"I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco – "

"Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection!"

Crouched at the keyhole, hidden by his father's invisibility cloak, Harry Potter held his breath to better hear the argument concealed by the closed classroom door. Draco Malfoy's anger vibrated through every word, his voice pitching higher and louder as his altercation with Severus Snape continued. In contrast, Snape's own tones darkened and lowered as he seemingly tried to reason with the blond Slytherin student, whose fury nearly bordered on hysteria.

Based on the sum total of what he'd overheard, Harry's suspicions were confirmed. Draco was, indeed, involved in some dark project, almost certainly something to do with Voldemort, and Snape was mixed up in it, too, although to hear him speak, he either didn't quite know what Draco was up to or how he intended to accomplish it. Just wait until Harry repeated this conversation to Ron!

"You want to steal my glory!"

There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, "You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but – "

Harry had barely a second's warning; he heard Malfoy's footsteps on the other side of the door and flung himself aside just as it burst open; Malfoy stormed through the opening, red blotches of anger flushing his pale cheeks, and he sprawled headlong onto the cold stones of the corridor floor after tripping over Harry's invisible right ankle.

The Gryffindor's sharp hiss of pain was drowned out by the other boy's startled yelp as he fell, and Harry took advantage of Draco's momentary distraction to retreat toward the end of the corridor, keeping himself carefully under the cloak. He silently cursed the fact that Snape had chosen the last classroom for their little tête-à-tête, since there was no way to make a clean escape – no cross corridor, not even a hidden staircase to aid his evasion of the darkly-looming Defense teacher, whose robes had filled the doorway.

"What now, Draco?" Snape growled impatiently, glaring at the blond Slytherin who was slowly pushing himself up to his feet.

"Somebody tripped me, Professor!" Draco himself glared at the bare walls lining both sides of the long corridor. "Just as I came through the door."

"A Tripping Jinx?" Snape snorted. "You've taken pains to make enemies, Draco. It's hardly surprising that someone took the opportunity to retaliate."

Draco shook his head. "No – not magic, Professor. This felt … solid. Like I really tripped over something … that wasn't there."

Snape's face darkened. "Potter! Show yourself! Immediately!"

Harry crouched silently, stifling the sound of his breathing by holding a fold of the cloak's fabric over his mouth and nose. His mind raced, trying to figure out how to slip past the two of them He'd only mastered a few non-verbal spells since September, and Ascendio wasn't one he'd tried non-verbally, but he was finally beginning to understand non-verbal theory. If he squatted on top of the cloak, drawing the fabric hem completely up around him so he wouldn't be seen from below… He could attempt Ascendio, although if he knocked himself unconscious hitting his head on the vaulted ceiling, he didn't want to think what he'd look like falling from that distance to the stone floor. Everything was contingent on the spell even working at all –

"Accio Invisibility Cloak!"

Snape's command shot a burst of adrenaline through Harry, but the cloak failed to budge in the slightest, and not just due to the fact he was now standing on it. Immeasurably relieved, Harry smirked into the fabric, preparing to cast a non-verbal Ascendio. Okay – here goes! One, two, three –

"Accio Potter!"

Having prepared himself for an abrupt vertical ascent, the Gryffindor was caught off guard when he flew sideways, slamming into Snape hard enough to make the man's knees nearly buckle. In the next second, the invisibility cloak was yank-yank-yanked until he rolled out of the tangle of slippery fabric, cringing as he saw two pairs of furious Slytherin eyes glaring down at him.

"Potter!" shouted Draco. "What were you doing lurking outside the door?" Then, to Snape, "He must have been eavesdropping, Professor. He heard everyth – "

"Enough!" Snape cut off Draco's diatribe. "Potter, explain yourself. Why WERE you lurking outside the classroom door where I was engaged in a PRIVATE conversation?"

Harry slowly climbed to his feet, his eyes fixed on the cloak dangling from Snape's pale grip. "I was taking a walk."

"A walk," repeated Snape, his upper lip curling in disbelief.

"He's lying!" hissed Draco. "You KNOW he's lying."

"Quiet." Snape held up his index finger. "Let us listen to Potter's feeble attempts to explain his way out of this situation."

Draco gave a cold smile, crossing his arms expectantly over his chest. "Go for it, Potter."

Harry's emerald eyes glared at his duo of nemeses. "I was, too, taking a walk. To clear my head. There was so much smoke at Slughorn's Christmas party, I could barely breathe. I decided to take a walk in the corridors to get some fresh air. I was just passing the classroom when Draco came bursting through the door and tripped over my foot."

Draco pointed at the Gryffindor and demanded of Snape, "Surely, you don't believe him!"

Snape smirked. "Surely, I do not."

"But I just told you – "

"A lie, Potter. You just fabricated a pathetically weak lie."

Harry huffed impatiently. "Why would you think I was lying?"

"Tsk-tsk-tsk, Potter." Snape actually chuckled. "More to the point, why WOULDN'T I think you were lying? You allegedly leave a smoky party to partake of fresh air, only to throw a cloak over your head, effectively blocking your intake of said air."

Harry blinked. Drat!

"And, an invisibility cloak, no less – just what one needs for taking a constitutional through the corridors. Did I miss anything?" the Defense teacher inquired silkily.

