Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

The Library, Hogwarts, December 1996 (11)

Three days before everyone left for the Christmas holiday, Harry made a decision. The thing he overheard two nights ago in the library decided him.

"So, you going to see your boyfriend over the holiday?" Lavender Brown asked Hermione.

Steps away from the girls, Harry nearly dislocated his shoulder spinning about to flatten himself against a neighboring bookcase.

"What?" Hermione squeaked.

"The bloke she saw you with on Diagon Alley?"

Shifting to spy over a row of books, Harry saw Hermione looking at Parvati Patil, bewildered.

"Oh, don't play coy!" Lavender cooed. "I saw you and Ron in front of Madam Malkin's talking to the Malfoys, that tall, gorgeous blond by your side!" She elbowed Parvati. "I don't know what Mr. Malfoy said, but at one point Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous looked like he was going to haul off and punch him straight in the mouth! Oh, I wish you'd seen him, stepping in front of Hermione as if she needed protecting - it was just darling!" Harry rolled his eyes when she pouted and added: "If only Ron was like that with me..."

"Oh please!" Parvati scoffed. "You'd be better rid of that arse! ...Um, no offence, Hermione," she quickly added, without an iota of sincerity.

Hermione smiled. "Oh, none taken," she said lightly. "It's remarkable how readily one with similar traits recognizes a fellow."

Parvati despised Ron, had ever since his ‘horrid' treatment of her sister at the Yule Ball fourth-year. Like most everyone else she had found him and Lavender as a couple laughable, but unlike most everyone else, she had never shied away from saying so. While Hermione agreed with her about the Ron/Lavender mess, she had never adopted Parvati's vicious, condescending attitude nor bashed Lavender, whom she believed had as much honest feeling for Ron as a nail had for a piece of wood. And it seemed the girl held her friendship with Parvati in the same shallow esteem: When Parvati opened her mouth in what was sure to be a biting rejoinder, Lavender jabbed her in the side, plainly eager to circle back to the juicy and (when discussed in private with Parvati) unbelievable topic of Hermione's love life.

"So," she said, turning back to Hermione, "this blond, is he your boyfriend?"

"No!" Hermione snapped. "He's a friend... just a friend." She began to throw her books into her book bag, thinking the gossipmongers would get the hint. No such luck.

"Then why are you blushing?" Parvati demanded.

"Well, he was gorgeous... wasn't he, Hermione?" Lavender sighed wistfully.

Harry didn't stick around to hear her response; he felt like a heel for having lingered as long as he had. Meandering down to the dungeons, he replayed the conversation: Hermione only liked James as a friend - James who was tall where Harry was short; James whose hair was blond, and shaggy, where Harry's was black, and unruly; James who was heroically muscular where Harry was... well, less than heroic.

If those things didn't bode well for James, what chance did Harry have?

WO*

At dinner, Harry glanced down to see Ron morosely shoveling a heaving forkful of shepherd's pie into his mouth. He and Lavender were apparently on the outs again; the boy was sat nearly halfway down the table perched amongst a group of fourth-years who kept casting him annoyed and suspicious glares. Harry loathed not being able to talk to him about what he had overheard, but he was determined to carry out his plan.

"Hermione, can we talk... after dinner?"

"Of course... Everything okay?"

"Not really, n-no."

Hermione gripped his arm. "What is it?"

Harry flushed. "I'd, uh, rather wait ‘til we're alone."

"Oh... All right," she said, after regarding him for a moment. She went back to her meal, but she went about it automatically, suddenly preoccupied, and leery.

Harry picked up his own spoon, but all he could do was make choppy ripples in his soup. Restless, he kept glancing at Hermione, silently urging her to finish eating. The instant she put her fork down Harry tossed his spoon, grabbed her hand, her bag, and hustled her up to the Room of Requirement.

"Harry, what -?" Hermione panted, as he lugged her inside the room. "Is it the professor? Did Ron -"

"No. S'nothing like that... It's, um, personal."

She paled. "Okay."

"I just wanted to know how you felt about me," Harry said, eager to lance the boil of curiosity.

Hermione blinked. "I care about you very much, Harry. You're my friend."

"Yeah." Harry sighed, disappointed. "But, what about as more than a friend? I mean... Am I your type or do you like, you know... big, blond, shaggy haired blokes?"

"Big? Blond?" Hermione said, flabbergasted, but then she burst into bright laughter, sounding terribly relieved; it grated on Harry's already fried nerves. Noting his hurt expression, Hermione looked apologetic. "Like James?" she said, softly. Harry shrugged. "Oh, Harry, you silly, silly... How could you possibly think -"

"Well, Lavender said -" he began, then realized his mistake when Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Lavender? How do you... How could you... You were sneaking about the library, weren't you?" Hermione boxed him in the shoulder.

"Ow! I didn't mean to! I'd come to walk - Ow! - you back to the Tower and I kinda heard everything... Anyway, you know Lavender - OW! - she doesn't have an inside voice!"

Hermione stopped attacking him to giggle. "That's true, but nor does she have a clue about my taste in guys."

Rubbing at his shoulder, Harry offered up a one-sided grin. "Yeah? So all those muscles, hazel eyes, and manageable hair didn't interest you at all, eh?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, a bit too quickly for Harry's taste. He looked at her, dubious, recalling the greedy way she had eyeballed him at the festival. Reading his expression, Hermione boxed him in the shoulder again and said, "I was perfectly aware that beneath all that hair and muscles, it was you. The eyes were different, the body was... different, but when you talked about Snape, and the way you charmed my parents? It was all you."

"Uh huh..." He grinned and she poked him in the stomach. He laughed, then asked, "Why so relieved, earlier?"

"Oh..." she said, and blushed. "I thought... I thought you were going to tell me that you were interested in someone..."

Harry gave a snort of laughter. "Who?"

"...Doesn't matter."

 "Well, good, because I'm not, you know, interested... I... Oh, bollocks!" Harry grasped Hermione's hands in his, noting with a pang that his were clammy, or maybe hers were. Anyway it was too late to worry about it now. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?" she said, breathless.

