Many people would have been surprised to learn that every year on the 20th of December, Severus Snape left the castle to buy Christmas presents.

After his last class, he would put on his black woolen winter cloak and his warmest pair of gloves, slip into his dragon leather boots and make his way through the deep snow to the village of Hogsmeade. He timed his excursion carefully so that there would be no chance meeting with students; the little idiots were either ensconced in their common rooms or engaged in pointless, hyper-active outdoor activities like sledding or having snowball fights. Snape never did his shopping on a day when students were allowed to visit the village.

The hood of his cloak drawn low over his face, he would trudge down Hogmeade’s main street, avoiding anyone who looked vaguely familiar so there would be no need to reciprocate their Christmas greetings. He’d sneer at the overly bright garlands that turned the Three Broomsticks into a blinking nightmare, peer into the frost-framed windows of the small apothecary, cast a longing look at the side-street that housed a little bookshop and finally, with a sigh, turn back to his destination. It was the only time of the year that Severus Snape entered the establishments known as Honeydukes and Zonko’s joke shop.

He always began with Zonko’s, as he firmly believed in the principle of facing the greater evil first. To him, the shop was a prime exhibition of all the things wizardkind did not need. Who on Earth had ever found themselves in dire want of a Nose-Biting Teacup? Complete with a set of Finger-Nibbling Spoons, buy four and get one free. Yet there had to be wizards and witches who purchased them, as they came in three different colors and four sizes.

To Snape’s relief, the shop also offered a modest selection of slightly more educational items, hidden away in a dark corner that didn’t seem to get dusted very often. Placed to catch the eye of an adult (the assumption being that no young customer would spare them a second glance), the items Snape sought out were not exactly useful, but at least they didn’t spread foul smells or turn people’s hair pink.

This year, his budget was slightly larger than usual, as he needed to buy only four presents. Four students of Slytherin House would not be going home for Christmas; he had retrieved the list from the notice board in the common room this morning, surprised to see that it was shorter than usual. He was used to at least six or seven of his Snakes staying; far more than Pomona, Minerva or Filius ever had. This year, in fact, no non-Slytherin would be spending Christmas at school.

Well, except for one. Potter would be staying; obnoxious little Potter who considered himself above mundane things such as school rules. It seemed that he considered himself above spending time with his Muggle family, as well; at breakfast, Minerva had shown Snape the Gryffindor list with the boy’s lonesome signature scrawled at the top.

“Poor boy, all alone in that dormitory on Christmas morning.”

Snape had raised a sarcastic eyebrow and turned back to his scrambled eggs. That “poor boy” would probably drown himself in wrapping paper opening presents from his adoring family and admirers.

“If I may make a suggestion, Minerva…” Albus tone should have warned Snape; if the Headmaster sounded so innocent, it never boded any good. “As we abandon the House tables for the festivities, I don’t see why we shouldn’t open the dormitories, as well. I believe several of your students are staying, Severus?”

Snape had only glared back at the man. Albus, of course, didn’t even blink. “In that case, why doesn’t Harry move in with you for the time being? I’m sure he’ll enjoy having a ‘sleep-over’, as I believe it is called.”

Snape wanted to hex the man there and then. “Headmaster… do you really think moving Potter to the Slytherin dormitory is a good idea?”

“Why not?” Albus beamed. “Opening presents is far more fun when one does it in company.”

Long and bitter experience had taught Snape that there was no arguing with the man if he had made up his mind, so he had said nothing more on the subject. Minerva seemed torn between exasperation and amusement, and Snape couldn’t help but wonder if, in an uncharacteristic fit of Slytherin spirit, the Scotswoman had brought the subject up on purpose when Albus was there to listen.

Everything was arranged; Potter would be spending Christmas in the Serpent’s Lair and neither he nor the boy had any say in the matter. For once, Snape found himself sympathizing with the Golden Boy; he was fairly sure that Potter was no more enthusiastic about the arrangement than he was. But of course, there was no use protesting against Albus’ latest brainwave; not when the Headmaster insisted that it would be so much “fun”.

Fun, ha. Well, he could be forced to house Potter, but nothing and no one could make him spend money on the brat. He bought presents for his remaining Slytherins because it was entirely possible that their families would send nothing; some because they considered Christmas a distasteful Muggle tradition, some because they simply had no money to be wasted on luxuries. Snape was not a sentimental man. He did not cuddle his students nor indulge their every whim, as other Heads of Houses tended to do. But he believed in fairness, and there was nothing fair about some being lavished with gifts while others sat on the sidelines and watched. While he had any say in the matter, every boy and girl in Slytherin House would receive at least one Christmas present of their very own.

