Summary of the last chapter:

At Halloween, a troll was set loose inside Hogwarts. Nobody came to harm, but the trio wonders who might be behind it – someone must have let it in. Since Quirrell had lied about its whereabouts, Harry and Tom wonder if Quirrell was the culprit and if he had set the troll on Fluffy, especially since Harry remembers having seen the DADA professor in Diagon Alley.

A/N: My dear beta worked overtime last week, so we have an extra long chapter this weekend!

Frank: Is it too late too admit that I'm not really a writer of action? The issue with doing a re-telling of a known story with a slightly different premise is that some parts of the story will remain unaffected. I could, of course, retell them in my own words (like the troll trashing the Halloween party), but I don't really see any gain for the reader. One of the hardest parts of writing this (and the following book) is trying to avoid telling you things we already know. It's unavoidable sometimes, but if I can avoid it, I'll try my best. :)

Oh, and fair warning: You won't find any detailed Quidditch matches in this story! Sorry!

Christmas

November passed, and before Harry knew it, snow was piling up high around the castle and the Christmas holidays were fast approaching. Most students prepared to go home, but when Harry put his name on a list with names of those who wanted to stay in the castle, Professor Snape did not ask him to provide a written consent signed by his guardians, like the other kids were requested to.

The only other Slytherin who'd be staying for Christmas was Blaise. Harry was happy about that: They could play chess without all the ruckus that usually accompanied their games and they wouldn't have to compete for their favourite spot near the fireplace. From the other houses, only the Weasleys would be staying: Ron, the twins and their eldest brother, Percy. Harry really didn't have anything bad to say about the Gryffindor prefect. He was studious and quiet, if a bit stiff and with an air of self-importance - very different from his twin brothers, who were a bit too boisterous for Harry's taste and couldn't be trusted, at least not as far as sweets were concerned. Harry had never made the mistake of accepting a snack or treat they had given him, Professor Snape's warning that small amounts of potions could be smuggled into anything well in mind. Tom also pointed out that Gryffindors offering sweets to Slytherins was highly suspicious and likely part of a sinister plot.

They had both been proven right - weird things tended to happen to anybody who had accepted and eaten sweets from those two. (Not that accepting treats from the twins if you were a Gryffindor was any more advisable, as Neville found out the hard way). Nothing really harmful or ever-lasting had happened to their victims so far, but running around with blue skin like a smurf for an entire day or having tiny, itching feathers grow out of your skin was not something Harry was keen to experience. As long as you kept a cautious distance, however, the twins were generally fun to be around. Harry and Tom were still utterly fascinated with the way they communicated with each other. Also, the twins knew things about the castle that wasn't even in 'Hogwarts: a History'.

As Harry had hoped, the holidays proved to be fun. Ron was a bit of a spoilsport, always dishing out not-so-subtle insults about Slytherins in general whenever Harry and Blaise joined the twins in their games, snowball fights or whatever mischief they came up with. Harry just tuned him out. Tom suspected that Ron was suffering from an inferiority complex, as he had nothing really that spoke for him. He didn't shine in classes, had atrocious table manners from what they had observed now that they were all sharing a table and was of a sullen disposition. Or maybe that was just because he couldn't go home for the holidays and had to put up with Slytherins.

Christmas morning greeted them with freshly fallen snow and presents at the foot ends of their beds. There was a huge pile for Blaise, but also a small one for Harry - much to his amazement.

"I'm getting presents!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"That's … unexpected," said Tom, slightly suspicious.

"Well, of course you are – it's Christmas!" said Blaise as if gifts were a given. He hadn't lived with the Dursleys.

Harry opened the first one – it was from Hermione, and – not so surprising - it was a book. A muggle book on psychology, which was a subject he and Tom were both interested in, but couldn't find anything on in the Hogwarts library. Apparently, wizards didn't really believe in health issues that couldn't be detected with a wand and didn't put much faith in any kind of treatment that didn't come in the form of potions. Harry had sent Hedwig to the Grangers yesterday, also with a book – one that he had bought for himself in Diagon Alley, but hadn't gotten around to reading yet. He would have bought her something new, but how was he supposed to have done that? He was stuck in the castle.

"That's really helpful!" remarked Tom appreciatively. "I had feared that we would have to wait until the summer before we could read up on split personality disorders. I just hope she believed you when you told her you were interested in the subject because your uncle's sister was affected and you wanted to find out how to best behave around her."

"I wish she had this disorder, then at least I'd have an idea. But I'm afraid Aunt Marge is just a horrible person all by herself."

