One year later

Dec 15, 1982:

Harry was covered in flour and cinnamon sugar, his hands sticky from trying to make gingerbread men, girls, dogs, and any other shape he saw fit to cut out with a cookie cutter. He was standing upon a small stool, happily sprinkling colored sugar on the ones that Lina, the Prince house elf, had just made. “Mmm!” he said, sticking a finger in his mouth and eating the sugar.

Lina smiled at him tolerantly. She was dressed in a sensible blue dress with gold trim, over which an apron was worn, and a small mobcap over her head with holes cut in it for her ears. She had long dirty-blond hair that fell almost to her back in a tangle of curls and huge blue-green eyes that danced and sparkled, especially when she played with the newest member of the Prince household. Both she and her husband Hotspur adored Harry, who since coming to live at Foxfire Hall, had thrived and blossomed into a happy and healthy youngster.

With the constant affection of not only the two elves, but also of Severus and Augustus, Harry had managed to forget much of the Dursleys’ abuse, and soon the image of the dark cupboard and Vernon’s red-faced mouth bellowing and Petunia’s disapproving face and her hands that pinched and smacked were barely a memory. And it was fading more and more each day, replaced by two tall dark-haired men who hugged and indulged him and gave him his own room with plenty of toys.

“What shape would you like to make next, young master?” asked Lina, expertly moving her finished gingerbread men to a cookie sheet and putting them into the oven to bake.

“Umm . . .dis . .this one!” he corrected himself, recalling Severus’s lessons on speaking clearly. Harry pointed to a cauldron-shaped cutter. “It a tauldron like Papa uses.”

“Oh, that one’s lovely, Master Harry!” Lina said, rolling out more dough for him to use. “Your papa will like that one very much!”

Harry clapped his hands and pressed the cutter down. It made a perfect cauldron, and then Lina brushed it with milk and let Harry decorate it with sugar sprinkles. He put on plenty of green and red and showed Lina. “For Papa! C’n we bake it now, Lina? It a s’prise.”

“Yes, of course! It’s wonderful!”

She cut out some more gingerbread boys and girls and also some Christmas trees and added them to the sheet where the cauldron was and slid it into the great oven behind her, which was built into the wall.

“Make more?” Harry asked, pointing to the counter, which was empty of dough.

“Yes. Would you like to put down the flour?” asked the elf.

“Uh huh.” Harry said, nodding. He scooped some flour out of the large container on the counter with a small plastic scoop and scattered it all over the counter. Of course some got on him and also on Lina, who just rubbed it off her nose with a wet cloth.

“Very good, little one!” she said, having called Harry that name since he had come to live at the manor.

It was then that Severus entered the kitchen, looking for his small son. “Harry? Are you down here?” The kitchen was on the ground floor, below the entrance of the manor. “Time for you to take your potion, son.”

He was still giving Harry a Nutrient Potion mixed in milk every week, because the Dursleys neglect had caused the child’s growth to be retarded, but the potion was correcting that gradually. But that was also a cover for the other potion he gave Harry, one that slowly erased the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The Scar Dissolving Cream was Severus’ own invention, one that he had first invented when going to work in Augustus’ private lab, as a way to reduce the scars left by burns from fire and potions accidents. Applied every other day to a scar it would slowly reduce the appearance of it and then make it vanish entirely. At least it worked upon burned tissue. Harry’s scar, being magical in nature, took longer to fade, but it was slowly doing so, thus reducing the need for Disguise charms. Severus was determined to keep Harry’s true origins a secret, and in the year that had passed, was relieved to note that no one in the wizarding world seemed to realize that Harry Potter was not still living with his Muggle relatives, further proof that he had been right to take the child in.

He carried a familiar bottle in one hand, and was dressed in his normal attire, a pair of gray slacks and a green shirt, having hung his black robes up in his room. He wore them mostly at the lab where he worked and was happy to take them off when he arrived home.

“Papa!” Harry shrilled when he caught sight of the Potions Master, nearly falling off his stool. “Lookit! We’s makin’ gingerbread men! See? See?”

“I see you’re all over with flour, imp,” teased the other wizard, his dark eyes glowing with pride and delight as he looked upon his auburn haired little boy.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t mind getting dirty. “Come n’ help?” he inquired. Then he added, remembering his manners. “Ple-e-ze?”

