Previously on Better Be Slytherin!:

For a long time, Harry lay awake thinking about the book, thinking about the upcoming holiday break, and thinking about the people he needed to protect himself from if he didn't want to end up as dead as a unicorn. Thus, it was no surprise that he found Professor Snape at his bedside in the deep of night, telling him he had suffered another nightmare, even if it was one he could not recall.

Once Severus had calmed Potter down from his fright from his nightmare, he sat with the boy for a while, watching him go back to sleep. He knew the boy wasn't getting enough rest, because of nightmares and the fear of attack hanging constantly over his head. Quietly, he told Potter that their upcoming training might help him fend off nightmares better, as it had once done for Severus himself. He was pleased to see the information calmed Potter a bit more, even eliciting a wan smile from the boy.

In the morning, of course, it was back to business as usual, with scowls in the classroom and criticisms of potions, lest anyone think he played favorites, especially to the Brat Who Lived to Ensnare His Conscience.

A few days later, Severus was glad to see the end of the term, glad to see the backs of most of the dunderheads who graced Hogwarts' halls, at least for a couple of weeks, and glad he only had three Slytherins to worry about until the new term began: Potter and a pair of sisters, from third and fifth year, whose parents were visiting family out of the country and could not afford to take the girls along. It would be a quiet Christmas, he hoped.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Christmas fell only two days after the children left for their homes on the Hogwarts Express. The last thing Severus expected on Christmas morning, at barely half-past the crack of dawn, was Harry Potter in his doorway. The boy held up a book so he could see the title, one, of course, he knew already, having wrapped the gift only the day before.

Oddly, the lower half of Potter's body was missing.

"Happy Christmas, sir! You gave me a present!" Potter told him unnecessarily, brandishing Keating's The Occluded Mind like a shield and grinning like a maniac.

"So I did," Severus replied. "Where are your legs?"

"I got loads of presents!" the Brat told him, which didn't have anything to do with his question, as far as he could tell. Perhaps the strain had finally gotten to the child, and his mind had snapped.

"Was one of the gifts new legs, perchance?"

Potter giggled, a sound Severus had never heard him make before. Indeed, he looked positively radiant, aglow with happiness and holiday cheer, and Severus was glad he had decided, this once, to abandon his credo to never bestow gifts upon any of his Snakes, lest they think him soft. "No, sir, but one of them was an Invisibility Cloak, see?" He pulled off the cloak completely then held it up again, so Severus could take in the whole effect, which he did, even going so far as to recall the last instance he had "seen" Potter the Elder using the infernal device during a prank. The memory was not a good one. "And guess what?" Harry continued. "The note said it used to be . . . er . . ."

"Your father's," Severus completed, as the horror of that statement dawned completely. Though why he should have thought Albus was smarter than to do such a monumentally stupid thing as to give this cloak to this child at this time was beyond him. There were so many ways this situation could end badly that tallying the possibilities was enough to give him a headache. Albus should have known better, honestly.

"Yeah." The boy tugged the offending garment fully away from his appendages and balled it up as his cheeks reddened. Severus watched his eyes, though, and Potter did not seem angry at his professor's tone, but . . . embarrassed? "How'd you know, sir? I mean, I don't even know who sent it; the note just said the cloak was my Dad's and that I should use it well."

Severus sneered. "You put on an article of magical clothing without any idea of who sent it?"

"No, sir!" the boy retorted. He looked hurt suddenly, as if Severus should know he was not as foolhardy as he appeared. "I mean, er . . . I did, yes, but I went through the spells like me'n Teddy did on the Frogs first. And it wasn't cursed. I checked."

With one eyebrows lifted, Severus said coolly, "You do, of course, realize that curses for apparel are substantially different than those for comestibles."

"I . . . what?"

Shaking his head, Severus chuckled softly and took pity on the boy at last, ushering him into his rooms and out of the cold corridor. It was not the first time Harry had come to his rooms, as the seating here was more comfortable for staring at photos than the hard chairs in his office, and Harry immediately settled on the worn, brown sofa in front of the fire where he usually sat, before looking up at him with confusion. After ordering the boy some cocoa and waiting till a House Elf delivered it, Severus repeated, "Comestibles. That which is consumed. By eating," he elucidated at the boy's continued blank look. "Food."

