“Ten points from Gryffindor, Granger!”

Hermione turned from Neville’s cauldron, a livid blush stealing across her cheeks. “I was just…”

With a flurry of greasy black cloth, Severus Snape, Potions Monster swept across the crowded classroom and braced two pale hands against the stained wooden desk. Oily black locks swinging forward to frame his angular, pallid face he locked the girls terrified brown eyes in a midnight glare. “I would have thought” he whispered, drawing out each word slowly, like a victim on the rack, “that, after three years of my classes, it would be clear to even the most obtuse of students that I WILL NOT COUNTENANCE CHEATING!”

“Hermione wasn’t cheating!” Harry blustered, his green eyes flashing behind spellotaped spectacles.

“Mr Potter, did I invite you to speak?” Snape snapped, obsidian eyes honing on Harry’s angry face like heat seeking missiles. “No? Then get on with your work IN SILENCE!”

“I… I wasn’t cheating, Sir” Hermione mumbled, dropping her eyes and nervously tucking a thick strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear “Neville just made a mistake and I…”

“Detention, Ms Granger…”

“That’s well unfair!” Harry interrupted.

“And Mr Potter.” Snape replied silkily, drawing himself up to his full six foot. “You would both do well to remember that, while your other teachers may allow answering-back or interruptions, I will not tolerate disrespect. You will both report to my office at six o’clock.”

“But..!”

“Mr Potter” the Potions Master drawled, raising an arched sable brow, “I do believe that I just punished you for disrespect. Perhaps one detention was not sufficient to drive the point into your arrogant skull?”

Hermione jabbed Harry’s narrow ribs “Ow! I mean, I’ve got to be somewhere else.” the tousle-haired teen muttered, rubbing his side.

Snape’s slender mouth twisted “Then you will have to rearrange your plans, Potter.”

“The Headmaster wants to see me, Sir.” Harry whispered, biting his lip.

The teacher snorted, the air sputtering out of his overlarge nose making him resemble a particularly foul tempered dragon. Harry forced his face to remain neutral: Snape had been in a foul mood all period.

“Very well. Both of you are to report to my classroom at nine o’clock, sharp.

As the angry Potioneer stormed away, Harry slumped in his chair; the last thing he’d wanted was to broadcast his meeting with Professor Dumbledore. The Headmaster was a generally distant figure, so the owl which had arrived last night meant something was definitely up. And that something was probably Sirius Black.

oOoOo

“What did Dumbledore want?” Ron asked, cramming a roast potato into his mouth.

Sliding his legs over the bench, Harry dumped his schoolbag at his feet “Just telling me what I already knew, as usual!”

“Huh?”

Harry grinned ruefully “That another psycho is out to kill me.” When Ron paled, causing his freckles to stand out in sharp relief, Harry elaborated “Y’know. Sirius Black.”

Hermione’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed “You shouldn’t be so flippant about it” she huffed in annoyance.

“Yeah, well” Harry shrugged, his fork combing through his roast beef. “It’s not as if we didn’t know. I mean, Ron’s dad told me, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but…”

“And it’s not like he could get into Hogwarts” added Ron, flooding his plate with gravy.

“Voldemort did” Hermione said darkly.

“Yeah, but Black’s not hitchhiking on the skull of a teacher, is he?” Ron replied.

“And the dementors, don’t think he’d want to see them again.” Harry added grimly.

“Yes, well, it’s still not wise to underestimate You-Know-Whos right hand man.” Hermione hissed “No one thought he could escape Azkaban, either!”

With a frustrated sigh, Harry threw down his fork, abandoning the tiny portion of food, and ran a hand through his messy dark hair.

“Leave it, Hermione” Ron warned, a serious look in his blue eyes.

As puddings arrived on the table, Harry scanned the plates for the crisply iced, chewy star-shaped biscuits that the elves served at Christmas. They were called ‘Zimtstern’; Harry knew that because Petunia got them in for Christmas, they were practically the only foreign thing his aunt bought. However, the factory-made versions weren’t a patch on the biscuits from Hogwarts’ ovens.

