Harry sent an owl to Rogers that evening, telling him he couldn't come down for study and practice due to an upset tum. Though he'd claimed to have eaten too many Christmas sweets, he hadn't really lied about feeling ill. Ever since Snape had made it abundantly clear that there was no…anything between them, his stomach had felt like it was in constant knots. The problem was that he couldn't quite understand this feeling. It was just supposed to be a simple attraction, adolescent hormones latching onto the nearest person.

But, that was exactly the problem. It didn't feel…right. He'd felt rejection before, heartbreak from a regular infatuation, but this…it was deeper. There was no heartbreak, no tear in his innermost self, just a raw ache in his belly, like when you went too long without eating, but angrier. It was only then that Harry realized why his attraction seemed to lack the carnal sexual component his past crushes had had. There was the desire, sure, but…It was a deeper emotion. It was…he was falling in love. And, oh, didn't that just suck.

The next morning at breakfast, Rogers brought up his missed lesson. There was only Snape and the Headmaster at the table besides them, but Harry still blushed under the scrutiny the two gave him.

"I was disappointed by your note last night, Mister Potter," The Defense Instructor said as he took up a seat at the table. Harry looked at the man sharply as he felt the eyes of the Potions Master and Dumbledore turn to stare between them. Rogers continued as if he didn't notice. "I had assumed you were more dedicated to your study of Defense, only to find that you are deterred by a tummy ache? Very disappointing indeed."

Harry shrunk slightly in his seat, pushing the food around on his plate. "I'm sorry, Professor, I guess I was a little overzealous with the sweets after I missed lunch. It won't happen again."

"I should hope not, otherwise I may have to reconsider your extra lessons. I require a certain level of motivation, a desire to do whatever is necessary, from those I give my free time to. See to it that my time is not wasted by you again," Rogers said, still ignoring the surveillance of the two other professors.

"I think you'll find, Caedus," Snape growled, glaring at the Defense Master. "That Mister Potter is under no obligation to attend any lessons, voluntary or otherwise, during the Christmas Break. It is, in fact, against the statutes of the school for a Professor to require any attendance of a student during the holiday outside of detentions and meals, as it violates the student's rights. Particularly if that student is feeling ill, no matter the cause of the illness. Potter could have been merely homesick and still have been well within his rights to excuse himself from your extra lesson."

Harry couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, me, homesick, that'll be the day."

"Hush, Potter." The black glare turned on him.

The green-eyed Gryffindor ducked his head sheepishly, still smiling at the ludicrous idea, and at being defended by the man. "Yessir."

Dumbledore spoke up now. "I'm afraid Severus is right. I'm sorry, Caedus, but it is not within your rights to terminate Mister Potter's lessons based on his inability to attend over the Holiday, not even the voluntary lessons. As a Professor of Hogwarts, it is your job to help your students, and having already made the official request to assist Mister Potter and his friends, you will have to give a viable reason for termination, one that I approve of."

Rogers pursed his lips. "Of course, Headmaster. I only meant to impress upon Mister Potter the importance of these lessons, and my sacrifice in giving them."

"I can tell you from experience," Snape answered, still in a low growl. "That, while Mister Potter has appeared listless and self-involved in the past, he is not in the habit of intentionally wasting anyone'stime. As for the importance of the lesson, I doubt even you could have missed just how necessary Defense Against the Dark Arts has been to Potter's survival."

Harry stifled a second snort at the barely concealed suggestion that Rogers was ignorant of the world around him. He failed miserably at hiding his laugh, and earned a sharp look from both Masters before they returned to staring at one another. It suddenly occurred to the Wizarding Savior that there was a silent battle between them, though over what he couldn't fathom. He wondered if perhaps Snape was angry with Rogers' breach of teaching etiquette, the way he had been with McGonagall's. The tension was broken when a couple of other professors trickled in with a few sluggish students trailing behind. It was obvious that McGonagall and Sprout had gone and retrieved them from their dorms, as the children were only half-awake.

