Harry awoke to the sun streaming in through his window, its rays much higher up on the walls than normal. Confused, he looked at the clock. It was nearly 9:30am. Startled, he jumped out of bed. Snape always woke him at 7am for breakfast. He changed quickly into black trousers and a white button down shirt which were at the top of his trunk. Then, he threw open his door and rushed downstairs, buttoning and tucking as he went.

He skidded into the kitchen and froze. There, at the table, sat Snape, reading the Daily Prophet. A pile of parcels sat at his elbow. And on his shoulder was...

“Hedwig!”

Hedwig blinked deliberately in affirmation, ruffled her feathers, and flew to her master. She landed gracefully on Harry’s outstretched arm.

“She arrived last night shortly after midnight,” Snape said, brushing off his shoulder where Hedwig had been perched. “She made quite a racket until I dropped the wards enough for her to get through.”

Harry smiled, stroking Hedwig with undisguised pleasure.

“And then,” Snape continued, “three more owls flew in along with her. It seems they were quite intent on delivering these,” he said, gesturing to the parcels.

Harry studied the mound of packages on the table, dumbfounded. “For me?”

“I do not see anyone else in this room that has a birthday today.”

“Oh,” Harry said as he continued to pet his beloved owl.

“Eat your breakfast first, and then you may open your gifts.”

Harry scanned the table and noticed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast with jam. Snape must have put a warming charm on the food since steam was rising in characteristic swirls from the plate. Suddenly, he felt ravenous. Harry sat down at the table and coaxed Hedwig to perch on the back of the chair next to his. “Have you eaten, sir?”

Snape raised a sardonic brow. “Hours ago, Potter.”

“Oh. You could have woken me.”

“Indeed, I could have,” Snape said, shaking the Daily Prophet out for a better view and burying his nose in it while Harry ate his breakfast.

Snape stole glances at the boy as he ate. By the way Potter was inhaling his food, Snape could have sworn that the child had never gotten presents before. On second thought, perhaps he hadn’t. That thought left a bitter taste in the potion masters mouth.

“Potter,” Snape said. “Do try and chew before you swallow.”

Snape nearly laughed at Potter’s caught-in-the-act expression. The boy slowed his pace, but only barely. Snape rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the paper. The mention of mounting Death Eater activity was disturbing. The fact that the death eaters were being caught was a mark of their carelessness and stupidity.

The next time Snape looked up, Potter had finished his breakfast and was staring longingly at his gifts.

“Go ahead then,” Snape growled.

Potter hesitated, unsure of where to start. Finally, they boy settled on a small package wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. Fascinated despite himself, Snape watched as the boy tore into his gifts. Potter received a set of collector’s cards of famous Quidditch players from Weasley, a pair of spectrespecs and an accompanying Quibbler from Lovegood, a curious carnivorous plant from the Longbottom boy, and a book on The 101 Most Useful Defensive Spells by Delaney Dogooder from Granger. That left a large wicker hamper.

Potter reached for it and slid it aside. “I, ah,” Potter stuttered. “I know what this is. There’s no need to open it right now.”

“Potter,” Snape intoned suspiciously. “Need I worry about its contents?”

Potter shook his head and sighed, shoving the hamper in Snape’s direction.

Snape was tempted to take out his wand and check for curses, but resisted the urge. Instead, he opened the lid, astonished to find an array of food—meat pies and breads, fruits and jellies, desserts and puddings. “What is all of this?” he asked sharply.

“Mrs. Weasley,” Potter muttered. “She, er, sends me food. Every summer.”

Snape studied Potter closely. “How long has this been going on?”

Potter grimaced. “Ever since Ron and his brothers rescued me from the Dursleys the summer I was twelve. Mrs. Weasley realized that the Dursleys weren’t...” Potter trailed off. He cleared his throat. “Well...,” he continued, “she said I was too skinny.”

Snape felt his nostrils flare as anger rose within him. He balled his fists and clenched his teeth to keep from exploding. No wonder the child was so short and thin. Those damned Muggles had starved the boy! The only thing that had him relaxing slightly was the knowledge that the Dursleys would soon be as hungry and desperate for food as Potter must have been. It would serve them right. Breathing deeply, Snape said only, “I see.”

Potter made a non-committal noise.

“I see,” Snape repeated, a bit louder, “that we won’t be going hungry any time soon. I presume Mrs. Weasley is a superb cook?”

“The best,” Potter replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Good,” Snape replied. “I was growing rather tired of kitchen duties. It will be a welcome reprieve. Now, I believe you have one more gift to attend to?”

Potter looked confused as he studied the table now littered with the trappings of the gifts he had opened. With a wave of Snape’s wand, a large package wrapped in dark green paper with tiny twinkling stars appeared.