Potter’s unwelcome presence meant, of course, that his modest gifts would look even smaller in the eyes of his students. The Boy-Who-Lived no doubt expected piles and piles of expensive trinkets from his family, not to mention those sent by his adoring fans. Snape would sooner ask Albus for sartorial advice than he would buy Potter a Christmas present.

He turned back to the dusty shelf in front of him, going over the list of remaining students in his head. There were two first-years, Millicent Bulstrode and Draco Malfoy; the third-year Claudius Warrington and fifth-year Terrence Higgs. The only one likely to receive a similar amount of presents as Potter was Draco; Lucius and Narcissa would shower Draco with expensive gifts as compensation for the fact that he could not spend Christmas at the Manor. “Regrettably”, Lucius had written in his letter to Snape, “we’re attending an official function in Dijon, and cannot possibly take Draco along, as his nanny has taken the holidays off.” Draco had taken the news in stride, or at least pretended to. Later that day, Snape had seen the boy outside, pelting the statue of Larissa the Lascivious with an angry torrent of snowballs.

Millicent and Claudius could not expect any presents from their families; both students’ school fees were paid from welfare funds, as were their second-hand robes and school books. Terrence’s family were of the Puritan sort who would never spend a single Knut on anything Muggle-related, and refused to recognize Christmas at all. They celebrated Merlin’s birthday in March instead, without Terrence as the boy couldn’t go home in the middle of the school term. This had led to a rather unpleasant lawsuit as Mr. and Mrs. Higgs attempted to sue Hogwarts for discriminating against wizarding customs.

So, Millicent. The girl seemed to enjoy the company of her Kneazle, a fat fluffy animal with the unlikely name of Lady Kriemhild. Snape decided on a magical cat toy that squeaked realistically as it was ‘killed’ and a calendar for the coming year with pictures of Kneazles and cats.

Claudius was a rather gifted artist who always designed the Slytherin banners for the Quidditch matches. After some searching, Snape came across a paint box and a selection of brushes. “Instant animation as you paint”, the advert on the box promised, showing a young witch being chased around her room by her self-painted dragon.

His godson turned out to be more difficult; nothing Snape could give the boy would measure up to the pricey gifts from his parents. Finally, he decided on a collection of cards that showed different Muggle automobiles and listed their various functions; Snape knew Draco had a secret soft spot for cars, but of course Lucius and Narcissa would never give him anything Muggle-related.

Terrence’s gift was easy; the boy was a fanatical admirer of the Ballycastle Bats, and had his corner of the dormitory decked out entirely in black and scarlet. Snape found a scarf and matching gloves in the team’s colors, adding them to his small pile of purchases before he went to the counter to pay.

The clerk took his own sweet time gift-wrapping the items as Snape had ordered; not only did he carefully select a different wrapping paper for every item – “variety is the spice of every Christmas celebration, sir” – but insisted on curling the ribbons with a special knife he kept in a special drawer, and proceeded to glue a sprig of holly to the top of each present. When he raised his wand to add a special Christmas charm – “each present sings a different novelty song when opened, kids simply love it” – Snape had enough: “What next, you’re going to dip them in Butterbeer? Kindly finish with this nonsense, I’m in a hurry.”

Leaving a hurt-looking clerk behind, Snape stalked out of Zonko’s and proceeded to Honeydukes. The sweet smells that assaulted his nostrils as he entered the shop made him slightly nauseated, as did the vast array of over-sugared confections in every imaginable shape or color. Albus, of course, loved it here, and could spend hours going over the shop’s latest acquisitions. Snape quickly picked up several red-and-white candy canes, four boxes of chocolate fudge as well as an assortment of magical Christmas crackers and left the shop in a hurry, relieved that it was an entire year until he would have to go back.

And no, not even Albus could force him to buy even a single chocolate frog for the Brat-Who-Lived. Minerva was his Head of House; if she wished for the boy to receive a present, she could do her own shopping. In any case, Potter would likely turn his nose up at any present offered to him by his nasty Slytherin teacher. Insolent little snot.

Snape slipped his shrunken purchases into his pocket and began his walk back up to the castle. If he was lucky, Potter would refuse to join them in the common room on Christmas morning, preferring to stay in bed and sulk. His father certainly would have done, rather than tainting himself by sitting on Slytherin furniture and eating Slytherin sweets.

Potter was not going to ruin his Snakes’ Christmas, Snape swore to himself as he trudged through the deep snow, his hands jammed in his pockets against the cold. Those children had it hard enough as it was, they didn’t need a bratty boy savior showing off his superiority on what was supposed to be a special day for them.

Let Potter try. The brat wouldn’t know what had hit him.