“Me? Help bake gingerbread men?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Yup!”

“Oh, Master Harry!” Lina chuckled. “Master Sev is all grown up and grown men don’t bake gingerbread men.”

Severus was relieved at Lina’s quick thinking.

Harry’s little face fell into a pout. “Oh.” Then he gazed at his father and said winsomely, “Please, Papa? Please?”

“I . . .well . . .I . . .” Severus fumbled for a good excuse, but he knew he was already snared by those brilliant emerald eyes. “Just this once, mind.” Snape, you’ve gone soft! You don’t know how to bake. You’re insane! But how could he bear to disappoint the adorable little imp?

He removed an apron from a hook upon the wall and rolled up his sleeves. “All right. Where do we start?”

“Like d-this, Papa. With the flour.” Harry instructed, his little face serious. “First you put the flour down an’ then Lina makes the dough all flat with the rolly-pin.”

“The rolly-pin?” Severus repeated, trying to hide a smile.

Harry nodded. “Lina says it called that.”

Lina began to roll out the dough, and Harry clapped his hands excitedly. “Lookit!”

“I see. Now quit jumping up and down, Harry. You’ll fall off,” Severus told him, coming up behind the little boy and holding his shoulders.

When Lina had the dough just right, she asked Harry, “How’s that?”

“It good!” Harry grinned. “Now we’s c’n cut out the shapes.” He showed Severus the different cutters. “Pick one, Papa!”

Severus pretended to study the cutters, at last choosing one shaped like a potion bottle. “This one!” He picked it up, dipped it in the flour, and then asked Harry, “Now what?”

“Now you put it down. Like this.” His small hand guided Severus’ larger one to the middle of the rolled dough and pushed it down firmly.

Then he picked it up and cheered. “You did it! An’ now you put sugar on it.”

“But first you brush it with milk,” Lina reminded, doing so.

“You choose the sugar, Harry,” Severus said, not wanting to leave his son out.

Harry chose blue and yellow sprinkles of sugar. He sprinkled it all over the potion bottle gingerbread. “I did it!”

“Very nice!” Severus praised.

“My turn!” Harry sang and chose a wizard hat next.

The two spent the rest of an hour making gingerbread, supervised by Lina, who thought it very sweet of Master Harry’s papa to spend time like this with the little boy.

By the time they were finished, both of them were smeared with flour and Severus had also fed Harry the Nutrient potion along with some milk. Harry had also eaten a gingerbread boy and crumbs were clinging to his chin.

“You’re a mess,” Severus observed ruefully.

“So are you, Master Sev!” Lina giggled, indicating Severus’s flour spattered front.

Severus looked down. Bloody hell! You look like the baker’s apprentice, Severus!

Harry laughed. “Messy Papa!”

Severus tweaked his nose. “You need a bath, child.”

“Aww! Not now!” Harry groaned. “Wanna make more!”

“Later, little one,” Severus said firmly. “Bath first, then dessert.”

He picked up Harry, who knew it was useless to argue when Severus used that tone. “Say thank you to Lina for teaching you to make gingerbread.”

“Thank you, Lina!” warbled Harry, waving over his father’s shoulder as Severus took him away to the promised bath and another application of the special cream.

Lina waved, then went back to her baking, humming happily. She knew she was very lucky to work at Foxfire Hall for the Prince family.

* * * * *

After Harry had been scrubbed and was squeaky clean, Severus showered himself and then dressed them both in clean clothes. Augustus insisted upon both his grandson and great-grandson being neat in appearance most of the time. For the most part, Severus made an effort to comply with that requirement, at least at dinnertime and at work.

One of Augustus’ first arguments with Severus had been over the other’s long hair. Though long hair had been the fashion for men during Augustus’ day, he had never liked the idea, and preferred the short sensible military style. “You’ll need to cut your hair, Severus, before starting work on Monday,” he had told his grandson crisply over dinner their second night together.

“My hair? Why?”

“Because my grandson should look respectable, that’s why,” Augustus said bluntly.

“I like my hair long,” Severus said evenly, but there was a stubborn glint in his eye that told the old man that he was not going to back down without a fight. “I look terrible with short hair.”

“Humph! I beg to differ. As my grandson, I insist you look respectable, the way a Prince should, and long hair looks slovenly.”

