December roared in, stormy and bitterly cold. The corridors were freezing, and even Snape's best warming charms failed to penetrate the arctic chill in the potions classroom. He strongly suspected interference from Peeves, but despite numerous rants to Albus, he had been unable to prove the poltergeist's involvement. Instead, he was forced to wear multiple layers of woolen garments to keep from shivering all day. His students huddled around their cauldrons, whining and grumbling about the cold. Snape showed no outward sympathy - but he did assign many of his more complex, time-consuming potions, so that the boiling cauldrons remained fired for most of each class time. The heat from the cauldrons did little to alleviate either Snape's chills, or his cranky disposition.

He certainly wasn't disposed to intervene in his godson's relentless heckling of Harry Potter. As he measured out powdered lionfish scales from the class stores for a clueless Gryffindor, Snape ignored most of the murmured taunts directed at Potter from the Slytherin side of the room.

"I do feel so sorry," he heard Draco drawl nastily, "For all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

Snape glanced curiously in Potter's direction, but the brat didn't seem the least disturbed, and went blithely on with his potion as if his adversary had never spoken. Crabbe and Goyle, the brainless gorms who shadowed his godson, snickered loudly at Draco's feeble gibe - no doubt out of dimwitted loyalty. But Draco scowled, brooding as usual, disappointed that his barbs had failed to wound his target.

Snape had his own reasons to regret Potter's lack of a Christmas homecoming. He had checked Minerva's short list of students remaining at the school over the holiday, and had groaned aloud at the ominous inclusion of two specific names - Potter and his crony, Weasley. Snape had been hoping for a quiet holiday - one free from his normal student surveillance, diligently on the lookout for any rule infractions. Christmas was usually so peaceful, with few troublesome students to cause concern. Now he would no doubt be forced to sacrifice much of his precious leisure time to keeping an eye on the undisciplined pair. He felt far less sorry for Potter than for himself.

Still. . . mocking a classmate for missing Christmas at home was a bit cold - even if it was Potter. He glanced Draco's way with a disapproving frown. It was a crude jab - rather unsporting, really. He must remember to have a little chat with his godson - to explain the finer points of effective insults. . . to teach him how to ridicule one's opponents with a bit more finesse.

When the class ended, the students scattered with their usual alacrity. Aching from the chill, Snape decided to postpone his usual tidy-up routine, in favor of a hot cup of tea and a much needed warm-up by the staffroom fire. He was climbing the stairs from the dungeons when he overheard the familiar sulky tones of a petulant Malfoy, raised in scorn. Dissatisfied with Potter's lackluster response, Draco was now apparently targeting Weasley with his somewhat unoriginal insults.

Too easy. Hardly sporting. . . like fish in a barrel. Weasley's short temper is sucker's bait.

He reached the top of the stairs in time to see the surly little redhead lunge at Draco, grasping at his robes.

"WEASLEY!" Snape's bellow startled the prat into releasing his godson.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape."

Snape stared in bewilderment at the monstrous evergreen blocking the corridor. The deep voice seemed to emanate from the tree. Before he could work out why a huge fir tree was looming in the corridor, much less defending Weasley, the hairy visage of Hagrid the Gamekeeper poked out from behind the damp branches. "Malfoy was insultin' his family," the giant explained.

Snape was not about to back down from a chance to take points from the cheeky Gryffindor, regardless of fault. "Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid. Five points from Gryffindor , Weasley - and be grateful it isn't more. Move along all of you."

Draco and his goons shoved past, littering the floor with pine needles. Snape had an inexplicable urge to wipe the smirk from his godson's face, but he contented himself with aiming an undeserved glare at Potter, and turning to find an alternate route to the staffroom - one that was free of dead evergreens.

Weasley's and Potter's muttered grousing floated after him, barely audible in the noisy hall.

"I'll get him - one of these days, I'll get him!" the Weasley brat threatened impotently.

"I hate them both - Malfoy and Snape!" Harry snarled.