"Oh!" Potter smiled shyly and sipped at his cocoa, making a soft sound of appreciation. "Yes, sir, I know. But I still have one of the main books we used out from the library, and lots of the spells are transfig . . . tranform . . . well, trans-something-or-other by just changing or adding a word or two. Teddy and me were--"

"Ted--" Severus interrupted, then cleared his throat. "Theodore and I."

At the correction, Potter blinked owlishly at him then smirked. "Yes, sir. Teddy and I were going over some of those ones before he left. They're dead useful."

A smile tugged at his lips, but he took a sip of tea instead. "I daresay. Of whose other largesse were you the recipient this morning?" He smirked again at the boy's confusion, pleased to continue adding to his abysmal vocabulary, and added, "Who else gave you gifts?"

"Oh! Millie gave me new gloves for Quidditch, and Teddy gave me a book, too, like you did, sir, but on Charms. Hagrid gave me a flute; I think he carved it himself!" Potter looked immeasurably pleased at the prospect, and Severus recalled that the boy claimed Hagrid as his first friend in the Wizarding world. Good; Hagrid had come through for the boy. "And, um, Hermione gave me more Chocolate Frogs. I've got a decent collection of cards, now. About six of Professor Dumbledore, though."

Severus nodded, stating (and then explaining what he meant) that the Headmaster was indeed ubiquitous. He did not bother asking if the boy had received anything from his relatives. He already knew the answer, if their previous efforts were anything to go by.

Eyes still shining in happiness, Harry continued to chatter at him about his gifts, including thanking Severus several more times for the book. Once the boy had finished his cocoa, however, Severus ushered him back out of his rooms, with the admonition to eat more than just candy today, and that they were to begin Occlumency training on the morrow, so it would be in his best interests to at least look at the book by Keating, especially the index.

He did not tell the boy that he had tucked two pictures of Lily into that index, as he preferred not to be the recipient of another round of overwhelming thanks.

Just then, however, the boy said, "Oh, thanks! I almost forgot." He gave Severus another of his shy smiles before he pulled a small, flat package from the frontispiece of the book and passed it into Severus' hands. Biting his lip briefly, Harry said, "You've got to enlarge it first. Sorry; it's not much. Happy Christmas, Professor." Then he fled.

Puzzled, Severus stood stock still, listening to his door close with a quiet click, before he fully realized what had happened. Potter had given him a gift.

Potter had given him a gift.

Potter had given him a gift.

It was completely unexpected. After a few moments of consideration, however, he realized he should have expected something of the sort from this boy. Such a gesture was just like him. Just like this kind, amusing, diffident, unassuming, starved-for-affection little boy. How like Lily he was, in so many ways, right down to his occasional bouts of temper. Oh how she had raged when they were in school, sometimes, at the injustices against Muggleborns (like her) and half-bloods (like him). He remembered, suddenly, the first gift she had ever given him, and he darted into his bedroom to find it, needing desperately to see her drawing again.

After rooting around in various drawers, he finally found the pencil sketch tucked in the back of his wardrobe in a small box of odds and ends. She had done his face at the ripe age of ten, and even then her talent for shading (his nose) and proportion (his mouth) was apparent. She had progressed quite far over the years, of course, and . . . somewhere, he had an "updated" portrait she'd done of him when they were Fifth Years. It had been the last gift she ever gave him, for his 16th birthday in January 1976, six short months before their relationship had gone the way of all meat.

He realized he still held Harry's gift in his left hand, and he now sat back on his heels to open the small package, about the size and thickness of a Hogwarts letter. The wrapping was plain parchment that had been colored green and silver with a simple charm -- but one not officially taught to students. That the boy had gone so far as to learn a new spell for the wrapping touched him. Then he recalled that Harry had said to enlarge the gift, too, and the Shrinking Charm was definitely a second year spell.

After he reversed the charm, the package was easily twice as large as before, maybe three times. Severus removed the wrapping carefully, wondering what an eleven-year-old considered "not much," and gasped when he saw what lay within.

Lily's son had drawn him, too.

Severus looked from one picture to the other and noted the similarities and differences, even accounting for the twenty year span in his age when he was drawn. Harry's effort was, at once, a more complicated drawing than the one Lily had done, but understated and seemingly simplistic, with the darker ink lines coming together just so to complete the whole.