However, while there were tarts, cakes, steamed puds, ice-creams, mince pies and even Christmas puddings a plenty, no biscuits graced the table.

Reaching for a small slice of treacle tart, Harry sighed; the thought of that evening’s detention tied his stomach in knots. A sweet, spicy biscuit was just what he felt he could manage.

oOoOo

The wooden stools of the potions lab had been hardened beyond the density of metal by the centuries and the frosty dungeon air cooled them to a bottom-numbing coldness. Harry fidgeted.

“Am I boring you, Mr Potter?” Snape asked icily, turning from the blackboard in a flurry of greasy black silk.

“Wha..? Oh, no Sir” Harry replied, straightening up. The evening meal didn’t seem to have sweetened Snapes’ temper, judging his terse ‘greeting’ (if a barked command of ‘sit’ as they entered could be called a greeting).

The Potions Master smiled tightly “As you may have deduced, I am setting you lines. You will write out the following sentence…”

“What? All that?”

“Yes, Mr Potter; ‘I will show due respect to my professors and gratitude for the knowledge that they are attempting to impart. My professors have earned my respect, having attained such social superiority through many years of study, culminating in their masteries. I will not interrupt, answer back, raise my voice or speak in an impertinent tone to my professors, nor will I waste their time by talking amongst my peers, daydreaming, doodling…’” The professor paused and, with a brief scribbling of chalk added “‘or fidgeting during their lessons.’” Crossing his arms, Snape smirked, a sarcastic glint in his dark eyes “I think two hundred and fifty repetitions would be sufficient.”

“TWO hundr…”

“Five hundred.” The Potions Master smirked “Would you like to see how far you can raise me, Potter?”

His insides burning with indignation, Harry forced his flaming gaze down onto the stained wood of the potion bench; five hundred lines! They’d be lucky to get away before midnight!

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get writing!” and, with that parting shot, Snape swept across the floor, oily black hair flying in his wake, and strode out into a side room, slamming the door behind him.

“Sorry Hermione” Harry muttered, tugging a roll of parchment out of his bag.

“Shh!” Hermione replied, worried brown eyes flickering towards the door.

Harry nodded, biting his lip. Green eyes flickered upwards at the gentle nudge of her elbow against his arm. Hermione smiled, tilting her head to the side, causing her chestnut locks to pool against her shoulder.

His heart feeling lighter than it had all evening, Harry grinned back; Snape was an arse, lines were boring but at least he and Hermione had each other.

oOoOo

What felt like centuries later, Harry finally added the final ‘s’ to the five hundredth transcription of ‘lessons’. His back was aching, his hand trembling so bad he’d had to support it with his left for the last 40 repartitions but he’d finished.

“You done? Hermione asked, her breath misting in the air as she looked up from her textbook. She, having naturally neat writing, had completed her lines a good ten minutes ago. Harry, however, had to really work to keep his writing neat but, all in all, the extra time was worth it; Snape was enough of a git to destroy his parchment if it didn’t come up to ‘an acceptable standard’. More haste, less speed.

“Yeah.” Harry replied. “Figure we should wait or go find him?”

“It’s half eleven” Hermione whispered back, looking at her watch. “I think, if we knock first, he couldn’t really complain.”

Harry rolled his eyes, the sceptical expression in the green orbs clearly proclaiming that this was Snape; there was nothing he couldn’t wind himself up over!

When the children approached the side room, however, their footsteps on the echoing stone caused the door to swing open.

Gaping in shock, wide eyes observed a reasonably sized potions lab. The scrubbed wooden benches were lined with dozens of huge metal trays, each bearing a galaxy of tiny, golden-brown stars. And, slumped amongst them, his hair tied back and a large, white apron encircling his narrow waist, Snape slept, a dripping icing bag hanging from his hand. Beside him, in a shiny silver cauldron, was a vat of dense, creamy liquid which sparkled in the lamp light.

“I don’t believe it!”