Draco gave Harry a feral grin. "You're in for it now, Potter."

"Indeed," concurred Snape. "Detention. Tomorrow, 7 a.m. Don't be late."

"Seven in the morning!" Harry's mind gasped like a fish out of water. "But I'm meant to go to the Burrow with Ron! We're leaving first thing tomorrow!"

"Mr. Weasley may leave on schedule."

"But it's Christmas Eve tomorrow!"

"Seven sharp, Potter, or I shall come and FETCH you." The man's black eyes burned the threat into Harry's very brain cells.

Snape whirled, his robes taking a couple of seconds to catch up, beckoned to Draco to follow him, and departed, the invisibility cloak still clutched in his pale fingers. Smirking with undisguised glee, Draco followed his Head of House as if he'd never argued with the man only moments before.

Harry stared after them, sick at heart. His cloak… And he couldn't even tell Dumbledore, for the Headmaster had left the school again, as had been his wont repeatedly this year. Angrily, the green-eyed Gryffindor kicked the stone wall next to the fateful door.

What now?

Listlessly, he retraced his path to Slughorn's office where the Christmas party remained in full swing. He didn't want to go back to the party, but he'd come with Luna, and it would be unforgivably rude to just abandon her there after he'd excused himself, ostensibly to visit the restroom. Before he could reenter the office, however, Luna herself stepped out into the corridor.

"Oh, hello, Harry. I'd wondered where you'd got to when you didn't come back." The delicate Ravenclaw peered closely at him with her protuberant eyes. "Are you feeling all right? You really don't look well at all."

Bless Luna Lovegood, Harry thought. He didn't have to hide his feelings, because she'd see him as he was anyway. He could just tell her the truth. Well, part of the truth.

"I'm actually not feeling great, Luna," he said, looking at her seriously. "It's why I had to run to the bathroom." He sighed heavily, realizing he didn't even have to fake the sigh. "I really don't feel like coming back to the party, but I'm sure Professor Slughorn wouldn't mind if you stayed. I just came to tell you and see if you wanted me to escort you back to Ravenclaw Tower before I go on to Gryffindor."

Luna smiled at him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I'd rather leave with you than stay here, Harry. It's far too smoky in there. I can barely breathe, and the smoke might have been what caused you to feel unwell. They should ban smoking at social gatherings, don't you think?"

She smiled again, and Harry smiled back. He couldn't help it, really. Luna was so refreshingly honest with her opinions. "You're probably right," he said. Too bad he couldn't have had Luna backing up his excuse to Snape. "I'll take you to Ravenclaw, then. With this headache, I'll probably just go to bed early."

She beamed at him. "You'll feel much better in the morning, Harry. You'll see."

Harry nodded weakly, though his eyes darkened at the reminder of the morrow.

-:- -:- -:-

"DETENTION?" Ron gaped at him. "On Christmas EVE? How did you manage that?"

Harry told him.

"Bloody hell, mate! Your timing couldn't be worse. We're supposed to leave right after breakfast. How long is this detention supposed to last?"

Shrugging, Harry flopped onto his four-poster. "Snape never said. Just that it started at 7 a.m. and I'm not to be late."

Ron sank down onto his own bed. "What about me?"

Harry sighed. "You'd probably better go on. Explain to your mum. And everyone else. Well, not the actual details – just that I have detention. Tell them I'm really sorry, but they know what a git Snape is." He sighed again. "Christmas Eve detention. That's LOW."

"Even for Snape." Ron thought for a moment. "Could Dumbledore get you out of it? Or get Snape to postpone it until after the holidays?"

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore's left the school again, remember? McGonagall is in charge, and you know she'd say I deserved detention for eavesdropping on Snape and Malfoy." He paused, then added, "And you know what's even worse?"

"There's something worse?" Ron's blue eyes bugged slightly.

"Yeah." Harry nodded solemnly. "I didn't tell you the absolute worst. Snape confiscated my invisibility cloak. With Dumbledore gone, there's NO chance of getting it back until after the holidays."

Ron's mouth opened, and he appeared to be groping for just the right swear word… Apparently, he couldn't decide on one bad enough, for he finally closed his mouth and simply dropped his head into his hands.

They sat in silence for a long time, before Harry asked something he'd been wondering about. "Hey, Ron? What's an Unbreakable Vow?"

-:- -:- -:-

By six the next morning, both boys were up. By six-thirty, they were dressed and sitting in a cozy corner of the expansive Hogwarts kitchens, chowing down on large breakfasts provided by a euphoric Dobby, who was positively beside himself at being able to serve Harry-Potter-Sir.

"Snape was probably hoping to deprive you of breakfast before detention, since they don't start serving in the Great Hall until seven," Ron said wisely through a mouthful of sausage. "At least this way, you'll have fuel for the first part of the day."

Harry nodded despondently, draining his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Yeah. I just hope I won't be dissecting anything gross or smelly – I'd hate to lose my breakfast."

"Seriously! If you hurled, Snape would probably make you clean it up without magic!" Ron grimaced, then helped himself to a fried egg. "Well, like I said, I'll walk you down, and we'll find out how long you'll be. I'll tell him Mum will need to know. If he knows that SHE knows, he may decide to let you off early."