The boy's pen and ink sketch must have been mostly from memory, as it showed Severus at work, hovering over a cauldron with tiny wisps of vapor timelessly rising from its depths, and the boy could not have sketched him in this pose whilst in class and not been caught out. Using perspective quite well in the background he chose, he depicted a portion of Severus' office, with its shelves full of jars and bottles of ingredients, rather than the boring chalkboard of the Potions' classroom. In the figure of Severus himself, the boy had rendered his robes brilliantly, catching his trademark billow in a few short strokes. But the best work by far was in how he drew Severus' face, using subtle changes in tone to indicate eye sockets and the planes of his heavy nose and brows. And you could see the passion Severus had for his work in the pinpoints of dark fire in his eyes.

A marvelous effort, indeed, for one so young, not to mention untaught, since he knew very well the Dursleys would never have purchased lessons for their unwanted nephew.

He would need to tell Harry as much. And perhaps, show him his mother's drawing, too. Tomorrow perhaps, as a reward for Occlumency, if that lesson went well. He pursed his lips, considering, and sighed. Perhaps he would show the boy the drawing even if the lesson did not go well, which was more likely, given Harry's age and the emotional strain he was already under.

Cursing Albus for a meddling fool once again, with no regard for Harry's welfare, Severus returned to his sitting room where he finished his tea before picking up a bit from the morning's excitement. The crocheted throw Harry had confiscated while sipping cocoa was folded and replaced on the back of the sofa, and he banished the dishes to the kitchen. Severus moved the few gifts he had received -- from Minerva and Albus, in addition to Harry -- into his study, where he tucked one of the books into the space reserved for it, next to others by that particular author, and left the other on his desk till he had the chance to peruse it more thoroughly and decide how to catalogue it. Harry's drawing, after a moment's thought, he rested on its bottom edge against the back wall of his desk so he could see it while working on his lesson plans; a form of inspiration, perhaps, he thought with a smile.

Finally, he luxuriated in a long bath before putting on dress robes and gracing the Great Hall -- and its overblown Christmas dinner -- with his presence. For all the raucous, unfettered joy of it, which rarely gave him anything but a headache, he might not have bothered.

The children all ate too much candy and pudding, as he knew they would, and were exponentially louder as a result as the afternoon wore on. All ten of those staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, even the two Ravenclaw Seventh Years and the one lonely Hufflepuff Fourth Year, were far too filled with cheer for Severus' sensibilities -- excepting Percival Weasley, perhaps, a Gryffindor Prefect who had other unfortunate personality issues to more than make up for that lack, including a nauseating tendency to kiss arse.

The Christmas crackers were their usual booming, smoky annoyance, and the Headmaster showed off his new flowered bonnet with glee at dinner, while Hagrid got redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Minerva on the cheek. To Severus' amazement, she merely giggled and blushed instead of clocking the lout as he deserved, while her top hat wobbled to and fro. He had rarely seen her so deep in her own cups in front of the children, and hoped for her sake that she either forgot the incident entirely or, at least, did nothing even more foolish before she had a chance to sober up. He made a mental note to refuse her a hangover potion in the morning unless she asked very, very nicely. And brought a bribe.

Peripherally, Severus noted that Potter was the recipient of a Wizard's chess set from a cracker, among other treats, and wondered if the boy even knew how to play. Thus it was to his surprise that he found, late in the afternoon, after the children came in from a rowdy snowball fight -- which Severus had watched surreptitiously from an upper window to make sure no one (Potter, for instance) was injured -- and most had dispersed to their common rooms, Harry seated at one of the currently shrunken tables in the Great Hall, playing Wizard's chess against the youngest Weasley boy.

As far as he could recall from the previous few months, Potter and Weasley did not get along. Weasley had been one of Potter's most vocal attackers all last term, with his frequent accusations of how Harry must be on his way to becoming a Dark Wizard due to his placement in Slytherin. Severus appreciated neither the sentiment nor the preconceptions that fueled it.

Making his way toward them, Severus decided to find out what this sudden camaraderie was all about. Perhaps it was nothing more than the two boys being the only children in their year to be staying over the break. Or perhaps Weasley liked Wizard's chess more than clinging to his prejudices. Whatever the reason, Severus was glad to see Harry apparently enjoying himself, but he hoped the boy would not put too much faith in the redhead's current favor. He was bound to be disappointed.

