Harry kept his arms inside the elephant colored and sized jumpers, little wisps of steam rising from his lips. He stood against a giant oak tree for warmth against the wind, at least for his back, its open branches winding up in a way that made him feel protected with its leafy expanse. He would have sat on the ground, but it would have dampened his bottom from the muddy snow layered over the soon to be Spring grass.

Ducks gladed in the small pond nearby and he commented to them as he stared at the glittering spectacle in the square, "Do you reckon elves would be that good if they were tall and sang?"

The ducks continued their grazing, bobbing their heads underwater and squawking like they did.

It didn't matter in the moment as it was the perfect viewing angle to see over the crowd, to look up at all the carolers performing on stage and singing merrily, bells chiming in tune. His viridian eyes glistened with awe as the lyrics touched his heart and he started swaying to the melodies, humming along with the songs. The tunes were elevated as Harry could feel the energy of the crowd, hearing the cheers and claps of the people as each song started or ended.

Just as the 'Carol of the Bells' finished, a man in a dark cloak with long shoulder length hair approached him, holding what looked to be a compass. Harry, being acutely aware of his surroundings at all times, didn't hear or see the man coming.

The man looked at a letter, then the golden compass, and groaned. He asked begrudgingly, his head bobbing around as if he was looking for someone else, "Potter, I take it? Where are your aunt and uncle? I need to have a chat with them so I can get on with my day."

"They're back and cozy at their house. Who are you and how do you know my name?" Harry asked, trying to make himself sound strong, but the cold and nervousness gave him more of a stutter.

If his aunt and uncle found out he'd been noticed by a stranger, let alone brought him back to their house without notice, he couldn't imagine it'd end up well. This was supposed to be his private excursion; his Aunt Petunia had been kind enough to let him have one after all. Even Marge, who he had to call aunt, had the decency to telephone in a day earlier or send a letter a week before her arrival.

"Don't they teach manners around here? It's Sir to you," he said, disgusted. After putting his items away into pockets the boy assumed he had in his cloak, the man said in a dignified manner, "I'm addressed as Professor Snape and there's not a single person who hasn't heard of you."

The boy responded dejectedly, his gaze downtrodden and toward the ground, "I'm sure the neighbors speak," Everyone who was ever nice or kind eventually ended up talking badly about him behind his back or scolding him for the things they thought he did. This new school teacher would be no different. "They're not true, sir, but it shouldn't take you long before you believe what they say."

"I'll let myself be the judge of that," the professor replied before he looked off at the performers, their sparkly red, green, and gold clothes making him squint his eyes. "Why are you so far away from the venue?"

Harry shook his head, stating, "I can see fine from here."

"Won't you stop rubbing your arms?" Snape questioned, irritated at the boy's inadequacy to prepare for the weather. "What in Merlin's name made you come outside, dressed like that?"

"Sorry, I would if it was my choice," he admitted with a hesitant indulgence, trying to minimize his attempts to stop shivering. "This is all I've got."

Harry would have come up with a lie as he had with anyone else, but something about the man, as unnerving as he made him feel with his intimidating stare, felt as if he wasn't going to give pity or take any tomfoolery. Had the Dursleys been there, they would have pulled him away from the stranger and explained that Harry was a very troublesome child who only told lies for attention and that they'd dress him better but he purposefully ruined all his and their precious Dudley's things.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the plight the boy was surely making up. He didn't sense any deception from him, but if there was a case to be looked into, then something was out of order. Surely, Tuney and her family wouldn't be in such dire straits that they couldn't afford him some proper winter garments, he thought. The short mousy haired boy in front of him was wearing clothes much too loose and tearing at the seams, slightly cracked and crooked spectacles, and trainers muddied and riddled with holes.

All of Dumbledore's yearly reports on the Boy Who Lived said that he was well, stayed indoors most of the time, and that the uncle was still getting muggle money exchanged from wizard coins gifted into his account to take care of his nephew. It was such the same repetitive swill that he couldn't see how McGonagall could have such an alarm reading it this year, so much as to send him out to investigate if anything was off. It was the most distraught he had ever seen her, as her hair was always finely pinned and not a thing out of place, her hat sitting lofty upon her slowly graying wisps.

"Never saw a more unbefitting family to send him to. I can feel it in my bones, from the moment we dropped him on the doorstep that day, the dread of leaving him in a Devil's Snare," she rattled to him in a careening manner, tossing a stack of papers to the ground.

"It's late. I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons for placing him there. Reading this has no room for speculation," he assured her in his calm timbre as he placed the report back on her desk.