Her mocha colored eyes danced with expectation, and Harry knew with an inexplicable flash of certainty, that this was going to be the first and last time he asked a girl this question. All he had to do was be cool. Be real cool.

"Will, um... Do, uh... Wanna be my girlfriend?" He blurted in a completely uncool way, but Hermione couldn't have cared less. She was beaming.

"Yes, but on one condition," she said. Harry hitched a wary brow and she laughed, thinking how Snape-like the expression was, but her tone was serious when she said, "Ron..." Harry made a noise of disgust and shook free from her grip. "Harry, really, this has gone on long enough! You know it has!"

"So! He's the idiot in all this!"

"Meaning you have to be one right along with him?!"

Harry scowled and flung his arms across his chest. Hermione shook her head, certain the green-eyed boy had no idea how many of Snape's mannerisms he had acquired. 

"Look," she said, "I know it's difficult to forgive the things he said. It's equally exasperating trying to make him see reason, but you can do this. You have to do this." Harry offered up another scowl, but it lacked heat. Hermione sighed. "Honestly, for boys you two are such girls!"

"Oy!"

"Yes," Hermione said, surreptitiously closing the distance between them. Harry blinked, confused. "In answer to your question... from before." Hermione clarified. She then linked his arms around her waist and pulled him closer. She gazed at his nose, enchanted by the tiny mole on the tip of it.

"Oh... But, I haven't agreed to talk to Ron." Harry smiled, wondering what was so intriguing about his nose. He wished she would look up.

"You will." She put her arms around his neck, then tilted her head, bringing her lips so close to his he could feel her breath.

Harry's voice cracked when their eyes met again. "How do you know?"

"Because -"

Then realizing he was deathly uninterested in hearing what was sure to be a threat, Harry pressed his lips to hers, silencing her. She responded by tightening her arms around him, and pressing her body even closer to his. When she moaned, Harry wondered, vaguely, if his head was supposed to feel as if it was about to explode. That would be a bother, especially when the kissing and the moaning was this fine. And she was so curvy and soft against him...

Be cool. Be real cool he told himself. Then Hermione opened her mouth, and coolness scattered like confetti on New Year's. He might have laughed were his mouth not full...

Later, he entered the dungeons, a dazed and altogether goofy, smile on his lips which were puffy from kissing. Normally he called out to Snape to announce his arrival, but not tonight. From his spot on the sofa, Snape asked if he was all right. With a weird flap of his hand, which made parchments on Snape's desk flutter, Harry responded: "Goodnight to you, too..."

Bemused, and a touch concerned, Snape's eyes followed the boy's passage as Harry continued on to his room. He considered the Gryffindor's behavior, then recalled him dragging Hermione from the Hall at dinner, leaving long before anyone else did. Ah. The boy all but drooled when around her; he had obviously done something about it. Snape settled back and turned a page in his book.

WO*

Hagrid's Hut, Hogwarts, December 1996 (12)

The next day, Harry and Ron met up at Hagrid's hut where Charlie grudgingly gave them some privacy: "Don't know why you have to come down here... Got the whole damn castle to roam about and you come here? Bloody hell!"

Once Charlie had snatched his coat and scarf off the hook by the door and stomped out, Ron said, "Listen, Harry, to be honest, I'm not in the mood for a long row... Lavender, she's driven me absolutely mad last couple a weeks!"

Harry gusted a sigh of relief because he didn't see the need of a deep exploration of their feelings either. Contrary to what Hermione believed, they were not girls.

"I kinda figured something was up since you sat with the fourth-years last night," he said.

Ron scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, it's done... finally. She never let up, mate, tellin' me how to open the door for her or that I should throw my robes over a puddle so her feet didn't get wet or some rot! Like I didn't know how to treat her! Like I wasn't a gentleman!" He grimaced. "I s'pose it's only what I deserve, though. Hermione told me I was a real arse for taking up with her." He began to pick at his cuticles, ragged from his Keeper's gloves. "How badly d'you think she's bad-mouthed me to Luna?"

"You know better than that," Harry said, recalling Hermione's response to Parvati's crass appraisal of Ron.

Ron grunted in response. "D'you think Luna'll want to be with me?"

With a wry grin, Harry said, "It's not as if I talk to Luna all that much, but she's smart about people, y' know? I mean, she had nearly the entire summer to get to know you, and she doesn't run screaming at the sight of you, so..." 

"Yeah, but with all that's goin' on with her dad... What if I muck it up?"

"You won't," Harry said. Ron gave him a look. Harry sighed. "Fine, then, Luna's emotional smarts'll balance yours... or the lack thereof." He threw his hands up when Ron opened his mouth to defend himself. "You asked for it! Anyway, those are Hermione's words, not mine."

Ron's shoulders slumped in concession. "Yeah, well, Lavender's no better. She only wanted me ‘cause I'm Keeper and we've been winning our matches. I wanted her ‘cause..." He reddened. "Well, you seen her... She's..." Ron arched his back in an exaggerated fashion, then brought his hands up to his chest, shifting them about as if he were juggling something. Harry's eyebrows shot up. He battled to keep a straight face, but it was bloody difficult because Lavender was... abundantly endowed, and Ron looked utterly ridiculous. Harry pursed his lips, trying not laugh. Luckily, Ron read his expression as disapproving and sighed.

"I am an arse, aren't I? A shallow, vain, thoughtless, arse."

"Yeah," Harry said with a cheerful snort. Ron swatted him on the knee.

"Well, what should I do?"

"Do what I did."

Ron cocked his head, pinning Harry with his blue eyes. "You'n Hermione?" Harry nodded. Ron grinned and leaned forward to clap Harry on the knee again. "Good on you, mate! That's fantastic!"

Harry lit up with a grin of his own. "Thanks for the encouragement early on. It meant a lot."

