Snape personally thought he was doing a really good job of doing his utmost to appear impassive and disinterested in what was truthfully the most entertaining Quidditch game that Hogwarts had seen in years (not that Snape would ever admit it—unless, of course, it was because he was only interested in how badly Potter could manage to embarrass himself. Maybe it would shrink his head a smidge, the little bastard. It would almost be worth losing the Cup). And he had just gotten his all-consuming aggravation under control in reaction to Potter's stupid loop-the-loops after Marcus Flint's score and making sure the abhorrence wasn't showing up on his face when the trouble began.
The trouble's name, of course, was Harry Potter. Youngest Seeker of the century, owner of one very expensive Nimbus 2000, bane of Snape's existence. Said broomstick was currently doing its utmost to throw said bane of Snape's existence to his death.
"Fuck," Snape said, but softly enough that McGonagall only spared him a questioning glance instead of an admonishment for the profanity. Why hadn't he seen this one coming? He knew Quirrell was stupid, but Snape hadn't realized he was stupid enough to try to publicly kill the Boy Who Lived in front of both Albus Dumbledore and a crowd of a thousand people. He frantically wracked his memory for all the possible jinxes one could put on a broom. Snape had never been very interested in Quidditch or brooms, and he was seriously regretting his choice of allowing this gap in his knowledge. Were there multiple broom jinxes, or just the one that he religiously memorized years ago in the hopes that he might be able to use it on James Potter?
Well, it would have to do. He had less confidence in the counter-curse incantation, but there really wasn't any time to lose. He fixed his eyes on Potter's, silently thankful that the boy was far enough away that Snape couldn't make out the shape or color of his eyes.
Time stopped. Everything around him was dim, muted, except for Potter in the air, holding on for dear life, the terror written across his face clear even at this distance. The incantation floated surprisingly easy to his tongue, and his only priority was to ignore everything so that his flow wouldn't be interrupted—
Something was burning.
Merlin, it was himself. Probably Quirrell's doing, although Snape wasn't sure if Quirrell had the know-how or the guts to set his robes on fire from several seats away. He didn't dare move, for fear of breaking eye-contact, for fear of letting Potter fall fifty feet to the unforgiving ground below. The broom began leveling out, and he desperately eked out the last few words before finally glancing down without checking to see if the broom was completely back to normal. Oh shit, the flames were nearly to his elbow—
And then they were suddenly gone. Snape blinked. He glanced back to the field, breathing an involuntary sigh of relief at the sight of Potter clambering back onto his now well-behaved broom. He was in the middle of wishing he could give Quirrell the fiercest glare he could muster when he realized that Quirrell had fallen headlong into the first row, flailing his limbs about. Given that Quirrell was preoccupied at the moment, Snape indulged himself with a nice glare toward the back of Quirrell's turban.
When he was satisfied, he looked back down at his charred, smoking robes. It was one of his nice ones, too. He wrinkled his nose at the acrid smoke and balefully wondered how he could wring a few Sickles out of Quirrell under the guise of a bet. New robes weren't cheap.
As the people suddenly erupted into confused cheers around him, Snape distracted himself with thoughts of his wardrobe and bank account, trying with all his might to get his breathing under control, trying to erase the bone-chilling image of Potter falling from his broom forever from his mind.
♢♢♢
Christmas was coming, and Harry could not recall a time when he had been this excited for the holiday. Typically, Christmases at the Dursleys were a show of how much they could spoil Dudley, and how much worse of a present they could get Harry than the year before. The sudden three feet of snow was a welcome surprise, and in no time at all, snowball fights were being fought, and the frozen lake served as a very large ice rink.
Professor Snape' classes as usual were a miserable affair, made more so by the extreme chill down in the dungeous. As the weather grew frostier, so did he.
"Figures that Snape is a real Grinch," Harry commented to Draco as they hurried to Potions, blowing on their hands to keep them warm. Neither of them had quite gotten the hang of the hand-warming charm Flitwick had taught them the day prior.