Neville had sent him a book on non-magical plants and their uses in potions. It was an interesting addition to the books available on the subject in the library. Harry, again for lack of opportunity to buy something for his Gryffindor friend, had asked Hagrid for help. The half-giant had suggested potting a rare plant that grew in the Forbidden Forest and had procured it for Harry. He had then painted a pot and written a sheet with botanical information, possible uses and instructions on how to care for it. Packed safely in a box and supported with conservation and protections charms (Professor Flitwick had been most helpful), Harry had entrusted it to Hedwig for safe transport.

A somewhat crudely wrapped gift was waiting for him from Hagrid. Harry was surprised to find a flute, which he had obviously carved himself. Harry had no idea how to play an instrument and didn't quite know what to do with it, but he was touched that the gentle giant had put so much work into the making of a Christmas present for Harry.

To his surprise, he also found a present from Blaise.

"Oh no, that's not good!" Tom exclaimed, dismayed. "We should have gotten him something, too! Now you'll look really bad. I still don't fully get the pureblood political game they have going on here, but Slytherins seem to be all about currying favours. I'm afraid we owe him now, I just don't know what …"

Harry was concerned as well, not because he feared a nebulous future obligation, but because maybe Blaise regarded him as a friend, and now he would think that Harry didn't hold him in the same esteem. "But – I don't have anything for you!" he said, feeling guilty for not having thought to get something for his only dorm mate. He was not familiar with gift-giving and had truly not thought that they would be opening presents with each other. Or expected to gift one other.

Blaise waved him off. "Don't worry about it, I didn't expect anything. It's not like we're close friends or anything. But we've been playing chess together all this time with my set, and I think you should have pieces of your own. They are still not to be fully trusted as far as their advice is concerned, but your own pieces tend to be more loyal to you than others and are a bit more competitive. I think you'll advance quicker with these."

Intrigued, Harry opened the box and admired the chess pieces Blaise had given him. They were made from dark wood and exquisitely carved – you could even make out mimic wrinkles on their faces. They were beautiful pieces of art just in themselves.

"Wow, Blaise! Thank you – these are stunning!" said Harry, very much impressed. "They must have cost a fortune - you really shouldn't have!"

Blaise waved his concerns aside. "They would have cost a fortune if made out of silver or adorned with jewels. Wooden pieces are just basic, but if they're well made, they are just as easy to repair."

Harry could see how reparability was an important feature in wizarding chess pieces, as they were extremely brutal when wiping an opposing piece off the board. They were often reduced to rubble – he had been shocked when it had first happened. But at the end of the game, all pieces mended themselves automatically due to an inbuilt charm before marching back into their respective boxes.

To Harry's surprise there were two other gifts waiting for him. One was hastily wrapped in paper torn out of a magazine and very small. Inside was a note from the Dursleys: We have received your message and include your Christmas present. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Glued to it with tape was a fifty pence piece. Puzzled, Harry and Tom stared at both. What message? Harry hadn't sent the Dursleys anything. And he certainly hadn't asked for Christmas presents, what a ridiculous notion! He peeled the coin off the card and looked at its back. It was just a regular fifty pence piece. And what a ridiculous present!

"What do you have there, Harry?" inquired Blaise, when Harry kept staring at a round object in his one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

"Fifty pence. Christmas present from my Aunt and Uncle."

"They're mad" muttered Tom. "We should read more books on madness."

Blaise could see that Harry was dumbfounded, but he was unsure if he was an 'awed' kind of speechless or the 'perturbed' kind. He knew, of course, that Harry had grown up with his Muggle relatives – he had never made a secret of the fact. But he never really spoke about them, neither in an affectionate manner, nor with disdain. Nobody in Slytherin knew if Harry had a happy childhood, but Blaise suspected that it wasn't the case. His weird reaction to the present might be a hint. He'd have to investigate later. For now, a distraction seemed in order.

"There's another present you haven't opened yet …" he said, pointing to the package wrapped in dark blue paper adorned with small silver stars.

It was very light and supple. Curious, Harry pulled away the paper to find a piece of flowing, shimmering cloth. He held it up in front of him with both hands and found that it was a cape. Or a cloak. It had a hood and was apparently very long.

Blaise gasped. "Is that … Harry, is that an invisibility cloak?"

"A what?"

"Put it on!"

Harry got up and did as suggested. The cloak was so long that he couldn't see his feet anymore. In fact, he couldn't see any part of his body that was covered by the cloak, which would have made sense if could see the cloak instead. But he couldn't. He only saw the carpet - as if he was just a headfloating in the room.