Severus set his jaw. He knew he shouldn’t quarrel with the old wizard, who had given him a decent job and a roof over his head and Harry’s, but it went against the grain to allow the old battleaxe to dictate hygiene to him. “Not if I keep it pulled back and washed and combed.”

“Are you . . .quarreling with me?” Augustus asked, astonished.

“No, sir. Merely expressing a difference of opinion.” Severus met his eyes squarely. “I respect your opinion, Grandfather, but I can’t comply with it. It’s a matter of personal preference.”

Augustus had opened his mouth to argue further, but then he abruptly shut it. He didn’t want to quarrel over something so trivial with his grandson, and perhaps make him wish he had never come to live there. He had mellowed during the lonely years after his wife and children had died and he could allow Severus this one concession. He was not quite the strict inflexible man he had once been.

“Very well. Mind you keep it trimmed and combed, however.”

“Of course, sir.” Severus said stiffly, thinking that he was grown well beyond the age when he needed an elder’s supervision on his appearance. He did not realize that he had won a considerable battle. Augustus was old and set in his ways and not the kind to bend easily. But Augustus wasn’t half as bad as Smithers.

In the year that had followed, Severus had learned to respect and to allow the older wizard his little idiocincrasies. Augustus was a proud man and set great store by propriety and honesty and manners. He had lived his life by a war wizard’s code of honor and yet he was willing to unbend for the sake of his newly found grandson and great-grandson.

Harry had been a well-behaved little thing for over six months, before he finally adjusted to his new home and family. Now he was a bundle of energy, and curious as a cat. In the beginning he had clung to Severus and hardly allowed the other out of his sight. Now, however, he wandered all over the manor, or at least all over the upstairs and main floor.

He scurried out the door while Severus was combing his hair and spotted Augustus’ familiar, the black cat Mystic, who turned tail and fled upon sight of the inquisitive toddler. Harry ran after him. “Miss-stick! Come here!” the child ordered.

But the cat was far too wise to ever put himself within the child’s reach, and risk getting his tail pulled or being hugged and held with his paws dragging on the floor in such an undignified fashion.

He ran around a corner and down the stairs, Harry in hot pursuit, all the way into the large dining room.

The little boy ran smack into a pair of legs, and fell down on his bottom. “Ow!”

“Are you all right, child?” asked his great-grandfather, reaching out and helping the boy up. “Not hurt, are you?”

“No.” Harry said, wanting to be brave. Then he rubbed his bottom.

“You’ll live. Where were you going in such a hurry, lad?”

Harry heaved a sigh. “Drandpa, Miss-stick not cummin’! I tol’ him to come an’ he wouldn’t! He don’ lissen!”

Augustus bit back a chuckle. “Ah, Henry. How many times have I told you that Mystic is a cat? And no cat ever listens to any human, unless they want to. They’re not like dogs. A cat marches to his own tune, child. They always have.”

“Why?”

“That’s just the way they are. They’re very independent.”

“But I wanna pet him, Drandpa.”

“Not pull his tail as you did last time?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Last time was an . . .acc . . aki . . .a mistake.” He would never do that again, since after doing so, the very annoyed feline had scratched his hand.

“It was. You can pet Mystic later. Now it’s time for dinner.” He bent and picked up the little boy, who smelled of apples and faintly of cinnamon.

“All wight!” Harry sighed, wishing he was big so then he could do whatever he wanted.

“R-ight. R-r-r-r,” Augustus enunciated, growling deep in his throat. Not speaking properly and slurring words was a pet peeve of his and he was determined to teach Harry to speak clearly.

“R-r-r-r!” Harry repeated. “R-r-r-ow-rr! The monster-r game!”

“Co-r-r—rect!” Augustus rolled his r’s. “Now repeat after me. R-r-udolph the R-r-r-ed-nosed R-r-reindeer r-r-r-an away.” One day Harry had returned from a shopping trip in Yorkshire with Severus prattling on and on about some red-nosed reindeer nonsense and singing a song he had heard several children from America singing as they walked along the street.

Harry dutifully repeated the sentence, concentrating on making the ‘R’ sound, then added mischievously. “An’ then the monster-r-r ate him! R-r-r-owrr!”