Ron's expression sobered. "Yeah, encouragement... Harry, about this adoption thing. With you planning to move out of the Tower and -"

"Ron, I'll be around. It's not like you'll never see me, but I've got to spend time with the professor, too. Don't - don't make this into a pissing contest, tryin' to make me choose -"

"No!" Ron flapped a hand at Harry.  "I'm all right with that." Harry hitched a brow. "Well, y'know, as all right as I'm gonna be, but I worry, mate, now everyone knows what's going on. Slytherins, some of'em have it bad for you - not that they haven't always, but I know you've have words with a couple of ‘em, Baddock in particular."

"You needn't worry about them. Snape's got'em on a fairly short lead here lately."

Ron opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if considering his next words. Harry tensed; Ron thinking before speaking was worrying.

"I can't promise I'll ever like Snape, Harry... but for you," Ron blew out his cheeks, "I'll give being civil a go."

Harry breathed out in relief. During their tiff, he came to realize that nothing short of a miracle would make Ron change his mind about Snape, and he knew better than hold out hope for it. Weasleys weren't generally quick to change their minds about someone once an impression had been made; Ginny still couldn't stand Fleur.

"I really couldn't imagine going through this without you," he said. "It's not like anything we've been through, you know? It's something good this time."

Ron rapped his fist gently against Harry's knee twice in silent agreement.

"He just, he really took care of me over the summer," he went on shyly. "No one's ever cared for me like that."

"That's an arse-load of shite, Harry Potter, and you know it! Snape's not the only one cares about you!"

"I didn't mean it like that..." Harry said quickly. "I'm just, still getting used to the fact that he wants to... you know?"

Ron reddened. In a bright flash of understanding, he thought, Merlin! I'm an arse, an A-one, prime rate, certifiable arse! He now realized what it all meant to Harry - the adoption, his acceptance. Harry only wanted a thing that had been denied him since Halloween 1981, a thing as natural as breathing, yet like one's next breath, hardly a guarantee. Ron knew that from experience; he had been within a breath of losing his dad last Christmas.  

Overwhelmed by Ron's expression, Harry looked down. Hagrid's wood floor gleamed. A sudden longing to see the half-giant hit him like a fist.

"So," he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together roughly, "Luna..."

Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms, Ron gave a bark of laughter.

WO*                         

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, December 1996 (14)

Harry dashed down to Snape's quarters after bidding goodbye to a sobbing Hermione, and a smirking Ron at the castle's entrance. His watch read ten o'clock, but it had read ten o'clock all day, everyday, for several days now. He sighed. He needed a new watch. Just as he was about to slam the door shut, Snape stuck out a hand to stop it shattering his nose.

"Sorry, sir!"

"Are you ready?" Snape said. Harry shook his head. "Well, off with you then."

Harry darted into his room. He chucked his things into an abused rucksack he had filched from Dudley's room two summers ago, then rejoined Snape in the entry hall. A heavy knock sounded just as Snape reached to open the door.

Charlie Weasley was on the other side, his thick arm being jerked about by Fang as he gripped the dog's collar. As soon as there was enough of an opening, Fang shook free and squirted past Snape to greet Harry with a lunge and a sloppy kiss. Harry laughed, allowing the rambunctious behavior for a bit before ordering the dog to sit.

Charlie blew out a breath and rubbed his reddened hands together. "He bowled over half of Ravenclaw as they were boardin' the carriages ‘cause he knew where we were headed... He pines for you somethin' awful at night, Harry. Maybe he could stay with you full-time ‘til Hagrid gets back?"

Harry turned to Snape. "Sir?"

Charlie snickered. "Seen that look before. Ginny could get all us boys to do just about anything for her - still can on occasion."

Snape rolled his eyes, then he nodded.

"Thank you, sir!" Harry beamed. "Thanks Charlie!"

"Cheers, Harry, Professor. Happy Christmas!"

"Yeah, Charlie! Happy Christmas!"

WO*

The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, December 1996 (14)

Exiting the school gates Snape Apparated Harry and Fang to the Hog's Head. For their arrival, Aberforth had shuttered the pub, thus Harry found himself in the pub proper instead of their rooms upstairs. Before letting go of Snape's arm, he blinked owlishly, silently cursing the loathsome effects of Apparating. Unfazed, Fang barked and loped over to the bar where Aberforth was shelving spirits. Hefting his gangly forelimbs onto the bar's edge, the dog panted and drooled as his big body quivered excitedly.

"Hullo dog!" said Aberforth with a rusty chuckle. He extracted a tasty treat from his pocket and tossed it to the boarhound. Fang snapped it out of the air and woofed - a clear request for an encore, which Aberforth obliged.

"Harry, lad, how are you keeping?" Aberforth came from behind the bar to embrace Harry.

"Great, sir," Harry said. Within the circle of the old wizard's arms, the now familiar cocktail of cherries and wood enveloped him, the comforting smoky-sweet remnant of Aberforth's pipe. Harry inhaled deeply. In years to come, every time he smelled it on a passerby on the street, in a shop or in a pub, he would smile. Hermione would ask, ‘What is it?' He would say ‘Smoky cherries' and she'd laugh. Even later, Hana would pipe ‘Papa Abie', in her childish alto.

After a moment, Aberforth pulled back to look Harry over. It had been less than a month since their last meeting, but that visit hardly counted because Harry had not been able to linger after extracting what clues he could about his mother's medallion from the old wizard. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Snape looking at them, a queer expression on his face. When Harry lifted an eyebrow, Snape seemed to shake himself loose from whatever had taken hold of him.

"Severus," said Aberforth, holding his arms out to the man.

Snape walked over and embraced the old wizard, looking far more at ease doing so than he had last August. "You're keeping well, Papa?"

"'Bout as well as a tick on a hound!" After taking meticulous stock of Snape's appearance, Aberforth smiled at him. His blue eyes shone, luminous, cradled within deep, leathery wrinkles. "Let's get you two settled upstairs."

Harry grinned. "Yes, sir."

WO*

The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, December 1996 (20)

Harry's holiday became a repetitive mix of eating, sleeping, teasing Fang, teasing Snape, and staying up past midnight playing wizard chess with Aberforth. The man was as skillful a player as Ron was, which meant Harry typically got slaughtered, but thanks to the old wizard's tips his game was improving, giving Harry hope that he could one day defeat Ron.