"What in the world is a Grinch?" Draco asked.
Harry opened his mouth to tell him, but he could already feel Snape's glower from down the hallway. "Er... I'll tell you after class."
Draco's elation over Slytherin's win manifested itself in interesting ways. "Make way for the Slytherin Seeker," he announced as he ushered Harry through the door of the classroom. Harry furtively shushed him, but it was too late; Snape's glower intensified two-fold. Harry usually didn't mind Draco's antics as long as the spotlight stayed on him—Draco did enough swaggering for the both of them—but all the attention Draco was directing toward Harry seemed to make Snape crankier and reinforce his already firmly-held believe that Harry was some huge egomaniac. If it kept Draco's jealousy over Harry being the Slytherin Seeker at bay, though, maybe it was worth it.
Eventually, Draco got tired of telling anyone who would listen about how prodigious and unprecedented Harry's catch was and how impressive it was how he had stayed on his bucking broomstick, and instead turned his efforts to making snide remarks about various Gryffindors. Harry tried his best to tune it out, measuring out powdered spine of lionfish as he squinted at the board, not quite able to discern whether Snape had written three teaspoons or eight.
But the final straw came soon enough.
"I do feel so sorry," Draco said, not at all paying attention to the cauldron bubbling in front of him, "for all those people who wake up on Christmas morning to find no presents under their tree."
To his credit, Ron Weasley reddened, but said nothing as he continued to stir his potion.
"I mean, of course Father Christmas brings presents... I suppose babies still believe in him. I guess it's better to be under the impression that you've been bad than to realize your family is too poor to afford a single gift—"
"Draco!" Harry hissed in horror, nearly dropping the lionfish spine powder at the same time that Ron snatched up a container of pickled slugs. "What is wrong with you?"
Draco turned to Harry, chuckling. "Relax, Harry, loosen up."
Behind him, Hermione Granger was gripping Ron's wrist as he strained to chuck it at Draco's head.
"Can you stop being a total scumbag and help me with this potion?" Harry snapped.
Draco shrugged. "Fine. Merlin, why is there so much lionfish spine powder? You do realize we're only supposed to add three teaspoons?"
"Oh, I—"
"Are you so incapable of following directions?" came a sinister voice from above.
Harry gulped.
"Because even though you are, the homework I assigned a week ago should have enlightened you to the fact that anything greater than a one to five ratio of lionfish spine powder to crushed eye of newt would render your potion unstable and useless. Does that look like a one to five ratio to you, Potter?"
"No sir," Harry mumbled. Draco quietly measured out the correct amount, hurriedly dumping it into the cauldron without looking at Snape.
"Furthermore, I was considerate enough to not make you calculate what a one to five ratio is when fifteen teaspoons of eye of newt is required, given that you dunderheads are hopeless at basic arithmetic. And you still find a way to blunder your way into a mistake."
Harry balled his hands into fists. "I couldn't see the—"
"Lucky you have Mr. Malfoy here to correct your egregious error."
"Yes sir," Draco jumped in, stepping on Harry's foot when he didn't say anything.
Harry gritted his teeth. "Yes sir," he echoed.
The rest of the class was done in silence. As everyone piled into the corridor, Harry couldn't help but give Draco a cold shoulder. It wasn't hard, given that he actually was freezing. Snape didn't allow them to keep their coats on in class because of the fire hazard, but Harry suspected it was his way of making their lives a bit more miserable.
"Harry, don't be mad," Draco said, hurrying to catch up. "If it weren't for me, our potion would've been a disaster, after all."
"If you'd been paying attention and helping me in the first place instead of taking a shot at Ron, I wouldn't have been yelled at!"
"Right, alright, fine," Draco said, holding his hands up. "I get it. Can we drop it?"
Harry noticed the lack of an apology. He turned his head away.
"Come on, Harry," Draco said, bumping shoulders. "I'll pay more attention next time. I've been dying to know what a grunch is all class, so spill."