“You think that’s scary?” Augustus inquired, abandoning his reserve for once. He cleared his throat and concentrated, once he had been a perfect mimic of animal noises, which drove his teachers crazy at school. Then he roared like a dragon.

Harry squealed and jumped in delight. “Ahhh! You’s ver-ry scar-r-y, Drandpa!”

“Merlin, what the hell was that?” Severus cried, rushing down the stairs with his wand drawn, only to skid to a stop when he saw Harry and Augustus.

“Err . . .I was giving young Henry an elocution lesson,” the older Prince coughed guiltily. But there was a sly twinkle in his dark eyes. Looks like I haven’t lost my touch. And had I been in school I’d have gotten a good couple of smacks with a ruler for being disruptive and scaring the blazes out of my classmates and my teacher.

“Oh. For a minute there I thought we were under attack,” Severus sheepishly put his wand away.

“That was r-eally scary, huh, Papa?” Harry asked innocently, his eyes wide.

“A little.” He turned to go into the dining room, embarrassed at how he had overreacted.

Augustus winked at Harry, who smirked, then carried him to his special seat inbetween them. Usually the three men managed to eat breakfast and tea together on the weekends, and lunch was occasionally eaten alone or with one or the other and Harry, but dinner they always ate as a family.

As they ate the leg of lamb with mint sauce and new potatoes Lina had cooked, Augustus asked Severus how his day had gone over at Prince Labs. “Have you managed to perfect that burn cream you’ve been working on?”

“Yes, sir,” Severus answered, washing down his last mouthful of lamb with some wine. He rarely drank wine, except occasionally during the holiday at mealtimes, and this was a special vintage, grown here from Augustus’ own vineyard, called Frosted Sunset. “I intend to ask the Burn Ward at St. Mungos if I may borrow a few volunteers to test the potion’s efficacy.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I shall speak to the Head of the Magical Injuries Ward, if you’d like?”

“Please do. They might be more willing to allow it if you did so, rather than a virtually unknown Potions Master like myself.” Severus conceded.

“Papa,” Harry cried, tugging urgently upon Severus’s sleeve.

“One moment, Harry. I’m talking with Grandpa.”

“But Papa, I has to go potty!” the two-and-a-half year old whimpered. He squirmed on his chair.

“All right. Thank you for telling me, Harry.” Severus started to rise when Hotspur popped into view.

“I shall take him, Master Severus.”

“Would you? Thank you,” Severus said gratefully. “Go with Hotspur, son.” He then resumed his conversation with Augustus while Hotspur took his son to the bathroom. Harry had just begun to use the toilet a few months ago and Severus knew it was important to encourage him, as he had read in several parenting books.

Harry returned after a few moments. “I’s all done!” he announced loudly.

“Good job, Harry, but next time don’t announce it to the whole world,” Severus said wryly.

“Can I have a sticker now, Papa? An’ a treat?”

“You may. After dinner we shall put a sticker on your chart and you can have a treat.” He had gotten that idea from Annamaria Zabini, who had a son, Blaise, who was almost Harry’s age. She and her husband Marco both worked for Prince Labs as apothecaries. She was a few years older than Severus and had given him many valuable tips on child rearing, as Blaise was her third child after her firstborn twins, Alina and Alexander.

He was proud of himself for creating that new potion, but he had had an ulterior motive behind it, a way to hide Harry’s scar forever and thus prevent anyone from recognizing him. He did not want to lose the boy to well-meaning wizards who wanted a child savior and would push Harry into becoming a sacrificial hero, like in the old tales. He believed, as did Augustus, that wars and mad wizards should be fought by adults and prophecy was true only if you believed in it. And Severus thought it merely a convenient tool of manipulative old wizards who wished they were living back in the days of Arthur and Merlin. How could a child, any child, be expected to fight the likes of Voldemort, should he rise again?

Once Lina had come in and cleared the plates away, and Severus had stuck a gold star sticker on Harry’s chart and given him a lollipop as a reward, the three retired to the drawing room to decorate the seven-foot tall evergreen tree.

The tree was alive, having been transplanted into a huge bucket of perpetually damp soil and when Christmas was over, Augustus would use his magic to return it to the plot of earth where it had originally grown. Here at Foxfire Hall, they had no need to chop down trees like Muggles for Christmas.

