what she thinks you need."

Harry had a feeling Draco was going to be right. That would be just like Hermione. Harry was just surprised that Draco knew as much. Then again, he'd been there to hear her bleating like a sheep about how she knew more than Harry did about whether Snape would make a decent father.

It was a book. Not too surprising, considering Hermione, but this wasn't just any book.

"Oh no," Harry murmured in dismay, hanging his head over the book in his lap. "Hermione . . . "

"May I?" Snape asked, waiting until Harry had weakly nodded to slip the book free. "Adolescent Trauma: The Road to Recovery," he read the title out loud.

"Oh, dear Merlin, it's the book, that Muggle book you bought when you wanted to make sure Harry got over Samhain!" Draco erupted. "What a completely rude present! Happy Christmas, Harry. By the way, I think you're mental and in need of some serious intervention," he said, imitating Hermione's habitual know-it-all tones. "First that Weasley tries to hex you just because you've got yourself a father at last, and now this one uses Christmas as a pretext to get in another one of her little digs about how you only like Severus because you've lost your mind? Honestly, Harry, you have the worst friends I've ever heard of, and considering I've spent over five years in Slytherin, that's really saying something!"

"Ron wasn't going to hex me," Harry said, suddenly exhausted. "He wasn't, all right? And Hermione's just trying to help. I'm positive she doesn't know how rude this present is."

"Well, when her birthday rolls around, I just hope you buy her a ten-volume edition of Brains Aren't Everything: How to Make and Keep Friends!"

"No offence," Harry had to say, "but you're hardly an expert on that topic, yourself."

"I think we're getting a bit away from the spirit of the season," Snape said before Draco could retort. "Harry. You have some other presents from your friends. Albus ported them here. Why don't you open those a bit later, though?"

Good idea, considering how Hermione's present had set Draco off. For all that though, Harry couldn't help asking, "Um . . . was there anything for me from, er, Ron?"

"No," Snape admitted, his eyes hooded as he studied Harry.

"Right," Harry said, ignoring the sharp twist his heart gave. He hadn't expected anything, not really. Had he? No . . . he guessed he hadn't.

At least Draco had the decency not to say I told you so.

"Well, that just leaves mine, I guess," Harry said, getting up to fish through the remaining presents. He spotted wizarding tags as he did so: Neville, Ginny, Colin & Dennis, Parvati . . . really, house mates who had never given him more than a card before were being awfully generous. He wondered if it had to do with Gryffindor solidarity, with his friends trying to help him past this rough patch with Ron.

There was also a present from Dudley, the Muggle wrapping paper featuring a homey Christmas scene with a family all gathered around a roaring fire. Harry stared at it, wondering if Dudley remembered earlier Christmases like that . . . or if he was saying that Harry finally had a real family, now.

More likely, Harry decided, Mrs. Figg had wrapped the present.

"Okay, here we are," he said when he spotted the paper he'd used to wrap his presents to the others. In his owl-order, he'd specified wrapping paper and ribbon, and been surprised when he'd received glossy maroon paper featuring a golden snitch madly racing all over its surface. Even stranger . . . when he'd cut the paper to wrap the separate gifts, the snitch had duplicated itself so that each package would have one. Most impressive of all, after he'd wrapped the boxes and added the gold ribbon, the snitch began to sometimes zoom over the ribbon, too . . . changing its colour to crimson whenever it hovered atop gold!

The receipt that came from the shop had read, Dear Mr Potter, We thank you for your patronage. We are pleased to provide you with complimentary one-of-a-kind wrapping paper personally charmed for you. If we can be of any assistance to you in future, please do not hesitate to owl.

How a shop all the way in London knew he played Seeker was a good question. Had the Prophet actually mentioned that? Hmm, probably, back when Harry had used his Firebolt in the First Task. Apparently the shop hadn't heard the latest, that he was off the Quidditch team these days. Or maybe they had, and they were being polite.

Harry handed a box the size of his fist to Draco, and a somewhat larger one to Snape.

"After you," the Potions Master politely deferred.

"Can't imagine what you'd get me," Draco murmured, casting a quick glance at Harry.

"Oh, I'm as bad as Hermione," Harry admitted. "I got you what I thought you needed. Actually, I didn't have much choice as I really didn't know anything you might want. I mean, you have everything you want."

"I told you," Draco laughed at that. "Emeralds. Diamonds. Racing brooms."