Harry wished he could laugh. "I'm not going to count on it."

"But we can hope," Ron pointed out, aiming his egg-filled fork at his mouth. "That's what Hermione would say, right?"

Snorting, Harry asked, "What would Lavender say?"

"She doesn't say much," Ron admitted. "She'd rather snog." He inhaled the fried egg whole.

Harry did laugh then, imagining what Hermione would say if she'd witnessed that revolting spectacle.

-:- -:- -:-

On their journey between the welcoming warmth of the kitchens and the forbidding chill of the dungeons, Harry and Ron amused themselves with a fun Charm that George had taught to his little brother.

"It's the Finger-Flick Glitter Charm," Ron explained, demonstrating to Harry. "It's entirely wandless and very easy. I could do it before I even came to school."

After a couple of tries, Harry had joined Ron in flicking the index finger of his right hand while concentrating non-verbally, and each flick sent a shower of red and gold glitter cascading onto the stone steps leading to the dungeons. "Cool!" he exclaimed with delight. "How come it took you six years to teach me?"

Ron shrugged. "I just never thought of it, I guess. I think it's a case of, if I know how to do something, then everyone else already knows how to do it, you know?"

"Right!" Harry chuckled. "Can you make the glitter do other colors?"

"Dunno," said Ron, pausing to stare at his fingertip. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But us Weasleys are Gryffindors to the bone, so it's hard to imagine George wanting to make other colors of glitter… "

Experimentally, Harry tried to produce glitter from the index finger of his left hand, to no avail.

"Huh uh, mate." Ron shook his head. "It only works with your wand hand, like a lot of wandless magic. You're used to channeling your magic through your wand hand, and it just doesn't want to go the other way."

Shrugging, Harry resumed his downward trek, flicking his finger every so often, watching the tiny sparkles catching the torchlight from the wall sconces lining the gloomy dungeon stairs and corridors. The Slytherins hadn't done much decorating down here, unlike the other Houses, which had decked the halls, the stairs, the kitchen corridor, and the residence towers with their house colors in prelude to Christmas. He couldn't really blame the Slytherins, given the fact that the dungeons were too dimly lit to really show off decorations. Why go to the bother, then? Perhaps the House of Snakes had simply confined their decorative efforts to their own Common Room.

Upstairs, the Great Hall had been lined with the usual dozen towering Christmas trees, all sorts of bunting and tinsel, lit by flittering fairies and illumination Charms, and ornamented heavily enough to send the Great Hall sliding down the steep hill into the Black Lake!

Flick, flick, flick…

The red and gold glitter sparkled long enough to land on the stone floor, but it vanished within seconds. Good thing, too, Harry thought with a grim smile. He could just imagine Snape demanding that he and Ron crawl around on their hands and knees, cleaning up the glitter.

"We're almost there," Ron warned in a whisper.

Harry realized he'd been so distracted by casting the glitter, he hadn't kept track of their progress toward Snape's office, which he still maintained in the dungeons, despite Slughorn now teaching Potions just several doors away, while Snape taught Defense several floors above.

"Cheer up, mate. It won't be that bad. It's Christmas Eve, after all. Even the Grinch had a heart."

-:- -:- -:-

"You CAN'T be SERIOUS!" Harry shouted angrily, his voice echoing off the numerous jars lining the walls of Snape's gloomy office. "Detention on Christmas Eve AND Christmas DAY?!"

"No WAY, Professor!" Ron chimed in, his jaw thrusting forward. "That's totally unfair. Harry's supposed to be with my family over Christmas. Mum is expecting him first thing this morning," he added firmly, staring into the man's coal-black eyes. Ron wasn't really sure how Legilimency worked, but in case Snape was trying to read his mind, he focused on a mental image of Molly Weasley wildly brandishing her large wooden spoon while she pursued the dour man's billowing black robes as he fled at top speed through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. "She's NOT going to be happy… "

Snape broke eye contact first, his cheek giving an unexpected twitch, and he abruptly turned his back on both boys. "Your mother's emotional state is none of my concern, Mr. Weasley," he announced tartly. "Mr. Potter's punishment is." The dark wizard turned slowly, menacingly around, his lean, pale fingers tracing the length of his intricately-carved teak wand. "If Potter does not wish to serve his detention over two days' time, he may serve the entire detention today."

"Great!" enthused Ron, convinced he'd gotten his "message" across to Snape. "That settles it, then, mate. You'll come to the Burrow after it's over, and we'll have all day Christmas to hang out. I'll tell Mum to expect you for lunch."

Before Harry could open his mouth, an expression of dark delight crept over Snape's features, sending a shiver of trepidation down Harry's spine. This was not going as Ron had planned…

"Lunch? I think not, Mr. Weasley."

"What?" Ron exchanged an uneasy glance with Harry. "How long is this detention supposed to last, anyway?"

Snape smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. "Sixteen hours over two days."

"WHAT!" The Gryffindors shouted together this time.

"However – " Snape held up a hand to forestall any further predictable outbursts. "However, should Mr. Potter decide to serve his detention in a single day – today, specifically – I shall reduce it to a mere fifteen hours. He may Floo to the Burrow at 10 p.m. tonight."

