By the time they reached the dungeons, Harry was already exhausted. Snape made him sit down at a table in the first row of the Potions classroom, and Harry was glad to be able to rest, while the professor gathered the recipe and the ingredients. A few minutes later, Snape laid a recipe on the table next to the cauldron in front of Harry.

“All right, Potter, you can brew a potion for your lung infection. It’s a bit difficult, but if you succeed, I don’t have to brew it later on,” the teacher sneered, while he placed the ingredients next to the recipe.

“I’ll try, sir,” Harry replied timidly, trying to ignore the menacing tone in the professor’s voice. “I’m sorry, sir, but could you please help and tell me how exactly I have to prepare the ingredients? Does it matter in which size I cut the moon fern for example?”

‘That’s a good question for an eight-year-old,’ Snape thought to himself and showed Harry how to prepare the moon fern. Harry continued to ask the teacher about every ingredient and diligently did exactly what he was told, so that Snape couldn’t help enjoy teaching the boy, and two hours later, they had brewed a flawless potion together.

‘He seems to be extremely adept at Potions in spite of being Potter’s son,’ Snape mused. ‘Well, he is Lily’s son as well and she was very good at brewing Potions,’ a small voice in the back of his mind spoke up, while he bottled the potion into small phials, glancing at the child from the corner of his eyes. “Well done,” he told the boy in a neutral voice, noticing that he was slightly shivering.

“Thank you, Professor, for teaching me,” Harry replied politely, before he enquired hesitantly, “Would you mind teaching me more? It was very interesting, although I should perhaps learn a bit about the ingredients beforehand.”

Severus let out a long sigh. “I have to brew several potions for the hospital wing,” he finally admitted, “and you may assist if you wish. However, seeing that it is nearly time for Christmas Dinner and that you’re in dire need of some rest, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey would kill me if we continued to brew right now.” Seeing an expression of disappointment flash over Harry’s face, he added, “If Madam Pomfrey allows you out of bed again tomorrow, I’ll continue to teach you how to brew. In the meantime...” He motioned Harry to follow him and led him through his office into his private quarters, where he made the child sit on the sofa and proceeded to skim one of the huge bookshelves.

“Here,” he finally said, handing Harry a small book, titled, ‘The Basics about Magical Potions Ingredients.’ “If you feel well enough to read, I suggest that you look at this first. We can talk about what you read later on since you’ll surely have questions.”

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Harry replied hoarsely, feeling very grateful towards the man. ‘He is much nicer than he seems to be,’ he mused in confusion. ‘Why does he behave as if he was the meanest teacher on earth? I like him, and he doesn’t fret over me like all the others do just because I’m a bit sick.’

“All right, Potter,” the professor’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “If you’re still awake, I suggest that we return to the Great Hall for dinner. You may leave your potions kit in the classroom since nobody is here over the holidays, and we can continue tomorrow if you wish.”

“I’d love to brew again tomorrow, Professor. Thank you very much,” Harry replied, before he dragged himself back to the Great Hall, glad that the teacher walked in a moderate pace without even pointing out the matter.

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When they reached the Great Hall, all the other teachers were already waiting for them.

“Please excuse our tardiness, but the way up from the dungeons is far enough and just manageable for normal eleven-year-olds but not for small eight-year-olds, who belong into the hospital wing,” Snape sneered, taking his seat next to the Headmaster, while McGonagall and Pomfrey called Harry over to sit on the empty chair between them.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” McGonagall queried in a soft voice, giving him a piercing look.

“Yes, I enjoyed it very much, and it was very interesting,” Harry replied, ending up in a coughing fit.

“Are you feeling all right, Harry?” Pomfrey enquired, worriedly extending a hand to his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Harry croaked in spite of feeling absolutely exhausted. He forced himself to eat a few bites of the delicious meal, knowing that he wouldn’t find the way back to the hospital wing on his own and therefore had to wait patiently until dinner was finished anyway.

“What did you brew?” the Healer asked interestedly, causing Harry to frown.

“I don’t know what the potion is called, but Professor Snape said it was a potion for my lung infection,” he replied thoughtfully, fiercely rubbing his forehead hoping to make the headache bearable that had been bothering him during the last few hours.

“Severus, did you honestly let Harry brew a fourth year’s potion?” Pomfrey turned to the Potions Master, causing her colleagues to frown.

“Why not? Mr. Potter seems to be very adept at brewing, and with my help he managed to brew a flawless potion,” Snape returned, and his colleagues let out a collective gasp.