He also exchanged letters with Hermione, helped out Aberforth in the pub much as he had last summer, and sat on the sofa as opposed to lying on the sofa which had, according to Snape, "become an unattractive extension of his hind end." Harry's cheeky response had been to make a show of flipping over onto his stomach - or when he bored of being face down, onto his side.

Despite being confined to the pub, Harry found the village's festive energy pervasive. The Hog's Head sat along the bottom edge of the village, so Harry could see much of the end of the High Street from his bedroom window. He saw street posts and building eaves awash in green garland, ruby red bows and ribbons, gold and silver bells, and scads of holly and mistletoe wreaths bathed in white and gold fairy lights. He saw people, as well - families - bustling about as they shopped. When he spotted carolers, he would push open his window and listen to their bright, merry harmonies as they stood, bundled up against the frigid wind. There was no snow, though, and there probably wouldn't be, according to Aberforth's bones.

"When my left knee pains me, I know snow is sure to fly, but I haven't felt so much as a twinge," he said.

Two days before Christmas, ‘James' and ‘Edmund' ventured out to shop for gifts. They hit most of the shops but, to Harry's amusement, stayed well and clear of the Three Broomsticks. Later that night, on his way to the loo, Harry overheard Snape gently accuse the elderly wizard of spoiling him.

"Rubbish!" Aberforth growled.

"That watch you're giving him must have cost a small fortune," Snape said from where he lay on the sofa.

"Bah! Material things hold little sway over that boy. I couldn't get him to take even a Knut for working in the pub last summer, so what if I'm making up for it a bit now?" Aberforth chuckled. "Besides, I've witnessed you do far worse..."

"I beg your pardon?" Snape said, sounding so deeply affronted, Harry was compelled to peek around the corner.

"Son, you cater to that boy in a way I wouldn't have believed possible, especially considering who he is."

"I've done so simply because it was imperative that he be allowed to focus on improving -"

"Hush!" Aberforth said with a wave of his pipe. "That might have been true back in July when Albus first asked you to look after him, but I told it to Albus, same as I told it to you - looking after that boy has been good for you. And," Aberforth rasped softly, "being looked after has obviously done wonders for Harry. When he speaks of you - which is often - it's with great affection."

At that moment, Fang rounded the corner into the hallway and began to snuffle loudly at Harry's bare toes. He knelt down to quiet the dog, and to protect his feet.

"The boy is a Gryffindor, prone to emotional -"

"Call it what you want, Harry cares for you a great deal."

Snape grunted and thrust his arm behind his head to prop it up higher on the sofa's arm. "Do not let him hear you say such a thing."

"I reckon he could give a Niffler's arse what anyone thinks. Even you." Aberforth puffed on his pipe, blowing out a fragrant cloud of smoke. "He's a good boy, yes?"

For a long spell the only sounds to be heard were the creak of Aberforth's rocker and the cheerful crackling of the logs in the fire. Harry strained to hear, curious, just curious...

"Yes, he is," came Snape's soft response.

Harry ducked back behind the wall and buried his face in Fang's neck, trying to temper the burning in his eyes. Deciding he'd heard enough, he went back to his room and quietly closed the door.

WO*

The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, Christmas Eve 1996

Three owls arrived on Christmas Eve. In the lengthening dusk, they were nearly indistinguishable outside the sitting room window, then Harry caught sight of a large amber-colored eye in the midst of a shadowy blob of white.

"Hedwig!" Harry leapt to his feet, eliciting a basso yelp from Fang after stumbling over the dog on his way to fling open the window. "Hey, girl!" He yelled.

Hedwig was equally thrilled to see Harry, but burdened by several parcels she was squawking and flapping her beautiful snowy wings in a most undignified way. Aberforth rushed to free her of the parcels while Snape took charge of the barn owl and the large gray owl which Harry recognized as Hermes, Percy's owl. He spared them only a fleeting glance before busying himself with scratching at the small spot Hedwig loved having scratched just above her beak. She hooted softly and closed her eyes, hissing happily like a large, feathery cat.

Hedwig had not been idle over the summer, Harry had learned. She had served as occasional courier, conveying Hagrid's coded correspondences to Dumbledore. She was in good hands with Hagrid, Harry knew, but he had missed her desperately. He wondered if her appearance meant that Hagrid would return soon.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he laid eyes on a crudely wrapped package among the lot the owls had brought. Wherever he was, the half-giant had made do with the materials he had on hand. He looked to have stitched together several large tree leaves to create wrapping paper. A note with Harry's name on it was attached to the package. Harry itched to rip it open and read it, but he decided to wait. He got up, and with the other packages, set them alongside the other gifts resting beneath the small, ash colored ‘tree' Aberforth had conjured.

The sparsely decorated shrub bore gray garland charmed to change every five seconds from gray to grayer; Harry figured the man had to be colorblind as the pub's palette was equally bland. When he remarked, not unkindly, on the tree's appearance, Aberforth blamed its homeliness on his brother, claiming that while Albus had received the glut of the family's creativity, he, Aberforth, had been "accursed with the body of a Greek god and the libido of a Knockturn Alley trick."

Harry had gaped at the man, then doubled over with laughter when Aberforth threw him a sly wink; Snape, in the midst of taking a sip of tea, had choked, then performed a flawless, albeit unintended, spit-take which forced Harry to stagger out of the room, howling.

WO*

The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, Christmas Day 1996

Christmas morning, Harry rolled out of bed, seduced by the mouth-watering smell of a fry-up. In the sitting room, Snape was setting the table as Aberforth smoked.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" said Aberforth.

"Happy Christmas, sir. Professor." Harry nodded at Snape.

"Potter."

"Need'nee help?" Harry yawned. His T-shirt fluttered up as he scratched lazily at his stomach.

"No, just sit down."

Harry settled in his chair. Fang padded over to butt his head against the boy's thigh, angling for a scratch. Harry obliged then picked up his fork once Snape loaded his plate with food. The three wizards lingered for more than an hour over the large spread. They took their tea in front of the fireplace.