--

Potter's terse invective startled Snape, though he wouldn't have admitted it. Of course his students hated him. He was proud of that fact. He'd worked hard for it. And he was especially spiteful towards Potter, in class and in public.

But the nights that he tutored the boy, in the privacy of his chambers - he had thought they had reached a kind of temporary truce - an understanding. He wasn't particularly kind to the boy, but he had discovered that Potter responded better to mild praise and encouragement, than to harsh criticism. And Potter had unquestionably blossomed under Snape's direction. Without any real forethought on Snape's part, they had moved past penmanship into academic tutoring. Severus now proofread all of the boy's homework, making him correct or rewrite as necessary. He had coaxed, and sometimes bullied the boy into using his brain for a change. As he had suspected, Potter didn't lack intelligence - he was simply mentally disorganized. Snape was slowly training him how to organize his chaotic thoughts - how to conduct proper research, and then express himself clearly and concisely, verbally and on parchment. And the boy's schoolwork was definitely improving under Snape's firm guidance. All of his other teachers had commented on the boy's remarkable progress.

Snape slunk into the staffroom, claiming the chair closest to the hearth with a ill-tempered glower that discouraged the other teachers from disturbing him. He accepted the small pot of steaming hot tea the house elf offered, and settled in for a nice long sulk. Potter's declaration of hatred annoyed him.

Has the boy no gratitude? No appreciation for the . . .well, not friendship perhaps, but at least the cessation of hostilities that I have so generously afforded him?

Severus didn't pamper the boy. He was routinely demanding and strict. He never let the boy get away with anything less than his best effort. But Potter hadn't seemed to mind his severity. He seemed to relish rising to Snape's challenges and meeting his high standards. Although their study sessions weren't actually official in any sense, Potter never complained about them, or expressed a desire to end them.

Snape wasn't sure why he had continued the sessions. He supposed it was some sort of homage to his past friendship with Lily that prompted him to give up two free evenings a week to instruct the child. But he had rather thought the boy didn't entirely loathe their time together. After their lessons, Potter often lingered over their customary tea. He even instigated casual, reasonably lucid conversation on occasion. Snape had assumed the boy at least marginally tolerated the company of his grim Potions Professor.

Oh, well. Potter's gratification was probably aimed less at his teacher, than at the nauseating peanut butter biscuits that Severus was so generous in providing.

Not that it matters. I don't care if the brat hates me - as long as he fears me. I don't need Potter's affection - just his compliance. And I daresay he will find me considerably harder to please in future!

Severus poured himself another cup of tea and nursed plans for a grueling future study session with Harry-Bloody-Potter.

I think I'll tell Roker to stop bringing those peanut butter things. The brat can eat plain shortbread, or go without!

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

Harry blinked up at his Head of House, his tense posture broadcasting his discomfort. Minerva smiled at him, and offered him another biscuit to lessen his uneasiness. The boy took it hesitantly, and clutched in his free hand. His other hand gripped his teacup desperately as if it were some kind of lifeline.

"Well, Mr. Potter - Harry," she began brightly. "I see you are to be staying here with us for the holidays. I hope you will not miss your family too terribly much."

"No, m'am," the boy assured her with a touch too much enthusiasm. "I'm. . . umm, I'm looking forward to staying. It will be . . .different. I guess."

Minerva nodded confidently. "Oh my, yes. I think you will like Christmas at Hogwarts, Harry. It's not like home, I know - but we try to enjoy ourselves. With most of the students gone, the staff tends to be a little more relaxed - a little more indulgent, I suppose. And we do try to insure that the students who stay with us feel welcome and included. We traditionally clear away the house tables and all eat meals together, students and teachers alike, at one smaller table. It's cozier, I think - more friendly. . .like one big family."

Minerva noted that the boy's nervousness seemed to ease a bit, as he listened with rapt interest.

"Truth be told, Harry," she continued with a grin of mischief, "I think some of the Professors derive more childlike pleasure from the festivities than their students. As I'm sure you've noticed, Professor Flitwick adores decorating the Great Hall! Every year, he tries his best to outdo himself. And the Headmaster! Nobody puts together a livelier, more sumptuous Christmas Feast than Albus Dumbledore, let me tell you!"