"YOU – " Ron's fists balled into freckled clubs.

"Ron!" Harry grabbed his friend by the elbow, shaking it hard to divert his attention from the smirking Defense teacher. "Just … just tell your mum I'll be there at ten tonight, okay? And be sure to take my trunk with you when you Floo, would you?" Harry looked determinedly at his friend. He hoped to Merlin that Ron wouldn't say or do anything that would land him in Christmas Eve detention alongside Harry. Mrs. Weasley definitely would not be happy – and, in that case, Harry doubted that Snape himself would be the sole target of the red-haired witch's wrath.

Her red-haired son glared belligerently at Snape, but his shoulders finally drooped when his blue eyes met Harry's green stare. "Right, then. We'll – we'll be expecting you at ten, mate." With a final burst of spirit, he added, "I'll tell Mum as soon as I step out of the Floo. Hang in there, and good luck."

Harry nodded, then raised his hand in silent farewell as Ron gave a morose grimace that was meant to be a smile of encouragement.

Snape waved his wand to shut the dungeon door the instant that Ron's heels had cleared the threshold, and Harry found himself alone in the depressingly familiar office – alone with Snape, a million jars of disgusting potions ingredients, and the ever-present damp chill pervading the lower levels of the castle.

"Place your wand on my desk, Potter. You will not be using magic to complete your detention assignment."

"Yes, sir." Harry pulled out his holly wand and laid it reluctantly on the antique oak desk.

"Over here, Potter," directed Snape, pointing to a table in the corner farthest from the man's own desk. Ominously, there were many cobwebbed boxes piled on the table where a solitary chair awaited the Gryffindor. Harry's jaw tightened. The boxes had an aura of tedious, hard, and pointless work about them.

"Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files," said Snape softly. "They are the records of other Hogwarts wrongdoers and their punishments. Where the ink has grown faint, or the cards have suffered damage from mice, we would like you to copy out the crimes and punishments afresh and, making sure that they are in alphabetical order, replace them in the boxes. You will not use magic."

"Right, Professor," said Harry, with as much contempt as he could put into the last three syllables.

He pulled out the chair and tried to look at the positive side of the situation – at least he didn't have to scrub cauldrons or, even worse, work with disgusting ingredients. Copying out cards was far less onerous than disemboweling rats, sorting rotten flobberworms, and many other of the usual tasks Snape came up with for detentions. Perhaps the man had a heart after all, even if it was two sizes too small? A weird irony, to be working with cards on Christmas Eve, like a bizarre parody of Christmas cards…

And then he saw it – as Snape had obviously intended for Harry to see it – in the topmost box, a card which read: "James Potter and Sirius Black. Apprehended using an illegal hex upon Bertram Aubrey. Aubrey's head twice normal size. Double detention."

He read the card through twice, then turned his own head to stare over his shoulder at Snape, who was sitting at his distant desk, clearly waiting to observe Harry's reaction.

"It must be such a comfort to think that, though they are gone, a record of their great achievements remains…" Snape sneered before picking up his quill to begin marking end-of-term essays.

Without a word, Harry turned back to the box of cards. Taking a fresh card from the neat stack on the table, he scrawled out the information from the faded record, the angry quill scratching loudly in the silence of the dungeon.

It was, as Harry had anticipated, useless, boring work, punctuated (as Snape had clearly planned) with the regular jolt in the stomach that meant he had just read his father or Sirius' names, usually coupled together in various petty misdeeds, occasionally accompanied by those of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

Hour after hour passed, with Harry steadfastly keeping his back toward Snape, not even looking around when the sound of the man's scratching quill paused and the prickly feeling between Harry's shoulder blades told him that the great git was staring at the back of Harry's head.

At twelve noon, Harry was permitted a twenty-minute break to visit the restroom, then gulp down sandwiches and milk delivered to Snape's office by an unfamiliar house elf. By twelve-twenty-one, he was back at his table, copying, copying, copying.

It was not until after one o'clock that an odd thought crossed Harry's mind. Snape, the Marauder's favorite victim, was supposed to have given as good as he got, right? He'd reputedly come to Hogwarts knowing more Dark curses than anyone in his year, more even than many older students. That being the case, surely Snape himself could not have avoided being assigned detentions on a fairly regular basis. But where were the detention cards recording the wrongdoings and punishments of one Severus Snape, Slytherin?

Box after box after box … and not a single detention card for Snape…

Harry nearly scoffed aloud before realizing Snape would hear him.

He'd taken them out, hadn't he? The great, greasy bat!

Severus Snape had actually removed each and every one of his own detention cards from the entire collection of boxes before ever letting Harry anywhere near them! Not to mention, Snape must also have removed any detention cards which recorded himself as a victim, as in the case of the unfortunate Aubrey.

What a selfish, prideful, paranoid GIT!

Well, then…

Perhaps – just perhaps – Harry should rectify the situation.

Perhaps, on this Christmas Eve in the dungeons – far from the decorated, towering twelve trees in the Great Hall, far from the snow drifting softly against the castle's steep steps – Harry should make out some detention cards featuring Severus Snape, dated through his student years. Fictitious crimes and punishments, recorded in glorious detail!

Harry grinned fiendishly. Yes, he'd make cards. A whole bunch of cards.

