See chapter one for all disclaimers.

AN: Not a very seasonal chapter, but I hope you'll appreciate it nonetheless. Sorry I haven't posted much lately - it's kind of ironic; I've got a job at the library now, and though I spend so much time here now I still haven't got any time to get online! Hopefully, the next update won't be so long in arriving. I've got up tp 14 chapters now - averaging about 130 pages at the moment, so believe me when I say that this fic is NOT abandoned.

Enjoy!

chapter eight

Severus made his way down to the usual study alcove, bag over his shoulder and robes buttoned high beneath his chin. Maria was waiting as she said she would be, legs and arms crossed to fend off the cold. Severus sat down across from her and summoned a house elf; he made a curt order for tea and a moment later a magnificent warm spread appeared on the table between them; tea and biscuits and tarts with jam and clotted cream and honey and fruits and more. Maria made a noise of approval and the house elf disappeared with a crack, leaving the two to their tea.

"Happy holidays, eh, Snape?" said Maria, reaching immediately for the teapot. "Merlin, it's freezing in here. Why they don't warmcharm these bloody alcoves is beyond me – it's as if they're trying to chase away their students!" She poured herself a cup and added sugar and honey and cream, stirring it into a light tan liquid that steamed and sloshed invitingly. "Looking forward to some days off?"

"I'll appreciate the extra practice time," he said. "You know I don't have much use for days off."

"Too well, I do," said Maria. "You need to pick up some hobbies, Snape. Other than potions and Dark arts, I mean."

Snape smirked as he poured tea into his own cup. "Hobbies can wait," he said. "We're not here to be entertained, after all."

Maria groaned. "Please, spare me," she said, slumping in her chair. "I know what comes after that; I've heard it a thousand times if once."

"All right, all right. I'll be quiet."

Maria rolled her eyes at his tone. "On that account you will, unless you want me to hex your tongue short."

Severus regarded her over the rim of his teacup. "I'd like to see you try," he said softly. Maria laughed out loud at that.

"You take everything so offensively, Snape," she said. "I understand you live in a hell of a dormitory, but you should try to lighten up once in a while. Not everybody is out to jinx your back. Take it easy, okay? If I wanted to hex somebody I would have gone home."

Severus snorted and looked away, but he ceased talk and made an attempt to relax. It didn't really work, but at least he didn't jump when Maria spoke again, a few minutes later.

"Looking forward to that game, Snape?" she asked.

Snape looked up from his tea. "What kind of question is that?"

"It's called conversation, Snape, and you know I never thought I'd run across someone worse at it than I am. I want to know whether you're anticipating smashing those Gryffindor blokes' heads into the goalposts."

"That question would probably be better directed at Rookwood or Mulciber," said Severus, referring to the Slytherin Beaters. "I wouldn't be averse to witnessing it, though."

Maria laughed. "No, of course you wouldn't, proud Slytherin boy that you are," she said. "I have to admit, I'm dying to see Leithart get pounded. He keeps hexing my satchel in Ancient Runes so I can't get it open or pull it off the floor."

There was a moment of silence. "I could curse him for you," Severus offered.

Maria shook her head, chuckling slightly. "No, no; you don't need to get mixed up with them. 'Specially not Leithart, or anyone on the teams; you know they'll just get their Beaters to kill you during the game."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly shout out that it was me who'd Permanently Stuck lead weights on his broomstick," Severus said sarcastically.

"They'd kill you anyway," Maria said after a thoughtful silence. "They hate your guts."

"A striking observation of the perfectly obvious," said Severus.

"Some things bear repeating at certain moments," said Maria. "I refuse to let you get yourself maimed for my sake. You're the only Seeker-quality fellow in the entire house who's willing to play; what'll I do if they take you out of action on my account?"

Severus shook his head. "Find a safe place," he said, and Maria snorted.

"Precisely my point." There was a pause. "What are our chances of winning, do you think?"

"Fair," Severus replied immediately.

Maria smirked. "Do you really think that, or are you just saying that out of the sake of obligation?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I believe it. The Gryffindors have got a couple new players and it's always awkward adjusting to changes like that. Their technique isn't the greatest; you can see it in the Chasers' formation and their Beaters' tactics."

Maria nodded in agreement. "I noticed that," she said. "They don't seem to have much finesse, do they?"

"They're almost all offence," said Severus. "Hit hard, fast, and repeatedly. No doubt Brissett and McKeeley'll keep us all on our toes, but if Rookwood and Mulciber do their jobs I'll only really have to worry about mine."

"Yeah, well, don't worry too much," said Maria.

"It's not possible," said Severus. "Pass the butter."

They finished their tea and managed to polish off a plate of scones before parting company. Severus descended to the dungeons and found his way down to his dormitory to unpack the texts from his satchel and stow them away under his bed. He kept one out, The Foe of the Finder, and set it on his bedside table while he put the rest away.

Outside it was snowing; he could hear the wind whistling around the castle even deep in the subdungeons. The fire crackling in the hearth was a comfort he wouldn't willingly give up, and after he'd stashed away his bag he picked up his book and went to sit by the fireside.