“What’s he doing?” Harry hissed, horror twisting his features.

Hermione closed her hanging jaw “Icing biscuits, it would seem.”

“Yeah, but with what?”

The teenage girl’s brows knotted “Icing?” she suggested, her mouth twisting into a quizzical half-smile.

“I’m going to get Dumbledore” Harry replied, forcing a hand through his wayward raven hair. “This is not good.”

“Harry!” Hermione whisper-screamed but it was too late; the teenage boy had already streaked out of the door, his slapping footfalls rapidly fading into the distance.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the teenage girl cautiously reached out and pulled the door closed. Traipsing back to her seat, Hermione hoped against hope that Harry would return before Professor Snape woke.

oOoOo

Sucking on a bulls-eye sweet, Albus Dumbledore stretched out his long legs and twiddled stripy sock clad toes in front of his roaring office fire. Straightening his aching back, the elderly headmaster batted the end of his white beard away from his accounts book and reflected that interruptions never came when one wished for them.

He was proved wrong but seconds later. Rising swiftly, the Headmaster hurried towards his door, against which someone was frantically hammering.

“Harry! To what must I owe this very late pleasure?”

“Snape” the teen panted, clutching his heaving ribs.

“Professor Snape?”

“Gone mental… poison…”

Dumbledore’s snowy, bushy brows contracted “Dear boy?!”

Taking a deep breath, Harry’s green eyes locked with the Headmaster’s forget-me-not blue gaze “Snape’s got the Christmas biscuits. He’s icing them with some sort of potion. I think he’s gone mental, he was being weird all day, really psycho” the teenage boy stopped, aware he was beginning to burble.

Dumbledore closed his mouth, comprehension dawning behind his half-moon glasses. “I think it is best that we take a seat.”

As Harry reluctantly slumped in a chair, the Headmaster steepled his long fingers “Professor Snape is an intensely private man, Harry, and, before I tell you anything, I would like you to promise me that you will not repeat what I am about to reveal to anyone.”

The teenager’s green gaze flickered up to the old professor’s serious countenance “Hermione also saw him!”

“Ms. Granger, I suspect, will be content with the knowledge that Professor Snape has presented Hogwarts with those trays of biscuits for around twenty years.” the Headmaster stated solemnly “No child, teacher or elf has ever reported any suspicious symptoms.”

“Snape makes them? Why?” Harry gasped, his thin face a picture of incomprehension.

“Professor Snape, Harry” corrected Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows “And first I require your promise.”

“Okay, Sir I promise I won’t repeat anything about Professor Snape.”

“Not excepting Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley.” The Headmaster added sternly.

“But I…” noticing Dumbledore's frown, the teen stopped, sighed and said “I promise.”

“Many years ago, when Professor Snape was but a little boy, he noticed that a muggle neighbour, a child of his own age, had magical ability. He introduced himself and, after a tentative beginning- and a few misunderstandings- they became friends. Very firm friends indeed.”

Harry nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral; this didn’t sound like the Snape he knew.

Dumbledore leant back in his chair “Upon reaching Hogwarts, these two children were sorted into different Houses; Gryffindor and Slytherin. However, despite their increasingly divided loyalties, the children remained close friends, spending much of their free time together. One Yule eve, the muggleborn noticed a house-elf delivering presents and, after making a few enquiries, was rather concerned about their servitude.”

The ancient Professor smiled. “Although, after a discussion with Professor Snape, his friend accepted that House-Elves were, in the main, happy to care for their humans, they believed that some recompense was necessary. Thus, the following Yule, they made a tray of biscuits and delivered them to the kitchens.”

“They were a Christmas present?” Harry gasped, emerald eyes round.

“Yes” the Headmaster smiled sadly. “Professor Snape continued the tradition when he returned as a teacher, partially in remembrance of his muggleborn friend.”

“He died?” Harry asked, his face falling.

Dumbledore paused, an inner conflict tightening the muscles of his face “There was an argument, an irremediable breach.” He finished reluctantly.