Christmas cards for Snape!

Flicking his finger in delight, he sent a shower of sparkling glitter across the old table top, watching the metallic colors brightening his workspace momentarily before vanishing from the oaken surface. Yep – his finger was ready for action, and he'd need it to pull off this Yuletide prank. Snape may have prohibited Harry from using magic to complete his official detention assignment, but he had imposed no such rule against "extracurricular" wandless magic…

Quickly pulling a blank index card toward him, the Gryffindor also withdrew an Ever-Sharp pencil from an inside pocket of his working robes. Bless Hermione for chastising him until he had begun to carry a backup pencil everywhere – all his others were either in his school bag in the dorm or in his trunk, now at the Burrow. And bless Professor Flitwick for criticizing his handwriting until Harry had asked him for help – Flitwick had obligingly taught Harry a nifty bit of magic known as the Copperplate Charm.

The idea behind the Copperplate Charm was to neaten an individual's normal handwriting until it was literally letter perfect. Normally, one would produce a written work, then use a wand to cast the Copperplate Charm upon the whole, page by page, or on an entire roll of parchment at once. However, for a quick fix, smaller pieces of writing could be prettied up wandlessly by lightly passing the flat of the wizard's dominant index finger across the width of a paragraph, or even the fingertip itself along a single sentence or over an individual word. Regardless of method, a quick Finite would restore the original handwriting so that authorship could be verified, if necessary.

Thankful at having mastered the wandless version, Harry used his pencil to scrawl out a "detention card" for Snape, then quickly used the flat of his finger drawn across the entire index card to cast the Charm and disguise his handwriting. The penciled scrawl fell into neat lines, looking wonderfully old-fashioned, compared to Harry's usual ink-spattered copies. He'd use the pencil for Snape's cards, and with the Copperplate Charm in effect, they would easily pass under the radar of any casual inspection if Snape or Filch flipped through the box to appraise the results of Harry's detention. Harry would continue to use his quill to sloppily ink out the assigned cards, but he'd have a bit of fun along the way to get even with the dungeon bat for this fifteen-hour Christmas Eve detention. Just wait till he told Ron!

His back to Snape, Harry grinned broadly as he read the beautiful Copperplate rendition of Snape's first "Christmas card" – "17 October 1974. Severus Snape. Apprehended jinxing a black moustache onto the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Punishment: Required to give Argus Filch, caretaker, full pedicure."

Harry snorted aloud, then quickly buried his nose in the fabric covering the crook of his elbow and gave several hearty fake sneezes for Snape's benefit. Grabbing his quill, he hastily began scratching out another official card, and he made sure to place his inky copy well away from the penciled Copperplate when he arranged the two cards in Filch's musty box.

Now that he'd undertaken an interesting project, the detention hours seemed to speed up. In fact. Harry began to worry that he wouldn't be able to do enough "Christmas cards" before he Flooed to the Burrow. He did, after all, need to keep busy with the official cards to make certain Snape didn't wander over from his desk to check on the Gryffindor's progress. Still, if Snape ever put him to work copying more cards in future detentions, he could always take up where he'd left off.

And imagine! If other students – this year, or decades into the future – ever had to copy out cards, they could entertain themselves by reading about one Severus Snape's fictional detentions! For example…

"23 January 1976. Severus Snape. Caught spying through peephole in second floor girls' bathroom. Punishment: Scrubbed entire bathroom with his toothbrush, supervised by Moaning Myrtle."

Ron would absolutely DIE laughing! Not to mention, Fred and George! Harry grinned. He'd bet half his vault that even the Weasley twins had never played a prank this creative on Snape. Sure, the twins were highly talented – look what they'd done to Umbridge, after all. But a portable swamp was one thing, and this… Oh, this was far more subtle. And even if nobody else ever saw the cards, Harry would always have the satisfaction of knowing that they were there! Lurking in musty darkness … waiting… Hee!

"Tea, Potter."

Harry jumped a mile as Snape unexpectedly arrived at his elbow Levitating a tray onto an unoccupied corner of the oak table, where it landed with a clattering clunk. Fortunately, the card he was currently working on was an official one, and he scribbled the last two words before setting the inky card aside to dry.

"Thanks, Professor." His response popped out automatically, sounding unnaturally pleasant, given the circumstances, and the tall man shot him a darkly-suspicious look. Realizing he'd erred, Harry tried to cover with some decidedly inane chatter. "I – er – was feeling a bit dry. Dusty, you know. The cards – the boxes. Makes me cough and sneeze. Tea will be fine, thanks." He almost looked up at Snape, but stopped himself in the nick of time. Better not make eye contact, not if he wanted to live until the New Year…

The Defense teacher glared blackly at the detainee. If he didn't know better, he'd think Potter was Up To Something. The boy seemed unaccountably jumpy. Engaging in idle chit-chat… "Don't expect me to pour out," Snape said harshly. "You have twenty minutes. Make the most of it."

Harry glanced at his wristwatch. Four-fifteen. "Yes, sir."

