For the next week, Harry assisted not only with Snape's First and Second Year classes, but with his weekend grading and rounds as well. He was still mostly observing in the classroom, but now he was observing the students as much as the Potions Master, occasionally guiding them when Snape was busy with another student. It was starting to look more and more like teaching was really his true calling, but he didn't dare say so to Snape for fear it would end their weekly career meetings. After that startling urge to kiss the man in his classroom, he had begun to find that he was becoming very attracted to the older wizard. So far it was only when they were alone, though, and he thought maybe that was something he needed to explore further.

His extra "classes" with Rogers were going incredibly well, too, and he found the man was easy to talk to, charming even. He was already advancing beyond his peers in his regular tutoring, and, despite Ron and Hermione leaving for the holiday, the man offered to continue his study of Metting's techniques over the Break. In spite of his sudden and confusing attraction to nice-Snape, Harry felt that his life was going pretty well. Of course, that's usually about the time things start to go wrong, isn't it?

It was three days into the Break when Rogers finally approached Harry, who was studying in the Library out of boredom. Without Ron and Hermione, and with Snape having cancelled their meetings for the holiday, he was bored. He had started working like Snape had suggested, exploring other options besides teaching. His art was coming along; Snape had even absconded with his first official sculpture, which had been his own version of a Madonna (Mary) statue he'd seen as a child. Now, the Boy Who Lived was going through a Potions text, trying to decide if he was a match for the theory as much as the brewing.

Harry looked up as someone sat beside him at the small table. He smiled at the charismatic Defense Master.

"Good morning, Professor."

"Good morning, Harry," The man replied smoothly. "I thought you weren't in Advanced Potions?"

Harry blushed and closed his book, moving it out of sight. "I'm not, I'm just sort of doing independent research. I've only got until February to inform my Head of House if I want to take the NEWT."

The man smiled and put a hand on Harry's arm. "Why bother? You're a genius at Defense, you have even surpassed me on a few of the lessons in Metting's book. You don't need Potions to pursue what you're truly passionate for." The hand rubbed his bare arm soothingly.

Harry smiled and gave a breathy laugh. "It's not-I don't need Potions, no, but whether I pursue Defense or something else, it'll be good to have Potions in my background. They're used for so much, I'll need them for even day-to-day. A more advanced knowledge will even help with Defense, as evidenced by the techniques I'm learning with you," The 17 year old explained, moving his arm out from under the uncomfortable touch of Rogers' too-soft fingers sliding over his skin.

Rogers started to scoot closer, a hand on the back of Harry's chair, but a couple of students chose that moment to walk past and he moved away again. "I suppose I can see where you're coming from. Potions never made that much sense to me, all that mixing, and stirring, and measuring exactly, it all seemed like a waste of time to me."

"I think they're brilliant," Harry told him immediately, grinning. "There's so much grace and…precision required to make even the simplest potion. I only wish I had half the talent my best friend does, and I can't imagine the skill it must have taken for Professor Snape to get a Mastery in the field."

The hand touched his back now, rubbing with long, gentle strokes. "I don't know, I think you could be graceful and precise. You've shown quite a bit of both in your Saturday lessons."

"Thanks," Harry murmured. "Was there something else, Professor?"

The hand stopped, low on his spine, and the older wizard shifted towards him. "Actually, yes, Harry. If you recall, I said before that we could move forward with your advanced lessons over the holiday. I thought perhaps you might join me in my office tonight, after Dinner, and we could go over the next chapter together."

The Wizarding Savior smiled. "Sure, sounds great, Professor." He slid his Potions text, another borrowed book, off of the table and leaned over to put it in his bag, dislodging the hand on his back. He turned back to Rogers as he stood. "Guess I'll see you this evening, Sir. I've got some real homework to do, though, rather than independent study, so I need to go and get those books from my dorm."

"Of course, Harry," The man said with a smile. "I shall see you this evening."

"Bye, then." Picking up his bag, the Boy Who Lived made a hasty retreat from the Library.

Talking about Potions with someone who didn't appreciate the subject after spending the last few hours reading about them, he suddenly had an idea for his next sculpture. Technically, it wasn't official homework, but he wanted to prove to Snape that he was taking his other options seriously. It had the added benefit of giving him a reason to go and spend time with the Potions Master alone.

Snape, after helping Harry do more research into other spells he could use to create real art, had ordered him several catalogues with different art materials. After some experimentation, the Seventh Year had discovered an affinity for working with and shaping stone. Buried in his trunk, under his robes and invisibility cloak, was a small pile of thick, rectangular blocks of soapstone, and a few onyx that he had sprung for should true inspiration strike.