He didn't read it, though. The open book rested in his lap, marked by his thumb as he gazed into the fire and ruminated. Interestingly enough that Maria hadn't been summoned home for the holidays, it was even stranger that he hadn't received a notice. He didn't really mind; he had better things to do than sit inside a dank, lifeless house and wait for two weeks, but in the past he'd always been called home. It was all a show, of course – his parents couldn't have cared less whether he was there or not; the only difference his presence there made was the amount of meals made – but why was this year different from the previous ones?

He didn't want to think about that unsettling question too long. Of course, it could just be nothing – a death in the family; his mother perhaps just wanting the house to herself for the holidays – but then again, it might mean something significantly more serious. Such as a financial situation.

The idea, at first glance, seemed ludicrous. The Snapes had hundreds of thousands of Galleons to the name and were in fairly good standing with the Ministry despite their rather dubious family history. But Severus recalled his father's oddly distracted behaviour over the summer – even more neglectful than usual – and his mother's dark, simmering silence – days had passed during which she never ventured out from her bedchamber – and Severus remembered the conspicuous absence of the butler and the chauffeur at the end of the summer holiday.

It was this last piece of evidence that was most condemning. Mason and Dewey had been employees of the Snape family for as long as Severus could remember, and that they would leave within a week of each other under no apparent personal emergencies was suspicious. Also, the fact that it had been a house elf and not the housekeeper who had packed his trunk was quite irregular.

So Severus was uneasy, and though he tried to study his book his mind kept drifting towards the subject of family and family ruin. He was just about to close his book in defeat when the dormitory door opened and Auster Wilkes walked in.

"Oy, Snape," he said, striding over to his bed and dumping his satchel on the quilt. "Staying for the hols, eh?"

"Evidently," said Severus.

"Your mum decide she couldn't bear to look at your ugly face for two weeks, is that it?"

"And yours took pity on your younger cousins and spared them their annual molestation by leaving you at school."

Wilkes chuckled, unperturbed. "That's right, Snape; hit where it hurts. Actually, they're off in Yerevan on business."

"Oh? Still selling carpets, are they?"

Wilkes sneered. "Broomsticks, actually. Father's just gotten in a shipment of Nimbuses and he's gone to interview a buyer."

Severus didn't answer; rather, he turned back towards the fireplace. Behind him he could hear Wilkes puttering around, rustling what sounded like a paper bag. He heard the thumps of books being set on a bedside table. He didn't look up as Wilkes walked over and seated himself on the other side of the hearth.

"And your parents, Snape?" asked Wilkes softly. "Why for are they not inviting you home?"

There was a brief pause. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to pry, Wilkes?"

Wilkes gave a delicate snort. "Too right, Snape," he said. "It's not my place to do so, is it? But I will tell you one thing, dear boy: There is hope yet for the cast-offs."

Severus looked up sharply. "I beg your pardon?"

Wilkes leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands tightly clasped in a parody of prayer. "In the strictest confidence I tell you this," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't care about your social standing so much as your abilities."

Severus straightened automatically, but Wilkes didn't appear to notice.

"Those fallen from grace he welcomes with open arms, Snape."

"I've heard it before, Wilkes," Severus said in a purposefully bored tone.

Wilkes smiled, beatific in the firelight. "I know you have," he said. "And I know you don't seem so keen on the idea. But you –" here he extended a reassuring hand – "that is, we don't have to worry about it now. Just some food for thought, Snape, that's all."

With a final gentle smile Wilkes stood and departed, leaving Severus to a whirl of highly disturbing thoughts.

"Mum!"

The house was filled with sound. Someone cooking in the kitchen, radio playing in the sitting room, a couple of girls chattering loudly in the dining room, Lily and Robert Evans pushing their way through the front door, her trunk clunking against the doorframe and his shoes dancing as he tried not to trip over the dog that scrabbled across the wooden floor to greet them.

"Lily? Robert, is that you?"

"In here, hon," Mr Evans called back, and a moment later Mrs Evans had burst through the kitchen door and enveloped Lily in a bone-crushing hug.

"Darling, it's so good to see you! Did you have a comfortable trip? Are you hungry? My, your hair's gotten so long all of a sudden. Robert, close the door; you're letting the cold in! Winston, get down – "

Lily laughed and shook the snow from her hair. "It's so warm in here!" she said. "No, I'm fine, Mum – oh, it's so good to be back! How's Petunia? Is she home yet?"

"She's upstairs with one of her friends, I'll call her down – Petunia! Your sister's home! – what was that, dear?"

"I said you don't really have to," Lily said. "She's probably busy, I can talk to her later – "

But Petunia had already poked her head down the steps. "Oh, hello," she said in tones of great disinterest.

"Hi, Petunia!" Lily called up breathlessly. "And – hello to you to – "

Petunia's friend was staring down at her from the top of the steps as well. Her expression was one of clinical curiosity; Lily wondered what Petunia had been saying about her to earn such a cool welcome.

"This is Carrie," Petunia, jerking her head towards the girl beside her. "That's my sister, Carrie," she added unnecessarily.

Just then, Winston galloped up the steps to dance about the two older girls' feet; Petunia shrieked and ordered him to get down, and the girls disappeared once more into Petunia's room.