With a gesture, Augustus put an entire string of magical fairy lights on the tree. The lights twinkled and blinked and would continue to do so all of the holiday, until the enchantment faded after New Years. Then he pulled up a footstool and sat down in the recliner in front of the roaring fire with his feet up and looked abominably pleased with himself.

“There. I’ve helped decorate the tree.”

His grandson raised an eyebrow. “What about the rest of it? The ornaments, the star, the tinsel?”

“That, my young Potions Master, is for you and little Henry to do. Put you in the Christmas spirit.”

“I already am,” groaned Severus. “I spent all day yesterday shopping for presents.”

“For me, Papa? For me?” asked a tiny little voice.

Severus knelt down so he was eye to eye with his intrepid toddler. “Maybe. If you behave yourself and be a good boy. Then you’ll get gifts from me and Grandpa and Father Christmas. Remember what we talked about last night?”

“Uh huh. You said I has to be good an’ don’ scream an’ cry or throw my toys and use the potty an’ lissen to you an’ Drandpa an’ Lina an’ Hotspur an’ then Father Kistmas would come an’ leave me toys unner the tree an’ in my sock. R-r-ight?” he asked, rolling his R’s like Augustus.

Severus chuckled at the blatant imitation. “Very good, imp. Do you think you can do it?”

“Uh . . .I’ll twy. But it’s r-r-eally hard. Do I has to be good all the time till Kistmas, Papa? That’s a long time.”

Severus ruffled the auburn hair fondly. “I know. But you try your best and come Christmas morning you’ll see if Father Christmas left you anything. Okay? Now let’s decorate the tree.”

“Okay. I will,” the child promised solemnly. “Papa, what’s dek-rate mean?”

“Decorating means that you put shiny ornaments and tinsel on the tree to make it look nice.” Severus explained. “Where are the ornaments, Grandfather?”

Augustus looked up from his contemplation of the fire. He had nearly dozed off from the warmth. “Hmm? Oh, the ornaments. They’re up in the attic, I believe. I haven’t decorated a tree since your grandmother died, Severus. Just ask Hotspur.”

As if summoned, Hotspur appeared at Augustus’ elbow. “You called, milord?”

“Yes. Please fetch the ornaments down from the attic for Severus and Henry.”

“At once, milord.” Hotspur vanished.

He reappeared several minutes later, a large cardboard box floating in front of him. Secretly he was pleased that the ornaments were going to be used again, his master had been too much alone these last years, brooding and lonely, mourning those who were long gone. ‘Twill be good for you to celebrate Christmas again, my lord. You need your family, you were always miserable alone. Let the little one and your grandson remind you of the happiness of the holiday.

“Here they are!” he gestured to the box with a flourish. “Have fun, sirs! I shall be back in an hour or so with some tea and cocoa and gingerbread.”

“The ones I baked, Hotspur?” asked Harry.

“Just so, Little One.” Hotspur smiled at him and then blinked away.

Severus began going through the huge box, which had all the ornaments wrapped in cloth. Some were quite fragile and others made of wood, still others were of glass and brightly colored paper. He found one in a delicate box made of balsa wood and removed a gorgeous snowflake encapsulated in a glass globe. It hung from a twisted silver wire and seemed to sparkle and glow even in the enchanted light globes overhead.

“This is a beautiful ornament,” Severus murmured, turning it about to admire it. “It almost looks . . .real.”

Augustus looked up . . .and his breath caught. “That’s because it is.” He said very softly. “Your grandmother, my wife Drusilla, made that for me the first year of our marriage, over fifty-five years ago.”

“Made it with magic?”

“That’s a real snowflake preserved in there,” Augustus said wistfully. “Did your mother never tell you that your grandmother was a Stormcaller? No? She was, a very strong one. She could call up storms, all kinds, with a mere twitch of a finger. Most grown wizards were petrified of her, Drusilla Stormbringer, they called her.”

“But not you?”

Augustus smirked. “Oh, sometimes she scared me too, when she was furious. But I loved her and she would have never used her magic to hurt me, no matter how angry I made her. Sometimes, especially when she was carrying, she could be moody, blow hot and cold like the weather, but it always passed. She was quite pretty, she had dark golden hair and eyes the color of a winter morning, blue and gray and green all together. No one ever had eyes like that except a Stormcaller. She made that after she had called down a little blizzard when we had first moved in here. She wanted a white Christmas, but the weather wasn’t cooperating. So she tweaked it and there was snow for awhile. She caught a snowflake on her fingertip and blew on it, and the air turned to glass, and then she conjured some silver wire and strung it and gave it to me. “For you, my love, to remember our first Christmas.” And that was the first ornament we hung upon the tree that year.”