###

As Snape had predicted, Potter was less than happy about the Headmaster’s ‘Christmas surprise’. He shuffled into the Slytherin common room on the afternoon of the 24th, clutching a shabby jute bag that supposedly held his pajamas and change of clothing. Minerva had accompanied him to the door, and gave both her charge and Snape a stern look before she left. Snape bristled inwardly at her nerve, palming off her only remaining student on him and patronizing him on top of that.

“Potter,” he snapped, startling the boy.

“Sir?”

“You are to spend the next two nights in our dormitory, as the Headmaster feels this will increase everyone’s Christmas cheer.” Snape made sure to lard the last two words with enough sarcasm so that even a dim-witted eleven-year-old would notice. “You may take Theodore Nott’s bed, it’s the one next to the bathroom door.” And the one furthest away from the stove. Perhaps he was being petty, assigning Potter the bed that was likely to be the coldest, but neither could he resist the temptation.

“Yes, sir,” the boy mumbled, then glanced up at Snape through his shaggy fringe. “Um, sir?”

“What is it?”

“Um… can Hedwig stay with me? Just – just for Christmas, I mean.”

Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Who on Earth is Hedwig, Potter?”

“My owl.” The boy was looking down at his shoes again. “She sometimes stays in Gryffindor Tower for the night. She doesn’t, I mean, she’s house-trained and all.”

Snape could think of a dozen ways of telling the boy ‘no’ in the most sarcastic way possible, but he knew that he couldn’t, really. His students were allowed to keep their familiars in their dorms, provided that the animals were clean and didn’t kill one another; there was no logical reason why Potter’s owl should stay away.

“I suppose,” he replied reluctantly, pretending not to see the smile that lit the boy’s face. “It is your responsibility to make sure she doesn’t disturb anyone.”

“Yes, sir!” Potter gushed. “Thank you!”

“While we’re on the subject of responsible behavior, Potter… you may not be used to this from Gryffindor House, but there are rules all Slytherins follow within their own House, and for the duration of your stay, I expect you to follow them as well. No exemptions, not even for the Boy-Who-Lived, is that clear?”

The smile had faded from Potter’s face to be replaced with his usual sullen expression. “Yes, sir.”

“The common room and dormitories are to be kept clean and orderly at all times. Bed time for first years is at ten o’clock, sharp. You will turn your clothes in for regular cleaning, and you will brush your teeth. I shall know if you haven’t. No sweets in the dormitories, and no using the furniture for anything but sitting or lying on.”

He still remembered vividly the year when his Snakes had come up with the game of jumping from bed to bed without touching the floor.

“You will treat your roommates with respect and you will leave their things alone, as they will respect your privacy. Any food the house elves leave in the common room is to be shared equally. Study time means quiet time. And if I ever catch you making faces at passing merpeople, the consequences will be most unpleasant.”

Potter looked confused for a moment, then glanced past Snape, obviously noticing the huge windows at the back of room for the first time. His eyes widened as he took in the underwater landscape outside, the undulating fields of sea grass and the schools of fish that flitted past the windows.

“Wow,” he breathed, and Snape couldn’t suppress a feeling of satisfaction at the boy’s awe. Slytherin House had much to offer; a fact that was seldom recognized by anyone from outside.

“Indeed. Well, remember the rules, Potter, and your stay here should be… tolerable.”

Where had that come from?

“Yes, sir,” Potter replied, still gazing in wonder at the underwater world that greeted Slytherin students whenever they entered their common room. “This is so cool; I wish our dorms were in the lake.”

The boy seemed to have spoken more to himself than his teacher. Snape watched him. The boy was not faking the reaction, and really, he had no reason to do so. Whatever else Potter was, he had never tried to ingratiate himself with Snape.

“Like it, Potter?” a drawling voice asked from behind.

They both turned. Draco was leaning in the entrance to the boys’ dormitories, his hands in the pockets of his school robes.

“Better than the boring view from your Gryffindor dorms, I bet,” he said. “All you get to see is that big oaf’s cabin and compost heap. Or would that be the same thing?”

Potter fired up instantly. “Shut up, Malfoy. You’re just scared of Hagrid, I know you are.”

“Scared?” Draco’s rising tone suggested that Potter had hit the nail on the head. “Of that-”

“Draco,” Snape interrupted sharply. “Remember the discussion we had about respecting your elders. And Potter, what did I just tell you about being polite to your roommates?”

“But Malfoy, he-”

“But Potter, he-”

“Do I look as if I care?” Snape asked silkily, and both boys closed their mouths with a snap. “Potter, take your things to your dorm. Draco will show you where to put everything. And as you both seem to be in need of a constructive way of spending your energy, you can assist me in setting up the Christmas tree.”

Seeing the ill-concealed delight on their faces, Snape suddenly remembered that both boys were only eleven years old, after all. What was to him a tedious chore at best seemed an exciting prospect to them.

“Can I do the tinsel, Uncle Sev?” Draco asked, doing his best to sound casual.