She smirked at the boy's stunned expression. "On Christmas Eve, the teachers have a small party of their own," she confided with a wink. "You haven't truly experienced Christmas, until you've heard Madam Pomphrey, Madam Pince, Hagrid and Professor Sprout, wandering the halls in the dead of night, singing carols at the top of their lungs!" She chuckled at Harry's delighted laugh, glad to have amused him.

"What's your favorite part of Christmas at Hogwarts, Professor?" the boy asked shyly.

"Me? Oh, all of it, I suppose." She smiled and bent closer to murmur conspiratorially. "Of course, it wouldn't be proper to reveal any event that might place one of your Professors in a less than dignified light. . ." she paused for effect. "...but I wouldn't be surprised, that if you were to glance out a North Wing window, (say, early Christmas night, just before dusk), you might glimpse your Head of House pelting a certain Potions Professor, in a long-standing annual duel of snowballs-at-twenty-paces!"

Harry gaped at her in clear disbelief.

"You didn't hear it from me, of course. . ," she continued primly, her eyes twinkling with humor. ". . .and I am certain Professor Snape would flatly deny it - but I have won that annual duel for nine years running!"

"You. . . you have a snowball fight? With Professor Snape?" the boy squeaked.

"It's our own little private tradition," Minerva confided, sighing. "I really don't know why the poor man persists, year after year." She drew herself up proudly. "It may interest you to know, young Harry, that I was a pretty fair Chaser in my day."

"You played Quidditch?"

"Certainly! And I still have quite the deadly aim, you know. That's why poor Severus never stands a chance." She smirked with satisfaction. "Mind you - this is strictly classified information, Harry. You mustn't ever reveal our little secret to anyone. . . . nor (Merlin Forbid!) let on to Professor Snape that you know about it. If you were to find yourself in a position to observe - strictly as a hidden spectator, of course - you must be very careful not to be discovered. If Professor Snape ever learned that our little bit of fun had an audience - particularly a student audience - he would never forgive me! I'm certain it would be the end of our snowball duels forever, and I should be very sorry for that. " She gave the dumbfounded child a expectant grin. "You won't betray me, will you Harry?"

"Course not! Never!" Harry vowed earnestly. He gave her a hopeful smile. "Uhmm, Professor? Do you suppose it would be all right if Ron Weasley happened to be looking out that window with me on Christmas night?"

Minerva mulled his request over in her mind. "I would like to say yes, Harry. . .but to be honest, I think this had best be our little secret alone. It's not that I'm not fond of Mr. Weasley - I am, I assure you. But I fear Ronald has an unreliable temper, and tends to speak before he thinks. He wouldn't mean to betray us, of course. . . but if he were to become unavoidably angry at Professor Snape, he is likely to let it slip out of spite. Do you understand what I mean?"

Harry looked a tad disappointed, but after a moment's thought, he nodded gravely. "Yes, m'am. I understand. And I suppose you're right. Ron does tend to blurt things out, particularly when he's mad." Harry sighed ruefully. "He gets mad at Professor Snape rather a lot, to be truthful. I can't imagine him turning down an opportunity to embarrass Snape, not if he knew a way to do it - not if he was really mad. I won't tell him, I promise."

"Thank you, Harry. I know I can trust you," Minerva patted his hand gently and offered him another biscuit. Harry chewed it thoughtfully.

"So, Harry. . ." Minerva felt the time was right for a careful change of subject. "How are your studies coming along?"

"Fine," the boy answered automatically - the standard child's reply to that question from any adult.

"I have been very impressed with the recent progress you have made, Harry. Your grades are improving quite dramatically - all the teachers have said so. I am very proud of you," Minerva persisted.

"Thank you, m'am," Harry replied, blushing uncomfortably. "It's not really my doing, honestly. I guess you can give Professor Snape most of the credit."