Lily pulled off her coat and hung it up as her mother chattered at her; she kicked her muddy boots off and followed Mrs Evans into the kitchen, where something was sizzling on the stove and the overhead fan was whirring noisily. The room smelled strongly of baking bread and onions; Lily inhaled deeply, utterly satisfied.

"It's so quiet when you girls are away at school," Mrs Evans was saying. Lily sat down at the table, resting her elbows on the worn wooden surface. "It's nice to have the house alive again."

"What are you cooking?" Lily asked sniffing the fragrant air.

"Dinner," said Mrs Evans succinctly. "It should be ready soon."

"Home cooking," Lily said, relishing the words. "Hogwarts food is great, but nothing beats a good homemade meal."

"Why, thank you, my dear," Mrs Evans said. "Speaking of which, how has school been?"

Lily let out a gusty sigh. "Hectic," she said with such emphasis Mrs Evans chuckled. "So much stuff going on this year – I'm sure I would have gone mad if it weren't for the holidays."

"Staying on top of your studies all right?" Mrs Evans asked.

Lily shrugged and nodded. "Oh, yes; no problem there. Well, actually, I've been having a little trouble with Defence Against the Dark Arts. I think Professor Rhine was a Slytherin; she's pretty harsh. But the boys say I'm doing fine, and they should know – Sirius should, anyway; he comes from a pretty – well, that kind of a background. Anyway, it's not school work I've really been having trouble with."

"Ah," her mother said significantly.

"Quidditch started up and that's always got everybody riled up. The boys keep getting into fights; my Potions – uh, tutor, I guess – he especially gets on their nerves; every time they pass in the hallways there's insults thrown, if not actual curses…. You wouldn't believe the flux of house points."

Mrs Evans shook her head as she retrieved salad things from the refrigerator. "I'm sure I wouldn't," she said. "Eh, Quidditch – who's winning at the moment?"

"You mean, who's closest to the Cup?"

"Is that it? Yes."

Lily cocked her head, tracing the pattern of an ancient coffee ring on the tabletop with a finger. "I'm not sure," she said. "It's really too early to tell… but if I had to guess, I'd say Gryffindor. Let's see… we've played all the houses but Slytherin so far…." She began ticking off wins on her fingers. "Yeah, Gryffindor, I think. We've beaten both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but not by much, and the points come into play, too, not just the wins and losses." She shook her head in disbelief. "Merlin. I can't believe I know that much about it. I guess everybody else's fanaticism has rubbed off on me."

Mr Evans chose that moment to enter the kitchen. "Fanaticism about what?" he asked as he walked over and opened the glassware cabinet.

"Quidditch," said Lily, chin rested on the heel of her hand.

"Fascinating sport," said Mr Evans, retrieving a chipped glass from the shelf. "I would love to see a game."

"I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to see one of the Hogwarts games," Lily said, watching her father fill the glass with water from the tap. "There are all these spells enchanting the castle and the grounds so that Muggles can't see it."

"Oh, really?" said Mr Evans, pausing with the glass halfway to his lips. "It's invisible?"

"No," said Lily, "there's an illusion placed on it. If you were to find your way there, all you'd see is a great, greying ruin with warning signs all over."

"Really!"

"Believe me, Dad, that's the least of the amazing stuff at Hogwarts," said Lily. "The staircases move, the suits of armour walk, the ghosts roam free and the paintings talk…."

"Not to mention the owls that deliver the mail," said Mrs Evans.

"And the children that ride broomsticks," said Mr Evans.

"You know, I really wish you could see a game," said Lily. "Right after Christmas break we've got a Gryffindor-Slytherin match and it promises to be brutal." At her mother's expression, she said, "They usually are. Be thankful I don't play."

"I am," said Mrs Evans, and she began to peel the two hard-boiled eggs under running tap water.

"But our nurse is really good," Lily said. "She can mend broken bones in literally seconds. And our Potions professor supplies almost all the remedies for the infirmary and there's nobody better. You know that the wizarding world can cure blindness? They can replace lost eyes with magical ones that work. James – a boy in my year – his brother knows this fellow named Moody, and he's got a fake eye… James says it's really weird; it can see out of the back of his head and through things."

"That's very interesting, dear," said Mrs Evans. "But do keep your voice down; Petunia and her friend are right upstairs."

Lily clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops," she said. "Sorry. What about you, though? How've you and Dad been? Da said Auntie Eva had her baby?"

"A little boy," said Mrs Evans. "They named it Mark."

"Sensible name," said Lily. "Will we see her for Christmas?"

"No; she and Eugene have gone to Birmingham to visit some of Eugene's relatives."

"Manchester, dear," said Mr Evans, sipping his water.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs Evans said, looking over her shoulder at her husband.

"Manchester. They've gone to Manchester, not Birmingham."

Mrs Evans's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," said Mr Evans. "Remember, because Eugene's father owns that library down there."

"Oh! Yes. I remember now. Well, anyway, they've gone to Manchester and they won't be back until next year at the earliest."

"Where are we having Christmas this year?" Lily asked after a moment.

"At your Nana's," said Mrs Evans, stirring whatever it was in the frying pan.

"Okay, that's what I thought," said Lily. "Alright. That's good."

Mrs Evans moved to the doorway of the kitchen and stuck her head out into the hallway. "Supper, girls!" she called upstairs and stepped back into the room. "Lily, will you please set the table?"