"Merlin's pants!" said Harry, an exclamation he had picked up from Hagrid.

"Holy Mother of God!" shouted Tom, an exclamation he had picked up God knows where. The Dursleys weren't religious people, and not catholic, either.

Harry turned around and stood in front of the floor length mirror on the wall. He pulled the hood over his head and disappeared.

"That's a very special cloak, Harry," said Blaise in awe. "I've never seen anything like it. All the invisibility cloaks I've seen have a telltale shimmer around them. This one doesn't. It must be a really high quality one. They are insanely expensive. Who gave it to you?"

Harry turned and picked up the note that had fallen down when he had put on the cloak.
'Your father left this in my possession before he died. Use it well.'

"It doesn't say. Supposedly, this once belonged to my father."

"But who might have kept it for you?"

"I really have no idea."

The first that came to mind was the headmaster. He had also been in possession of Harry's vault key and was obviously involved enough in his parents' affairs that he had personally chosen Harry's guardians. And according to Hagrid, he had been the head of some paramilitary group fighting against You-Know-Who. Maybe the cloak had been used for spying missions?

"Or maybe you have seen too many of those Bond movies," suggested Tom. "Although I agree with you that the headmaster is our primary suspect."

"He's the only suspect," Harry pointed out.

"Well, there's Snape. He knew your parents."

Harry shook his head. "But he and my dad hated each other, so it's unlikely my dad would have left anything in his possession. Besides, the handwriting doesn't match."

"True. So … Dumbledore. Why not give it back to you in person?"

"Maybe he's avoiding me because he doesn't want to answer my questions."

"Harry?" Harry turned around and found Blaise looking at him strangely. Apparently, he had been staring into nothingness too long again. It happened occasionally during Harry's and Tom's ongoing silent discussions.

"Everything alright?"

"Yes. I've just tried to figure out who might have given it to me, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe my dad had an attorney."

"A what?"

"Don't wizards have attorneys? People who take care of legal affairs? Like helping you draw up a will and making sure that it's carried out as you wish?"

"The goblins deal in such matters. Wizards go to Gringotts."

"Hm, interesting idea," mused Tom. "We could ask if your parents left a will with them and if it was read. Maybe there's a goblin who could tell you more."

Harry nodded and took off the cloak. It was disconcerting to only see parts of his own body. "It's a good idea. Maybe we can do it during the summer holidays. Or I could ask Professor Snape to make inquiries."

"Let's get dressed and have breakfast," he said to Blaise, careful not to space out again in front of him. The last thing he wanted was to have people think he was mad.

"Then you'd better hide the book on multiple personality disorders," suggested Tom, and Harry took care to put away all of his gifts before he and Blaise went down to the Great Hall.

*'*'*'*'*

Severus Snape hated Christmas. He didn't even fully know why. Maybe it was the forced cheerfulness of the whole affair. Merriment was not a frame of mind he was familiar with. He would have been perfectly happy to spend the day alone in his dungeon quarters, but Albus insisted that the faculty and the remaining students celebrate the seasonal event together.

So it was breakfast and later Christmas dinner with four Weasleys, Zabini and Potter. Wondering if it could have been worse, Severus noted that he couldn't come up with students he would have liked to spend Christmas with less. But then, he couldn't think of any he would have preferred either. Potter, to his ongoing astonishment, wasn't as bad as he had expected. He had been prepared to meet another James – a boy who'd grown up knowing he was the hailed hero of the wizarding world, full of self-importance and arrogance, like his father. He was sure that the wizarding family who had taken him in had doted on him and catered to his every whim, just to make up for the tragedy of losing both parents and almost dying at the hand of a madman.

But instead, Lily's son had been given to Petunia. A woman who hated magic and was eaten up with envy. A woman who didn't fit the picture of a doting and nurturing caretaker at all.

The Boy-Who-Lived came to Hogwarts being weirdly independent – a quiet and composed child, who was perfectly happy to stay in the background. He wasn't timid or shy, but not arrogant either. Just confident and entirely self-sufficient. And without a clue about who he was, where he was and where he came from.

This, in many respects, was worse compared to Harry having been spoiled and raised with the attention of an adoring wizarding public. It was treason to the memory of Lily, a total disregard for her sacrifice. Her son growing up believing she was some uneducated, irresponsible good-for-nothing!