Snape returned immediately to his breakfast, ignoring Harry entirely when he tried to catch his eye. The Gryffindor couldn't reconcile this recent defense with the cold attitude, and found his stomach returning to its knotted state from the night before. Unable to eat, he stood and carried himself from the Great Hall, doing his best to appear unfazed. When he reached the Entrance Hall, he paused outside the massive doors and drew a deep breath to relieve the tension in his abdomen.

He was knocked from his feet when the door to the Great Hall opened behind him.

"Potter."

Harry groaned and rolled over, sitting up to look up at the Potions Master. "Sorry, Professor, should have been paying attention to my surroundings."

"Indeed," The man sneered as Harry rubbed at the shoulder that had been hit.

"God, I'm a clutz." The Gryffindor muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "Sorry, again, Professor." He turned to go, then turned back. "Thanks, by the way, for helping in there with Professor Rogers. I honestly don't know what I'd do without my extra lessons. Defense is the only thing I'm really sure of anymore, now that I'm not fighting an impossible war."

"Not so impossible, considering you won."

Harry scoffed. "Sure felt like it at the time. I only won by dumb luck." He gave a stiff smile. "Anyway, thanks, like I said." He turned to go, but was stopped by a question, so soft he almost missed it.

"Why did you go to him?"

The Seventh Year looked back, furrowing his brow. He gripped his throbbing shoulder as he turned to face the professor again. "Honestly? Because I was afraid to ask you," He admitted. Snape stared at him, emotionless, but Harry could see the question in his eyes. "I get that it is your book, and based on the comments in it, you know it better than anyone, except maybe the author. If it had been just me, maybe I would have asked, though maybe not because you're already helping me so much. But, the fact is, I knew from the start that Ron and 'Mione would want to study with me, any chance for an adventure. And, yeah, maybe you'd have agreed to teach us, but they definitely wouldn't have gone along with it. I told you, we stop feeling the fear by Fifth or Sixth Year and mask it with hatred. I didn't, but I never really feared you. My friends did, though, and Hermione hides it well but even she wouldn't voluntarily spend time with you outside of regular classes. The solution, rather than alienate my friends on the off chance that you'd teach me, was to ask the next best thing: the resident Defense Master. I actually thought it'd be a boon, since he's the first Defense Master I've seen at this school, and figured he'd probably have learned the techniques to achieve his Mastery. Turned out he didn't even know the book existed, but by then it was too late to turn back, we'd already asked."

Snape studied him in silence for a long, tense moment, and Harry stood his ground defiantly despite his aching shoulder. When the man finally did speak, he was still distant, but the ice was gone.

"Very well, Mister Potter. I suppose you have explained yourself adequately. You should have Madame Pomfrey look at your shoulder." Snape spun sharply on his heel, and it was Harry's turn to stop him from going with a question.

"Why does it bother you that I went to him?"

Snape glanced over his shoulder, but kept walking. "It is not my place to demean my colleagues, Potter, by gossiping. See to your shoulder."

Harry frowned at yet again receiving no real answer to what he considered an important question. After a frustrated moment where he desperately wanted to take off after Snape and demand answers for his behavior, his sudden shift in attitude, and his strange disapproval of Rogers, Harry headed up to Gryffindor. Forget his shoulder, he was confused and annoyed and wanted nothing more than to do something constructive for the next few hours, where he didn't have to think. This time, though, he had something else to prove, and it required his Potions text from First Year.

SSHP

Christmas morning came with a whimper in the breaking dawn. Harry had been awake when the House Elves brought his pile of gifts, grown from years past thanks to his defeat of the Dark Lord. Before they could disappear as silently as they had come, Dobby realized Harry wasn't in his bed, but in the window alcove beside it. The excitable House Elf had disappeared and reappeared with two mugs of hot chocolate. The two unlikely friends had sat in the window and watched the sun come up together, and Harry had eventually invited Dobby to join him in opening his presents.