"What say we get at these gifts, eh?" Aberforth brandished his wand, clearing the coffee table of Harry's schoolbooks and Snape's journals. He flicked it again and the pile of gifts floated over to rest on the table.

In honor of his host, Harry ripped into the smallest one first. "Wow!" he exclaimed, uncovering a wristwatch so loaded with gadgets he had no problem expressing great surprise, despite what he overheard two nights ago. Then he frowned. "It's... it's Muggle," he said, his voice full of wonder.

"Potter!" Snape scolded.

"It's all right, Severus. He doesn't know... Harry, I've had dealings in the Muggle world for some time now. I can navigate around it as well as any Muggle."

"Oh?" said Harry, completely floored. He opened his mouth to let fly a barrage of questions, but snapped it shut when Snape hitched a brow. "Well, thanks, anyway," he told Aberforth, making plans to ask the old wizard about it later when Snape wasn't within earshot. Harry fastened the watch onto his wrist then turned to Snape. "Professor?" He gestured toward the beautifully wrapped package in front of the man.

For all the care Snape took to open the gift, he may as well have been in his lab, mixing a highly dangerous brew. He moved methodically, precisely, so as not to damage the wrapping paper any more than necessary. In that sense he had changed little from the thirteen year-old Aberforth had befriended. Snape's reaction to the gift Aberforth gave him that Christmas of 1973 had been troubling. The boy had sat, stunned, just staring at the package in wide-eyed disbelief. After fifteen odd minutes, Aberforth had reached to open it for him, figuring Snape would never do it. That was a mistake. Like a wild thing, Snape had snatched it up to clutch to his chest.

Taken aback, Aberforth recovered quickly to say, soothingly, "It's all right, Severus. You open it the way you want, hear?"

Snape's behavior was often strange, but this reaction made Aberforth all the more curious. The boy was exceptionally tight-lipped about his life away from Hogwarts. When he visited the pub, he holed himself up in the sitting room with his schoolbooks while Aberforth worked downstairs. The old wizard checked on him once every hour, bringing him a snack or something to drink, feeling that if he didn't the boy was sure to get lost in his books, ignoring food, drink, and fellowship. When Aberforth asked, Snape claimed that studying at the pub was more peaceful than at the castle. Aberforth figured the thin, defenseless-looking waif prime pickings for bullies, but Snape was far from cowardly, often giving as good as he got. That was how they had come to be acquainted one late autumn day after a gang of Gryffindors chased him through the village.

With nowhere to run save the surrounding wood, which held all matter of creatures that even Snape dared not rile, the boy dashed into the Hog's Head. The chase had commenced after he hit Sirius Black with a spell leagues beyond any third-year's ability - any third-year except Snape, that is. When Aberforth had asked for details, Snape had responded with a cold glare. At odd occasions, of his own volition, Snape would share something remotely personal, but Aberforth learned quickly not to pry: Snape worked from his own timetable and would not be rushed.

The same still held true as the man took his time sliding a long index finger along the seam where Spellotape held the wrapping paper together. When the paper fell flat to reveal a box, Snape opened it; his mouth fell open and he frowned. Bursting with curiosity, Harry craned his neck to peer over the box's edge. He was staggered to see a Pensieve. Snape looked up when Aberforth spoke.

"It was my father's," he said quietly. Snape thrust the box away, as if its contents were contagious. Aberforth gently pushed it back. "I found it," he said, "after he... well, I was six, Harry, when my father was sent to Azkaban."

"What?" Harry sputtered, wondering if he had heard the man correctly.

 "It's a long, sordid story," Aberforth said, holding up a hand, "hardly suited for a day like today. Perhaps one day when you're older... Go on, open your next present."

Harry looked to Snape, who did not look a bit surprised - more because he had yet to take his eyes off the Penseive - but then, why would he be surprised? The men had been acquainted for years - they were sure to know unflattering things about one another. But this was more than unflattering. This was... this was, scandalous! A convict in the Dumbledore family? Nevertheless, Harry did as Aberforth had bid.

Once all the gifts had been opened, Snape rose without a word. He returned shortly, a book-sized package in hand.

"Happy Christmas," he said, his lips barely moving as he held it out to Harry. Harry gaped at the man stupidly. He had not expected to get anything, especially after all that Snape had already done for him. The whiskey-colored satchel he'd found the other day at Dervish and Banges was a suitable replacement for Snape's battered one, but it hardly equaled anything that Snape had sacrificed for him.

"Sir, you didn't have to -"

"I am well aware of that." Snape cleared his throat. "Well... I shall be... downstairs," he said, shuffling about, as if uncertain if he should stay or leave; Harry frowned when he started from the room.

"Wait!" He held out a hand. "'Til I open it?" Snape beheld Harry's anxious face and then nodded.

In contrast to his barbaric treatment of his other gifts, Harry followed Snape's genteel example with this one. But, he was nervous, and his fingers shook, so he ripped the plain white paper while peeling it back. Finally, he flattened it out to expose a distinctly weathered book.

He picked it up, turning it to and fro. Thin, delicate bark-colored leather surrounded the oldest, yellowest parchment he had ever seen. He eased the cover open to reveal the first page. Filling the sheet was a beautifully rendered drawing of an old wizard, his long hair and beard swept back by either a strong wind or spell. The wizard's robes flared out dramatically behind him, accentuating his long, lean frame. His wizened face was aimed toward a translucent ball in his right hand outstretched before him while his left hand bore a thick, gnarled staff standing nearly as tall as he. Above the wizard's head were the words, Gwyn Dewindabaeth, and beneath his feet, Myrddin.

Despite the drawing's two-dimensional constraint, the hawkish intensity in the wizard's eyes was chilling, yet Harry sensed nothing but good radiating from him. Like many centuries old wizards, this one drew a striking resemblance to Dumbledore, but Harry knew it could not be. Then it came to him; he frowned in disbelief.

"Is this...?"

"Yes," Snape said.