Severus had never intended to tell James Potter's son anything about his relationship with Lily at all. He would have been perfectly happy to detest him in peace and keep the good memories of Lily to himself. But now he was struggling. Who should tell the boy about his mother, keep her memory alive? There was hardly anyone left who knew her like he did – where she grew up, who her parents were, where she went to school before Hogwarts. He knew what colour her bicycle had been, what her favourite hiding places were, he even remembered the scars on her knee from when she had fallen from a tree. He was the last connection to her childhood. If he didn't tell her son, the memories would die with him.

But to do that, he would have to open up to the boy, who was also the son of his arch nemesis. He would have to listen to the child and learn about the conditions of his upbringing. From what he suspected, it had been far from ideal, but he had no idea if it was just coldness and indifference or neglect and abuse. The boy was cautious and distrustful, and it was apparent that he was hiding something. But once Severus knew, he would have to become involved. He'd be taking responsibility. And he wasn't ready for that.

He sighed, trying to push these conflicted thoughts aside for now. There was time to decide. The boy was safe at Hogwarts for now and not suffering. Severus would continue to observe and then decide on a plan of action.

*'*'*'*'*

"Professor Snape, I have a question that I hope you might be able to help me with ..." said Blaise Zabini, when they were headed back down to the dungeons after breakfast.

Potter had been pulled away by the Weasley twins who wanted to 'show him something', while Blaise had asked for access to the Floo, so he could contact his mother.

"What is the question?"

"If I needed to send a last minute Christmas present to someone in the Muggle world, would a fifty pence piece be considered an adequate gift?" asked the boy, taking his Professor by surprise.

He narrowed his eyes. "No, it would certainly not be, unless you wished to deliberately cause offence."

Blaise nodded solemnly. "That's what I thought. Thank you for your advice, Professor. It was most helpful."

"I didn't realise you had friends in the Muggle world." The Potions professor had a suspicion of what this was all about. Blaise was a consummate Slytherin, after all.

"Oh, but I do," replied the boy, " – though in all fairness, it's more of a loose acquaintance at this point. We're in the process of getting to know each other better. I just wanted to make sure that I had a basic understanding of customs. To not cause offence."

So it was like he suspected. This was about Harry. And there was only one Muggle he knew to be petty enough to send out malicious, mocking gifts to cause hurt. He fumed inside. That horrible woman! He could understand jealousy, even pettiness to some degree, but this was pure spite. It had no educational value whatsoever. And the hatred speaking through these actions felt all too familiar.

His decision was made. He would speak to the boy.

*'*'*'*'*

It was a lucky coincidence that, while Severus still pondered how he should address his concerns and how to even find a reason to start a conversation, the boy in question knocked on his office door and asked for a few moments of his time.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, I've been wondering ... did my parents leave a will, and if so, was there ever a reading of it? I suppose you wouldn't know, but Blaise suggested the goblins at Gringotts might. Is there any way I can contact them?"

Severus had a hard time hiding his surprise. It was not a question he had expected.

"May I ask what brought this about?"

The boy shrugged. "I was just wondering, Sir. My parents set up a vault for me, as you rightly presumed. It seems likely that they would have left a will, given that there was a war going on and they were actively fighting in it. I thought they might have made provisions – naming guardians for me, for instance, making sure I'd be in possession of family items ..."

There was more to it than the boy was saying, Severus was sure. But why should he trust his teacher with his secrets? He had done nothing to earn it. Maybe this was an opportunity to do exactly that. But that meant he couldn't involve Albus. That would be a betrayal of confidence.

He had never, in all those years, gone behind Albus' back. He had always trusted him. But that trust had suffered a mighty blow when Severus learned that Lily's son had been given into the care of Petunia Evans – a circumstance made worse by Albus' failure to check in on the boy and make sure he had what he needed. And that included knowledge about his parents.

"You could send a letter of inquiry to Gringotts," Severus replied. "If it turns out that your parents did indeed leave a will with them, you could set up an appointment to meet with a goblin in person."

"Would I be able to meet with them before the summer?"

Severus pondered that. It might indeed prove difficult. Of course, students could be excused for personal reasons, but that needed the headmaster's permission.

"It would depend on whether you'd be willing to apply for a leave of absence with the headmaster," he answered.

The boy shook his head. Interesting. So he was already suspicious of the headmaster's role in his life.

"If not, I'm afraid a personal meeting will have to take place during your holidays. You can choose to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, but all students will have to go home for the summer. Is this going to be a problem?"

"I suppose not. It seems the Dursleys know where I am. Did you write to them and ask them to send me a Christmas present?"

"Did I do what?" Severus couldn't prevent an expression of surprise from showing on his face.

"No, I didn't think so," Harry said. "But someone did. They sent me a present – sort of. And this note."