"Grinch, Draco," Harry said, and he chuckled in spite of himself. "Honestly, a grunch?"
"Whatever, a grinch. What is it?"
This launched a long conversation about Muggle cartoons as they took a walk in the snow. Harry had to start from the basics of electricity to even be able to explain what television was, and by the time he got to the Grinch, it was dark already. Draco had piped up numerous times about how primitive and pointless it all seemed, this Muggle technology , but seemed secretly intrigued all the same.
Harry drew a decent recreation of the Grinch in the snow with his fingers. "That's pretty much what the Grinch looks like, but green. And yellow eyes, I think."
"Merlin, what is this abomination, some kind of fuzzy Muggle grindylow?"
"Grindylow?" Harry asked, shoving his cold hands back into his gloves and attempting to rub some feeling back into his fingers.
Draco casually took the glove off Harry's hand, took off his own, and grabbed it. "Water demon. My hands are always warmer than yours," he added when Harry startled, shifting his grip to hold on tighter. "And your gloves don't have warming charms."
Harry was fairly sure there was a faint blush on his face, though he couldn't exactly say why. He was just glad the darkness hid it. "You could've just given me your glove," he pointed out.
The second he said it, he kind of wished he could take it back. Draco's hands were soft.
"Because then my hands would get cold. Your gloves are thinner than parchment," Draco said derisively, but there wasn't any real offense in the words. He didn't let go. Not until they made it back to the Great Hall from where a warm glow of golden candlelight spilled across the frozen moonlit snow.
Draco dropped Harry's hand, and the warmth was immediately replaced by the chill of the biting wind. "Better get on that hand-warming charm," he said with a smile. The light illuminated his pale skin, and his moon-gray eyes sparkled.
Harry smiled back. "I'm just glad there's something we're both equally incompetent in."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Alright, that's the last time I do something nice for you," he said. But he reached out to brush some snow off Harry's hair, and Harry reached out to tug Draco's untidy collar back into place, and they grinned at each other, and set off for dinner.
♢♢♢
"—and then Hagrid said it was between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel!"
Harry raised an eyebrow as he snuck another treacle tart out of his pocket and into his mouth, trying his best not to drop crumbs. Madam Pince would never let him back into the library if she caught him. "Who's Nicolas Flamel?"
Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. "That's just the thing: he sounds familiar, but I have no idea where to look."
Harry gestured to the expanse of shelves behind them. "Well, I suppose we'd better get started."
They both heaved a sigh at the task ahead of them.
"I just can't believe Hagrid named him Fluffy," Harry said, shaking his head in amusement as he got out of his chair. "It's such a Hagrid thing to do."
That got Hermione giggling. "Was the dog fluffy?"
"Anything but. Also, his breath stank. Maybe your parents should take a look at him..."
They were able to evade Madam Pince's wrath for about half an hour, by which time Harry's head spun from continuously squinting at the tiny text of extremely heavy volumes. Hermione seemed to be having no trouble poring over them with virtually no breaks, but finally agreed that this was getting them nowhere.
"But you'll keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" Hermione asked as they set off toward the Great Hall for lunch. "And send me an owl if you find anything."
"'Course," Harry assured her.
"I'd get Ron to help, seeing as he's staying for the holidays, but I don't think he'd like the idea of helping you. He knows about Flamel, though." She cast a worried glance at Harry to gauge his reaction.
Harry felt a twinge of hurt at this, but waved it away. "No hard feelings, I guess. I'll just try not to be in the library at the same time as him."
He had something else on his mind, anyway, something bigger. He cleared his throat. "Listen Hermione, I'm not a hundred percent sure on Snape being the person we're after."
"Harry, he tried to jinx your broom," Hermione reminded him. "You don't have to defend him just because he's your Head of House."
"I don't think Snape is stupid enough to do something like that in front of Dumbledore," Harry reasoned. "And he just doesn't seem like that sort of person. Remember when he yelled at me during our first flying lesson for putting myself in danger?"