“You may do the tinsel after you’ve shown Potter the way to your dorm,” Snape said. “Off you go.”

He watched the boys as they left the room.

“Why d’you call him “Uncle Sev”?” Potter whispered as the door closed behind them.

Snape only just caught Draco’s reply: “Because he’s my godfather, stupid!”

Sighing, he eyed the Christmas tree Hagrid had left next to the entrance. It was large enough to take up an entire corner of the room by itself. With any luck, decorating it might keep Potter and Draco from killing each other… at least until it was time to go to bed.

With a flick of his wand, he set the tree up in its stand and Summoned several boxes with decorations from a nearby shelf.

Yes, Albus, he thought sourly. Best idea you had in a long time.

###

It turned out that neither Potter nor Draco had any idea how to decorate a Christmas tree. Potter crammed so many decorations on a single branch that it sagged down under their weight, causing the baubles to slip off and shatter on the floor. At the boy’s look of sheer horror, Snape flicked his wand with a sigh and a muttered “Reparo”, biting back a comment on physics even a Gryffindor should be able to grasp.

Draco’s approach consisted of draping single strands of silver tinsel over individual needles. After twenty minutes, he’d decorated a single branch, which looked as if someone had thrown a silver wig over it.

Up until then, Snape had contented himself with watching them, but when Potter smashed his fifth bauble and Draco, with a deeply absorbed look, started on his second branch, he decided that his intervention was needed.

“Potter, unless you’re trying to destroy our Christmas decorations, do remember that a single branch needs no more than two or three items. Draco, if you continue like this, you should be finished some time around New Year’s Eve.”

Ignoring their offended looks, he pointed his wand at one of the baubles in the box. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The bauble soared upwards and settled itself on one of the higher branches.

“We did that one in class,” Potter said, excitedly. “Can I try, Professor?”

“Surprising as it may be, I trust you have the capability of attempting a simple hovering charm,” Snape replied, but his sarcasm was lost on the enthusiastic boy.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Potter swished and flicked his wand, directing another bauble towards the tree. Instead of settling elegantly as Snape’s had done, Potter’s bauble dropped a few inches and wobbled dangerously as it slipped itself onto one of the branches.

“Pathetic, Potter,” Draco sneered, pointing his wand at a handful of green tinsel. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The tinsel shot up and scattered in an explosion of green. A far cry from Draco’s meticulous decoration of before, it wound and knotted itself around the branches in a snake-like manner, pushing other decorations aside in the process.

Potter grinned. “Looks like someone sneezed on the tree.”

“Shut up, Potter!” Before Snape could stop him, Draco had grabbed a handful of tinsel and thrown it at Potter, who ducked a split second too late. “Got ya!” Draco crowed, dodging a hand-carved angel and a gold star that came flying his way. “Haha, missed me!”

Snape took a deep breath, and was about to make his displeasure known when a hesitant voice came from behind them.

“Can I help too, Professor Snape?”

They turned around and saw Millicent standing there, Lady Kriemhild peering at them from behind the girl’s legs. The girl looked the picture of anxiety, as if she expected to be ridiculed by the two boys.

“By all means, Miss Bulstrode,” Snape said. “Perhaps with your help, we can undo the damage these two have done.”

Millicent smiled. “I think it looks very nice already.”

At that, Potter and Draco grinned proudly, and Snape silently approved of the girl’s diplomatic answer. He stood back as she joined the boys, adding a bauble here and an ornament there, providing the much-needed female touch to what turned out to be a fairly handsome Christmas tree.

Sitting down in one of the armchairs, he watched Potter as the boy happily hung up ornaments and draped tinsel over branches. Admittedly, it was not the behavior he would have expected of the Boy-Who-Lived. Had anyone forced James Potter to spend Christmas with his Slytherin classmates, he would have sulked and whined instead of joining the evil viper’s brood as they decorated their evil Christmas tree. Potter… Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have a more affable outlook on things. Well, the boy did have a mother, after all. A mother who would have happily helped decorate a tree, no matter in whose common room it stood.

Absentmindedly, Snape stroked Lady Kriemhild who had jumped into his lap. As he watched Potter, it struck him how odd it was that the boy wasn’t going home for the holidays. Surely his relatives would want to see him? After all, it was probably Potter’s first longer absence from home. Or was Potter so taken with magic that he couldn’t stay away from it even for a few days? No, Snape decided. Aside from his abysmal performance in Potions, the boy was a mediocre student, with no more inclination to do extra work than anyone else.

Well, maybe Potter’s relatives were attending some sort of official event like the Malfoys and had no one to watch the boy while they socialized. Albus had hinted that they were quite well-off, so perhaps it was that. In any case, Potter didn’t seem heartbroken that he wasn’t going home.

