The day after Christmas, most of the teaching staff appeared to have run out of holiday spirit.  Nearly all had appeared at breakfast looking somewhat tired and lethargic.  Snape never showed, and even Professor McGonagall wore her more customary strict expression, snapping impatiently at two Hufflepuffs for giggling at the table.  Only the Headmaster seemed as cheery as ever, smiling and winking at Harry when he helped himself to a second cinnamon danish.

As Harry and Ron were leaving the table, he called Harry over with a wave, his blue eyes twinkling in that way Harry found a bit unnerving.  "That's a very handsome jumper, Harry," he complimented.

Harry grinned and ran a loving hand over his handmade jumper. "Mrs. Weasley made it -  just for me!" he exclaimed with no small amount of wonder.  He was inordinately proud of the jumper. It had been made especially for Harry, no one else - it fit fairly well, and best of all,  Dudley hadn't worn it first!

"Most attractive," Dumbledore nodded. "I trust you are having a pleasant holiday, Harry."

"Oh, yes sir!  It's the best Christmas I ever had!"

"I am glad you're enjoying yourself. Christmas is my favorite holiday as well," the Headmaster beamed. "And where are you boys off to now?"

"We're meeting Fred and George in the quad," Ron explained. "For a snowball fight!"

"Ah!  Excellent!" Dumbledore chirped.  "Do toss a few for my sake, won't you?"

Harry cut a glance at Professor McGonagall.  Her face remained stern but she gave him a quick, almost undetectable wink, and he bit his lip to keep from grinning. He followed Ron out, snickering to himself.

The three remaining days of holiday flew by for Harry.  His days were spent with Ron and his brothers by the common room fire, out playing in the snow, or flying around the Quidditch pitch in the cold crisp afternoons.  His evenings were spent in Snape's quarters, learning to use his fancy new quill and working on his potions essay. At Ron's insistent inquiries, he finally abandoned the detention excuse: even Ron wouldn't believe the snarky Potions Master was allowed to assign detentions during holiday break.  He told Ron that he had asked Snape for assistance with his potions work.  Ron was predictably incredulous. 

"Are you mental?" he'd shrieked.  "You actually volunteered to spend more time with that Greasy Git???"

"I want to pass Potions, Ron.  And at this rate I never will, without help," Harry had explained.  "And he's not so bad. . .I mean, not outside of class anyway."

"You're taking the piss, aren't you?" Ron had sneered skeptically.

  Fred and George had unexpectedly come to Harry's defense.

"Harry's right, Ron. .."

"Snape's not that dreadful. . ."

"....sometimes..."

"...relatively speaking."

"And he's right helpful when you approach him. . ."

"..the right way, that is."

"He's dead brilliant with potions, you know. . ."

"...he's helped us many times with our experiments."

Even Percy chimed in, in his own pompous way.  "I think it's admirable of Harry to ask for Professor Snape's assistance.  I'm glad to see one of you is taking his studies seriously."

Despite their reasonings, Ron made it clear he thought no need was great enough to spend extra study time with Snape, but he eventually let the subject drop.

Harry had his own uncertainties to worry about. He had been the first to suspect Snape of trying to steal whatever was hidden on the third floor - whatever that three-headed monster-dog was hiding.  It was only reasonable - after all, Snape had been injured Halloween night by something.  And Hermione had insisted that Snape had cursed Harry's broom during the Quidditch match. The fact that the curse ended when she set Snape's robes on fire was certainly persuasive.

But Harry was no longer so sure of his earlier convictions.  It just didn't make sense any more.  If Snape wanted to hurt him, he'd had endless opportunities - Harry was alone with the man twice a week.  And even if Snape avoided those chances for fear of being obvious, it didn't explain why he had been so nice to him.  McGonagall had made it clear Snape didn't have to tutor him. He didn't have to give Harry tea and biscuits.  And he surely didn't have to buy him a Christmas present.  He wouldn't do that if he wanted to hurt Harry, would he?

Harry hadn't expressed his doubts to Ron, but he worried and wondered over the matter, his confusing thoughts circling round and round in his head.  After he'd found the Mirror of Erised - and before the Headmaster told him not to look for it again - he had sat before the Mirror for hours, gazing at his Mum and Dad and wishing desperately that he could ask them for their advice.  But something told him not to seek outside guidance on the matter - not even from McGonagall or the Headmaster.  His instincts told him Snape wouldn't want him discussing his doubts.

On the last evening before the next term began, Harry sat brooding at Snape's table, staring unseeing at his potions essay.  His attention kept wandering, and he was deep in other thoughts when Snape finally commented.

"Aren't you done with that essay yet?"

Harry jumped guiltily and nodded.  He rose and brought it over to the man by the fire, then sat on the sofa without waiting for an invitation, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.  "Professor - may I ask you something?"

Snape glanced up.  "You may."