The elder wizard’s eyes were far away, remembering his fair haired wife, his first and only love, who had brightened all of his days and warmed his night until she had died, upon Christmas Day over fifteen years ago.

Severus cupped the snowflake ornament reverently in his hand.

“Can I see, Papa? Can I?” Harry jumped up and down.

Severus knelt. “Look, but don’t touch, young man,” he instructed.

Harry put his hands behind his back the way his papa had taught him. “Oooh! Pretty!”

“Yes. Let’s put it on the tree.” Severus rose and placed the snowflake in the globe upon a high branch near the top of the tree, where the lights caught it and made it shimmer.

Then he turned back to the box and said quietly, “I heard from Marco Zabini that you were no slouch with elements yourself when you were young, Grandfather.”

Augustus blinked, coming out of his reverie. Drusilla had always loved Christmas, he thought wistfully, one reason why he had stopped celebrating after she had gone. The holiday didn’t seem the same without her, and all the meaning it had once had seemed to vanish. “What? Sorry, I dozed off.”

Severus repeated what he had said.

Augustus snorted. “Oh, he did, did he? What new rumors have they added to my reputation?” Mystic reappeared and jumped upon his lap, kneading his robe with his claws and purring. Augustus stroked the old cat, who was nearly twenty-five.

“Oh, Marco said that once you were known as . . .the Unleasher of Earthquakes.”

“Once, yes. I’m an Elemental Master, you know.” An Elemental Master was a wizard who had an affinity for all four elements and could use them at will, commanding the powers of wind, water, earth, and fire. It was that talent that had made Augustus so formidable as a battle mage. It had also caused him considerable grief as an adolescent, for his emotions fueled his talent, and having a storm blow up every time he grew frustrated or a fire start when he lost his temper was not a good thing. But eventually, through months of hard work he had at last learned control over his wild talent and that control had become legend among his peers. “Unleasher of Earthquakes . . .they called me that long ago, when I used my power to take down a group of Grindelwald’s assassins who tried to kill the Minister. I made the earth open up and swallow them. It was not something I wished to do, but they gave me no choice. And after that, the Minister had me train a crack group of Aurors to fight dark wizards. I trained young Alastor Moody and that sticky-fingered Mundungus Fletcher . . .many’s the time I threatened to chop off that one’s fingers for touching other people’s belongings, the bloody klepto. We never did get on, but well, you don’t with every apprentice. . . that was how I met Drusilla, as a matter of fact, she was a weather liaison to the Department back then . . .”

He lapsed back into silence then, his heart aching when he thought of his wife.

Severus took another ornament from the box, this one was a pretty carved bird of maple. “This looks handmade too.”

Augustus nodded. “It is. Your aunt Grace made it. My eldest. She was a woodcarver, could make just about anything with wood and make it last. She was the one who planted the orchards and the gardens you see on the north side of the estate. She became an Herbologist when she grew up, always had a green thumb, could make any plant grow. But the one thing she couldn’t have was a child. Or at least carry one to term.” Augustus’ expression darkened. “She died giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Her loss drove her husband Ethan mad too and he followed her within the year. That was the year before you were born, Severus.”

“Oh.” Severus felt awkward, he could see in the older man’s eyes what it had cost him to relive those memories. “Did Mum . . .did she go to the funeral?”

“Yes, of course. She wasn’t really cast out from the family and she was told of her sister’s death and came to the service. It was then she told us that she was pregnant with you, I believe. It made us smile, even on that horrid day.”

Severus carefully placed it on the tree. Then he took several more glassblown colored balls and such and hung them up as well. Harry he allowed to hang the ornaments made of yarn and soft fabric upon the lower branches.

He discovered a small golden cauldron with the words Eileen Estrella Prince Christmas 1958 etched into it. When he cupped it in his hands, the cauldron became warm and multi-colored sparkles and bubbles shot out of it.

Harry clapped his hands and screamed, “Wow!”