Harry bit his lip “Couldn’t they just, y’know, talk it through or something? I mean, nothing’s bad enough to destroy a friendship if you’re willing to fight for it.”

“I think I have said enough for tonight, Harry.” Dumbledore replied gently but firmly. He stood up, brushing the creases from his turquoise robes “I think it best that I escort you back to your detention now. Hopefully, you will not have been missed.”

OoOoO

Having installed Harry safely in the Potions classroom and, with a significant look towards the curious children, woken his young Potions Professor from his impromptu slumber, Dumbledore made his solitary way back to the Headmaster’s Tower.

An uneasy feeling of disquiet had unfurled uncomfortably in his chest and, despite his many years upon this planet, the ancient Professor couldn’t quite put his finger upon why he felt this way. True, he had probably said more than he ought to Harry but, unless the child had some explanation, he would have pursued the matter with his friends. The boy had a very good instinct for lies, after all.

However, Harry was also one of the kindest children Dumbledore had the pleasure to meet, not to mention the fair amount of insight the boy had developed over his less than ideal childhood. Severus’ secret was safe.

So why did Albus feel this strange unease?

Sitting down in his fireside chair, Dumbledore redipped his quill in the silver inkwell and recommenced his accounts. Several violet entries later, the pen paused;

Self-updating journals

Journal: Tranfiguration. Quantity: 2. Price: 30G
Journal: Charms. Quantity: 2. Price: 33G
Journal: Potions. Quantity: 2. Price: 50G
Journal: Mind Magic. Quantity: 2. Price: 70G
Journal: Defence. Quantity: 2. Price: 40G
Journal: Herbology. Quantity: 2. Price: 34G
Journal: Arithmancy. Quantity: 2. Price: 25G
Journal: Magical Creatures. Quantity: 2. Price: 24G
Journal: Muggle Studies. Quantity: 2. Price: 20G
Astrology Charts. Quantity: 2. Price 10G

A misty wistfulness clouded the ancient professor’s eyes. Putting down his pen, he turned over the stiff, vellum pages slowly.

They read like the accounts of a married couple. Every personal expense was duplicated; books, clothing, shoes, toiletries, food… stationary. Not that He ever put pen to paper. Had it not been for Fawkes, who delivered those parcels to the tallest tower of Nurmengard, Albus would not have known if the sole occupant was even alive.

“Nothing’s bad enough to destroy a friendship if you’re willing to fight for it” Harry had said.

Out of the mouths of babes?

Forget-me-not eyes refocused, slackened lips pressed together. “Enough.” Albus whispered. “There are some things… he could not imagine… I cannot; I owe it to them.”

Putting aside his book, Albus stood up, stretched and headed to bed. He was overtired. Irrational and, perhaps, a little overemotional too. Children believe that violence of passion is their sole preserve, yet Albus knew from first-hand experience that the years do not blunt emotion, they only teach one self-restraint.

Lying back upon the crisp, cotton pillows of his bed, Albus closed his eyes and slipped beneath the rolling waves of sleep, sinking beyond the choppy shallows, into the silent, pressing depths where slumber is practically indistinguishable from death.

The currents of his subconscious sent him floating towards a rusticle coated wreck; a small, metal tabernacle, ghostlike in the blue waters. A teenage girl stood outside, her honey coloured hair flowing around her ice-pale face.

“Albus” the she whispered, her earnest eyes the blue-violet of budding forget-me-nots.

“Ariana.” She was always here. The sister he failed in so many ways for so long.

“You have both punished yourselves enough Albus.” She said, her voice sweet and high. “Go to him.”

The Headmaster sat up, blinking tears from his eyes. Pulse ringing in his ears, Albus mentally scrabbled for the fragments of his dream but they fled, evading his frantic grasp.

All that remained was the memory of Ariana and the feeling that, right now, he shouldn’t be anywhere but Nuremgard.

OoOoO

As his headmaster was completing a hasty toilette, Harry, under the protective folds of his invisibility cloak, snuck towards the castle kitchens.