He poured a steaming cup from the somber pot – only Snape would have a cheerless, charcoal gray teapot – then grabbed a sandwich half to munch as he walked the length of the dungeon corridor to stretch his legs on the way to the restroom. When he returned, the tea had cooled just enough, and he added sugar and milk before quickly downing it. A hearty Assam, he realized – Aunt Petunia didn't care for it, but she kept some on hand to regularly entertain a couple of Uncle Vernon's business associates, and Harry had often been permitted to drink any leftover tea, which he quite enjoyed. Up in the Great Hall, the house elves normally served Darjeeling, but in Harry's opinion, it couldn't compare to a good Assam. Crunching a couple of shortbread biscuits, he had to wonder if Snape kept this particular tea stashed away in his personal stores…

"Time, Potter."

Four-thirty-five. The tea tray vanished, as did the half-eaten biscuit between Harry's fingers. Sighing, he wiped his hands on his robes and fingered through the cards in the next box. After copying out several official cards, he penciled: "6 April 1975. Severus Snape. Witnessed using Ascendio to avoid having to walk up main staircase on way to seventh floor classroom. Punishment: Made to climb marble staircase from dungeons to attics one hundred times, supervised by Peeves."

And so it went, afternoon passing into evening, with a twenty-minute break for supper and restroom at seven o'clock, and evening slipping into night, although it all looked the same in the faintly smoky torchlight of the dungeons.

At last – at long, long last – Snape set down his quill and stretched his cramped fingers. How many times today had he mentally kicked himself for insisting that Potter could serve a fifteen-hour detention in a single day? He would never make THAT mistake again! Hopefully, Potter would learn his lesson about listening at keyholes … though, quite seriously, Snape had his doubts. Miscreants like the son of the Golden Gryffindor would far rather commit a transgression and take the punishment afterward, then to behave appropriately in the first place to avoid getting into trouble at all.

After casting a Tempus – 9:58 p.m. – Snape stood and stretched carefully beneath his robes, wincing as he felt his stiff joints cracking. Never again…

"You have time for one more card, Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"I shall dictate."

"Dictate? Sir."

Snape frowned, then elucidated in his best addressing-the-dunderhead tones, "I meant, I shall speak aloud what you will then record on the card to be filed."

"I understand the definition of dictation, Professor."

"Quiet, Potter. Just do as you're told. Unless … you would actually desire to carry on your detention tomorrow, after all?" The silky uplift in Snape's voice almost dared the boy to retort.

But Harry merely sighed, rolling his eyes. Best to just get it over with so he could Floo out of the castle. "Yes, sir."

"24 December 1996."

Harry obediently dated the card.

"Harry James Potter – Gryffindor [Snape sneered] – served 15-hour detention this date for spying on staff member engaged in private conversation with another student at this school. The Boy-Who-Lived was caught in the act of listening at a keyhole, while using an invisibility cloak to aid in his uncalled-for and highly-unseemly, nefarious invasion of privacy. The so-called Hero of the Wizarding world was assigned a detention performing intensive clerical duty in copying out numerous detention cards of previous wrongdoers much like himself."

Snape paused, listening with satisfaction to the scratching of Potter's quill as the boy recorded his own detention for posterity. The Gryffindor's posture, fairly relaxed for most of the day, now looked stiff and angry. Snape smirked. Happy Christmas, Potter … and may you receive a well-deserved chunk of coal in your ratty stocking…

When the quill ceased scraping across the card, Snape said sharply, "File the card and you may leave. Professor McGonagall is expecting you, and you will Floo directly from her office." He handed over the boy's holly wand and strode to the corridor door to await Potter's exit.

Without a word, Harry shoved the last detention card into a box at random, biting his lip to keep from retorting. He'd already gotten his revenge, remember? All those lovely Copperplate cards… Too bad Snape would never see them, to know how he'd been had. Harry shook out his cramped wrist on his way to the door where Snape stood waiting, almost as if he thought Harry might refuse to leave and he'd have to bodily throw the boy out on Christmas Eve!

Feeling a bit defiant, Harry flicked his index finger just as he passed by the black bat. A shower of red and gold glitter floated to the dungeon floor, causing Snape's eyebrows to shoot up, then lower into a serious frown.

"Potter! What do you think you are doing?"

Harry smirked. "Joy to the world, Professor."

"My floor – "

"Don't worry. It vanishes."

And just like that, the stones underfoot looked cold and dismal once more.

Snape glared after the impudent brat. Joy to the world? Bah! Humbug!

Potter disappeared around the nearest corner and Snape had almost shut his office door when he heard a faint laugh. He opened the door a bit wider and stuck his head out into the corridor, his long hair drifting slightly in the faint, chill draft. The laugh repeated, and he could tell it was Potter. Why … was Potter laughing?

Why WOULD he laugh after a fifteen-hour detention? Unless the idiot Gryffindor had finally gone round the twist. Now there was a thought!

The laugh sounded again, louder and longer, although surely Potter was much farther away by now. The brat must be all the way to the base of the marble staircase, Snape thought. Stymied by the recalcitrant student's untoward behavior, the Defense teacher closed and warded his office, then billowed swiftly through the dungeons, his long strides closing in on the persistent laughter. That laugh disturbed Snape to no end. Potter should NOT be laughing like that. Not after a day like today…

But he was.