"Merlin!" Harry gasped, wide-eyed.

"Indeed." Snape replied, quietly amused and immensely pleased at Harry's response. "It is a book on white magic. I believe it shall prove a unique addition to your personal library."

Harry snorted softly as he brushed a finger along the wizarding world's preeminent wizard's face. "I don't have a personal library." And certainly not one that includes a book written by Merlin.

"Well, now you do."

"Yeah." Harry whispered. He would need Hermione to help him translate if from the Welsh, but he loved the book. Absolutely. "Thank you, sir."

"You're quite welcome, Potter," Snape said. Harry grimaced, feeling as though Snape had just lobbed a cow patty at him.

"What is it?" The man asked.

"I, um, well, sir, d'you think you could stop calling me ‘Potter'? At least... while we're here?"

Snape frowned. "Why?"

"I just... It feels..." Harry flagged and began to clumsily gather his gifts. "Never mind."

"One moment." Snape reached to stay the boy's movements. "Answer my question, please."

Before last July, Harry had given little thought to Snape calling him ‘Potter', after all that's who he was to his teachers (save Hagrid and Dumbledore) yet he had since come to dread the sound of it. He reckoned he should be used to it, but with the adoption pending, things were different; he was different. Six years he had been ‘Potter', now though, he imagined that he and Snape had progressed, had moved beyond those bonds of protocol. In all honesty, since falling into Snape's memories the night of the adoption talk, anytime Snape addressed him, Harry had secretly craved hearing his name spoken in that calm, silken baritone, yet he remained, unfailingly, ‘Potter.' It made him feel anonymous. He hated it. 

Instead of explaining that, he said, "Really, it's nothing." He grabbed his gifts and pushed past the confused looking man to go to his room.

WO*

The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, Boxing Day 1996

Harry lounged on the sofa, flipping through the December issue of Quidditch Illustrated while Snape and Aberforth engaged in a game of wizard chess at the dining table. As careful as they were with one another in life, Harry could not help but grin at the men's competitiveness when they played wizard chess; neither man gave the other quarter. Musical grunts and snorts of disgust, approval, or triumph served as accompaniment to those games. Snape's sounds were low and continuous, almost indiscernible, while Aberforth was more vocal. He had just uttered a growl of disgust when a voice came from the fire.

"Brother?"

"Albus..." The gray-haired wizard rasped.

"Is Severus near?"

"I'm here," Snape said. Fang grunted when the man leaned on him to get closer to the fire and Dumbledore's green face.

"May I trouble you to come to my office?" Dumbledore said.

"Why?" Harry demanded, throwing his magazine aside. Since June, trips to Dumbledore's office typically ended in grief, and he'd be damned if he would allow another incident like the one in August.

Snape shot Harry a hard look, then speaking back into the fire, he said, "Is it Draco?"

"I am afraid so. He is here with me."

"I'll be there shortly," Snape said. Dumbledore nodded then disappeared from the fire.

"Malfoy!?" Harry growled. "What's he doing at the castle? He left for the train with everyone else. I saw him!"

"Yes," Snape said, starting to pace. "Letting him return to Malfoy Manor was a mistake. The little fool! He wanted to go back and -"

"Severus," Aberforth said quietly. "Go fetch the boy."

Snape looked to the old wizard and nodded slowly, as though entranced. "Yes," he said, then started from the room.

"You're bringing him here?!" Harry paled, looking as if he had just witnessed a beheading.

"Potter, he has nowhere to go."

"Doesn't he have other family... somewhere? Or why not stay at the castle? He's already there!"

"Everyone save Filch has gone from the castle, and he has no family prepared to take him in. Moreover, Lucius will certainly come looking for him, making him a danger to whomever he goes."

Harry flapped his arms and stared at Snape, aghast. "All the more reason for him not to be with us!"

"Potter!"

"I don't care!" Harry yelled. "Haven't you had enough of dealing with Death Ea -"

"Potter! The matter is settled!"

In a fit of petulance, Harry threw himself back against the sofa, livid that Snape had decided such a thing without his input. He had wanted this Christmas to be theirs! He had wanted this time to be about family! Leave it to bloody Malfoy to muck up the works!

Snape scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. "Say what is on your mind. You look as if you're about to burst."

"I don't want him here!" Harry exploded, jumping to his feet. "I thought... after everything, we could celebrate the holidays together, me, you, and Aberforth."

"Potter, I told you that Draco might require more of my attention, yes?" Harry scowled his response. "This is one of those times," Snape said. Harry shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Snape walked to him and took the trembling boy by the shoulders. "I know what you're thinking... Things will not change simply because Draco will be here."

Damn Snape! Harry wanted to stay mad, wanted to spew his disapproval as hatefully, and forcefully as possible, but at the man's words he plastered himself him, pressing his face into the coarse lines of Snape's robes, breathing in his distinctive scent. He was taking a chance, he knew, but he didn't care. When after a moment Snape gently hugged him back, Harry's muscles and joints relaxed to the point that he was glad Snape had his arms around him. Then he wondered why he didn't do this more often. The man seemed not to mind...

Thinking of Draco in his place, Harry said in a small voice: "Promise?"

"What?"

"Promise!" Harry tightened his arms around the man.

"Anything." Snape whispered gruffly, tightening his grip as well.

WO*

An hour later, the door opened. Fang pounced. Draco shrieked hoarsely and muttered something resembling, "Merlin, help me!" as he scrabbled to attach himself to the wall, desperate to escape the dog's tongue and massive paws.

Though Harry was thoroughly enjoying the show, he called to Fang when Snape cut his eyes at him. Obediently, the dog put all four paws on the floor, but then he sneezed, spraying Draco's fine navy cloak with mucus. He then stepped back to sit beside Harry, his tongue lolling happily as he eyed the Slytherin, looking supremely proud for having properly welcomed their guest.

Harry knew Fang had meant no malice, but he couldn't help grinning at the look on Draco's face: The Slytherin's lips had curled in on themselves as he looked down, ashen at the sight of the gloppy mess on his hip.