“Look, Professor!”

Snape looked up and into three shining, expectant faces. They had finished with the tree and wanted him to appraise their work.

Lifting the Kneazle out of his lap, he got up and walked over to the tree, inspecting it thoroughly before he turned to the three children.

“Well done,” he said, pretending not to notice Potter’s look of surprise. Yes, Potter, I do occasionally praise a student. Just not outside Slytherin House. “I suggest you get ready now, dinner in the Great Hall starts in ten minutes.”

“Can I wear a dress instead of school robes?” Millicent asked, blushing slightly.

Snape nodded his permission. “I don’t think the Headmaster insists on school attire tonight.”

“What about you, Potter, going to wear a dress, too?” Draco asked, and broke into a run for the boys’ dormitories, Potter close on his heels.

“Look who’s talking, Malfoy! Gelled your hair in the last ten minutes?”

The door slammed shut behind them, loud thumps and shouts following them on their way to the dormitory.

“Boys are so immature,” Millicent said smugly. “Why is Harry Potter staying with us, sir?”

“Because…” the Headmaster ordered it as part of his latest crazy scheme. “Because he is the only Gryffindor student staying at school.”

“Oh,” Millicent said. “I’ll go get changed now. See you later, Professor Snape!”

Snape watched her go, thinking of another girl and another Christmas. It was around this time of the year that he missed her the most.

###

It was Snape’s habit before he went to bed to take one last check of the dormitories, just to make sure his Snakes were safely tucked in bed as they should be. He hardly ever went into any of the girl’s dormitories; in his opinion, old-fashioned as it might be, no male teacher should see his female students in their nightgowns. That didn’t mean he couldn’t tell if something was amiss. Over the years, he had developed a sixth for telling whether his intervention was needed or not, judging by the noises from the other side of the door.

Tonight, all was quiet; Millicent seemed to be fast asleep. Not that Snape had expected any trouble from the sweet-tempered girl. He noticed that the door to the first-year dormitory stood ajar, probably so Lady Kriemhild could have free reign of the corridors. As he went back down the spiral staircase, the large Kneazle brushed past him, her fluffy tail coiling around his leg before she slunk away towards her mistress’ bedroom.

Unlike the girls’ section, the boys’ dorms lay on the same level as the common room. The Founders in their medieval view of the world had assumed that while boys were quite likely to sneak into the girls’ rooms (only to be thwarted by the enchanted staircase), no virtuous wizarding maiden would dream of doing the same. Snape could attest to the fact that in this, at least, Lord Slytherin had been mistaken.

He went down the corridor between the boys’ dorms, listening. All was quiet behind the doors to the third- and fifth-year rooms. Terrence and Claudius both tended to stay up late and read, but if they were doing so, Snape, for once, did not care. It wasn’t as if they had classes tomorrow.

He continued his way to the first-year dorm at the end of the corridor. He had been slightly apprehensive about Draco and Potter sharing a room, but fortunately both boys had been so tired and full from dinner that no bloodshed had ensued. In fact, Snape suspected that much of their blustering and posturing was just a ritual; a way for both boys to prove to their friends that they weren’t “sissies”. Now that their audience wasn’t around, neither Draco nor Potter seemed willing to invest much energy into their “feud”; not when there were noisy Christmas crackers to be opened and sugary sweets to be devoured.

Snape listened at their door, pausing. He’d thought he’d heard something, although not the thumps and giggles that usually accompanied pillow fights or similar nonsense. The sound was muffled, almost inaudible… as if someone had their face pressed into a pillow, sobbing quietly.

Snape sighed. He did not want to go in there. Comforting children was not his forte, particularly with the first and second-years. His older teenage students did not want hugs or cuddles; they preferred an adult who took them seriously and offered advice, something Snape could do without too many difficulties. But the younger ones… they wanted physical comfort, and as their Head of House, Snape had to grit his teeth and provide. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. And what if it was Potter? What if he ended up with the Brat-Who-Lived sobbing into his robes?

Being only human, Snape was sorely tempted to pretend he hadn’t heard anything, to turn away and enjoy a quiet evening with a glass of wine and the newest edition of the Practical Potioneer. He had been looking forward to it all through dinner while Albus tried on a number of ridiculous hats and Trelawney amused herself by predicting horrible accidents for the new year. After that, he had earned some peace and quiet, hadn’t he?

Sighing deeply, Snape pushed open the door and went inside. If necessary, he’d Summon a Calming Draught and be done with it.

The first thing he noticed was that Potter was not, as Snape had ordered, in Nott’s bed, but in Zabini’s; the one closest to the stove. Snape’s mouth thinned. Trust the brat to disobey him in the smallest of matters.