Dobby had retrieved his small pile of gifts (from Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Dumbledore) and together, as the Thestrals played tag in the dusty beams of the Winter sun, they opened their gifts. Harry first went through the gifts from strangers, picked out the things he could actually use, discarded the few creepily personal gifts (marriage proposals, underwear, etc), and set the rest aside for Dobby to take to others in the castle who could use or enjoy them. From his friends, he received the usual books, mountain of sweets, pranks, the occasional useful item, and his annual Weasley sweater. At the bottom of the pile were two presents he had not expected.

"Why would Rogers and Snape give me presents?"

Dobby shrugged in the midst of the pile of open presents.

Harry frowned and reached for the one from Rogers. Snape made a little sense, a last minute thing in return for Harry's gift, but Rogers had no reason to give him something. Like he'd told Snape, as far as he knew there was nothing special about the student-teacher dynamic he shared with the Defense Master. He grimaced at the garish green and red wrapping paper and the gaudy golden bow. Ripping away the paper, he discovered a small jewelry box.

"What in the hell am I going to do with this?"

Dobby shrugged again as Harry drew a thin gold chain out of the box, a brazen silver pendant of a unicorn, massive in size, dangling at the bottom. He summoned a pen and paper and penned a quick 'thanks, but I don't wear jewelry' thank-you card, setting it aside with the other quick notes he'd made. He set the pendant aside.

"Guess I could always give it to Ginny, or Luna…they like this kind of stuff," Harry murmured.

"But, Master Harry Potter, Sir, Master Professor Rogers gave the gift to you. He be knowing if you pass it off to someone else," Dobby argued.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll give it to one of them as a graduation gift next year. Better?"

An enthusiastic nod, making the Gryffindor chuckle as he reached for his last gift. It was a square box wrapped economically in brown paper and twine. Part of him wanted to preserve the rare and unusual show of kindness outside of their time alone, but the rest was just curious about what the man could possibly have given him. Finally, adolescent curiosity won out, and he tore into the package, opening the box to find a short note and a little glass phial filled with golden liquid on a bed of cotton batting.

A simple recipe that creates impossible things.

Felix Felicis, for your sheer dumb luck.

"Felix-" Harry frowned, unsure of what the potion was, then slowly his vibrant green eyes widened as he recalled snippets from a passage in the Potions text Snape had lent him. He threw himself at the end of his bed, landing on his stomach as he reached for his bag. He snatched it from the top of his trunk and withdrew the large Advanced Potions text. He flipped through it several times until he found the passage he was looking for. It was in a list of potions at the back, with references to other texts you could find the recipes in. The list gave a brief description of the potion's use. Harry began to read it aloud.

"Felix Felicis, otherwise known as Liquid Luck, gives the drinker incalculable luck for a given period of time based on the dosage. High doses are toxic, causing recklessness and feelings of infallibility," Harry said to the mostly empty dorm room. "Could've used that in the fight with Voldemort."

Dobby leaned over Harry's hand, staring at the vial. "Whoo, Master Professor Snape has given Harry Potter a very valuable gift."

Harry pulled the vial away and placed it back in the box, replacing the lid. "Yeah, he did. The question is 'why' he did it, and what the hell I'm supposed to do with it."

Dobby's tiny hand touched Harry's gently. "Harry Potter will know, when it's time."

Harry smiled at his little friend. "Thanks. I guess this is just another taboo question I'm not supposed to ask." He looked back at the text. "This must have been hidden in Snape's stores for quite a long time, it's got a six month settling period. But…this is a practically impossible potion, this isn't a last minute sort of gift, he had to have given this a lot of thought. Why would he do that?"

"Harry Potter will know," Dobby repeated cryptically.

"Guess so," Harry murmured, staring at the box in confusion. Despite the idea of what that sort of luck might be like, he had no burning desire to use the potion. It didn't seem like one of those things you used on an impulse, or without good reason.