“Well done, Harry. Professor Snape doesn’t easily commend people,” McGonagall told the child. Seeing that Harry remained unresponsive, she stood up from her seat. “Come Harry, let me take you back to bed.”

Harry threw the teacher a grateful nod, slowly following her out of the Great Hall. “Professor, are these pictures enchanted so that the people can move?” he asked interestedly, tiredly leaning against the wall.

“The pictures are charmed, Harry. In the magical world, all the pictures move. Even if you take photographs of people or have pictures of persons for example in the newspapers, the people in the pictures and photos move and talk.”

Harry thought for a moment, before he asked with a mixture of curiosity and hopefulness on his face, “So if I had a picture of my parents, would I be able to speak with them?”

McGonagall let out a small sigh as she slowly continued to walk in the direction of the hospital wing. “Yes Harry, if it was a magical picture, you’d probably be able to talk to them. However, they might not know you. They’d only have the knowledge of the time when the picture was taken. I’ll have a look when I’m back in my quarters. Maybe I still have a photograph of your parents. You could also ask Professor Snape. He was your mother’s best friend while they were at Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry blurted out in surprise, causing the professor to throw him an amused glance.

Back in the hospital wing, Harry gratefully returned to his bed, throwing the professor a thankful look when she magically exchanged his clothes with his pyjamas. McGonagall had just made Harry drink the potions that Pomfrey had prescribed when Dumbledore, Snape, and Pomfrey entered the room.

“Let’s retreat to Poppy’s office, so that Harry can sleep,” Dumbledore told his colleagues in a small voice, causing the teachers to assemble in the small office next to Harry’s bed.

“Father Christmas, can you hear me?” Harry whispered in a very small voice. “I don’t know if you’re able to hear me, but I want to thank you so much for bringing me here. This is the best Christmas present I could have ever imagined. This is only my first day here, but I’m already really happy. Thank you very much.”

He glanced at his night table in amazement, wondering how all his presents, which he had left in the Great Hall when he went to brew his potion with Professor Snape, had found their way to his night table. Sighing happily, he took the book that he had borrowed from the Potions Master in his hands and began to read, until he noticed that his headache worsened immensely. ‘I better stop reading,’ he thought sadly, closed the book, and lay down, cuddling the book close.

A few minutes later, the Potions Master’s voice penetrated his ears. “I didn’t lend you the book to cuddle with it but to read it,” the teacher said, smirking, without any malice in his voice.

“I wanted to read, but my head hurts too much,” Harry replied in a small voice, taking the book in his hands.

“I believe that you shouldn’t read at all tonight, considering that you have quite a fever,” the professor told him in a soft, silky voice. “Do you want me to tell you a bit about Hogwarts?” he queried, taking a seat next to Harry’s bed.

“I’d love that, Professor,” Harry replied gratefully, slowly looking up into the teacher’s dark eyes.

During the next thirty minutes, Severus talked to the boy about the four people, who had founded Hogwarts nearly a thousand years ago and about the school as it currently presented itself, lulling the child into sleep with his soft silky voice. Only when he was sure that Harry was fast asleep, Snape placed the book on the night table and returned to the office, where his colleagues were still having tea together.

Hearing that Harry wanted to cuddle with a book, McGonagall conjured a stuffed dragon, which she gave the child in his arm, noticing that he cuddled the stuffed animal close, while a small smile played on his lips as he continued to sleep.

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When Harry woke up in the morning, the Headmaster was sitting next to his bed, greeting him with twinkling eyes.

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry croaked, coughing a few times.

“Good morning, my dear boy, how are you on this fine morning?” Dumbledore enquired gently.

“I’m all right,” Harry lied. “Professor, is there any chance to get a piece of paper and a pencil somewhere? I need to write thank you letters to Father Christmas for bringing me here and to Mrs. Figg for forwarding my letter to Father Christmas.”

The Headmaster quickly conjured two pieces of parchment and a quill, explaining, “I’m sorry, Harry, but we use parchment and quills in the magical world. I’ll post your letters afterwards if you want me to do so.”

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Harry croaked gratefully. “Would it be possible to brew potions again with Professor Snape, sir?” he asked hesitantly, causing the Headmaster’s eyes to twinkle merrily.

“Of course that would be all right, my boy, provided that Madam Pomfrey deems you well enough to get up at all. However, I believe that it would be better if you spent some time with the other teachers in order to get to know them all, so that it will be easier for you to decide, whom you want to become your guardian,” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully.

“Oh, I don’t have to think about that,” Harry said, coughing violently. “I like Professor McGonagall a lot, but if I had to decide on one person, I’d love Professor Snape to become my guardian.”