"Professor Snape?" Minerva asked in confusion.

"Yes, m'am. He makes me do my homework in our weekly detentions. He corrects my essays - even makes me rewrite them if they're too messy," Harry admitted despondently. "And he's awfully picky. I have to get all the answers right - and prove my points with references - or he'll make me do it over. I don't mind really - not that much. I am learning a lot, and he's terribly keen - he never lets go of a thing until he's sure I understand it. But he is really strict. Still - I guess I wouldn't be doing so well if he didn't push me."

Minerva gaped at him. "I'm not sure I understand, Harry. You say you have weekly detentions with Professor Snape? Every week? "

"Yes, m'am. Every Monday and Thursday nights." Harry paled at the shocked expression on Minerva's face. "I'm s-sorry, m'am," he stammered. " I - I thought you knew. I guess you're disappointed in me. I know it's a lot of detentions, Professor - but honestly - I don't even know what I did to earn them half the time! And at least Snape doesn't take house points - well, in class he does, but never in detentions. He. . . he, well - I guess he just doesn't like me, Professor."

Minerva struggled to collect her frenzied thoughts. What in the world was Severus up to?

"Wait just a minute, Harry," she said sharply, noting the boy's distressed expression. " Calm down, my boy. I'm not angry, just surprised. Sit still for moment, while I check something." She jumped up, flustered. "Here!" She shoved the tin of biscuits at him distractedly. "Have a biscuit!" she barked.

She charged to her desk in a mild tizzy. " I just need to check some files. . . .", she muttered, shuffling through the parchments on her desk in agitation. "I know I had it here, earlier. . . . .ah! Here it is!" She snatched up the file and scanned quickly through the pages. Then she scowled, and scanned them a second time. She sat back in her chair with a frown, her shrewd mind racing.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry's soft voice quavered anxiously. "Are you all right, m'am? Have - have I done something wrong?"

Minerva stared at the bewildered boy. Harry hadn't moved; he still clutched his teacup in one hand, and the tin of biscuits in the other, gaping at her in apprehension. "Oh, Harry," Minerva sighed. She rose and crossed to him, the file still in her hand. "No, my dear boy, of course you haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you, dear." She sat beside him and patted his arm soothingly. "Here, child - give me those," she took back the tin of biscuits and popped one into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Harry, I just need to clarify a few things," she said carefully. "Let me see if I understand correctly. You say you have been having regular detentions with Professor Snape, twice a week. Is that right?"

"Yes, m'am."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Umm - about five, maybe six weeks."

"Harry," Minerva replied gently, patting the file in her lap. "This file automatically records all of the detentions served by Gryffindor students. Every Head of House has one like it: they help us to stay informed on our students' development. Any disciplinary action taken by any staff member toward any Gryffindor, - detentions or points - is instantly recorded in this file. That is how I keep up with my students' punishments - how I learn if they are having problems."

Harry nodded. "That's how you know when we get into trouble, isn't it?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Am I in trouble, Professor McGonagall?" the boy asked gravely.

"No, Harry. I don't believe so." Minerva studied him earnestly. "But, Harry. . . this file show no detentions for you from Professor Snape for quite some time. The last detention recorded by him was nearly three months ago."

Harry screwed his face up in bewilderment. "But. . . but I don't understand!"

"I'm not sure I do either," Minerva admitted wryly. "Harry - did Professor Snape tell you that your meetings with him were detentions? Did he call them that?"

The boy chewed a fingernail nervously. "Ummm , no. . .well, not exactly. But he tells me when to come, and he makes me work."

"But he didn't actually say they were detentions?"

"No, m'am," Harry admitted. "But the first time, he made me stay after class - and he yelled at me for writing messy essays! And he told me to come that night to his office. . . I just assumed it was a detention."

"I see. And what punishment did he give you that night, when you went to his office? What did he make you do?"

"He didn't really punish me, exactly. I mean, he took me into his quarters and taught me how to trim quills, and how to write on parchment with them. Then he made me copy this alphabet over and over."

