Harry was surprised to find another gift awaiting him at the cottage. The wrapping was plain yet elegant—matte black paper beneath silver thread. It looked like a book, and indeed, it was.

“Advanced Potions,” Harry read aloud, surprised. He already had it; it was one of the Potions’ books he’d had to buy for his sixth year. Why would anyone give him a new one when he hadn’t lost his? Looking down at the volume in his hand more carefully, he realised this one wasn’t new at all. The cover was worn-out, the spine heavily creased—a clear sign that the book had been opened many, many times.

Flipping the cover open, Harry saw the markings inside and smiled. ‘This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince,’ proclaimed spidery black handwriting. Harry didn’t know Severus Snape had a sense of humour. But he clearly must have been able to laugh at some point in his youth, for this indubitably was his book—and a heavily annotated one at that. Page after page was covered in comments written in his familiar jerky handwriting.

Harry opened a page at random to peer more closely at the notes, only to realise there was more to it. Severus’ younger self had corrected the manual: he’d crossed out entire sections, replaced some of the instructions with alternate methods, and adjusted some dosages to improve the results. Harry was amazed that he’d done all that at age sixteen.

The last surprise was at the end of the book, tucked between the end page and the back cover. It was his sixth-year summer essay. The one Professor Snape had refused to give him back because he needed more time to read it. It had so few annotations in the margins that Harry wondered if the Potions Master had perhaps run out of red ink. But the O in the corner was unmistakable.

The enormity of the gesture sunk in. Harry’s much-dreaded Potions professor had given him his personally annotated textbook—something that would be of invaluable help to Harry in his class. This, coming from the man who’d spent years belittling his potions and going as far as refusing to grade them because they looked so far removed from what they ought to be, was moving to the extreme. It was even more so because it was a glimpse inside the Potions Master’s very own head—or that of his sixteen-year-old self, at least. It was more than a gift, Harry realised; it was an apology. And he felt his eyes watering.

The sound of more wrapping paper torn apart caused him to look up from where he’d sat down on the edge of his bed. Glancing at the other side of the room, he realised Draco had also received a gift. An audible gasp escaped the blond when the last of the paper was removed. He let himself sink onto the mattress an instant later. It looked like his legs had given way under him, too.

Curious, Harry stood and crossed the room. “I got one of his old textbooks,” he said, thinking that his curiosity wouldn’t be perceived as such if he offered some information of his own in return. “It’s full of annotations and comments in Severus’ handwriting.”

The tactic worked, and Draco opened the hands he’d safely wrapped around his gift to reveal a small, carved wooden statue. It was a Thestral, its wings so finely carved that they looked a little transparent under the veneer coating. The blond reached for his wand and tapped the creature’s head twice, and it came to life. It flapped its wings once, twice, turned on itself, then sat on his back haunches to peer up at Draco. The creature’s mouth had stretched open wide in what Harry could only describe as a goofy smile. It was such an unusual pose and look on the tall, intimidating winged horse that Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Didn’t know you liked Thestrals this much,” he said eventually.

“I don’t.” Draco tapped the little figurine’s head again, and it stood back up and flapped its wings twice more before returning to its previous condition. “It’s just one I didn’t have yet.”

“What do you mean? Is it part of a collection or something?” Harry wondered if it was another version of a wizarding collectable, such as the Chocolate Frog Cards. If it was, he realised he wouldn’t mind looking into it. The Thestral was beautifully carved, and that goofy smile gave it some character which was a rare treat for a toy to have. He wondered if they all did that and fancied he wouldn’t mind having a smiling Hungarian Horntail for himself.

“Sort of—” Draco sighed, and it sounded a little sad. “Severus used to get me one every year for my birthday when I was a child. He makes them himself.”

“Really?” So, it was a collection then—just not one you could buy anywhere.

Draco nodded but added nothing to the conversation. Harry realised there was more to it. He looked slightly sad, which struck him as the wrong thing to be feeling during one’s birthday party. “Sorry, Draco, but—” he hesitated, then decided to plough on. “Why does it make you so sad? Is it because it’s a Thestral? Because of what it means when you see one?”