"Maybe that was just a cover. The "sort of person" he is, is one that despises you, Harry."
Harry deflated, though still dubious. "True. Well, maybe things will be clearer once we find out who Flamel is."
Once the holidays started, though, Harry and Draco were having too much fun for Harry to do much information hunting. Numerous times Harry considered telling Draco about the whole thing, but decided against it every time. Draco already disliked Hagrid, and worshiped Snape; he probably wouldn't be of much use.
So Harry let himself be distracted. Harry had the bright idea of building snowmen that looked like various faculty members, and Draco enthusiastically jumped aboard the idea. Harry exploded into a fit of giggles over the excessively large nose he had gifted the narrow, grumpy-looking snowman in front of them, and even Draco had to join in... before having to run for their lives when they spotted Professor Snape in the distance.
Draco also began teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Draco's set was very ornate and opulent. Like a lot of things he owned, it had once belonged to some important ancestor, still gleaming and luxurious as it was the day it was crafted. The antiquated chessmen weren't much of a drawback, as they were very experienced, but at times had the unfortunate habit of reminding Draco that he was nowhere near as good at chess as his father or his grandfather. Harry tactfully chose to ignore how Draco's face would fall when he heard it.
Harry played with chessmen Pansy Parkinson had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. Harry wasn't a very good player yet, and it was already difficult trying to remember the functions of all the pieces without them yelling conflicting advice at him. But after three days of nonstop rematches, he slowly began to get the hang of it. All he had to do was pit the chessmen against each other and trick them into thinking that Harry's moves were their idea instead of his.
"Shut up for once and let me think," he finally snapped at them one evening, and the chessmen surprisingly fell quiet. "Let's see... knight to E6."
"Oh no," Draco moaned in dismay when he realized his queen was in danger. "You surrounded me." He made a desperate bid for escape.
Harry grinned and made his next move. "Check."
Harry learned that day that Draco was an extremely sore loser. He got over it fairly quickly, although extremely reluctant to bring out the chessboard again after Harry's win.
On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. Draco was already up, bouncing around excitedly.
Harry laughed. "Merry Christmas," he said, getting out of bed. "Look at this, I've got some presents!"
"What did you expect, coal?" Draco rolled his eyes. He turned to his own pile, which was much bigger and fancier than Harry's.
Harry's first parcel was a wooden flute from Hagrid, which he obviously whittled himself. A second, very small parcel contained a note and a fifty-pence piece.
That's weirdly friendly, Harry thought. Maybe they were afraid Hagrid would come back to give them a piece of his mind if they didn't bother getting him a gift.
Draco, meanwhile, pretended not to be fascinated by the fifty-pence but was painfully transparent. He disguised it—badly—in the form of disdain.
"That's so ridiculous," he sniffed, turning the coin around and around in his palm. "Who ever thought an equilateral curve heptagon would be a sensible shape for money?"
Harry purposely didn't ask for it back, chuckling a bit to himself. He opened his next parcel, which was very lumpy. He tore it open to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.
From the Weasleys, the note said with a heart at the end. Although he knew Ron probably had nothing to do with the gift, Harry remembered the woman at the train station, and felt his heart warm anyway. He immediately pulled it on, hiding the note from Draco.
His next present also contained candy: a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.
Two parcels were left. Harry picked one up as Draco returned to the topic of the fifty-pence.
"I mean, are your relatives poor? Because money is such a gauche gift—no thought in it at all, what a trashy thing to do—"
It was a very light parcel. When Harry opened it, something fluid and silvery gray slithered to the floor, gleaming where it lay. Draco gasped from where he stood, dropping his luxury brand chocolate.
"I've heard of those before," he whispered in hushed awe. "If that's what I think it is..."
"What is it?"
"It's an invisibility cloak," Draco said with some confidence. "Try it on. Let's see."
With some hesitation, Harry wrapped it around himself.