Harry blushed a little, unsure how to voice his query without angering the man. "Why do you...I mean. . .do you?. . .um. . ."

"Spit it out, Potter," Snape sneered.

"Oh. . .I just wondered....why are you so mean to me?" he blurted hesitantly. "In class, I mean?"

There was a long pause as Snape stared at him, his dark expression inscrutable. Harry felt like crawling under the sofa, and was just about to attempt a hasty retreat when Snape sighed irritably. He set the essay down and studied Harry intently. 

Harry flushed under his scrutiny. "I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled uncomfortably.  "I didn't mean to..."

"I expected this," Snape said pensively, almost as if speaking to himself.  "That doesn't make it any easier to . . . ."  he frowned.  "This may be difficult for you to comprehend, Mr. Potter, but I suppose you deserve some kind of explanation."  He folded his hands in his lap and peered sternly at him.  "The first thing you must understand, is that anything I say to you must go no further than this room.  You may not share it with your little friends, or another teacher...you must not speak of this to anyone, Potter. No one - not even the Headmaster. Is that quite clear?"  His grim expression made it plain that noncompliance on this point would have dire consequences.

"Yes, sir," Harry gulped.  "I understand."

"Will you give me your word that you will not repeat this?"

"Yes, sir.  I promise."  Harry felt both anxious and a bit proud that the aloof man would confide in him.

"There is much I would like to explain to you - much I would divulge if I could.  But I cannot.  There are some issues you are, quite frankly, still too young to understand. . .and others - well, other secrets are simply not mine to reveal." He paused to judge Harry's reaction.  Harry wanted to protest the ‘too young' remark but wisely only nodded.

"The best I can offer, is simply to tell you that there are reasons - very crucial reasons - why I must treat you differently in public than I do in private.  There are people who, if they suspected our ‘improved' relationship, could make both our lives. . .uncomfortable." He frowned. "Do you understand?"

"Not really," Harry admitted timidly, ". . .but if you say so, then I believe you."

"I'm sorry I can't be more explicit.  I can only ask you to trust me.  As unpleasant as it may be for both of us, I must continue to treat you in class as I always have. . .I must continue to be antagonistic toward you." 

Harry slumped forlornly. Snape leaned forward and fixed him with an intent stare.  "Please believe this, Mr. Potter. . . that no matter how angry or belligerent I may appear to you; no matter how insulting I may be publically, it is only a façade.  It is not my true attitude."  He sat back and glanced away as if slightly embarrassed. "My genuine estimation of you is quite different.  In truth of fact, I find you to be considerably more intelligent and amiable than I previously judged."

Harry fought not to gape at him.  "Really?"

"Yes," Snape muttered uncomfortably, giving him a small glare.  "And do not fish for compliments, Potter. It is enough to say that I consider you to be a satisfactory child, not unpleasant to be around. . . when you are not breaking rules, and causing mayhem!" he growled.

"Oh. . .t-thank you, sir," Harry stammered bashfully.

"Do not take my remarks as license to misbehave, however.  You will find yourself in a great deal of trouble if you do - is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry nodded emphatically.

"As I have stated, my revised opinion of you must remain confidential. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir,"  Harry replied gravely, hiding the fierce glow of pride he felt inside. "It's a secret - just between you and me."

"That is correct."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said softly.  "So - if you yell at me in class, I promise I won't let on that you don't really mean it."

"I do not yell, Mr. Potter," Snape glared at him.  "I reprimand," he sniffed indignantly. 

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, unable to suppress a dubious smirk.

"And now, Mr. Potter, you may return to your task," Snape huffed sourly, holding out the essay with a stern frown.  "There are three spelling errors within the first twelve inches alone!  Kindly correct this at once.  And do be quick about it. . .it is late and I would like to have my tea sometime this evening."

"Yes, sir," Harry grabbed the parchment and hurried back to the table to revise his essay. Half an hour later, after his teacher had finally accepted his modifications, the two sat in comfortable silence enjoying their nightly snack.  Harry found it very hard to suppress the foolish grin that desperately wanted to spread across his face.  Snape had not only said he didn't want to be mean to Harry, but had almost told him he liked him, sort of.  He had told Harry a secret and clearly trusted him to keep it.   AND he told Roker to bring the peanut butter biscuits, too!  Harry couldn't have been more pleased and content.

Snape sent him off early, well before curfew, admonishing him to get a decent night's sleep for a change. "No wandering the corridors tonight, Potter," he scolded mildly. "You have had nearly a week to sleep in as you pleased.  Your holiday is over. I want to see you alert and well-rested at breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, sir!" Harry promised, letting himself out.  "Good night, Professor!"

"Good night, Harry," Snape acknowledged distractedly.

Harry ambled slowly back to the Tower, hugging himself and smiling with secret delight.

He called me Harry!