"Five plates?" said Lily.

"And salad bowls," said Mrs Evans.

Supper was a refreshing change from the usual Hogwarts fare. There was a green salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, hard-boiled eggs and Italian vinaigrette; there was grilled steak with sweet onion and green pepper relish; there was crusty Parmesan cheese and olive bread fresh out of the oven, still warm and chewy, and there was olive oil to dip it in. It was terrible extravagant for the Evanses and their tight budget, and Lily could only assume it was some sort of welcome-home gesture, but in any case, it was wonderful. Even Petunia seemed appeased by the delicious spread and she deigned to address Lily civilly.

As the table gradually turned to talk, Lily had to carefully guard her words: She was terrified that something would slip out of her mouth that shouldn't while Petunia's friend was sitting right across the table from her. When Petunia inquired wickedly after how Lily's months at school had been, Lily shot her an evil glare and said that they had been uneventful.

"What year are you again, Lily?" Carrie said casually, nibbling at a piece of lettuce.

"Fourth," said Lily, straightening up slightly, dreading the next question….

"And what kind of classes do you take?"

Lily managed not to wince visibly. "Oh, the usual," she said with an airy wave of her hand.

"But you have electives, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah…."

Carrie regarded her mildly. "Well?" she said after a pause, indicating that Lily should continue.

Lily gave a weak, nervous laugh. "They're nothing special," she said. "I've got… you know… history, and science, and, uh, maths and literature and, um, chemistry." She cringed and stumbled on: "And creatures," she said. "I take a class on the care and handling of animals."

Carrie's eyebrows rose. "Oh, so you like animals?" she said.

Lily shrugged. "Well, they're all right," she said. "I, uh, I'm not looking forward to a career with them, of course."

"What do you want to do?" said Carrie.

Why, oh, why was this girl quizzing her like this? Petunia must have put her up to it. Lily shot another deadly look at her older sister before turning back to Carrie with a shrug. "I'm not sure," she said blandly. "I really don't have a solid idea."

Carrie exchanged a significant look with Petunia, and Lily glowered. She was just about to open her mouth to say something when Mrs Evans stood up rather hastily and inquired whether anybody would like some pudding.

Carrie left right after the dishes were cleared away. Petunia walked out with her to her car and returned a few minutes later, shutting the front door with unnecessary force.

"Don't slam the door," Mrs Evans called from the sitting room.

"I wasn't," Petunia snapped back, and flounced into the kitchen. "I can't believe how you nattered on at dinner," she told Lily directly.

Lily turned to face her sister, arms still elbow-deep in soapy water. "What?"

"Going on about your school and your friends and your – yourself – "

"What are you talking about?" Lily said, bewildered. "She was asking me questions. Personally, I think I did a rather good job of dodging – "

"You shouldn't have said anything at all," Petunia interrupted.

Lily looked at her sister in astonishment, removing her hands from the dishwater and wiping the bubbles off on a nearby dishrag. "So you think I should have just sat there and played dumb, is that it?"

"Yes," said Petunia.

Lily stared. After a long silence, she rolled her eyes and turned her back to Petunia, immersing her hands in the dishwater once again. "I can't believe you," she muttered, not looking up from the flower-patterned dish she was scrubbing.

"What did you say?" Petunia said loudly.

Lily turned abruptly to face her again. "Look, Petunia, I'm not asking for a fight, okay?" She held her hands out to her sides, accidentally flinging droplets of water all over the kitchen floor. "If you're just going to try to – goad me into saying something I shouldn't, please, just go away and let me wash my dishes."

Petunia regarded her quietly for a moment before pivoting on her heel and walking out of the room.

Lily turned her attention back to the dishes, gazing out the window over the sink as she scrubbed and rinsed, puzzled and somewhat dismayed. Petunia was acting unusually resentful; generally she just ignored Lily and left her to her own devices. Tonight, though, she seemed actively hateful, and perhaps even a tiny bit jealous. Lily felt at once both angry with her and sorry for her.

Lily was very glad to be home, though, despite the presence of her irritable sister. The simple, familiar scent of geraniums and dog and birdseed was comforting in itself, to say nothing of being back with her parents, whom she had always been close to. Even the mundane act of washing the evening dishes was enough to afford her an easy sort of contentment unrivalled by any experience or camaraderie she might find at Hogwarts.

When she had finished drying and putting away the last pan, she went to join her parents in the sitting room. After a half hour or so of idle talk, mostly about various goings-on in the Muggle word over the last three months, she said her good-nights and found her way upstairs to her old bedroom.

It was tidier than she had left it; the bedding had been changed and the curtains had been washed and the mess of tapes on her dresser had been stacked and sorted. Her trunk was sitting at the end of her bed; she went to it, retrieved her pyjamas and changed into them.

She had turned off the light and was just crawling under her covers when the door creaked open. Lily glanced up and saw Petunia, silhouetted in the light from the hallway, looking in on her.

"Petunia?"

"Lily," Petunia said stiffly. "I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier."

Lily blinked, pausing as she pulled her quilt up over her knees. "Uh, what?"

"What I said…." Petunia's silhouette fidgeted. "It was wrong of me."