His question seemed to catch Draco off-guard, and he closed his hand over the small figurine as if hiding it would remove the emotions from his face, too. “It’s not,” he replied testily. Harry half-expected the words to be followed by a ‘Piss off, Potter.’ They weren’t, and Harry took it as one more sign that their relationship had vastly improved these past weeks. After another long sigh, Draco added, “I haven’t gotten one in six years.” He paused, bit his lower lip for a moment, then continued. “I wasn’t expecting to have one this year, either. It took me by surprise.”

Doing the maths, Harry realised the gifts had stopped coming the year Draco started at Hogwarts. He wondered why Severus had felt the need to drop the tradition because his godson had become his pupil. It seemed silly to him, only—he paused, considering the gift still cradled protectively in Draco’s grasp—the tradition had returned. Could it mean that the pause hadn’t been Severus’ decision at all?

“Why did he stop making them for you?” he asked tentatively. By this point, he fully expected a rebuke. And he would have taken it without a fight if it came. They were moving into personal territory, and he’d understand it if Draco didn’t want to indulge his curiosity anymore.

“Father decided that I was too old to play with toys, and he told me to get rid of them.” His grasp on the tiny carved figurine tightened. “He must have told something similar to Severus, for I never got another.”

Harry felt himself on the cusp of saying something nasty about Lucius Malfoy. With difficulty, he held back his venom. He had learned that nothing good ever came from speaking ill of the dead. “Sorry. I’m sure they must have been really nice, too,” he said, wondering if it would be appropriate for him to ask if there had been a dragon and what it had looked like. Not wanting to add to Draco’s pain, he asked instead, “Maybe he can make you some more if you ask him?”

“I kept them all,” Draco replied, and there was no denying the momentary look of defiance in his eyes. “I put them in a box, and I hid it at the back of the bottom drawer of my dresser.” The defiant smile at the corner of his lips was short-lived and gave way to sadness as he added, “I don’t suppose I’ll be getting those back now.”

Draco was still a pariah where the House of Malfoy was concerned. Although the deadline hadn’t been up when Lucius died, he’d had contingencies in place. The paperwork went through, and Draco was officially disowned. The word was that many uncles, cousins, and other distant relatives of Lucius and Narcissa were warring amongst themselves to determine who could inherit what. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of the pie and the keys to the vault. They had all lawyered up, and it would probably be years before they reached an agreement. Until then, Lucius and Narcissa’s assets had been seized by the Ministry for safekeeping—including Malfoy Manor.

Harry had no words of comfort to offer to that. Raising his hand, he placed it on Draco’s shoulder. The blond tensed under his palm; it took him a minute to relax and allow the comfort to sink in. Harry might not have the words to fix the shitty situation they were in. But he had a plan. And he might just know the right person to execute it.

Having made up his mind, he stood back up. “I’m going to go thank Severus for the book. Are you coming with me?”

Draco looked up at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What? Why?”

“Er—” He hesitated. “It’s the—uh—polite thing to do?” And it was, wasn’t it? Draco’s ogling eyes made him doubt himself.

“Since when?” he asked, flabbergasted.

“If someone gives you a gift, you say thank you,” Harry explained. “That’s how it goes.”

His education may not have been the best, but Aunt Petunia had always insisted his cousin Dudley send out thank you cards for all the gifts he got. Harry had taken on the habit himself—once he’d started getting gifts, that was. Should he send a note rather than thank Severus in person? That seemed a little counterproductive, seeing as they lived under the same roof and everything.

Draco scoffed at his words. “That might be what you Gryffindors lot do, but Severus is a Slytherin,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“So what? Slytherins don’t deserve gratitude?” What kind of bollocks was that?

“Use your head for a minute, Harry,” Draco said, and the condescension in his tone made him cross his arms in annoyance. “Severus snuck into our rooms to leave us our gifts instead of taking them to the party like everyone else. Do you really think he wants the outpour of good sentiment in return? Just maybe give him a discreet nod of acknowledgement the next time you see him if you would prefer to make a grand gesture.”