It had occurred to him that the house-elves weren’t the only inhabitants of the castle who were overlooked at Christmas.

“Condensed milk, icing sugar, peppermint oil, green food colour, dark chocolate. Condensed milk, icing sugar, peppermint oil, green food colour, dark chocolate” the teenager muttered under his breath.

Snape would get a present if it killed him. Knowing the Potions Master’s temper, it well might but, well, it was worth a try, wasn’t it?

OoOoO

“Oh, my love, my darling,” crooned the little red box on his bedside table. There was so little magic performed within these strong, thick walls that the radio waves broke through with comparative ease.

“I’ve hungered for your touch” a small paper phoenix formed under his wrinkled fingers, the crisp folds forming its shape with practiced ease.

“A long, lonely time”

The spell-proper called for a thousand paper cranes. He had currently made 34723907. In another two years, perhaps, he would have enough.

“And times go by so slowly”

Smiling wistfully, Gellert breathed upon the little paper bird’s wings; they fluttered in the warm current and the tiny bird turned its head towards his creator.

“She vas just a girl, eighteen, p’haps nineteen; green eyes und a cap of blue-black hair. Blue gingham apron. I didn’t mean her to die, zhat curse vas not for her but ze vizard I vas fightink moved at ze wronk time. I’m sorry.”

“And time can do so much”

The little phoenix nodded and took flight, flowing between the bars of the small, stone rimmed window and into the pale moonlight.

Nine hundred and seven down, ninety three more to go.

As Gellert reached for another sheet of paper, there was a crack of apparition. The elderly wizard turned, hand clutching at his heart.

“Albus?!” he whispered, raising a frail yet still elegant hand to his mouth.

“Yes.” For once, the articulate Headmaster was lost for words. He had expected to find Gellert changed beyond the point of recognition. It absolutely floored him to find the ashen-white hair still framed his lofty forehead in soft, tumbling curls, that, despite its web of wrinkles, his skin remained translucent, glowing across every contour of that finely-boned face.

That those clear, intelligent eyes, widened larger than ever by disbelief, were still as violet as the alpine twilight.

Slowly, Gellert swung his pyjama clad legs out of the rustic timber bed and straightened up. Tentatively, hesitantly, he stepped forward. “I thought I vould not know you again Albus. Yet, all zhese years und you haff not changed.”

“That is a bit of an exaggeration, old friend.”

Gellert blinked, eyes suddenly shiny with tears “I cannot believe zhat you are here.”

“I can hardly believe it myself” Albus replied a little hoarsely, knotting his fingers in the long, pale waterfall of his beard.

“You still do zhat, zhen.” Gellert said, causing Albus to raise his eyebrows. “Zhough, vhen ve ver younk it vas your hair you played vith.” the warlock finished, smiling ruefully.

There was a pause, which lengthened into an awkward silence. Gellert sat on the bed and motioned for Albus to sit at the reed-seated chair by the desk.

“I am afraid I cannot offer you refreshments.” the elderly warlock said uncomfortably “I haff leetle in ze vay of drinks here und ze elf iz not due to return for some time.”

“It is no matter. I… I trust that you are being treated well?”

Gellert shrugged “A vise man vunce said zat it iz a foolish leader indeed who does not design his stronkest prison cell vith his own comfort in mind. Zhere is somethink about locking ze usurped leader in his own prison vhich seems to appeal on an almost sub-molecular level und, naturally, ze highest tower iz ze very place for a dark vizard.”

Albus’ blue eyes flickered to the heavy steel bolts which barred the door, each thickly engraved with a plethora of runes “You crafty devil.”

“Vhile I cannot get out, zhey cannot get in.” Gellert replied nonchalantly. “Zhey leave me in peace now, vhich is all I wish.”

Albus shifted uncomfortably “Is… my presence… unwelcome?”

Gellert looked up, his violet eyes shining “Albus, you, alone, vere the vun person to whom I told everythink, the vun person whose company I could not only vithstand but actually enjoy. Although I am not vhat I vunce vas to you, you vill alvays be unchanged to me.”