"He took you into his quarters? His private quarters?" Minerva squeaked in astonishment.

"Yes, m'am. That's where we always meet."

"Oh, my." Minerva bit her lip and tried not to reveal her shock. She was actually quite fond of Severus, and she didn't like where her thoughts were taking her. "And...erm..what do you do in Professor Snape's quarters, Harry?"

"Well, like I said, the first night he made me copy the alphabet."

"Copy the alphabet?"

"Yes, m'am. He said if he had to read my essays, then I had to learn to write properly. I hadn't ever used a quill before Hogwarts, and I had a lot of trouble at first. But Snape taught me how, and made me practice my penmanship every night until I got better."

"I see." Minerva was at total loss. She didn't know how to respond.

"He made me come back the next Thursday night, and practice some more. Then he said I should just plan to come every Monday and Thursday because I was so disorganized and had such terrible study habits that it would take a long time to set me straight."

"Oh. I see. I think. . . . And he makes you practice your penmanship every time, Harry?"

"Oh, no, m'am. We got past that a long time ago. Professor Snape says my writing will never be exceptional, but at least it's legible now. And I don't splatter ink so much anymore."

"But you have continued these. . . meetings?"

"Yes, m'am. . . ever since then. I had to start bringing my homework with me each time, and work on it there, where he could help me out, like I said."

"And what does Professor Snape do while you study?"

"Oh, reads, mostly. Sometimes he sits by the fire and reads journals and such. Sometimes he sits at the table with me and grades papers." Harry shrugged. "I like it better when he reads...but please don't tell him I said that," he grimaced. "When he grades papers, he mumbles and snarls a lot, and it's kinda distracting."

Minerva suppressed an urge to giggle, and wondered if her sanity was slipping away with each of the child's startling new revelations.

"And Professor Snape helps you do your homework, Harry?"

"Wellll. . ."the boy hesitated. "He doesn't actually help me do it, you understand. I have to do it myself. But he showed me how to organize my notes, and he checks my work after, to make sure it's right, and marks it if it's not. Then he makes me go look up the right answers. . . well - except for my potions homework. He looks at that, but he doesn't correct it. He says that wouldn't be fair to his other students. . .but sometime he kinda hints around if I got something really screwed up." Harry blushed with chagrin and rolled his eyes. " I don't think he means to, you know. . .give me hints? I think it just drives him mental if my potions homework has errors in it!"

Minerva suppressed a snort of amusement. That, at least, sounded like the Severus Snape she knew.

"So. You meet with Professor Snape twice a week, and he helps you study - is that about it? Do you do anything else together, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "We have tea."

"You have tea." Minerva repeated woodenly.

"Tea," Harry nodded. "About nine o'clock I stop my work, and Roker - that's a house elf - he brings tea and biscuits. We have our tea and then I go back to my dorm." His face abruptly brightened. "Roker brings these really brilliant peanut butter biscuits - they're my favorite! Professor Snape orders them specially - but he never eats them himself. I think he just does that ‘cause he knows I like them," he grinned happily.

Minerva placed a hand firmly over her mouth to hide a smile and nodded gravely. "Very well, Harry. I think I'm beginning to understand. Tell me - have you told anyone else about these detentions with Professor Snape?"

"Well - not exactly. I mean, everyone knows I have them. Ron and Hermione think Snape is really evil and unfair to assign me so many, but they never ask much about what I do. I guess everyone assumes I wash cauldrons and stuff, and I just let them think that." The boy blushed faintly and hung his head. "I didn't tell them at first because I was embarrassed - about being so hopeless with the quills, and writing so poorly, you know? I guess I didn't want anyone to know that I had to have Snape, of all people, teach me how to write properly."

"Professor Snape, Harry. And that is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, my boy. Most children from Muggle homes have problems at first," she reassured him gently.

"Well, anyway - after we started on my other lessons, I never really mentioned it to anyone. I guess I didn't want to admit that I'm so dumb that Professor Snape has to help me study."