“Like that one, do you?” his great-grandfather chuckled. “Eileen made that as present for me the year she finished school. She was a brilliant potion maker, you take after her, Severus. There wasn’t a potion she couldn’t brew. She out-performed her professor on her NEWTS.” There was pride now in the old man’s voice. “I remember when she got the scores, she nearly fell down the stairs, she was so shocked. I threw a big party to celebrate, Drusilla and I were so proud . . .”

He shut his eyes, the better to recall his youngest daughter, who had been his pet, smiling and laughing, her dark eyes glowing with triumph, her dark hair blowing about her, she had always reminded him of a young willow tree, tall and upright and able to survive the fiercest storm. Suddenly, he missed them all something fierce . . .All of them gone . . .my wife, my children, all of them gone away and left me behind . . .to face the years empty and alone, with only Mystic and my faithful elves for comfort . . .once this hall rang with laughter and light, once but no more . . .Now they live only in my memory . . .

He felt a strange pressure squeezing his chest and he knew it was his heart, breaking all over again. This was why he couldn’t stand to celebrate Christmas, why he preferred the holiday to come and go, because the ones he loved most were not there and the memories hurt . . .they hurt so much . . .

Severus had turned about to ask Augustus something about Eileen, and saw to his horror that tears were silently falling down the old man’s face.

“Grandfather . . .”

Augustus opened his eyes, but did not bother to wipe away the tears, he found where once he would have been mortified to show such weakness to anyone, now he did not care. “Forgive me, I grow maudlin in my old age, and Christmas reminds me of those I have lost. They are all gone and here I still sit, surrounded by ghosts, alone . . .”

Severus took a step forward, tentatively reaching a hand out to clasp his grandfather’s in his own. “Sir . . .you’re not alone. You have me now . . .and Harry . . .”

Harry, hearing his name, looked up from beneath the tree, and saw his father looking at his grandfather sadly. It bothered him, and so he toddled over to them to see what was wrong. The tears upon Augustus’ face scared him, for grown-ups weren’t supposed to cry. “Don’ cry,” he whispered, crawling into Augustus’s lap and hugging him. “You is not ‘post to cry on Kistmas. You is post t’ be happy, Drandpa.”

Suddenly, Augustus wiped his eyes and hugged his small grandchild to him. “You’re right, Henry. Thank you for reminding me. And you too, Severus. I had forgotten that Christmas was a time of joy as well as sorrow.” He squeezed Severus’ hand in his own. This time with his grandson and Harry was precious and he had to enjoy it while he still could, for he didn’t know how many years he had left to him.

“Are you sad still?” asked Harry, concerned.

“I . . .no, little one. Not now,” said his grandfather. “Come, let me help you finish the tree.”

Then he rose and set Harry on his feet and went to kneel beside the ornament box. There were so many memories here, and stories to tell, he mused. As he removed each ornament from the box, he slowly began to speak of the history behind each one, some of which had been in the family for time out of mind.

By the time Hotspur had returned with the cocoa, tea, and gingerbread, the tree was all decorated.

They all stood back and admired it, so tall and proud, shimmering with light and hung with ornaments that captured all of the Prince history in its branches.

“The star, Papa!” Harry reminded.

Severus picked up the little boy and Augustus handed him the star. “Put it on the top, Harry.”

And Harry did, where it shone down brightly, tinting the green branches a faint golden color.

“Yay!” Harry cheered, then did a little impromptu dance about the tree, his eyes shining.

The two adults laughed to see such exuberant innocence, it made them recall the days of their own childhood, when all was new and bright, and Christmas was the season of hope and of being together with family.

Harry stopped dancing abruptly and looked back at the two wizards.

“Where’s the gifts?”

“You’ll see them on Christmas Day, child. So long as you behave,” Augustus, said, wagging a finger at him.

“Oh.” Harry’s face fell. But then he saw his gingerbread upon the tray. “Lookit, Drandpa. I made the tauldron one for Papa an’ this one for you!” He held out a wizard hat to Augustus.

“Thank you, little one,” the Unleasher of Earthquakes said gravely, then he took the gingerbread and his great-grandson in his arms and hugged him.

Severus watched, smiling, then he snitched Harry’s “tauldron” off the platter and ate it. It tasted just as good as the ones Eileen used to make, when he was small.