Lily blushed, and was glad that it was dark and her sister could not see. She shrugged. "That's all right," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out too high-pitched.

Petunia stood in the doorway for a moment more, still as a statue, before shutting the door again. Lily could hear her footsteps disappear down the hallway.

She sat there in the dark, feeling the warmth rushing through her as she considered her sister's words. Petunia hadn't ever apologized like that before. She hadn't ever really had cause to. But the fact that she had had the courage to come and do it… Lily was touched.

She fell asleep, arms wrapped around her pillow and a small smile on her face.

They arrived at Nana Wisely's house amidst a flurry of snow and muddy shoes late on the evening of December twenty-fourth. A young cousin toting a prattling baby boy on her hip opened the door, screeched a welcome over the sound of the men yelling at the game on the television and the Christmas carols humming on the stereo and the women working in the kitchen and the children racing up and down the steps. Stomping snow off their boots on the front mat, they allowed the packages in their arms to be taken from them and put away until later, and they stepped into the front hall of the big house and removed their coats and hats and scarves and gloves.

Lily removed her cloak – yes, wizard wear, but she had belatedly discovered that she owned no Muggle wet-weather things that still fit – and gave it to her cousin to take away to her grandmother's bedroom to be piled on an enormous four-poster along with everyone else's coats.

The house smelled tantalizingly of cloves and oranges and roast goose and venison, of cedar and wood smoke and candle wax. A skinny pine tree that must have been sixteen feet tall stood in the main hall, decorated with silver and red baubles and strands of clear crystal beads. Beneath were stacks of parcels, to which their own packages had been added. The cat, a mean, smoke-coloured calico named Lady Grey, sat sedately beneath the boughs, surveying the commotion at the door with a supremely bored expression.

Lily followed Petunia into the narrow corridor, where her sister was immediately accosted by her aunt and her two daughters.

"Petunia! Oh, Petunia, you've gotten so tall!"

"Happy Christmas, Aunt Louise," Petunia said as the woman enveloped her in a hug. Lily hung back, watching her sister wish her two cousins a happy Christmas.

"Frida is in the front hall?" said Aunt Louise, looking over Petunia's shoulder, giving Lily a little wave and a smile as she did so.

"Yeah, she and Dad – "

"Frida! And Robert! So good to see you! Happy Christmas!"

And Aunt Louise left Petunia and pushed past Lily, going into the front hall to choke Mrs Evans in a hug.

"Good to see you, Petunia," said one of her cousins, a blonde of fifteen named Delores. "Have you had a nice semester at Leon's?"

"Lovely," said Petunia. "Quite lovely. And you? How've you been?"

Her other cousin, a dark-haired girl named Leona only a few months younger than herself, slung an arm around Delores's shoulder and giggled. "Better than I expected. Delores made the school chorale, did you know? And she's going to sing in France next year, isn't that grand?"

Delores gave her sister a friendly shove. "And Leona's top in maths in her year," she said. "She got an honourable mention from the headmistress herself."

Leona shoved her sister back, rolling her eyes. "And I'm sure Petunia wants to hear all about my accomplishments as a weed-in-training," she said. "Lets go get some crisps. Uncle Arnie and Cousin Rob opened up a couple bags; let's snag a bag before they devour them all."

The three girls wandered into the sitting room, leaving Lily to smile in the dim hallway. That was quite all right; she wasn't really familiar with Leona and Delores, anyway.

In a moment her aunt and her parents came out of the front hall to coerce her into helping in the kitchen.

Dinner was served in an hour. The table was set, the dishes were spread, and the whole family gathered in the dining room around the two tables. The blessing was said and the roast goose was attacked; Lily sat down between Leona and Petunia and stuffed herself on venison and Brussels sprouts and potatoes. The Christmas pudding was brought out, as well as mince pies with rum butter and hard sauce, and lamb's wool was drunk by all except the young children.

And when the last of the dishes had been cleared, the family retired to the front hall, where the children fell upon the stacks of presents beneath the skinny Christmas tree. Photographs were taken, drinks were spilt, and more than one glass bauble were accidentally dashed off the lower boughs of the tree to the floor. By the time the last parcel had been unwrapped, the wooden floor had been littered with paper and ribbons and Lily was thoroughly content to help put away the mess.

After another hour or so of conversation and cleanup, the families began to depart; and the Evanses said their goodbyes and bundled out to their car. Petunia fell asleep almost immediately, her head drooping to her chest and her gloves falling out of her hand onto the floor of the auto. Lily, though, remained awake to watch the coloured lights flash by in the darkness, mind pleasantly blank and head pleasantly fuzzy from sleepiness and her last mug of lamb's wool. Playing softly on the car radio were Christmas polyphonies; her fingers unconsciously kept time on her knee.

An hour later they were home. Lily got out of the car, stretching; Petunia followed suit, yawning widely and tugging at her scarf. Mr Evans unlocked the front door and let them in; Lily went straight up to her room to collapse in a contented heap on her bed.