With that in mind, he stopped near the boys to watch a few moves (ostensibly) and to glare at the Weasley boy (more genuinely.) On the board, Harry's pieces were in full out retreat. From the way he was softly (and uncertainly) entreating his pieces to listen to his commands, it was clear he had never played before.

Despite not needing to concentrate overmuch on the game, a couple moves passed before the oblivious redhead noticed one of his professors standing across the table from him. Not surprising; after all, the imbecile never paid attention to anything going on around him, which was why he was as much a menace in Potions as his year- and housemate, Longbottom. Between those two blundering idiots, the floor and ceiling of his classroom would need to be re-tiled over the summer, simply due to the number of exploding and/or melting cauldrons for which they were responsible. He wished he could take the cost of the damage out of their hides, and hoped only that neither caused injury to their classmates before the year was out, especially as his Slytherins shared that class with them.

"I can't believe you don't know how to play," Weasley was saying in a low voice while shaking his head mournfully. "Or I wouldn't, if you weren't so pants at the game. You're really hopeless, aren't you? Can't wait till I tell the twins how I beat Harry Potter at Wizard's chess!"

The back of Harry's neck was red in a way Severus recognized meant he was upset at the string of insults but unwilling to say so. As he knew Harry had been penalized for speaking out by the Muggles who raised him, this was hardly a surprise. He could also tell, by the way the boy's shoulders tensed, that Harry had realized almost immediately that Severus was standing behind him and was listening to every word. Also not a surprise, given his upbringing.

Severus had his best sneer ready for when the redhead's face finally rose to meet his. O, how glorious was the sight of blood draining from that wee freckled face! He had the power, he snickered to himself, to terrorize ickle firsties. How low he had fallen, truly.

"P-p-professor?" the boy asked with a gulp, though his blood flooded his cheeks swiftly enough once again, when Severus' lip curled just a little bit more. This Weasley, unlike his older brothers, was quick to anger and would be easy to provoke into some brash sentiment of bravado. Oh, he did hope so; there was little on this earth sweeter to Severus than assigning detention to a Gryffindor on Christmas Day.

"I did not realize Professor Quirrell's affectation was c-c-contagious," Severus mocked. A quiet expulsion of breath was all he heard from Potter, but it was enough to let him know the boy was trying not to laugh, even as the boy bowed his head as if not wanting to see what was about to happen.

Weasley's cheeks reddened further. "We're just playing a game. Sir. Well, I'm teaching him how to play."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "So I see." Sometimes the most innocuous statements could produce profound results.

Weasley proved his hypothesis correct by scowling darkly, then murmured something under his breath, almost too soft to hear.

But Severus had honed his hearing over the last dozen years of listening for potential explosions in his classroom, and caught the words: "can't see how," "anything," and "greasy." He could extrapolate the rest. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your disrespect, Mr. Weasley."

The boy was on his feet in an instant. "That's not fair!"

"Life rarely is," Severus opined. This young whelp could take a lesson or two from Harry on that truism, if nothing else.

The boy's chin came up. "You can't take points from me. I didn't even do anything!"

Severus' nostrils flared, and he carefully crossed his arms so as to not reach across the table and strangle the noisome creature. "Unless you were subjected to the Ventriloquist Charm, you certainly are responsible for what comes out of your mouth." He made a show of looking around the otherwise empty Hall. "And since even you can see that no one is here to have cast the spell, one must assume you moved your lips of your own volition."

"I wasn't even talking to you!" the boy snarled.

With a sneer, Severus used a soft, cutting tone. "Indeed, the case could be made that an idiot such as yourself is incapable of holding a conversation, Mr. Weasley, but that hardly matters. Shall I use small words so your small brain can keep up? Your words offended me. In fact, you are being rude again, right now. Ten more points from Gryffindor. That's thirty, I believe. I can make it an even fifty, if--"

"No!" the wretch said quickly. His hands were clenched into fists as he glared at the chessboard instead of his professor. Through gritted teeth, he said, "No, sir. Sorry. I didn't mean it."

Not quite the apology he might have hoped for, but Severus inclined his head sharply and strode away, but not fast enough to miss the last invective Weasley spat towards Harry in a low hiss, even as he shoved away from the table: "Should've known. You Slytherins are all alike. Have fun in the dungeons all alone, Snotter."

Severus sighed as he left the Great Hall. Apparently he had made things worse for Harry. What was that old saying about good intentions . . . ?