"But you have all those," Harry laughed back. It was true, too. At least, he thought it was. Harry was no judge of gems, but he was almost sure that buttons on some of Draco's shirts were made of precious stones. And that wasn't even counting the ring he sometimes wore on his middle finger . . .

"Nice paper," Draco said, turning the present over in his hand. He had torn into his previous gifts, but this one he seemed to be treating with a bit more reserve. He actually pulled one end of the ribbon, slowly unfurling the bow . . . but then with a flourish, he yanked it suddenly free and shouted, "I got it!"

Harry noticed that the ribbon now had a crimson snitch frantically flying up and down its length. "Oh, very good," he approved. "A hundred and fifty points to Slytherin."

"I wish," Draco softly sighed, but then he was ripping the paper off, his mood brightening as he saw a small, velvet-covered jeweller's box. He popped it open and pulled out a silver chain with a bluish-green amulet dangling from the end. Holding it up before his eyes, Draco studied the flat turquoise disk, then nodded to Harry and slung the necklace around his neck. He tucked the amulet beneath his pyjama top so it would rest against skin.

"Very nice," he said. "Very nice, Harry. Especially considering you had to have ordered it before we'd worked everything out."

"Oh, so you know that turquoise is supposed to impart some protection to the wearer . . .?"

"Not supposed to, Harry, does. Did you know it also represents friendship?"

Harry bit his lip. "No, actually I didn't know that. But . . . that's all right, then." Another thought occurred to him. "If you're so sure the turquoise has this protective effect, why wouldn't you have had some long before now?"

Draco laughed. "Ah. Well, in certain circles it's considered a rather barbaric form of magic. The best turquoise comes from Tibet, you know, and Asian wizardry isn't at all like the European kind. My father didn't approve."

"But you do?"

The Slytherin boy appeared to think about that. "Well, it's a bit much for British purebloods to practice all the Dark Arts they can get their wands on, and then call a piece of rock uncivilized, I always thought."

Harry nodded. "Um, it's supposed to turn more bluish when you're in danger. Maybe you should put it where you can see it?"

"I'll feel it change," Draco assured him. "I can feel it thrumming pleasantly along right now. Quite nice. Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome." The boy swivelled on the couch to face Snape.

"I somehow doubt I'll catch the snitch unwrapping this," the Potions Master murmured as again, he used a fingernail to neatly slice through paper and ribbon. The box inside contained several dozen lengths of Honeyduke's best black liquorice.

"Ah, you remembered. Very thoughtful, Harry," Snape said with a brief smile at the boy.

Harry didn't really know how to say it. Now that the time had come, he hoped he wasn't being hopelessly stupid about everything. But it was what Snape had said he'd wanted, and more than that . . . it was probably what Harry needed, too. Strange as that might seem.

He swallowed hard and cleared a throat suddenly gone rough. "Um, Professor. The liquorice is just a little something I added in because I knew you liked it. But your real present . . ." Harry looked away, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It's underneath the tissue, sir."

Raising an eyebrow, Snape pushed the liquorice to one side and slid his fingers beneath the crinkled green tissue paper, then emerged with a tiny key.

Draco's eyes went completely round. "Oh, sweet Merlin above, you're giving him your entire vault?"

"No," Harry said shortly, wishing Draco hadn't said that. Snape wouldn't think that was what he was doing, would he? Harry's heart began to beat a painful rhythm inside his chest, and it wasn't because he was afraid of losing his money. That wasn't it at all. He just didn't want Snape to think he was completely brainless, doing a thing like this. "There's a note," he admitted, glad now that he'd included one. He didn't think he could explain. Not coherently, anyway. Especially not with moneybags Malfoy listening in.

Snape pulled a slip of parchment from the box. His lips set in a thin, straight line, he read it through without comment. Harry practically cringed, wishing he would smile or something. Didn't the note explain matters well enough? He'd gone through a ridiculous number of drafts to get it right. It wasn't eloquent, and it probably lacked transitions, but for all that, it was right.

He just hoped Snape would think so, too.

Dear Professor Snape, it read,

Would you take this key and put it away somewhere safe for me until I'm grown and out on my own? You told me not so long ago that that was what you would "really like," and after I'd thought about everything we'd discussed, I realised it was a good idea. You see, I told you once that I didn't know how to be anybody's son, and while that's probably still true, I do know one thing that I didn't then. You do know how to be a father. You're actually really good at it.