Thankfully, the boy was fast asleep; all that could be seen was a tuft of black hair peeking out under his duvet. At least Snape would be spared the awkwardness of a crying Boy-Who-Lived.

As quietly as he could, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of Draco’s bed. His godson had his face buried in his pillow, his shoulders twitching as he cried. Snape touched the boy’s back.

“Draco.”

The boy startled, lifting a tear-streaked face to look at him. His eyes widened when he saw Snape. “U-Uncle Sev…”

“What is the matter, Draco?”

Draco turned around, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Nothing. It’s just…”

Fresh tears filled the boy’s eyes. Forcing himself to be patient, Snape waited.

“It’s just… I…”

“You would have preferred to go home for Christmas,” Snape hazarded quietly.

Draco nodded quickly, biting his lip. “Y-yeah.”

Snape sighed inwardly. He had seen the flash of hurt in his godson’s eyes as he received the news of Lucius’ letter. He wished the Malfoys had taken the time to squeeze their son into their busy social schedule; after all, the boy had never been away from home before.

“I’m sure your parents would have wanted you there,” he said. “It’s… unfortunate that they had to attend a function abroad…”

“They could’ve taken me with them.” A sulking note crept into Draco’s tone. “I’d’ve liked to go to France. And I don’t need a nanny anymore,” he added sullenly. “I’m not a baby.”

“No, you’re not. You’re old enough to understand that sometimes, all we can do is accept life’s disappointments.” Snape hated the lecturing tone in his voice; ‘accepting life’s disappointments’ indeed. Next he would be spouting rubbish about a silver lining to every dark cloud.

“They never have time for me,” Draco said softly. “They’re always at some party or other…”

“Draco…” Snape sighed. “You know that your parents… care about you.”

“No, they don’t. They never w-wanted me.”

The boy seemed determined to hold a pity party for himself, and Snape knew from long experience that arguing rationally would only lead to more sullenness and tears. With homesick children, one and only one thing really worked, and he’d have to grit his teeth and do it. At least it’s not the Potter brat, Snape thought as he reluctantly pulled the boy into a sitting position.

“Come here.”

Draco flung himself at his godfather, buried his face in the dark robes and began to cry in earnest. Snape patted him awkwardly on the back.

“Now, now… no need to carry on so…”

He sat there for the better part of thirty minutes, patting Draco’s back and muttering quiet reassurances. Draco stopped crying after a while, but seemed unwilling to let go, his fingers clutching the folds of fabric in front of him.

“Uncle Sev?”

“Yes?

“You… you won’t tell Father I…”

“There is no need to discuss any of this with your father,” Snape assured him. He knew Lucius would not approve of the boy’s ‘weakness’, never mind that Draco was only eleven years old.

Draco sighed in obvious relief, his eyes slowly but surely drifting closed. Snape allowed the boy to hold onto him as he fell asleep, the blond head resting against his chest. It seemed to him that only a few years had passed since he had held toddler Draco in his lap, catching the small hands to prevent them from grabbing his hair.

Finally, a soft snore told Snape that it was safe to disentangle himself from the boy. He gently lowered the sleeping figure onto the bed, making sure that Draco’s feet were well covered before he got up. That glass of wine and the potions journal seemed even more alluring now, as did the peace and quiet of his quarters.

On his way to the door, he cast a perfunctory glance at Potter, just to be sure the boy was still safely in bed and for once not anywhere he shouldn’t be. It came as a small shock, therefore, when he found the boy wide awake and looking at him. It seemed that Potter hadn’t been asleep for a while.

This was… not good. If Potter had heard Draco and him, he would be sure to use it as ammunition against the other boy, raising the hostility between them and their little groups of friends to new heights. Albus was entirely to blame for this, of course; it was his harebrained scheme that had landed Potter in the Slytherin dorm in the first place.

Snape opened his mouth to tell Potter to go back to sleep, but Potter was first to speak.

“Is Draco better now?”

Snape could not detect any malice in his tone. Surprised, he paused a moment before replying, “I suppose.”

“I bet France would’ve been fun,” Potter stated rather inconsequentially, before lying back down and pulling the duvet to his chin. “Night, Professor.”

“Good night, Potter,” Snape muttered, absorbed in thought as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Potter seemed… different than usual, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. Maybe it was the absence of the other two. Potter always looked so smug, surrounded by his little friends, looking down on all things Slytherin. Rather like another Potter, who never went anywhere without at least one admiring sycophant to laugh at his stupid little jokes. Another Potter, who would have pounced on the opportunity to learn of an enemy’s ‘weakness’.

Snape went into the common room and lit the lamps with a flick of his wand. There was one more duty to take care of before he could finally retire; one which thankfully involved no children at all. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, its candles waiting to be lit by the house elves who would drop by in the early morning hours. Snape counted five piles of presents underneath; four of them very small, one so big that it took up more space than all of the others put together.