Christmas morning dawned grey and dark over Hogwarts. It was snowing heavily and freezing cold in the dungeons, and Severus shivered uncontrollably for the first few minutes after he woke, feeling as if a ghost had passed through him. Once he had gathered the will power to do so, he crawled out of bed, pulled a dressing gown on over his nightshirt and, ignoring the small pile of parcels at the foot of his bed, crept to the fledgling fire in stocking feet. Wilkes snored behind the dark green hangings around his bed, oblivious to the world.

With a little prodding from his wand, the fire soon roared. Severus sat on his knees before the hearth, warming his hands and feeling slightly better. Eventually, he stood up again and padded back to bed. Cocooned within layers of quilt and sheets he stretched out on his stomach, head at the foot of his bead, and rifled through the few parcels from atop the trunk there. Every single one had come from his parents, save for a pair of leather Quidditch gauntlets from Maria and a note.

Wrist braces, it read. For next Sunday.

He set the gauntlets on his trunk again and unwrapped the rest. Books, mostly, along with a new nightshirt, a new cloak with a fur-lined collar, a pair of new quills and some potions ingredients he would never have been able to get a hold of himself.

As he thumbed through one of the new texts - The Dark Arts Illuminated, by Gregarious Gorr – Wilkes gave a rousing snort and rolled over, sleepily mumbling something. Severus glanced over to see his dorm mate sit up, golden hair tousled from sleep and eyes puffy and squinted.

"Christmas already?" he yawned as he saw that Severus was already awake, and he stretched so his joints popped. "Oh, loot." He crawled down to the end of his bed where a truly enormous pile of gifts teetered precariously. "Finished opening yours, did you, Snape?" he said as he reached for a parcel wrapped in what looked like butcher's paper.

Severus didn't grace his comment with a reply; rather, he rolled onto his back, holding his book aloft to read.

"Forgot to give you your present, Snape," said Wilkes unexpectedly, and as Severus lowered his book, Wilkes rummaged around in the drawer of his bedside table and withdrew something fist-sized and white and gleaming. "Catch," he said, and tossed it across the room.

Forgetting himself, Severus dropped his book as the object whistled through his curtains into his hands. He only had time to register exactly what it was that Wilkes had tossed to him when a sharp pain in his left hand forced him to drop the object. It fell to the bed, snapping and twisting around on the sheets as Severus automatically put his bleeding thumb into his mouth.

"Thank you very much, Wilkes," he said sarcastically, examining the puncture just below the inside of his knuckle. "I'm sure those will come in quite handy." He glanced down at the set of razor-sharp false teeth that were tangled in the sheets by his knees, still searching for something to chomp into.

Wilkes was laughing heartily. "Like 'em, do you? Picked 'em up at Zonko's. I improved on 'em a bit, you see."

"Improved," Severus repeated, a sneer curling his upper lip. "Right." He shook his still-bleeding left hand and wrapped it in a fold of his sheets. While Wilkes chuckled and tore into another parcel, he pounced on the snapping set of teeth and with a wave of his wand subdued them. "I'm going down to the Great Hall," he announced as he stowed the teeth, as well as the rest of his gifts, away in his trunk and locked it.

"Don't wait up," said Wilkes, admiring a particularly fine green and silver spotted neckerchief he'd just unwrapped.

Severus selected a set of robes from the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom to shower and dress, a process that took him less than ten minutes. He then proceeded down to the festively-decorated Great Hall. It was nearly empty; most of the students had gone home for the holidays and he'd gotten up rather early. The only other occupants of the Hall were a cluster of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors down at the end of the Ravenclaw table and a couple of teachers; Professor Rhine, Professor Flitwick, and August Helvetii, Head of Hufflepuff and professor of Arithmancy. They sat at the head table, conversing quietly amongst themselves, all but ignoring the students.

Severus took a seat at the Slytherin table, brushing away a cracker in cynical disgust. A plate appeared before him loaded with dark, still-steaming spiced bread and raisin- and nut-studded porridge. Severus poured himself a mug of warm cider and began to eat.

He lingered over breakfast, this being the holidays and obligations thus being nonexistent. Once he finished, the plate and its leftover contents melted away, and Severus stood and departed the Great Hall. In the corridor outside, he met an ensemble of ghosts drifting along, singing Christmas carols. The Fat Friar gave him a sympathetic, condescending look, and Severus glowered as he passed.

The rest of his day he spent in the library. The weather outside was far too harsh for flying, especially for Severus, who was slight and especially likely to be blown away despite his better-than-average flying skills and the quality of his broomstick. Some of the braver students had ventured out onto the grounds to engage in snow wars, though, and Severus could hear them through the library windows. Leafing through his new texts, he spared only the slightest mental energies to scoff at them. Why anyone in his right mind would choose to go out in that freezing wet chaos was beyond his ken. Severus was one of those few Hogwarts students who had never experienced the good side of a snowball. That was not to say he was total stranger to snow artillery in general; Potter and Black took particular delight in the winter months in trailing him and pelting him with the things whenever he dared to venture out into the snow. Severus, however, preferred to fight his battles with wands rather than snow, and more than once had he retaliated to such chilly assaults with rather more forceful ones of his own.

The library door opened. Severus glanced up as a Slytherin first-year wandered in, tentatively tiptoeing past Madame Pince's desk. Severus turned back to his book; he had nothing to do with the lower years if he could help it.