That was just plain stupid, Harry decided. Something was seriously wrong with Slytherin House if the snakes couldn’t so much as take a thank you to their faces. “That’s a load of crap,” he said before turning on his heel. “Feel free to give him all the nods you want. But I’m gonna go say thank you like a normal human being.”

He wasn’t surprised that Draco didn’t follow him outside. Upon reaching the living room, Harry had concluded that he would keep his thank you short and sweet to spare the Slytherin Head of House’s potentially deficient feelings. Saturnine was the only one there, though. She sat on the sofa with her legs up and a book in her hand.

“Do you know where your brother is?” Harry asked as she looked up at him.

“Having a shower, I think,” she replied. “Why?”

“He got me this.” He held out the gift to her, and she placed a bookmark in her book before taking it in her hand. Her brow wrinkled when she flipped it open.

She had no trouble recognising the handwriting. “Oh my! That’s Severus’ old textbook. I had no idea he’d kept it.”

“He must think that I could use the help.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like he’s made notes on everything and anything.”

“Yeah, Sev could never stop doing that.” She frowned in displeasure. “He couldn’t be bothered to take separate notes like everyone else. No—Severus Snape had to write it all down in the books themselves.”

Harry chuckled. “You sound just like Hermione. I thought she would have a coronary when I underlined something important in one of mine once.” Maybe Ravenclaws had the same awed respect for the written word Hermione had. “Still—it’s a nice gift, and I was going to say thank you.”

Saturnine hmmed as she handed him back the Potions volume.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” he asked, wondering what Ravenclaw House’s stance on gratitude was. “I want to, but Draco says it’s not a very Slytherin thing to do to thank people who give you gifts.”

She chuckled loudly at that before sitting up fully and swinging her legs to the side until she was seated before him. She motioned for him to sit down on the coffee table facing her. Harry did.

“What do you think about it, lad?”

“Well, I want to thank him. But he’s as Slytherin as they get—and he’s Severus Snape, too.” He paused, thinking it over once more. “I really do appreciate the gift, and I’d like him to know that. He—didn’t have to get me anything, and it was really thoughtful.” He paused before ploughing on. “Draco’s gift was equally nice—better, even. And the git’s won’t even say thank you,” he huffed. “He might give Severus a nod or some such nonsense tomorrow.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“For a long time, I wondered if Slytherins were emotionally deficient or something,” Saturnine admitted. “But then I realised that wasn’t that at all. The snakes are opportunists to the extreme. They’ll use everything and anything to reach their goals, and that includes using other people’s emotions against them. Students in Slytherin House learn quickly to keep their feelings close to their chests and keep the effusions of sentiments to a minimum. It’s sad—but it’s a matter of self-preservation for them.”

Harry could see the truth in her words. It did make some sense—in a sad, twisted, pathetic kind of way. He wouldn’t wish that kind of life on anyone. “So, I’d best not say anything, then?”

“Do whatever you feel like you must do, Harry.” She reached forward and grabbed one of his hands in hers. “And if you feel like thanking him, Severus Snape will just have to suffer through it.”

Releasing his hand, she looked down at her shoes and added in a soft voice, “There’s a beating heart underneath all those black layers, you know. It’s a bit rusty, but it’s there.”

Harry wondered at her tone. It had seemed to have been turned inward, and he thought the reminder might have been meant for herself. Looking down at the book in his hand, he said, “I never doubted that.”

And it was the truth. He had always known, on some level, that his much-dreaded Potions professor was indeed a human being. It was just that he made it effortless for people to dislike him. Harry realised that maybe it was a little too soon for grand gestures. A thank-you note might be a good idea after all. Small steps, he thought. Best not to give him an incentive to hex my head off.

His decision must have shown on his face. “A note, then?” Saturnine asked, and he nodded. “Best not to make it too long or too—effusive. But be honest about your feelings. You have a right to feel the way you do, Harry. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks,” he said, meeting her gaze to let her know he meant it. “And thanks for today, too.”

She bowed her head slightly and smiled back, proof that the Snape heirs could indeed survive a show of gratitude.

“Can I ask you a favour?” Harry demanded.