Hearing that the child of Lily's would end up in Petunia's care was astounding to him in retrospect, as her sister had cursed at him thoroughly enough as a teenager for taking Lily away from her and filling her head with dangerous and wicked ideas of magic, something the auburn haired girl had great potential in. His doubt in the headmaster grew with each year but he had no reason to oppose him. Dumbledore is a powerful and famous figure that people looked up to after all, he thought.

"He's not the Sorting Hat!" the older woman stated, growing increasingly furious. "Why, I bet with all his headmaster duties going straight to his head, Dumbledore hasn't even checked since his first birthday!"

"Say that you're right. What do you want me to do about it? Can't someone else fit the bill?" he asked sternly, not the least of all amused at the idea of having to visit the Muggles' world, especially to check on the well-being of a presumably carbon copy of James Potter. The thought of his bully becoming an adored man who married his childhood friend still made him feel sick in his stomach.

"I can have myself substitute for your classes and your house students will do fine under their prefects for a day or two. I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't your expertise that I needed."

Snape did deal with troubled youth and abuse cases every once in a while, the Sorting Hat most definitely putting him up to the task as despite his grisly demeanor, he could empathize with the young wizards that needed his care the most. "You should be glad I respect you enough to agree to your request, Minerva." His eyes narrowed, gauging all the things that could go wrong. "On one condition, however. I'll leave tomorrow afternoon. I need time to prepare on such short notice and I doubt you've brushed up on your potions work."

"That's settled then," she said, handing him a letter with as much info as she could gather about the state of things, "Thank you, Severus."

He nodded and headed back to his headquarters, in the dungeons where the Slytherin House resided.

The potions professor was pulled out of his thoughts as the carolers started their rendition of 'Stop the Cavalry', their chorus causing a bouncy trotting to happen in the crowd, some people linking arms as they marched to the beat. Harry's feet drummed to the sound as the boy tried to ignore his presence.

"Do you plan to stay here all day?" he asked, extending his arm to Harry, ushering him out of the woody park.

"No!" Harry shouted, fervent on not having the upbeat outing cut short by a stranger. His courage soared, his heart rejuvenated by the holiday spirit, as there wasn't a Dursley around to apprehend him for his brashness. "Leave me alone. If you want to go so bad, then you'll have to wait or leave without me. You seem to know the way."

Snarkiness entered the boy's diction, giving way to hubris. Harry slapped Snape's arm away, but the professor caught it, gripping away at his wrist. The boy gasped, his eyes swirling with terror, as he flinched and looked away.

"Please, make it quick," Harry whimpered.

"I don't know what you think, but disrespect or not, I don't punish students through physical means," Snape replied, still clasping his wrist, albeit more loosely. He released Harry's arm and cautiously held the boy's red hand in his. "Is this what teachers do at your school?" his voice edged with rage.

Harry faintly nodded, ashamed, the back of his neck and ears heating up as the knuckles and palm were being examined. His hand was undoubtedly cold against the warmth emanating for Snape's hands. Purple and yellow marks danced across the back of his small hand, in various stages of healing, but his bony fingers had cuts on them, scabbed over or thin white scars from rulers dealt as a lightweight discipline. The wear on his hand showed a tremendous need for lotion or soothing ointment, more common to that of an old man as it was rubbed raw from far too much hot water or abrasiveness. Snape knew he didn't need to give the boy's other jumper-covered hand a peek to know it was the uniform pair to the one he was holding. He made a mental note to inform the Dursleys about the unjust ramifications that the callous professors had for disruly behaviors at the reprehensible school Little Whinging had.

"Hold out your hands," the professor said monotonously.

Harry gritted his teeth as he held out his other one, his palms becoming an unceremonious book, linked to one another in the air. Snape fished around in his cloak, rummaging for the vial he kept as emergency first aid. While he couldn't heal Harry with magic in the same way Madame Pomfrey could easily whip out, he was best at creating powerful elixirs. Most were best taken orally, however, this was an exception as it could speed up the healing of most maladies under a second degree burn to the razor toothed bite of a magical flytrap. It was the best solution as doing magic near Muggles and in front of oblivious Harry would cause a ruckus. He found the glass vial and uncorked it, pouring a third of it over the outstretched hands. The cuts closed themselves without scarring and the bruises dissipated.

Harry gazed in awe as Snape put the potion back. "What was that?" he asked, newfound trust being placed in the man as he felt his hands were warm like they were covered in mittens, the soreness in certain areas gone and looking as well as can be.

"A well made medicine that I concocted in my spare time," Snape replied proud and disgruntled.

The potion was not one that was easy to make, requiring ingredients such as the scale of a merperson and Yaoguai's fang. It had to be tirelessly stirred with caution every three hours and cured under the light of a full moon before it finished.

"Are you studying to be a doctor? I'm sure if this was patented, you could make more money than being a teacher, even in London," the chestnut haired child stated, no longer as intimidated, grinning at the healer while the next colorful tune was sung.