A convulsive shudder ran through Albus’ body “It… I was not considering my own feelings when…”

“Nor vas I.” Gellert interrupted “Ze parcels vere more zhan I expected and… considerably more zhan I felt entitled to receive from you, who, of all people, I had wronked.” He sighed “I could not hope to consider your kindness stemmed from any regard, it vas mere charity. You haff alvays been a good man, Albus, even kind to zhose you knew did not deserved it. I did not think zhat you vould vish to hear from me.”

“I enclosed paper and ink.” Albus muttered.

“But no note.”

Silence fell, heavy and cold as the snow which blanketed the prison’s turrets. Gellert sighed, stretching the aching fingers of his delicate hands. “It seems zhat ve, vunce again, vere vaiting for ze other to make ze first move.”

OoOoO

“Has you got all that you is requiring, young master Potter?” Hester asked sweetly, folding her wrinkled hands.

“No, you’ve been great. Thanks” Harry replied, a smile spreading across his face as he grabbed the bulging bag of icing sugar and tipped it into the largest bowl.

There was something so comforting about this recipe, Harry thought, as he mixed in the creamy, sweet condensed milk. He loved it ever since he’d first made it, at the tender age of seven in his first Home-Economics class. Petunia, of course, had chucked his shyly proffered gift in the bin, preferring to effuse over Dudley’s sticky, ill-formed versions to the back of his cousin’s blond head.

Sitting in his cupboard, later that evening, Harry had savoured the sweet, chocolately peppermints. Even Snape couldn’t fail to like them.

Especially now he had real peppermint oil. The house-elves had outdone themselves: the myriad of bottles laid out upon the table each contained either a jewel-bright colour or fruit or herbal oil. Peppermint for Snape, Ginger for Mcgonagall, Lemon for Dumbledore, Rum for Hagrid…

“What does Flitwick like?” Harry asked, dropping a fistful of pale mixture in a smaller bowl.

“Banana, Master Potter.”

Laughing, Harry rolled out the now yellow paste and started cutting out star shapes, painting a blob of melted chocolate in the centre of each. In the candle-light, the banana-cremes shone like yellow lilies.

Watching the boy’s narrow, careworn face glowing with the joy of innocent industry, Hester felt a deep, warm peace descend upon her kitchen.

Yule, unlike the other ancient gods, was not invoked by a proscribed ceremony and demanded no particular sacrifice; a casket of frankencence or a toy train, some home-made sweets or a bunch of flowers: if it was given, generously and freely, with no expected reward save for the happiness of the receiver, Yule would come.

The elderly elf did not quite know whether her mind was playing tricks upon her, but the scent of Attar of Roses seemed to hang in the air surrounding Harry

“Just Pomona’s rose-cremes.” She muttered, “Such a sentimental old flippertygibbit, me.”

And that flash of scarlet and emerald which caught her eye as she turned to tend the fire was merely coincidental. Plenty of red and green things around Yule. No point in being silly and reading things into it.

oOoOo

Albus tore his gaze away from the window, stood up, brushed his robes “I should probably return to Hogwarts” he said “I did not inform anyone that I would be leaving”. The words felt like strangers in his throat.

Gellert sighed “Indeed, it is late for old men like us. Ve are no longer as young as ve used.”

“I will write, however.”

“I vill look forvard to your letters. It is alvays a joy to see Fawkes.” He paused, a sad smile tugging his lips “To know zhat you kept him vas a happiness to me.”

Albus blinked his blue eyes in shock “I did not even consider…”

Gellert smiled ruefully “No, you vould not abandon any animal, even vun gifted by me.”

“Fawkes remains as precious to me as he was on the day of my eighteenth birthday” Albus replied quietly, adding in his mind: as are you.

“I suppose zhis is goodbye zhen.” Gellert replied, not rising from the bed upon which he sat. “Safe journey.”