Strange; he’d known that Draco expected many presents, but what about Potter? The spoiled prince, the pampered Boy-Who-Lived would surely drown in wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Yet it seemed that the huge pile belonged entirely to Draco, every present wrapped in green paper with huge silver bows, a card with Draco’s name tied to the top. There were Millicent’s and Claudius’ gifts, modest packages that were likely to contain socks or new quills, one present for Terrence from his godfather… and a very small pile that could only belong to Potter. Snape took a closer look. There was one rather lumpy package from the Weasley matron, with a handwritten card that wished Harry ‘happy Christmas’, a small parcel from Hagrid, a rather mysterious bundle of pink and orange that lacked a card, a present from the Granger girl and a rather battered paper envelope.

Snape hesitated briefly over the envelope, then picked it up, finding it unsealed. Inside was a piece of paper with a fifty-pence piece sellotaped to the top and a short, hand-written note: We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

Frowning, Snape opened the envelope again and peered inside. It was empty. Someone must have stolen Potter’s present, although Snape could not imagine any kind of present for a young boy that would fit inside a paper envelope. And the note definitely referred to ‘present’, not ‘presents’. They couldn’t mean… Snape stared at the fifty-pence piece carelessly taped to the note. They couldn’t mean that.

What else could they mean, though? And were they so badly off that they could not afford a real Christmas card, one of those tacky cardboard ones sold in every Muggle stationery shop? This ‘card’ was... a joke, and not a kind one. The note and the coin were biting adult humor aimed at a small boy, far more cruel than not sending anything at all. Snape knew very well that humor could be used to hurt and humiliate, and Potter’s ‘Christmas present’ from his aunt and uncle was intended to do both.

Snape hesitated for a long moment, then he stood, crumpled the note and the envelope in his hand and tossed them into the fireplace. A flick of his wand, and a red beam shot at the wad of paper, setting it aflame. In the morning, nothing but a pile of ash and a scorched Muggle coin would testify to the fact that Potter’s relatives had ever sent anything for their nephew.

Snape Summoned his own Christmas present for his students, adding them to the individual piles. The difference between Draco’s pile and those of the others was as glaring as before, but Snape couldn’t change that. He could only hope that none of his Snakes – or Potter – would be too jealous as they watched Draco unwrap his thirty or so expensive trinkets.

If only that damned clerk in the shop hadn’t insisted on gluing a sprig of holly to his presents. It made them stand out, and no one could overlook the fact that Potter’s pile conspicuously lacked a holly-adorned parcel. Oh well. Only because the Brat-Who-Lived wasn’t spoiled by his relatives… or, more precisely, was treated like a piece of dirt by his relatives…

Well. As he had told Draco, some things couldn’t be helped, and this was none of his business, anyway. He had to house Potter for the holidays, and he might have a word with Minerva about the boy’s ‘Christmas present’ from home, but that was it. He wasn’t Albus, who felt the need to meddle with things that didn’t concern him.

Snape left the common room without looking back.

###

“Ohh, thank you, Professor!” Millicent beamed at him, clutching the calendar he had given her. In the background, Lady Kriemhild was chasing the cat toy, which shrieked very realistically as it tried to hide under a pile of wrapping paper. “This is my best Christmas present!”

As Snape had expected, Millicent’s mother had sent socks and a small bag of sweets, along with a letter to her daughter advising her to be good and study hard.

“You’re welcome, Miss Bulstrode.”

Terrence and Claudius had unwrapped their presents as well, both blushing slightly as they thanked their Head of House. Draco was still engaged in ripping open parcel after parcel, unwrapping new robes, money, a new dragon-hide school bag, a new broom (“A Nimbus 2000, finally, I’ve been telling them for ages that the Cleansweeps are outdated!”), a live model of a Chinese Fireball that spewed blue fire and singed the sleeve of Draco’s dressing gown, a stack of Quidditch books and posters, sweets, quills, a Remembrall and many other things for a boy who already owned more than any of his classmates. Last night’s tears were forgotten, or so it seemed; Draco’s cheeks glowed as he opened present after present, and he didn’t even stop long enough to boast to the others.

Snape was relieved that the other children weren’t paying Draco too much attention.  Millicent was playing with her Kneazle, Terrence and Claudius had started a game of wizard chess, and Potter… Pretending to be interested in Terrence’s next move, Snape watched the boy out of the corners of his eyes.

Potter had surprised him. The boy had trailed into the common room with the other children, clad in his pajamas, his hair mussed from sleep. When he’d seen the Christmas tree, its candles lit and ornaments glittering in the firelight, the boy’s eyes had widened in pure, unadulterated joy. It was as if he’d never seen a Christmas tree before. And then…

“Oh, look!” Potter had bolted over to his modest pile, touching the top parcel as if to be sure it was really there. “I’ve got presents!”