“Sure—besides, it’s your birthday,” she replied. “There’s never been a better time for it.”

“I’ll understand if you can’t help. But you seem quite resourceful; so, I thought maybe you could.” She frowned at him, wondering where he would go with this. “I mean, you got the stuff for the Dark Mark Potion. And last year, you got your hands on my Christmas presents. And you got the extra books to help with my essays.”

“Yes, I know what ‘resourceful’ means, Harry.” One of her eyebrows rose in mild indignation. And Harry couldn’t help but smile at how reminiscent of her brother the gesture was. That, coupled with her comment, was such a Snape-ish thing to do that Harry wondered how he had not realised earlier that the two were related. “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“I don’t need anything,” he replied. “It’s for Draco.” Inching forward, he lowered his tone as he explained the carved figurine the blond received today and the ones he had stashed away at Malfoy Manor. “I know Dobby works at Hogwarts now, but he used to belong to the Malfoys. Maybe he can still get into the Manor, or he can ask one of the elves there.”

“You want me to ask the little house-elf to get that box of figurines Severus made for Draco back?” she asked, trying to see if she had understood everything. Harry nodded eagerly. “And Draco can’t ask me this himself because…”

Harry felt his cheeks redden. “He—doesn’t really know that I’m asking you this. I—sort of—haven’t told him.”

Her eyes narrow on him. “Meaning?”

“Okay, he has no idea. And he’d probably Stupefy me, then Obliviate me if he knew I was doing this.” He sighed. “But you didn’t see his face. These figurines clearly mean a lot to him. And I know he’d love to have them back; I just know it. But Draco’s too Slytherin to do anything about it.”

Saturnine smiled in understanding. “Good thing he has a Gryffindor friend such as yourself to help him out then. Fine, I’ll see what I can do. And yes, Dobby can still enter the Manor. Who did you think set up that camera so that we could all watch the funeral?”

“Thanks, ’Nine. You’re the best.” Harry stood up, clutching the Potions book close to his chest. “Best go and think of what to write on that note, then.”

***

It wasn’t hard to convince the big-eared elf to help out, and Dobby was gone in a wink. He returned less than five minutes later, clutching an elegant wooden box in his tiny, gnarled hands. “There you are, Madame Professor Snape,” he said in his squeaky voice. “The wooden box from the bottom drawer, as you requested.”

Crouching down to get eye level with the elf, she looked him in the eye as she said, “Thank you, Dobby. Your help is much appreciated.” He puffed out his chest a little and smiled as he handed over the box. It was a little heavier than she’d thought. “If ever I can do something for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“There’s no need. Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter’s friends,” he said, and his pride seemed to swell.

Saturnine left Hogwarts without much more ceremony—out the front door and down the meandering path without encountering anyone. She’d timed it so that her visit would be early in the day for a reason. She Apparated back to Cove Cottage as soon as she could. Harry was busy preparing breakfast in the kitchen, but the two Slytherins didn’t seem up yet.

“Mission accomplished,” she announced, entering the kitchen and placing the box on the small table.

Harry was busy preparing what looked like blueberry pancake batter, and she opened the box for him. Without ceasing to stir the mix, Harry inched backwards to peer inside and confirmed that it was indeed what he’d asked her for.

There were about a dozen little wooden figurines in the box, ranging from the mundane to the magical. They were all beautiful, a testament to Severus’ talent. He hadn’t lost his touch, Saturnine discovered. If anything, he’d gotten better. But he’d always been a perfectionist at heart.

“How long do you think it takes to make one?” Harry asked as he washed his hands.

“If you include the time it takes to go out in the woods to find the right material—about two whole days of uninterrupted work,” she replied. That was the time it used to take him when they were younger. He might have gotten quicker at it. But the level of detail had increased, which might have lengthened the process.

Harry reached for a pan. He placed a little bit of butter on it before taking it to the flame. “I had no idea Severus could do that. Did you?”

“Yes,” she replied, sitting down and absentmindedly plucking out a carved cat to inspect it. “He handmade our necklaces, you know. And I’ve gotten quite a few carved items, too, back in the day.”