By the time Snape reached the main staircase, Potter was already several flights above him, laughing, laughing, laughing… The manic sound bounced off the marble steps, and the portraits all craned their necks to stare upwards after the boy when he had passed. Snape frowned. If Potter thought Minerva McGonagall would allow him to Floo to the Burrow in such a state… The Head of Gryffindor was far more likely to strap him to his usual bed in the Hospital Wing. And if Poppy Pomfrey couldn't straighten him out, there was always the Closed Ward at St. Mungo's…

Joy to the world?

And then it hit him –

Whirling, Snape pounded back down the stairs to the dungeons. Along the corridors … unwarding his office door on the fly … to the oak table where Potter's detention boxes sat in musty indifference…

He snatched up one box, his long fingers flying past card after card, looking for the fresh ink in Potter's scrawl, as black and messy as the brat's own hair. Card after card … after card … after … card… All a blotchy job, but done correctly as Snape had instructed. Just copies of previous detentions from yesteryear.

A second box produced the same result, and he went on to a third…

And there… He almost missed it – in perfect Copperplate pencil, appearing much like faded ink:

"9 May 1977. Severus Snape. Used Tripping Jinx on Madam Pince, resulting in twelve tall library bookshelves toppling and knocking each other down, spilling countless volumes. Punishment: Madam Pince in charge of detention in library, where Snape had to reshelve all spilled books while under the effects of Tarantallegra and wearing ballet dancer's toe shoes and pink tutu."

The man in black suddenly saw a stream of endless blazing RED – that wretched little FIEND! He'd sat there – right under Snape's own nose – writing out – in COPPERPLATE, no less! And without even his wand…

"Accio ALL detention cards written by Harry Potter today!"

A white slurry of index cards erupted from multiple boxes, cycloning like a flock of birds before a cold nightfall. A quick double-twist of Snape's wand sorted them into two piles – the real detention cards written in sloppy black ink, and the penciled Copperplate fakes. MERLIN'S HANGNAILS! There were several DOZEN! Each as phony as the next, and all bordering on the utterly ludicrous… Okay – so they were ALL ludicrous!

And the little BEAST was on his way to the Burrow! For a Happy Christmas…

Snape swept up the Copperplate cards with one hand and grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder with the other. Flinging it down into his office fireplace, he shouted, "Head of Gryffindor!" Just wait until she saw what her precocious cub had done this time – and no denying it, either, not when the Copperplate was reversed to show Potter's true handwriting, which Minerva knew as well as her own!

Spinning upwards through the castle Floo, Snape emerged into McGonagall's office, bellowing, "POTTER!"

Minerva McGonagall fell back against her desk from the force of Snape's shout. "Severus! What – "

"Potter!" The furious man swung his blazing gaze left, right, left again, searching the cluttered corners for Dumbledore's pestilential protégé.

"You've only just missed him," said McGonagall, automatically smoothing her bottle-green robes to help gather herself after the start Snape had given her. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Missed him?" Snape growled dangerously.

"He's gone to the Burrow, as was arranged." McGonagall frowned. "I repeat, whatever is the matter?"

Snape swung around, glaring angrily at the fireplace. Just missed him, indeed. If he'd thought to Floo with one hand out, he might have caught Potter by the ankle… "See for yourself," he snarled, shoving the Copperplate cards into her hands, not caring that he caught her by surprise, causing her to drop nearly half of them onto her sturdily-woven tartan rug.

Tsking in annoyance, the graying witch waved her wand to gather up the cards, turning them this way and that until she had achieved nominal order amongst the collection. Then she began to scan the identifying information at the top of the cards. "Why, Severus – are these ALL your detention cards?"

"They are NONE of them MY detention cards! Read them carefully!"

Minerva McGonagall adjusted her spectacles and peered more closely at the top card. "29 November 1973. Severus Snape. Caught red-handed in the act of spray-painting graffiti on Greenhouse Number 3. Punishment: Spent 10 hours lashed to the trunk of the Whomping Willow while Gryffindor Chasers practiced throwing Quaffles at the tree." The woman's jaw dropped. "Why, that's not an appropriate punishment at all! When did this happen? I don't seem to recall – "

"It DIDN'T happen! That's the point!" Snape gnashed his teeth as he paced before the Deputy Headmistress. "Potter made it all up! Today!"

"Potter?" The bemused witch stared down at the thick handful of cards. "But why?"

Snape whirled upon her, thrusting his nose practically against the woman's. "Why does Potter ever do anything? His perversity knows no bounds!"

McGonagall chuckled. "He's not perverse, Severus. Harry is really quite a normal boy, if you were to take the time to get to know him properly."

Snape snorted and resumed his pacing.

"Besides, Severus," she continued, her lips twitching as she observed her colleague, "You yourself must admit that you made something of an error in judgment, wouldn't you say?"

The dark man glared at her. "How so?"

"Assigning a fifteen-hour detention on Christmas Eve?" She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "You gave Harry too much time to think. Way too much time, if these are anything to go by." She teasingly tapped the stack of cards, shuffled through them, then read another card at random. "A pink TUTU?"

"Give me those!"

The irate Defense teacher snatched the stack away from the chuckling witch. "I need to use your Floo."

McGonagall looked sternly at the younger man. "For what purpose?"