He pushed a piece of paper over the desk, and Severus took a look at it. So it was as he had suspected. Something - in all likelihood a fifty pence piece - had been torn off the note.

"I suppose you didn't send them any correspondence?" Severus asked, just to confirm.

"I had no reason to. And I surely wouldn't have asked them for presents."

"Well, then I assume the headmaster sent them an owl informing them that you'd be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. He probably suggested they make use of the returning owl to send your Christmas presents."

"But they never ... I mean, why would they comply? They must have hated having an owl sitting anywhere near their house. It's weird. It would attract attention, and Aunt Petunia hates giving the neighbours fodder for gossip. Honestly, it's not polite to send an owl to someone living in the Muggle world without their permission."

Severus was astonished that the boy was even taking Petunia's feelings into consideration after being slighted by her. "Well, most wizards have no idea about the Muggle world and wouldn't even know that an owl would seem very out of place in a Muggle neighbourhood," was Severus' rather pitiful attempt to excuse the headmaster's action. Why did he even bother?

"The headmaster surely must know?"

Severus sighed. "Yes, Mr. Potter. He knows. I have no idea what he was thinking. He probably thought your Aunt would be comfortable receiving an owl as she grew up with a witch in her family. Surely your mother received owls during the holidays and sent owls to her friends as well."

The boy thought about this for a moment, then nodded. "It's still surprising that she made use of the owl as suggested. She wouldn't have liked to even get near it."

"Owls, if given to expect money, a letter, or a package in return, can be very insistent. It might not have left until it received something.

The idea was almost amusing. Petunia Evans being chased by an owl until, in her desperation, she wrapped the first thing that came to mind and threw it at the owl. She might not have thought that an owl was able to carry much bigger loads than a letter containing a fifty pence piece. Though a fifty pound note would have been even easier to carry.

"Will your aunt express her displeasure about this incident when you get home?"

Harry snorted. "You bet!"

"How will she express her displeasure, Mr. Potter?"

The boy's eyes narrowed. "What are you asking?"

"Magic scares a lot of people, and people who are afraid often react excessively. You basically told me that your aunt is scared of magic. I was wondering if she ever reacted towards you in a way that was ... excessive."

"And if it was, then what? Nobody cared the last eleven years about how my aunt and uncle reacted to anything. It's a bit late now."

"Why is it too late?"

"Because I've dealt with it." Really, ever since Tom had started using psychology on Petunia, it hadn't been too bad. Pointing out what the neighbours or teachers would think always worked wonders. If they locked him up in his cupboard without dinner for punishment, Harry just got out in the night and made himself something to eat. Their insults didn't hurt him anymore. Years and years with the Dursleys had made him grow a thick skin. And Dudley mostly left him alone, for fear that snakes might start appearing everywhere again.

Severus was not happy with his answer. What exactly had the boy dealt with? He didn't dare ask. Harry wouldn't tell him anyway. It would seem like Severus was merely satisfying his curiosity, as there was nothing to be done about it anymore. The child had handled it himself.

"I am sorry, Harry," he said, genuinely feeling regret and wishing to offer an apology. "You should not have needed to 'deal with it' yourself. You shouldn't have been placed with people who hated magic and didn't care about you in the first place. I hadn't known, but I also blindly trusted and never asked. Too many mistakes were made, and I'm sorry that you had to live with them."

Harry stared at him in open surprise. Severus expected his apology to be rebutted, but the boy's gaze suddenly softened. "It wasn't all that bad," he said. "It's not like I was being beaten black and blue on a regular basis. I got a sound beating a couple of times, but mostly it was just Uncle Vernon screaming until he was red in the face and his eyes were bulging."

"You have a pitifully low definition of 'not that bad'. There are many more kinds of abuse than regular beatings, and I suspect that you were subjected to them. I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but should you ever want to, my door is open." Severus was on the verge of telling the boy why exactly he thought to have any sort of expertise on the matter, but hesitated. Trust breeds trust, but he had no idea if Potter himself was trustworthy, and there were things he didn't want to become public knowledge.

The boy raised his brows as if to ask the very question Severus was not prepared to answer, but refrained. He merely nodded.

"Would you help me formulate a letter to Gringotts about the will? I have no idea how to address the goblins."

"Of course." Severus put a piece of parchment and a quill in front of Harry (who still had a hard time writing with it and would probably wonder forever why wizards refused to use biros, or at least a fountain pen), and together they set up a brief inquiry to Gringotts.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll send it off right away."

Then the boy was gone and Severus was left to ponder what he would do should the answer be what he feared.