Albus turned, then paused “I always rather wondered, if you would forgive my curiousity, whether, during our battle...” Albus signed, withdrawing his wand. “It is of no consequence.”

Gellert laughed bitterly “Vhy I sought to capture, not kill, you? Mercy or sentiment vas never allowed to get in my vay before, yes?”

The silence tightened; Albus stood, statue still, waiting; half in fear, half in dreadful hope.

“Perhaps I found zhat, vith novun at my side, ze empire I created vas merely a bauble; glitter und trash und nothing of substance.”

“You could have married.”

“I suppose I could say zhat a spouse vould have been a liability but ze truth is zhat vomen never interested me. A case of ze love zhat dare not speak its name.”

Albus swallowed, blood ringing in his ears.

“Und you, you never married either I believe?”

“I could say that I somehow was never found time, that my duties always took every available hour…” the elderly headmaster replied hoarsely.

“Ve could both say a lot of thinks.” Gellert replied, his voice soft “but you haff a castle to vhich you must return.”

“You could, if you so wished, join me.” Albus heard himself say. “No one, I think, would notice your absence.” The words spilling from his heart seemed to be completely bypassing Albus' brain tonight.

“No.” Gellert smiled “I haff vork here to do und you, Albus, must valk honestly as ze day. Vhen Voldemort returns, ze vorld vill vish to close it’s ears; novun likes bad news and so often zhey shoot ze messenger.” The elderly warlock shuddered “I may not be able to claim any particular gut to my name but, at my very vurst, I never raised a hand to a child.”

Albus turned, gazing into his childhood friend’s anguished violet eyes “You were never like him, Gellert. You may have been misguided but you did it for the greater good.”

“Vhat I thought vas ze greater gut. Ze arrogance of youth.” He paused, a gentle smile tugging at his narrow lips “However, perhaps if I am granted time to finish my atonement, I vill meet you again in the afterlife.”

“No heaven would deserve its name without you” Albus choked.

“Avay vith you. Ve are both to old for zhis.” Gellert whispered, his mouth trembling.

Those beautiful, violet eyes, shining with tears, remained burned into Albus’ mind long after he had collapsed into his study chair, golden firelight warming the icy rivers which ran across his wrinkled cheeks.

Tears of love and relief, grief and joy. Healing the ulcerated wound which had festered within his heart since that beautiful, compulsive, arrogant and charming boy had ran out of his life over a hundred years ago.

“Thank you, Harry. Thank you.”

oOoOo

Sprawled upon the stone floor in an ungainly heap of long limbs, Snape brushed the dark oily strands out of his furious eyes and snarled “What the devil are you doing?”

“Um…” Hunched on the floor like a shell-shocked rabbit, the only words that Harry could think of were; I am so dead.

“Why, Mr Potter, are you kneeling outside my office at 3 o’ bloody clock in the morning?” Snape bawled.

“I uh, wanted to give you these.” Harry replied, tugging the rather battered green box from under the door whence it was wedged.

Gaunt face twisting as his muscles twanged, Severus struggled to his feet “Poison? Not very Gryffindor, Potter.”

“They’re sweets!” Harry cried, jumping to his feet. “I made some for all the teachers” he pointed to the pile of boxes beside the door. Suddenly, the teenager felt close to tears.

Severus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose, frantically trying to contain the anger which was evaporating like the morning dew. The boy’s eyes were brimming and, as often as he told himself they were in James Potter’s face, that the boy was the very spit of his arrogant father…

“And are Messrs Weasley involved in this project in any capacity?”

“No, Sir.” Harry replied. “They’ve just got icing sugar, condensed milk, green food colour and peppermint oil in them. Honest!”

Severus gaze scanned down the rainbow array of boxes “I believe Christmas eve is more… traditional, Mr. Potter. Although” he pointedly paused “Although even on the night of the twenty-fourth curfew still runs from twelve pm to six o’clock the following morning.”

Harry sighed; there was only one way this will turn out…

Severus walked over to the pile and plucked a tartan box off the top “Professor McGonagall, I trust?”