“Really?” he asked. “So, that’s his thing, then?”

“‘Thing’?” she echoed.

“Yeah, his go-to gift. Like how Hermione always gives people books.”

“Severus got you a book, did he not?” she asked. “Besides, I don’t think he offers enough gifts to anyone to discern a pattern.”

Harry had to concede the point.

“No; it’s simply that the homemade variety was all we could afford when we were kids. Our father wasn’t paid much, and most of his wages were drunk down in the pub. Severus and I never had any pocket money. So, we made our gifts ourselves. I can’t say how many times I’ve had to make do with giving him a drawing or a poem for Christmas. He would often get me daisy chains and such for my birthday and a funny-looking rock he’d found by the river for Christmas or something similar. It was only once he learned to use magic that Sev started carving figurines.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologised. “I didn’t know.”

“That we were dirt-poor?” she asked. “Yeah—we don’t make a habit of broadcasting that bit of information.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect; I…” He let his sentence hang.

“Sorry—didn’t mean to snap,” she said, raising her palm to placate him. “It’s still a sore subject, it would seem.”

“At least you had each other,” Harry said. “And I’m sure Severus loved everything you got him as much as you loved what he got you.”

Feeling her eyes mist at Harry’s words, Saturnine stood up to move closer to him. Bending down, she placed a kiss on his temple as she ran a hand along his back. “Don’t you ever change, Harry. You wonderful, wonderful lad.” He leaned into her embrace, and she kissed him on the top of his messy lump of hair.

“You should give these to Draco yourself—maybe tell him what you just told me,” Harry offered. “I don’t think he’ll ever understand the real value of these figurines otherwise.”

“I think he already knows, don’t you?” she said. “Of all the gifts the Malfoy heir must have received over the years, the one thing he treasured enough to want to keep safe were these. Not the diamond cufflinks, the tailored suits, or any of the other extravagant gifts his parents showered him with—no, what he chose to keep was this box of small, wooden figurines. I think it’s safe to say that he already knows that money isn’t everything.”

Harry nodded against her chest. “He might know what it means to himself, but he doesn’t know what it means to Severus. And if you don’t tell him, he never will.”

Thinking it over, Saturnine realised that Harry was right. She waited until breakfast was over, and Severus had returned to the quiet of their bedroom to get some work done to give Harry a discreet signal that caused him to announce that he really needed to shower. His departure was as subtle as a Cornish Pixie in a China shop, but it allowed her to speak to Draco alone.

“What are you working on?” she asked from where she was leaning against the doorjamb between the kitchen and the living room.

“Potions,” he replied, barely looking up.

“Ah,” she said. “The famed Parchment from Hell, is it? Don’t hesitate to come to me if you need help with it,” she added, remaining where she was.

Draco finished the sentence he was writing before replacing his quill in its holder. “Did you want something?” he asked, turning slightly to face her.

She forced a kind smile on her face. “I have something for you,” she said, revealing the item she had kept hidden behind her back until now. “Harry thought you might want to have this back.”

Draco’s eyes went comically wide for an instant. He looked more like a kid than the young adult he’d just become.

Saturnine moved to sit down on the coffee table and held the box out for him. Draco’s fingers shook a little as he eagerly opened the lid. She saw him ram his eyes over each figurine in turn, inventorying them to make sure they were all accounted for.

“Thank you, Saturnine,” he replied after a while. And she surmised that he’d waited until he was sure to have his voice back under control enough to speak.

“I understand my brother made these for you,” she said, and Draco nodded. “Has he ever told you why he learned to make them?”

At the shake of his head, she went on to explain everything. Because Harry had been right—unless she stepped in, Draco would never truly understand the fullness of his godfather’s gesture. Severus was all that boy had anymore, and it was time they started doing more than mending bridges between them.

She was also the one who suggested Draco place the figurines on the bookshelves so that everyone could see them. This wasn’t the kind of home where they had to be hidden at the bottom of a drawer.

And if her brother later had a minor heart attack at the sight of them, she’d be here to reassure him that it was a perfectly normal reaction—even for a Slytherin.