I want to be your son, I really do. But it seems like up until now, I've really just been saying that I am. I haven't actually been being it. And that's where the money comes in. I'm just so used to looking after myself. But in doing that, I feel like I've missed out on some huge part of life, and as long as I remain a "quasi-independent adult," as you put it, I'll never know what I'm missing. You thought I didn't even realise you were supposed to support me, but I do realise that. It was just out of reach for me, if that makes sense. But now I think it's not.

So . . . would you take this key and put it away somewhere safe for me until I'm grown and out on my own?

With deepest respect,

Harry James Potter

Harry knew for a fact that Snape wasn't a slow reader, so the time he took over the note had to mean that he was reading it over several times. Finally, though, he looked up, his eyes about as dark and expressionless as Harry had ever seen them. Like endless tunnels, those eyes.

Except now, Harry didn't assume that meant that Snape had no feelings. Actually, he thought it meant the man was keeping his feelings hidden.

"Harry," Snape said at last, his voice rough as he looked into Harry's eyes, "This is . . . well done of you, but not necessary. I worry that you are trying to please me. Don't you realise . . ." The tunnels in his eyes flooded with emotion. It was masked in a moment, no more than a fleeting glimpse of something profound, but Harry had seen it. That was all that mattered. "You already do please me, faults and all."

"Thank you," Harry whispered, keeping their gazes locked, difficult as that was. He wanted to run away and hide. That would be easier than all this need, all this raw emotion. But that, he sensed, wasn't the way to heal, to have what he'd always longed for, what he'd thought he would never get to have. "But I wasn't trying to please you, honest. I mean, well . . . I thought it would, you know. You said it would. But that was because you were thinking of me. I knew you didn't want the key for yourself; you wanted it for me."

Snape shook his head. "I never wanted it at all. If you recall, I said I'd like you to put it away somewhere safe."

"Oh, right," Harry murmured, breaking his gaze away, finally. "I know. But that's just the thing, sir. You wanted me to put it away and not use it until I was really an adult, but I'm not sure I can manage that. Don't you understand? Since I was eleven I've had to handle my own financial needs! I don't think I can let you handle them unless I have to, and I won't have to unless I don't have my key, and I really, really want to know what it's like to have someone who will handle things like that for me." He swallowed back a sigh, wondering if he sounded as completely stupid to everyone else as he did to himself.

Draco certainly seemed to think he wasn't sounding any too smart. "It's just a vault, Harry," he interjected, ignoring Snape's warning glare to stay out of it. "I've had my own vault for forever, too."

"Look, I know you have your own problems, but they're not the same as mine," Harry wearily explained. "You weren't raised by people who constantly told you how much they resented spending any money on you. I didn't have a childhood, okay? I want one now, and whether it makes sense to you or not, that money's in the way."

Snape extended a black length of candy. "Have some liquorice," he said, strangely reminding Harry of Remus and his chocolate-solves-anything obsession. Not that Remus really thought that. It just seemed that way, sometimes.

"I appreciate the gift, Harry," Snape said, but since the key was still where he'd set it, atop a fold of tissue, Harry didn't know what he meant.

"The liquorice?"

"The trust."

Harry tore off a bite of liquorice and nodded. So that was it, then. No flowery speech, but he wouldn't expect one from Snape. "I already did trust you, though. I'm sure you know that," he pointed out.

"Yes. This, however . . ." Snape fingered the note Harry had written, and reaching beneath his jumper, slipped it into his shirt pocket. The key followed. "This is trust made real."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. Now that it was done, he was nervous already. Almost regretting it. That key had been a source of security to him for over five years. However bad the Dursleys had gotten, Harry had known that he had options. Choices. A way out if he ever really couldn't stand it any longer.

And now all that was gone.

Now, all he had was Snape.

But that's all he should need, right? The man was his father, had been for a while already. Harry knew it was true, knew it was legal, knew it was real, but somehow, it hadn't felt as real as it should have.

Snape had been right, Harry thought. He just plain didn't know how to be anybody's child. But he was going to learn. He was going to learn by experience, as his father had said.

And nothing as stupid as money was going to stand in his way.

Steeling himself even though he had no fear whatsoever of being rejected, Harry shifted close to his father and gave him a quick hug. Strange . . . it was harder than last time, but then again, that one had been spontaneous. This one though, was more important. It was sealing something.

"Happy Christmas, sir," Harry said when he pulled away.

"It certainly is," Snape answered, his dark eyes once more fathomless. For all that, though, Harry could tell his father meant every word.