Draco wordlessly pointed, eyes as wide as Galleons. Harry looked down at his feet; they were gone. For that matter, so was the rest of his body.
"Who would—"
Draco snatched a piece of parchment paper off the floor and handed it to Harry. "Look, a note."
Your father left this in my possession
before he died. It is time it was returned to you.
Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to you.
Harry stared at the note as Draco skimmed his hands across the folds of the gossamer fabric admiringly.
"I wonder if Father could find one for me," he said enviously. "He'd pay the price, you know. Do you have any idea how rare and valuable these are?"
Harry didn't respond. He felt very strange. He was holding something that had once belonged to his father. Who had sent it? How was he to "use it well"?
Captivating as the cloak was, Harry found himself not wanting to dwell on thoughts of his father or the mystery sender for now. He turned to reach for the last package. It was from Draco, and there were three boxes inside. The first one contained a very nice glasses case with a small gold Snitch embossed upon the black leather, flitting about.
"Wow," Harry said, trying to place his finger on the Snitch. It evaded him for a bit, but he finally pinned it down.
The next box contained a special edition Quidditch Through the Ages , Harry flipped it open, pleasantly surprised to find that the pictures and diagrams moved. This would be very useful, and very entertaining. He set it aside carefully and reached for the third box, aware that Draco was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to busy himself with his own presents.
It was a pair of gloves. It wasn't lined with pure white ermine fur like Draco's, or buttoned at the wrist with an emerald. It was plain black, with an unobtrusive tartan trim, and tasteful silver buckles. Harry slipped his hand into one of them. It was warm.
"Do you... like it?" Draco asked, looking unsure of himself when Harry didn't say anything. "Is it too much? I didn't want to get you anything over the top, I thought maybe it wouldn't be very... you."
Harry choked back the sudden tangible lump of emotion that had risen into his throat. "It's amazing," he said. "Really. Thank you."
Draco looked relieved. His shoulders relaxed a little as he began to chatter. "I wanted to get you things that would be fun but still practical! Oh, also, the gloves come with a lifetime warranty, so if the charms wear off, you can get them renewed. And now you won't have to borrow Quidditch Through the Ages from the library anymore, and Snape won't have to yell at you!"
When Harry smiled at the enthusiastic prattling, Draco stooped to grab the last unopened gift, buried in a sea of wrapping paper. The other gifts were extravagant—ostentatious antiques, luxurious dress robes, deluxe potion kits—and although the greeting cards were signed by their Slytherin classmates, it was clear that it was really purchased by their bootlicking parents to show off their affluence.
Draco made a noise of surprise when he opened the plain box. From out of the box floated a small solar system model that floated and spun. A simple charm could speed it up or slow it down, and a different charm set them to the current speed and position of the actual planets. The only discrepancy was the size of the Sun, which was scaled down to a small ball of light.
"I... I really, really like this, Harry," he said, after a moment of silence.
"I'm glad," Harry said. He did have a bit of trouble thinking of a gift for Draco, who obviously already possessed more than he could ever want.
"Everyone thinks I like Potions the best," Draco said, reaching out to gently prod Venus, which was smaller than the tip of his smallest finger. "And I do like it. But Astronomy is so... beautiful."
Draco had been the most excited for their first Potions lesson when the year started, on the edge of his seat and eager to learn. But when their first midnight Astronomy lesson had come around, the expression on his face was not one of eagerness, but of stunned awe. The sky above Hogwarts boasted more stars than anyone had ever seen, and although everyone was quite impressed, Harry could tell it had profoundly affected Draco in a way that couldn't be described.
"I know," Harry said. "I remembered."
Draco gave the model one more long gaze before tearing himself away. "Well. This has been wonderful. Shall we see what's for breakfast?"
"Famished," Harry said, copying Draco's drawl.
That earned him a good-natured shove. They chased each other all the way to the Great Hall, laughing and caterwauling all the way. Not even Filch's indignant squawking could tarnish the ebullience of two children who had just had the best Christmas morning of their short lives.