Minerva leaned forward and grasped the boy's chin firmly. "Harry James Potter - you are not dumb! Not by any means! Quite the contrary - you are a bright and diligent boy, and I'm very proud of the extra effort you have made."

Harry shrugged diffidently. "But. . .if I'm not dumb, then why all the detentions? Why does Sn- Professor Snape have to help me so much?"

"But they aren't detentions, Harry. I thought I explained that. I believe that Professor Snape has decided to tutor you, to give you special guidance in your studies."

"But why?"

"Perhaps he thinks you deserve it. Perhaps he thinks you're worth the extra effort."

"That doesn't sound like Professor Snape," Harry grumbled dubiously.

"Hmm. Nevertheless, it is a very generous gesture on his part. Our Professors aren't required to offer private tutoring, Harry. If they do it, it's because they want to. And they only do it when a student merits it. You should feel proud and grateful that the Professor is willing to spend his free time helping you."

Harry's green eyes gazed up her, his doubts and fears so clear in their depths. "If Professor Snape wanted to tutor me, why didn't he just say so? Why didn't he tell me that's what he's doing?"

Minerva sighed. "He probably assumes you understood that, Harry. Professor Snape is a brilliant man, and a dedicated educator. . .but I'll admit he sometimes has a bit of difficulty communicating with his students in a - well - constructive manner, shall we say?" Harry snorted and rolled his eyes again. "Anyway, what you need to try to understand, is that Professor Snape is not an expressive man by nature."

"He expresses himself pretty well, if you ask me," Harry winced ruefully. "You should hear the hateful things he says to me in class!"

"Be that as it may, he does not often show personal interest in a student. And he would not give up two free evenings a week to tutor a student he did not feel some regard for. You must remember this, and treat him with the respect and appreciation he deserves, Harry."

"Yes, m'am."

"Now. My next question is, do you wish to continue these tutoring sessions?"

"You mean I have a choice?" the boy asked in surprise.

"Certainly. Students who are failing their classes, may be required to take special tutoring. Your grades do not necessitate compulsory attendance. If you want me to, I can put a stop to them."

The boy stared into the fire, his brow furrowed in thought. "Nooooo," he murmured finally. "I don't really want to stop them. I mean, Snape can be pretty mean and unfair sometimes. . . but I have learned a lot from him. And he has helped me, more than he knows, I think." He looked up and nodded to her seriously. "I'd like the lessons to continue. . .as long as he's willing, I mean."

"Very well. Then I suggest we leave things as they are, shall we? You may change your mind at any time, if you no longer feel the need for the lessons. And if you have any concerns - any problems - with either Professor Snape or anything else - I want you to understand that you can always come to me, Harry. I mean that sincerely, and I want you to believe it. I am always here for you - and not just because I'm your Head of House, dear. Anytime you need to talk, you may come see me, all right?" On impulse, Minerva leaned over and trailed a finger tenderly down the boy's round cheek , smiling at him.

"Yes, m'am,' the boy replied with a shy smile. "Thank you, Professor."

Minerva took the empty cup from his hand and rose to escort him out of her office. "Oh, and Harry. . . I think it might be best if you didn't mention our little discussion to Professor Snape. I think your original instincts were right. . .it would be better if you keep your tutoring sessions private between you and the Professor."

The boy nodded, a shrewd gleam in his eyes that was too wise for his age. "I know Snape's doing me a favor. . .but he wouldn't like anyone else to know that, would he? It doesn't really fit with his image of the Greasy Old Bat, does it?"

"I see you do understand, Mr. Potter." Minerva smiled approvingly.

"Okay, Professor. I can keep secrets." Harry gave her cheeky smile. "See you outside the North Wing - Christmas night!"

"Christmas night, Mr. Potter," she smirked.

Harry let himself out the door, paused, then popped his head back in with a wicked grin. "Thump him with a big cold wet one for me, Professor!" he chirped and disappeared.

Minerva shook her head and chuckled. "I may just do that, Mr. Potter. . . I may indeed."