He took one of those black stones out now and brought it down to the common room, where he was guaranteed a fair amount of privacy. With the threat of Voldemort and his goons gone from the world, the school was practically empty, as it had been in his third year. There were only two or three Gryffindors besides himself that had remained at the school, and they were all lower year Muggle Borns who were still in wonder over the magical world. One of them had been one of the students to walk past him and Rogers in the Library, and he knew that most of the other students were all out enjoying the snow, as only children could.

It took several hours for Harry to finish his new piece, and he'd had to transfigure it back into a block a few times to start again when it all looked wrong. After working on his sculptures for the last few weeks, they were no longer as crude as they had been. With the use of spells, he could smooth out edges and create details that would take a Muggle sculptor years to learn how to perfect. He had even gone the extra step of learning how to cast preservation charms on his work so they couldn't be broken without the use of spells. As a point of practice, he'd made special pieces as additional Christmas gifts for everyone. This one, he thought, would make the perfect gift for a certain Potions Master, as he'd had no luck finding any other gift on the last Hogsmeade weekend.

Once the small sculpture was complete, Harry sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath. He studied the small statue, a little less than a foot tall. It was an indiscriminate hooded figure standing over a large cauldron half its height, a long cylindrical stirring rod in its hands. It had taken several tries, but he'd managed to take some of the scraps of stone and shape them into little tendrils of fumes or smoke. There were three in all, perpetually suspended over the cauldron at differing heights.

After taking a moment to admire what he considered to be his first real masterpiece, Harry summoned one of the boxes leftover from his other gifts from his dorm and carefully slid the statue inside. Despite the preservation charms, he handled the box delicately as he wrapped it in the same silver paper he'd used for everyone else. He finished just as one of the younger years came in through the portrait, and quickly banished all the leftover splinters sprinkled across the table. He wasn't ready for everyone to know about his new pastime, not outside of the small circle of friends he'd made pieces for.

"H-hey, Harry," The younger boy said carefully. "You missed lunch."

Harry looked over at the First Year. It was Lyle Garner, an expressive student who'd developed an abrupt fear of the Wizarding Savior a week ago when Harry had been forced to use his new role to assign a detention. The boy had been trying to sabotage another student's potion, a Slytherin. Lyle didn't seem to understand that, outside of Potions class and Snape's rounds, Harry was without that power.

"Hey, Lyle," Harry said, smiling reassuringly at the small child. "Yeah, sorry, I was working on something."

The boy shrugged and threw himself, muddy shoes and soaked robes and all, onto the couch in front of the fire. "Don't know why you'd apologize to me. Snape seemed upset, though, when the Headmaster announced that you obviously weren't going to join us, started spewing off about you being selfish and inconsiderate; I guess 'cause the Headmaster made us wait to eat for like fifteen minutes."

Harry grimaced with guilt. "He did?"

"Yup," Lyle answered. "No one else cared, but Snape seemed to take it personally. Don't blame you for skipping, though, its bloody uncomfortable sitting at the same table as teachers, can't hardly say anything without them noticing."

Harry stood up from the table and went over to the couch, leaning over the back. "Don't swear, and get your muddy person down those stairs. I expect you to be showered, changed, and with clean shoes by dinner. Would you dirty up your mum's house this way?"

The boy cowered under Harry's steady green gaze. "N-no, sir, my mum would tan me something awful, I guess, if I did this at home."

Harry raised an eyebrow in query. "Then what on Earth makes it okay for you to do so here? This is your House, your home within the school. Just because we can't 'tan' you, that doesn't make it okay for you to disrespect the sanctity of this space. Now get, before I call Filch up and tell him who tracked mud through his corridors."

Lyle jumped off the couch and scurried towards the second set of stairs that led to the lower dorms. Harry called after the small, retreating form.

"And learn some basic cleaning and drying spells so we don't have to go over this again!"

"Yessir!"

Harry couldn't help a small chuckle. He was starting to understand why teachers seemed to enjoy telling off their students, and parents their kids; it wasn't really enjoyment, but there was a sort of satisfaction that came along with respect and a certain level of obedience, the kind that said you were doing something right in guiding their lives. After the young boy had disappeared down the steps toward his dorm, Harry grabbed the gift off the table and left Gryffindor for the dungeons after casting a general cleaning spell on the garishly red common room.

SSHP

"You missed lunch, Mister Potter."

Harry flinched at the accusing tone. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I was, uh…" He set the small, wrapped package on the desk. "I got to working on this and sort of lost track of time."

Snape looked up from what he was working on and stared at the silver package. "What's this?"