"To confront Potter with – "

"No," interrupted the woman. "Severus, I forbid it." And when it appeared that the glowering wizard might argue, she held up a warning finger. "As Deputy Headmistress, I forbid you to contact Harry Potter by any and all means before the end of the holidays."

Snape squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, struggling internally for control. He could just throttle the bottle-green tabby…

"Seriously, Severus," she said, grasping his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "Give yourself a chance to cool off and calm down. Harry isn't the only one to have endured an overly-long day."

The wizard sighed, rolling his eyes. Sometimes, he still felt as powerless as he had when he was a student.

"Wait until spring term, Severus. That's an order. You might be willing to see everything in a different light by then. After all, it was just a harmless holiday prank."

Without a word, Snape did an abrupt about-face, stalking out of McGonagall's office with no specific goal for his subsequent nocturnal wanderings. Somehow, he eventually found himself climbing the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, where he clutched the cold railing as his black eyes roved dispassionately over the view stretching for miles beyond the castle walls.

Tall, treeless mountains lay smothered in snow, their highest peaks rising to touch the starry sky. The moon had not yet risen, so the Scottish night lay thick as black velvet above the snow-draped valleys below. On this windless night, the Black Lake reflected the diamond stars, their pinpoints of light bobbing gently on tiny ripples crossing the frigid waters. In the farthest distance, a few dots of yellow light indicated sparse habitation, the homes behind the golden windows glowing warmly with Christmas cheer, family, and friends.

Alone at the top of the dark tower, Snape sighed into the night, his breath frosting in the starlight.

Christmas Eve had not always been a time of solitude for him. Once he'd started at Hogwarts, he'd often visited the Evans family over the holidays to join in their celebration. Petunia, of course, had always proved a royal pain in the rump, but Lily and her parents had opened their home to him, plying him with eggnog and homemade fudge, cider and mince pies, hot chocolate and stuffed dates, and he'd once overindulged to the point of making himself sick. Yet, the festive treats themselves were less important to young Severus than what they'd represented back then. The Evans' sharing meant that a lonely boy belonged somewhere on Christmas Eve – in a warmly-glowing house with his best friend and her welcoming family. Christmas lights, Christmas scents, Christmas laughter, Christmas cheer… Severus was finally part of the glowing vignette behind the large window framing their Christmas tree.

Before he'd met Lily, Severus Snape had only seen Christmas from the outside, since his own family failed to celebrate the joyous season. For years, he'd gazed longingly at other people's decorated houses, hearing laughter as visitors were greeted with warm hugs before being ushered into the welcoming homes, and watched Christmas Eve play out behind fragile windows which separated the solitary, black-haired child on an icy sidewalk from the smiling humanity who belonged within that golden glow. The advent of Lily had opened the door to the yearly celebration for him, and Severus had gladly stepped over her threshold to take part.

However, after he and Lily had … gone their separate ways, Snape had felt no desire to continue celebrating Christmas. Happy people's windows might still warmly glow, but he found he had stepped back onto the icy sidewalk of his younger years, the bubble of good cheer having burst like most of his other remaining illusions. He felt fated to forever stand on the outside, looking in.

Snape could just imagine himself peering through the glowing windows of the Weasleys' Burrow tonight. "A pink TUTU?" The youngest Weasleys would squeal, and the entire ramshackle house would quake with laughter while they passed the eggnog and mince pies. The dark man winced, realizing McGonagall was right. Again. Wait until spring term to confront Potter. Away from the family who had welcomed him into their golden glow. Rather, do it here, at Hogwarts, on Snape's own turf. He scoffed lightly, watching his breath frost once more.

Grasping the railing, he leaned his head back, casting his eyes upwards toward the star-filled heavens. The atmosphere was so clear, and the vast orchestra of stars twinkled in silent harmony. Snape felt an inexplicable yearning for the first time in years. He wished he could recapture the joy of Christmases celebrated with Lily. Looking again at the starlit mountains and valleys, he saw them as she would have done – the earth, lying wrapped in a snowy embrace, presented a most sublime picture, worthy of a sparkling Christmas card. The silent scenery reminded him exactly of a long-ago Christmas Eve shared with young Lily, and unbidden he could still hear her childish soprano rising as they had strolled through a snowy park beneath a plethora of twinkling stars.

"It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old. From angels bending near the earth, to touch their harps of gold."

As a boy, Severus had thrilled to that image, seeing it so clearly in his mind's eye. He'd begged Lily to teach him the entire carol, and when he'd learned it, he'd let her sing that far, then he'd join in – as he did now, his silky baritone drifting out across the softly-glowing landscape, across the deepness of the lake –

"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, from Heaven's all-gracious King. The world in solemn stillness lay, to hear the angels sing."

Snape held his breath until he could no longer hear the fading echoes of his singing. Then, he sighed once more, quite heavily, suddenly feeling more relaxed than he had since… forever.

As he looked skyward once more, a brilliant white light flashed across the black velvet, its trailing tail reflected in the still waters of the lake, and then the meteor was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Severus Snape smiled into the cold, starry night. Lily had always loved shooting stars. Was the meteor a sign?

This was Christmas Eve, after all.

Perhaps … just perhaps … he'd have eggnog tonight.

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