"No, my patience wears thin upon worrying over trifling things and people's issues."

"Oh, that's fine then. Thank you for the stuff, it works wonders," Harry mused, putting his hands back in his undamped sleeves, merrily humming along to 'If Everyday was like Christmas'. He wished the holidays could last forever, at least in its cheer and how he could dream of good things and warmth. But alas, he could tell in one or two songs, he'd have to get back to the house for the laundry, stuck unable to predict how the Dursleys would react to the nice stranger in tow.

"Might we stay a song or two longer before I get back?" Harry asked, the crack on one side of his glasses standing out as Snape addressed him with more consideration than before.

How could I have been so blind, Snape thought as the boy innocent as a doe stared back up at him. He had seen the forest for the trees as his bitter hatred in the boy's father dissuaded him from looking at him properly, taking his inherited dark brown tufts and snarky attitude as more basis for disliking the child. Harry's eyes of emerald were unmistakable as he saw Lily staring right back at him, in happiness like when they were kids and everything was new.

He cleared up his throat and confirmed, "Right, just so. May I see your glasses?"

Harry, confused in manner of speaking, nodded and gave him the damaged spectacles as his vision went from an unclear one to a haze of colorful arrays, the landscape a sea of plants and fluttering snow.

Snape tucked the glasses into his robes and grabbed his wand. With a tiny flick and words whispered too faint for the ear, he felt the weight of the item realign itself. He gave them with great ease back to the boy. "Here. I just happened to have some non-prescribed glasses on hand. There's always some student needing one in an emergency."

Harry put them on as the world came collapsing back into focus, the view being like a detailed movie as these were better than his old non-prescribed ones. Harry's mouth hung agape as he was taken aback on how much he had been missing out on. He was only given glasses in his primary school after an eye exam dictated he needed some, his kind first year teacher having bought him one when he returned from a weekend without any. The Dursleys didn't want to spend money on him when he had been making his way just fine without them before, but didn't grumble when he said his teacher gave it for free.

"Thank you! I don't even know what to say," he cried as his eyes shimmered with tears, the man grunting in response instead of a 'You're welcome'.

He took them back on and off as slowly as if he still couldn't believe the difference, the act giving him a minor headache. Harry's brows furrowed slightly as he could feel lines on the frame, the exact same lines he was sure couldn't be brand inscription. They were the same marks he had traced every time he put on his glasses. Just as how Dudley put his name in marker over everything he could, Harry had etches of his initials scraped on them to dictate them as his own off of his few belongings that weren't hand me downs. He shrugged it off as he was happy as a clam and didn't want to ruin the mood by asking more questions of how the professor did it.

The boy put his arms back inside his jumper layers, his nose sneezing from the brief movements. Seeing the apparent discomfort, Snape unfasted the clasp of his cloak, draping it over Harry's shoulders, not caring for the mud that would cling to the black cashmere robe, it exceeding in length over Harry's small stature.

Harry was shocked. "What are you doing? Won't you be cold?"

Snape dug his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged, "I'm sure what I'm wearing can't be any worse than if I let a child freeze to death."

Dressed in a cashmere green and silver lined sweater with little snowflakes in the middle, a tie still sported, finished off with brown trousers and dark dress shoes, the potions professor was indeed warmer than Harry's ill-fitting jumper stack. Normally, no one would be caught alive seeing the professor without robes, let alone in a christmas jumper, lovingly gifted and appreciated by one of his graduating Slytherins. Today was a day of surprises. A few minutes in the cold wouldn't do him any harm as the boy, overjoyed past daydreaming, snuggled the warm robes closer to himself.

Within a few songs, passing quicker than the man would've liked, his eagerness to leave waned as he crowd and Harry cheered as the carolers went to intermission and a band started playing instrumentals. However, he had a mission and knew his future self would get an earful from McGonagall if he didn't reaffirm what he set out to do. They soon headed back to the house, Harry dragging his feet as they got closer into the half mile walk.

After they were within a corner of the block's pavement, Harry took off the cloak and gave it back to him to put on. "Thank you for everything, but I think you should go while you can unless you want to start something," the boy said, urging him to listen.

"I've come here to check on things and then I'll be off. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes," Snape stated.

They got to the front of the door and Harry knocked. His aunt opened the door thankfully, angered over her broken peace. "Do you know how long you've been?" she yelled.

Her face went pallid as she looked down from him and up at Snape's looming figure. She then, as if mute, meekly mustered with an emotionless smile, "We've been so worried about you."

Harry entered as her eye twitched, heading to the laundry room to get back to his duties and away from the storm he knew was coming. His aunt backed away as Snape closed the door and greeted her, "Tuney. How nice to see you again."