"You disgusting heap of bones!" he rasped and whipped his wand out. Harry's smile melted in an instant. He brought his right hand up just as quickly.

"HARRY!" Snape roared.

The boy jumped, startled. In his fright, fire convulsed out of the fireplace, causing flames to lap along the far edges of the coffee table, scorching some abandoned wrapping paper beneath it. Aberforth moved, so quickly he was a blur. He had wand out and was chanting something Latinate. When the fire surged as if to consume him, he held up his hands, palms out, and pushed, corralling the flames back into the hearth.

He whipped about, furious. "Damn it, Severus! Don't frighten him like that!"

Snape frowned. "He must learn to -"

Aberforth slashed an impatient hand through the air. "Clearly he has more to learn, but it seems he's not the only one!"

Snape stared at Aberforth, indignant, and a little stung. Harry staggered back several steps, having never witnessed the two wizards raise their voices to one another in anger. He stopped only when the backs of his knees connected with a low side table. He frowned and glanced over at Draco who appeared alert, confused, exhausted, and suspicious, all in the same go. His wand, shaking noticeably, was aimed at the mess Fang had made. Harry lost his breath as clarity hit him with the force of a tidal wave: Draco had meant to clean his robes, not harm Fang. Looking back at Snape, Harry's mouth fell open, wounded by the man's infuriated expression and his own idiocy.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped. "I didn't mean -"

"Sit down!" Snape said, his lips drawn into a grim line. When Harry fell heavily onto the side table, Snape exhaled and pulled up a dining chair to sit in front of him.

"Really, sir, I'm sorry. I thought he was going to -"

"I know what you thought, now hush! I've something to tell you." Snape loosened the collar of his robes, then ran a hand through his hair. "Draco is here because Order members rescued him from Malfoy Manor."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes skipping over to Draco and then back to Snape, incredulous.

Snape held up a hand. "Plans had been made for him to take the Mark tonight, but he managed to get word to his Ministry contact."

"Contact?"

"Percy Weasley."

"Percy?!"

"Potter, please!" Snape growled. Harry closed his mouth. "Since August, Draco has been acting as Percy's liaison. His information has led to the apprehension of a number of Death Eaters, including Rabastan, Crabbe Sr., and Gibbon. Several planned attacks on Muggles were thwarted on the strength of his information as well."

Draco was still locked in place by the door, as if that spot was the only safe harbor and the rest of the room a bog, thick with grindylows. Harry glanced at the boy, finding it hard to believe the privileged prig had been risking the wrath of his father and the Dark Lord... but it did explain his queer behavior and appearance. Harry looked back to Snape.

"Is Percy all right?"

"He was just released from St. Mungo's into his parents' care. It's why it took so long to get back; Draco wanted to be certain he was okay."

"You went to the hospital without me?!"

"No." Snape dragged a hand through his hair again. "We waited for news in the headmaster's office. Percy will be bedbound for a few weeks, but Arthur says things look good."

"You said ‘Order members.' Who else was there?"

"Percy was at his family's home at the time Draco called. His brothers joined him."

"All of them?"

"The youngest Mr. Weasley was the exception. But, Potter," Snape said quickly when Harry opened his mouth, "this was not a spur of the moment operation. It has been in the works since early last month when Lucius first told Draco of the Dark Lord's plans for him. Draco informed Percy then, but it took time to organize things."

Last month. November. Harry thought back to that horrid day outside Snape's classroom. Was that the reason Draco had run to Snape? If so, then Harry could understand the boy's despair, but he still felt queasy that the majority of the Weasleys had risked their lives for Malfoy.

"I want to go the Burrow to see Percy - to see everyone."

Snape shook his head. "Molly asked me to tell not you to worry, they're all okay."

"But -"

"Potter," Snape said quietly, "let her take care of her family while I take care of mine."

Harry flushed as he looked into the man's eyes. "Yes, sir."

Aberforth cleared his throat. "Young Malfoy, you'll be bunking with Harry." 

Draco and Harry's twin scowls made the old wizard chuckle softly.

WO*

Harry came awake with a start. The floor board near the hall table had squeaked. He fumbled his glasses on and touched the torch on the nightstand, highlighting Draco's empty bed. Yawning, Harry threw back his covers and shivered. Rubbing at the rash of goose pimples on his arms, he shuffled into the sitting room where he found the blond boy lying on the sofa wrapped in his clean navy cloak, staring at the dying embers of the fire.

"What are you doing?" said Harry, voice heavy with sleep, and a fair amount of disdain.

Draco startled and swiveled his head around. "Plotting for the Dark Lord." He drawled in that snooty, entitled way that made Harry want to poke him with a stick until he begged for mercy.

"No doubt." Harry mumbled to himself. Draco said nothing as Harry settled in the chair near the fire, pulling Aberforth's yellow and black afghan up over his legs.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco said after a time. "Come to gloat? Spy? There's no need of that. I'm one of the good guys now. Or did you find it difficult to follow along with the big words Snape used?"

"You woke me up coming in here," Harry said, rolling his eyes, mentally cursing Percy's choice of Death Eater whistleblower. Though he trusted Snape implicitly, and the man had brought Malfoy here, the boy still inspired as much trust as a roomful of ill-tempered alligators.

The fire was nearly out. Surreptitiously, Harry stoked the waning embers with the flick of a finger - not that Draco would have noticed. The pale boy now seemed a world away, cocooned in his thoughts. Harry really hadn't come to gloat, or spy - he was just curious. He tried to imagine what it must be like to be betrayed so awfully, and by your father, of all people. Lucius's gross self-importance was hardly surprising, but that he had zero-conscience regarding his own son's well-being made Harry's skin crawl. "Remarkably corrupt", Percy had called them. Lucius's actions tonight certainly proved it.

Though certain he would regret it, Harry felt compelled to say something to the boy.

"I, uh - It must be tough... everything that's goin' on," he said. Draco's troubled expression instantly transformed into a snarl.

"I don't need your pity, Potter!" Draco's gray eyes flashed, repulsed at the very idea.