Potter met Snape’s eyes with surprise. At Snape’s nod, Potter reached for the gift. Snape had directed the merchant to leave off the shimmering silver bow, not wanting to overdo it, and was glad that he had. This was uncomfortable enough without making an even larger deal out of a simple birthday gift.

Snape suppressed the urge to pick up the Daily Prophet and pretend not to notice or care about the boy’s reaction to his gift. He was entirely uncomfortable with the unwelcome anxious feeling that had taken up residence in his midsection. It was Miss Granger who had reminded him of Potter’s birthday, and Snape had made a quick detour on his way back to Spinner’s End the day before to pick up something for the irksome lad. Now he sat watching the teen, feeling tense and ill at ease.

Without saying a word, Potter began removing the paper from the box. The boy had gone from giddy excitement at the prospect of his friend’s gifts to cautious reserve in light of Snape’s offering. Potter glanced up in question only once, before slowly extracting the box from its wrappings and lifting the lid. Unconsciously, Snape held his breath.

For a few moments, Potter stared at the contents in complete incomprehension. Then his face lit up like the sun obliterating the night. “Wow,” he murmured as he pulled out a thick black winter travelling cloak made of the finest, and warmest, boiujon fox fur. Reverently, he stood, wrapping the cloak securely around himself. “I’ve never had a travelling cloak before,” Potter said admiringly. “I’ve never had any winter clothes, come to think of it.”

Snape would have commented on that disturbing statement, but Potter hadn’t seemed to notice what he’d said. Instead the boy continued to gaze in awe at the cloak, running his fingers along the soft warm fur on the outside, and the warm velvet lining on the inside.

Finally, Potter directed his attention back to the box. “Are these dragon hide gloves?” the boy asked as he reached into the box and pulled out a pair of thick gloves that shimmered purple, green, and pale gold in the subdued light of the kitchen.

Snape nodded. A slow kindling of warmth and pride seeped through him. He’d never understood all the hoopla around gift giving before, but Potter was giving him a new appreciation of the practice. Funny how a skinny, deprived kid who’d he once thought was a spoiled rotten brat had changed his attitude.

Potter studied his dragon-hide hands as if they belonged to someone else. “These had to be really expensive.”

Snape was mildly offended, but one look at the boy’s face told him it wasn’t an insult. The boy was merely stunned at his good fortune.

“There are matching boots as well,” Snape commented

Potter glanced into the recesses of the box and then looked at Snape as if the man had lost his mind. Then the boy shrugged and dug into the box. He pulled out the dragon hide boots and slid them over his sock clad feet. Potter’s eyes widened with pleasure. A moment later, though, his lips compressed into a frown.

“Too small?” Snape inquired.

“No, it’s just... They feel...” Harry looked up, worried. “Odd.”

Snape snorted. “Let me guess. You aren’t used to wearing heeled boots.”

Potter looked at the footwear, and then back at Snape. “Everyone in the Order wears boots like these, don’t they?”

“Indeed,” Snape replied. “The boots worn by the Order have a homing device in them. If an Order member is seriously injured or in danger, he or she need only click his or her heels together three times to be transported directly to Order Headquarters.”

 Potter’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Like in the Wizard of Oz? You’ve got to be kidding!”

“The headmaster has an odd sense of humour,” Snape replied dryly.

Potter stared at Snape for a moment, and then burst out laughing. He wiggled a boot-clad foot and murmured, “Kansas, here I come.”

Snape rolled his eyes.

Sobering, Potter asked, “Will these boots work like that for me too?”

“Yes, Potter. Should you find yourself in trouble—as you too often do it seems—you can click your heels together to be transported to Order Headquarters. Now,” Snape said, pointing his wand at the boots and casting a nonverbal sizing charm on them, “take three steps forward and four steps backward.”

Potter did as he was told. The boy’s gait was awkward as he shifted his weight from heel to toe, and side to side, to find his balance. When Potter stopped after the last backward step, the dragon hide glowed silvery green, shivered slightly, and then settled into place.

“Wow,” Potter repeated, gazing at the boots. Then he held out his hands and studied the gloves and cloak as well. “These are amazing,” Potter breathed. “Thank you, sir,” he said sincerely, his eyes meeting Snape’s. “You didn’t have to do this. To get me anything, I mean. I don’t... well... I don’t deserve it. I haven’t made your life easy.”

“I haven’t made your life easy, either, Mr. Potter,” Snape replied. He didn’t mention the years of misconceptions and prejudice that he suddenly felt the need to make up for.

“No,” Potter agreed. “I guess that means we’re even.”

Snape made a reluctant sound of agreement.

Potter flexed his gloved hands again and clicked the heels of his dragon hide boots together. “Wait until I show Ron and Hermione these!”