Draco, already busy tearing paper off the first box, had given him a strange look. “What did you expect, Potter, a pile of dragon dung?”

Fortunately, Draco’s own presents distracted him from Potter’s, and so he hadn’t noticed that the other boy spent a good ten minutes simply staring at his parcels, stroking them and admiring the wrapping, prolonging the pleasure as much as possible.

As Snape secretly watched, Potter finally picked up the package from Mrs. Weasley, unwrapping it almost reverently. His careful handling of the thing was a far cry from Draco’s ripping and tearing, flinging things aside as he grabbed the next box.

Inside the parcel was a green jumper and a large box containing sweets. Potter pulled on the jumper on top of his pajamas, ate something out of the box and then offered it to Millicent.

“Want some? It’s chocolate fudge, my friend’s mum made it.”

Millicent took a piece and smiled. “Look what I got from Professor Snape!” She held up the calendar. “And a toy for Lady Kriemhild, too!”

Snape waited; if Potter made fun of the girl, he could spend the day cleaning cauldrons with a toothbrush, Christmas or not.

“Cool,” Potter said. “I like cats. Yours is really big, isn’t it?”

Millicent beamed proudly. “She’s a Kneazle, actually. I’ve had her since she was a kitten.”

“Cool,” Potter repeated in his ever eloquent way. “I have an owl, her name’s Hedwig.”

“Oh, the big snowy?” Millicent asked. “I’ve seen her in the Great Hall, she’s beautiful.”

It was Potter’s turn to look proud. “Yeah, and she knows it, too. Always flies an extra round so people can admire her.”

Both children grinned, and Snape blinked. Potter, having a civil conversation in the Slytherin common room… it was almost a contradiction in itself. Or it should have been. James Potter certainly wouldn’t have spent Christmas morning in the Serpent’s Lair, sharing chocolate fudge and asking people about their pets.

As Snape watched, Potter turned back to his presents. This time, the boy picked the long brown envelope tucked at the very back of his small pile. Stuck to the paper was a sprig of holly and a sugar cane from Honeydukes. Potter turned the envelope over, frowned when he found no signature, then shrugged and tore it open.

Several pictures fell out and onto the carpeted floor. They were magical photographs, all showing a slender girl with long red hair as she laughed, studied, rode her broom and had her arm slung around a black-haired, hook-nosed boy.

Potter stared at them for a long moment. Finally, he picked up the one that showed the girl on her broom, her scarlet Quidditch robes flapping behind her as she zoomed across the pitch. He turned the photograph over and read what was written on the back – Lily Evans, October 1973.

Potter’s mouth opened slightly, and he picked up the other photographs. Lily Evans, reading a book… Lily Evans, flicking pumpkin juice at the person holding the camera… Lily and her black-haired friend, playing chess…

Suddenly, Potter raised his head and looked straight at Snape, as if he had known all along that his teacher was watching him. Something about the boy’s expression was… unsettling, and Snape glanced away quickly. Potter would assume Albus had sent them. A sentimental gesture like that would be very much like Albus, who could never resist meddling and doing unnecessary things for undeserving people. And even if Albus hadn’t sent them, there was no need for shiny-eyed gratitude. They were only a few photographs. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have copies.

Later that day, when the children had stuffed themselves on enough sweets to feed a small army and had stomped outside to burn off their sugar-induced high in the snow, Snape thought it safe to retreat to his office for a few hours. There were a number of essays that needed grading, and he wanted to avoid being around Albus, lest he be roped into any ridiculous activities such as caroling or playing charades.

About to enter his office, Snape noticed that someone had stuck an envelope to the door; not with a Sticking Charm, but with a piece of what looked like Muggle sellotape. Snape carefully poked it with his wand, half-expecting it to burst into some inane song or spray him with foul liquid. Neither happened. Still wary of potential pranks, he reached out to pluck it off the door. It seemed to be a normal envelope, with a card tucked inside. Snape opened it.

Dear Professor Snape, it read in the chicken scratch only young boys could achieve, thank you for the pictures of my mum, and have a very happy Christmas. – H.P.

Snape stared at card for a long time before he closed it with a sigh. Dear Professor Snape. As if a few copied photographs changed anything. A few copied photographs and a burned note, actually, but the boy didn’t know that.

Tucking the card into his robes, Snape went into his office and closed the door, charming it shut so that no one, interfering headmaster, bratty children or annoying colleagues, could get inside and disturb his well-earned break with their Christmas nonsense.

And if he took out the card and glanced at it from time to time while he graded his essays, no one would know. After all, it wasn’t any of their business.