"Pity?" Harry yelped. "I was just trying to - You know what? Forget it!" Scowling, and doing his best to repress the urge to spell Draco toothless, Harry jerked the afghan up around his shoulders and settled deeper into the chair. Pity?! More like, morbid fascination of that creepy, evil family.

After another block of silence, Draco said, "So, you can perform wandless magic."

Harry couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement; he settled on taking it as an insult.

"Piss off, Malfoy!"

Draco gave an odd shrug, confined as he was by his cloak. "Some Slytherins would use that knowledge to their advantage - perhaps share it with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." His voice was cool, detached, not particularly threatening, but Harry was in no mood for mind games or cryptic intimation.

"Snape'd have your bollocks if you lied about me to that lot."

Draco considered him a moment, then went back to staring at the fire. Harry shifted his eyes to glare at the orange glow, too, wondering. Draco wouldn't dare out him to his Housemates, would he? Though he probably hated Harry far more than he feared Snape, the Slytherin was far from stupid; Harry had all but outed himself with the mishap with the fire, but would Draco use that? Would he tell? Perhaps the better question was could he tell?

Harry didn't know how things worked in Slytherin, but he felt certain Draco would no longer be Crown Prince once word of his rescue spread. A Malfoy, saved by the Order of the Phoenix? He'd be outcast! But then, might Lucius, embarrassed at the turn of events, spin it so that it was he who banished Draco for defying his wishes as he was holding out hope that Draco would change his mind, come to his senses? Either way, Malfoy would be a pariah in his own House because really, when did that lot allow anyone to refuse anything?

No. Draco wouldn't tell. He couldn't, because if he did, Snape would raise ten kinds of Hell. As Harry sat delightfully pondering the many ways that Snape might punish Draco, he began to nod off. Sometime later he was awoken by a gentle tapping on his head.

"In the morning you'll regret having slept folded up like that," Snape said quietly. "Come, to bed with you."

With a huge yawn, Harry rose. When he tried to move forward he stumbled over the afghan and fell against Snape. Snape instantly put an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

"Happy Chri'ma, Charlie..." Harry murmured into Snape's armpit. Snape gave a soft huff of amusement, but then Harry's legs began to give out and he swept the boy into his arms. After depositing Harry into bed, Snape removed the wire rimmed glasses and wove his fingers through the boy's hair as Harry turned onto his stomach. Still bent over, Snape stiffened, spine prickling at the feeling of being watched; Draco stood in the doorway, his arms over his chest.

"Don't talk to me," he said. "I'm going to bed."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, knowing it would be senseless to try and engage Draco in conversation. Envy was etched so deeply in the young Slytherin's expression that Snape's only response was a curt nod before leaving the room.

WO*

The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, December 1996

Draco's bed was empty when Harry woke the next morning. He had a fleeting, but glorious vision of the Slytherin creeping down the pub's darkened stairs and out the door, on the run now. The downside to that little scenario was that if Draco was gone, Snape would be hot on his heels. The man would never leave the boy to fend for himself. On that depressing note, Harry pulled on some heavy socks and wrapped himself in a blanket. He padded into the sitting room where he found Aberforth smoking in front of the fire, perusing an early edition of the Prophet. 

"Mornin'," Harry said.

"Afternoon, lad."

"Oh... Er, where's the professor?"

"He took the Malfoy boy out for a bit." Harry's eyes widened with alarm and Aberforth said: "Clever glamour Severus cooked up for them. They'll be fine." Despite the old wizard's confident tone, Harry was unconvinced. "Harry, Severus has tangled with the worst sort many a time and come out ahead."

Yes, but it taken only one time for Snape to be captured and tortured. Opportunistic wizards eager to gain favor with Voldemort were dying to get their hands on Snape, and now that they were in all probability hunting Draco as well, Harry did not think his fear irrational in the least.

Damn Draco. Snape wouldn't be out if not for him! Bleeding, bloody, bubble-headed... baboon-faced -

Just as he was working up some more ‘begins-with-‘b'' epithets, the door opened. Draco entered first, his pale cheeks flushed with cold, his arms laden with packages from Gladrags. Following behind him, Snape closed the door. As he pulled off his gloves and heavy cloak, he observed Harry's frightened expression.

"Potter?"

In a fair repeat of the day before, Harry rushed to the man and threw his arms around him.

"I'm fine," Snape said softly, surprised. In response, he gave Harry a quick squeeze and ran a gentle hand over his head. After a moment, Harry let go. Blushing, he turned to face Draco. Though his gray eyes look a bit clearer and less haunted than the night before, dark circles ringed the flesh above and below his pale lashes and Harry knew the boy had not slept.

"You just getting up?" Draco asked, taking Harry in from head to toe. 

"Yeah... What of it?" Harry said tightly, put off by the familiarity of the question. They were not friends.

Snape stiffened beside Harry, but kept quiet. Draco's eyes flicked up to him, as if to say ‘I told you so', then back to Harry. He shook his head and sneered. "Nothing, Potter," he said, but his voice was still marred by a raspiness Harry had assumed to be the result of fatigue. He wondered if Snape had dosed the boy with a potion to ease it; he then wondered if anything else might have required a potion.

"I'm going to go put my things away," Draco said, directing his words at Snape.

Harry waited until he heard the door to his room close before speaking. "Sorry ‘bout that," he said.

"I'm not the one deserving of your apology."

Harry scowled. "I meant for the, uh, the hug..." he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Ah... It's quite all right." Snape crossed the room to settle on the sofa. He laid his head back, closing his eyes.

"Where'd you go?"

"We walked round the village. I wanted to speak with Draco privately, clear up a few things."

"Oh..." Harry wanted desperately to pry, but he knew the man would not share. "Um, well, ‘m glad you're back."

Snape raised his head, his dark eyes pinning Harry where he stood. Harry recognized that look: It was the look Snape used when he wanted Harry to be deadly clear on what he was saying.

"It was not my intent to frighten you," the man said.

"...I know."

"I would never leave you without a good reason."

"I know."

WO*