“Um, yeah?” Harry replied, green eyes bemused.

Severus flicked his wand and the parcel rose into the air and jetted off up the stairs, taking a sharp left turn before whistling into the distance.

“Hagrid, I assume?”

“Er, he likes dragons…”

“However, they are not often seen in Father Christmas hats, Potter.” Another box speeded away through the cold night air.

“Um, and the green one’s Flitwick’s”

“Professor Flitwick, Potter.”

Five minutes later, only one present remained; Snape’s battered box of peppermint-cremes. With a final flourish, the Potions Master banished them to his desk.

“And now, Mr Potter, I will escort you to Gryffindor Tower.”

As Harry followed his professor, he found himself wondering about the man. To those in his cross-hairs, Professor Snape could be petty, cruel and spiteful; such people being defined as Gryffindors in general and Harry in particular. At best, well, even where his Slytherins were concerned, he was an exacting Master; Snape expected perfection and, if he didn’t get it, no amount of excused or snivelling would stay his temper.

Yet, ‘Severus’ (the presumption of calling the man by his first name, even in the privacy of Harry’s own mind sent a shiver down his back), ‘Severus’ must be a rather different man from ‘Snape’. A man who befriended muggleborns and baked biscuits for house-elves just didn’t accord with the Potions Monster image, did it?

“I suggest you make the most of the few hours of sleep the night will still afford for you, Potter” Snape drawled as they came to a halt outside the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Headmaster Dippet instituted a policy wherein Professors can only set one detention every twenty-four hours for any given individual, therefore I must be content with warning you that any further night-time escapades will see you gutting horned toads for a month.”

“Yes, Sir” Harry replied in his meekest voice.

“Well, then. Good night to you.” Snape replied, a smirk curling his lip. Turning in a swirl of robes, he stalked away.

oOoOo

Twas the night before Christmas and through the old castle, a raven-haired lad roamed, bearing a small parcel…

It was only a little box- the sort that usually carries six exquisite truffles- but Hermione’s undetectable extending charm meant that it contained a lot of sweets. Harry had set aside a couple of crèmes from each batch and, by the time he’d finished, there were enough for all the house-elves to share.

It was only right that they got something and, well, although it was a bit daft to sneak out after curfew again, Harry thought it rather fitting to give Hester her gift on Christmas eve.

However, fool-hardy or not, Hogwarts seemed deserted that frosty Yule night, not even Mrs Norris, Filch’s odious and insidious cat, seemed to be stirring from her fireside.

Creeping into the kitchen, Harry tiptoed over to the little bed and dropped the parcel onto the flowery folds of the blanket. Triumphantly, he opened the kitchen door…

And walked smack into another invisible figure. After a moment’s surprised silence an all too familiar voice drawled “Potter?”

“Snape!” Harry squeaked.

“Yes, me” the Potions Master disillusioned himself and yanked the hood of Harry’s invisibility cloak from the teen’s tousled, raven hair.

“Um… I was just…”

“Yes, of course you were, Potter.” Snape replied, raising a sable eyebrow. “I believe we discussed your midnight meanderings but a few nights ago?”

“Yeah” Harry replied quietly, studying his shoes.

The Potions Master dipped a long, pale hand into his black silk pocket and, after a moment’s rummaging, pulled out a large, flat packet.

“Here, Potter. A little Christmas goodwill.”

Tugging aside the crisp, green paper, Harry found a huge, chocolate-coated gingerbread. A constellation of tiny gold stars twinkled on its midnight dark surface.

“Lebkuchen- or Liebekucken, as my linguistically challenged best friend used to call them- are something of a speciality of mine. I suggest you hie to Gryffindor tower before that thing melts. Filch may not be the greatest of intellectuals but even he can follow a trail of chocolate finger-prints.”

Harry nodded, green eyes wide “Thanks, Sir!”

As the teenager, half disbelieving, turned to go, Snape drawled “And Mr Potter..?”

Harry’s shoulders fell “Yes, Sir?”

“Happy Christmas.”