Fumus nebulaque his text read. The Curse of Foul Fog. When accompanying the incantation with a sharp downward twist of the wand, a thick, fetid smoke is produced, blinding and choking one's opponent. This curse is especially effective when combined with the ambitus contaminatio curse.

Severus flipped to the front of the book to find the entry for ambitus contaminatio.

Ambitus contaminatio, it read, The Black Efflux Hex. When said in conjunction with a small full circuit of the wand, this curse yields a poisonous effluvium that, depending on the fibre of the spellcaster, produces a number of effects, a few among which are listed: dizziness, watery eyes, gravity sickness, uncontrollable sneezing, uncontrollable coughing, levitation, fever, vomiting, red rashes, white rashes, boils, bumps, pustules, ulcers, cysts, swelling of the joints, swelling of the eyes, and swelling of the brain. A Healer of no extraordinary talent can negate the long-term effects of this curse, except in cases which incurable madness or death is produced. These two effects are rare and produced only by the most vigorous of spellcasters.

The Ministry of Magic deemed this curse illegal in 1626 after it was used to assassinate the Minister of that time, Reginald Dworkins-Hodge (Minister of Magic: 1614-1626). In 1629 Cephas Plantinga petitioned for it to be made legal again. The Ministry denied his petition. He petitioned again in 1632, 1638, and 1644 successively, and all three times he was turned down.

In 1882, the curse was made legal exclusively for the use of Aurors and other Ministry officials.

Severus snorted. Since the beginning of civilized society the worst curses and hexes had been reserved for the sole use of the Ministry. He supposed that, in the right hands, these curses could be put to good use against wrongdoers, but it was truer that power corrupted and absolute power corrupted absolutely, and when the Ministry of Magic gave its high officials the Unforgivable curses on a silver platter it was obvious that the Ministry was heading down the wide and easy road of corruption.

He flipped back to fumus neblaque and continued to read, ignoring the chill draft that crept across the library floor to curl around his socked ankles.

Some time later, he was surprised by a sharp rap to the top of his head. Without thinking, he drew his wand and twisted in his chair to face his assailant –

– Only to discover Maria standing there behind him, the startled look on her face directed at his pointed wand, her hands put up defensively.

"Whoa, Snape, calm down!"

Severus lowered his wand, touching his hand to his fluttering heart. "What in Merlin's name do you think you were doing?" he growled.

From across the room, Madame Pince reminded him of the no-spell rules in the library. Severus tucked his wand away as Maria came around to sit in the chair across from him.

"I've never met a fourth-year with battle nerves," said Maria, settling her gloved hands in her lap. "You need to lighten up, Snape."

"That ultimately leads to extermination," said Severus, relaxing a fraction. "What are you doing here?"

Maria shrugged. "Just dropped in to see whether you'd be around," she said. "Happy Crimbo."

"The same to you," said Severus. "The gauntlets came at a convenient time, I thank you."

"'Twas nothing special," Maria said. "They've no charms at all on them… but the leather will take especially well to spellwork, if you're interested in customizing them yourself."

Severus nodded. "I might look into that."

"What book is that?" Maria asked after a moment of silence.

Severus glanced down at his text and held it up so she could see the title.

"Gorr," said Maria. "Is that any good?"

"It's slightly out of date," said Severus, "but he proposes some interesting theories. I'd advise you to buy a newer edition, if you're interested."

"Is it just a spellbook, or what?"

"There's an index of spells," said Severus, "but there's also a rather informative section on the theory of Dark Arts."

"I suppose that was a Christmas present."

"It was."

"Good haul this year?"

Severus gave a wry smirk. "As good as any," he said.

"Get some good potions ingredients?"

His smirk broadened. "Yes," he said.

Maria lowered her voice. "Anything illegal?"

"In a few countries," said Severus, and wouldn't say anything more on the subject.

Maria grinned at him over folded hands. "You're a man of few words, Snape," she said. "That's what I like about you."

Severus didn't reply. He'd never thought of himself in that way before, and now that Maria had mentioned it, he supposed that, to an outsider, he would appear so. A man of few words.

"You never let on more than necessary," Maria continued, oblivious to his private musing. "You've got a to-the-point way of speaking, unless you're purposefully trying to evade the question, as you were just a moment ago. I like that."

Severus didn't say anything, but he felt his face warm slightly. He wasn't used to compliments.

"My grandmother sent me a compendium of curses and dodgy potions," Maria said, and Severus was grateful that the subject had been diverted from him. "She seems bent on nurturing my Slytherin nature. Good thing, because my mother certainly isn't." Severus examined Maria's face as she brushed a short, dark curl out of her eye and continued. "If she knew Grammum was sending me Dark Arts books she'd do her nut. You know what she sent me this year? Political paraphernalia railing against the evils of Simon Alweather. I didn't read much into it, but it went something along the lines of 'Alweather is weak; Alweather won't stop the crime; Alweather deserves to be bundled up in his own propaganda rags and abandoned in Knockturn Alley.' As if Crouch was any better. The man's a maniac. Did you read the latest headlines?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I don't get the Prophet."

Maria rifled through the bag at her feet and retrieved a bundle of newsprint and handed it to Severus. He unrolled it and was immediately assailed with a big flashing headline:

ELDERWINE INSTIGATOR FOR MANCHESTER MASSACRE!