Harry blushed as those black eyes slowly rose to stare into his. "It's a, um, Christmas present. I don't actually know that you celebrate Christmas, but I thought I'd give it a shot." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and chewed at his bottom lip.

Snape returned to staring at the box for a minute before he finally spoke. "Thank you, Potter," He said at last, his tone soft and somewhat disbelieving. "I don't think I've ever received a gift from a student not in my own house, and even then they are usually from students who are, for Merlin knows what reason, infatuated with me."

Harry flinched again almost imperceptibly, and was glad Snape wasn't looking at him, as he was sure he looked terribly guilty. Technically, though he hadn't really figured out his feelings yet, he supposed he fell into the category of infatuated students. Since there were no rumors of Snape having affairs with his students, he got a cold feeling in his gut that, like the ones that came before him, Harry would have no luck with gaining the man's more romantic attentions. Somehow, this didn't at all dampen his desire to be around the Potions Master.

Taking a deep breath, the Potions Assistant sat down in the uncomfortable student chair in front of the desk. "I was wondering if you had any work for me?"

Snape looked up at him with a half-smile. "I believe I told you that your duties would be suspended for the Holiday. You're not even sure you want to teach, you shouldn't have to work the same hours we dedicated educators do," The man told him gently.

"I know," Harry murmured. "But…I've already finished all of my homework, I can only study so much Potions theory before my brain starts to feel fried, and art doesn't exactly flow when you're trying to force it."

"Can you think of nothing else to entertain you?" Snape asked seriously, frowning. "You are a teenager, Mister Potter, your frivolous pursuits should not be centered around potential future careers."

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, leaning back in the chair. "I've never been much in the way of 'typical adolescent', have I? Yes, I have other interests outside of what careers I'm looking at, but there are only a few. You saw my list of interests, most of them are either studies-related or not available at the school. Gardening, cooking, all that, I can't do that stuff here. I mean, I guess I could bug Professor Sprout to maybe let me help her work in the Greenhouses, but honestly most of those plants give me the creeps."

Snape gave an appreciative chuckle. "I do not blame you, Potter. And I suppose I can see where you're coming from. With your friends gone, you have nothing to distract you, and your favorite pastime is not one that you can safely pursue alone."

"Pretty much," Harry agreed, nodding. "I mean, I've read practically every book on Defense in the library over the last 7 years, except in the restricted section, and I've read your book maybe a half a dozen times, but…Even I'm not conceited enough to try and practice untested techniques and spells alone, with no one to go for help if something backfires."

"Understandable, Mister Potter," The Potions Master said calmly. He gestured widely to his desk. "But, I'm afraid I truly do not have anything for you to do. I have finished my Holiday grading; I'm currently working on my next submission to the Potions Journal, and some potions for the infirmary. I don't mean to belittle your limited skill with potions, but you are not precise enough in your ingredient preparation for my personal standard."

Harry bowed his head in disappointment. "I understand, Sir."

"However," The man added carefully. "I am doing rounds tonight, from after dinner 'til late. You are welcome to join me, and together we can discuss some things you might do in your free time."

Harry groaned. "I can't," He said, looking up. Snape stared back, head cocked in confusion. "My friends and I have been working with Professor Rogers on the Defense book I borrowed from you, and, since I'm advancing beyond Ron and Hermione, he offered to work some more with me over Break, one-on-one. Specifically, he invited me to his office this evening, after dinner."

Snape suddenly scowled. "I see." His tone was cold and he started busily looking through the papers on his desk as if avoiding eye contact. "Well, since you are working with Rogers, you can have no reason to be here with me. Perhaps you should go and speak with him about entertaining your tireless adolescent mind."

"What?" The Gryffindor narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Sir, it's just Defense work. It only made sense to go to him, since he's the Defense Master, but we don't exactly have any sort of relationship outside of that. Why would I go to him with my boredom?"

"And what would give you the impression that you can bring your pointless drivel to me? Why should it fall to me to occupy you?" Snape demanded, still not looking at him.

Harry frowned and stood up. "I-I don't know, I guess I just…I don't know. I thought, since I was working with you, and our interactions have gone beyond simple student and teacher, I just assumed…" He shook his head, trailing off.

"For."

"What?"

Snape finally looked up at him sternly. This was mean-Snape, the Snape of the past and public. "For, Potter, you work for me, as my assistant, nothing more. The sooner you understand that, the better for us both."

Harry took a step back as if he'd been slapped, suddenly finding it hard to breathe past the lump in his throat. "Yeah, r-right, 'course…Don't-don't know what I was thinking. Thank you, Sir, for clearing that up for me." He started to back away towards the door. "Um, Happy Christmas, Professor." With that, the Wizarding Savior turned and fled from the room.