And in slightly smaller print beneath it:

BROUGHT TO JUSTICE BY BARTIMUS CROUCH

Beneath the two headlines was a picture of a fair-haired, middle-aged man, gazing resolutely into the camera lens. Severus recognised him as Augustus Elderwine, a wealthy merchant whose shop sat at the junction of Diagon and Knockturn alleys. He was famed for his unusual stock, his outrageous prices and his casually evasive manner, and Severus had been inside his shop a few times. He'd seen the man himself only once, but it had been a memorable occasion.

"Merlin," he muttered, scanning the article, hardly aware that Maria was studying him intently all the while. There wasn't anything particularly unusual about the report – it detailed the grisly events of the third of March, 1974, and noted that Elderwine was the 'proprietor of a shop on Knockturn Alley' and was renowned for selling 'Dark artefacts' – blatant mistruths, both. Elderwine's shop specialised in shady odds and ends that fell more towards the Muggle end of the illegality spectrum than towards the Dark end. A note at the very end of the article caught Severus's eye:

"'Elderwine was delivered to St Mungo's and officially pronounced dead at ten o'clock last night,' Severus muttered aloud. "What's that supposed to mean? Did he suffer a heart attack upon discovery?"

Maria's tone was heavy with sarcasm. "What do you think, Snape? After all, it was Crouch who caught him – and Crouch isn't exactly known for his merciful battle tactics. Use that keen wit of yours to deduce what happened."

Severus perused the article once again, frowning slightly. "And no one would care, would they," he said. "Not when the Prophet is painting Elderwine in such a light."

"Biased media," Maria muttered. "They're all biased. Somebody does something worthwhile and they try to taint it in some way. Someone does something bad and they blow it way out of proportion." She dipped her forehead into her hand. "God, it makes me sick." Severus handed the newspaper back to her. "Bloke was probably just sitting down to Christmas dinner with his family when that maniac burst in on him. And don't give me that sceptical look, Snape; you know that has to be what happened."

"How do you know he had family?" said Severus.

Maria's dark eyes flashed and she shook the paper out again so that Elderwine's photograph blinked calmly up at him. "Come off it, Snape," she snapped. "Look at him. There is no way that this fellow could have instigated the Manchester massacre."

Severus huffed an impatient breath of air through his nostrils. "Now, that's just illogical," he said. "You're saying that he couldn't possibly have done something as unspeakable just because he looks grandfatherly and kind? May I remind you that even Grindewald was an infant once?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Maria said coldly.

Severus shrugged, hands gripping the arms of his chair. "Who would ever expect an infant to grow into what Grindewald became?" said Severus. "Imagine a child, Maria. A beautiful little thing with clear, innocent eyes, bouncing, fair curls, and dimples. You'd never suspect such a child to become the next Hitler or Grindewald or… or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Maria shook her head. "That's not the same thing, Snape."

She was right; his analogy didn't fully follow logically. He tried again.

"Consider this, then," said Severus. "James Potter. Sirius Black. Charming boys, wouldn't you say? Widely considered handsome. But they're far from innocent. Would you say that just because half the school's population falls at their feet that it makes them pure as freshly driven snow? Would you say that they are incapable of misdeeds? That they couldn't possible transgress because they are – attractive people"

Maria glared at him. "Look, Snape, I didn't ask for a lesson in logic. I knew Elderwine, all right? He couldn't possibly have done anything like the Prophet says. And nothing would warrant an execution like Crouch delivered."

Severus had blanched at her words. "You… knew him?"

"He was a friend of my Grandmum's," she said coolly. "I saw him occasionally. He was a good man."

Severus didn't say anything.

Several minutes passed in silence. Finally, Maria rolled the newspaper back up and tucked it in her bag. She bid Severus a brief good-bye and left.

He supposed it was also illogical of him to even begin to think that the fact that Maria Welteislehre knew and trusted Elderwine automatically made him innocent. It was Severus's nature to be suspicious, and he still doubted that the Prophet would have published such an article without there being some fact to base it on.

He did agree, however, that Bartimus Crouch's methods were not just a little unorthodox. But he was a powerful man; rumour had it that he, like Simon Alweather and Cornelius Fudge, was angling for the position of Minister of Magic. And Severus didn't know how he felt about that. Crouch was the type of man to reserve all the power for the Ministry and cancel out the check-and-balance system whose place had become steadily more and more precarious over the past eighty years.

And Simon Alweather? Well, weak wasn't exactly the adjective he would choose… lenient had more of the ring of truth to it. Reasonable. Sometimes too reasonable.

Severus didn't know much about Fudge, except that Mr Snape thought the man's attitude laughable.

Severus sat there in the library, Gregarious Gorr's book forgotten in his lap, eyes tuned to the middle distances as he pondered. He disliked politics. They had a way of stirring up trouble, and they were so dishonest that just talking about them made him feel physically dirty. Possibly it was because he could see that both sides lied just as much to achieve their goals that he disliked it so much. Whatever the case was, it wasn't a good attitude a Slytherin should have had.

But he couldn't help it.

For some time he sat there, thinking. Only when he discovered his crossed foot going numb did he shoulder his bag of books and leave the library in favour of the dungeons.