11

Chapter Eleven

32

The first week back at Hogwarts was disorienting to say the least. He sat at the staff table, which would have been strange enough on its own, but at least he got to sit with Neville, who was interning with Professor Sprout. He and Neville grew very close, an unexpected and very pleasant surprise. Under Snape's direction, Slughorn turned over the first year classes to him, which gave him more than enough work. The work wasn't difficult but he didn't exactly remember it either. Grading was its own nightmare; Harry didn't want to be seen as stern and difficult as Snape, but he wasn't going to let stupidity slide by, and it seemed there was quite a bit of stupidity rampant amongst the first years. When he finally mentioned it to Snape he was treated with a smirk of the I-told-you-so variety.

Just when Harry was certain the potion had worked he changed. Snape continued to be optimistic, which Harry still wasn't used to. Harry had gone a month and a half without a change, a new record. Now it was once again a matter of concentrating the potion, streamlining the brewing process, and waiting.

Harry was not thrilled with waiting.

33

The third try was in the middle of October. Harry didn't change. He still hadn't by the time winter break rolled around, and he and Snape returned to Spinner's End for the holidays. A series of tests were performed in which Snape talked to him in Parseltongue, asking him, then telling him, and finally yelling at him to change. Nothing worked.

On Christmas Eve he finally changed. He spent the night curled angrily in front of the fireplace. If there was any time he didn't want to change, it was absolutely Christmas Eve. He would have given anything to be with the Weasleys but no, instead he was stuck in Snape's basement. Snape himself was upstairs sleeping, and Harry didn't have any way of alerting him to his change, so he spent the night alone. He had seen Nagini slither up and down staircases, but even with his hardened skin he found it tremendously uncomfortable.

Snape came down very early in the morning, and Harry was still in his changed form. Snape sighed.

"Two and a half months," he said, sitting on the couch. "We're getting closer."

"Of course we are," Harry snapped. "Merry bloody Christmas."

"What was that?"

Harry paused. Snape hadn't asked for a definition in months. "Er, today. December twenty-fifth."

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Snape said. He slipped into Parseltongue. "Now change back."

Harry did. Immediately. He sat on the floor, shocked. Snape was staring at him in a way that suggested he thought he was hallucinating.

"Two and a half months, and half a cure," Harry said, awed. "The better half even. If I can control when I change back, then—"

"You are getting ahead of yourself," Snape said. "For all we know it could be coincidence. If not, we need to know if you can order yourself to change or if you need me."

"It's Christmas and I'm optimistic," Harry said firmly. "Don't you dare take that away from me."

"Fair enough," Snape replied. "Do you wish to test this potion again, or shall I attempt a new brew to control when you make the first change?"

"I don't want to think about it today," Harry said. "Let's just take a break and celebrate Christmas."

"Very well," Snape said. "You leave for the Burrow at noon, yes?"

"Mhm," Harry replied. "Then the Longbottoms for an early dinner, and back by eight."

"What would you have us do until then? Last year I did not see you until the evening, presumably after any Christmas traditions," he said. "All we did was take relaxation draught."

"I don't really have any plans or traditions," Harry said. "Opening presents with the Gryffindors. That's about it. We should continue with the relaxation potion, though, when I get back."

"Ah, presents. of course," Snape said, taking out his wand and performing a wordless spell. "I did not wish to bring it down lest you were still in Basilisk form and ill-equipped to deal with the subtelties of wrapping paper, but since that is not the case…"

Harry was prepared this time. He may have missed last Christmas, and it might not have occurred to him that Snape had a birthday until his own was celebrated, but he had remembered this year. Unlike Snape, who hovered his gift and landed it delicately on the table in front of Harry, he reached under the couch and pulled out a messily wrapped package. He had done his wrapping at the Burrow, and when Hermione saw what a mess he was making she had offered to help. Harry insisted it was better this way, eliciting some very odd looks from his friends. Still, even though the wrapping paled in comparison to Snape's perfect box, he was pleased with it.

"You go first," Harry said. "I missed Christmas and your birthday, it's your turn to open something."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Very well." His expression of curiosity quickly turned to annoyance. "Potter, how the bloody hell did you wrap this?"

Harry flushed. "I'm not very good at wrapping."

"I can see that," Snape replied distastefully. He took out his wand and banished the paper. A black dragon hide box sat before him, his initials branded in the center. He took it, running his fingers over the Hebridean leather. He tried to open it and frowned. "Is there a spell I need to know?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Shit! No. Just a second." He leaned over the front of the couch, sticking an arm beneath it and rummaging around. He emerged a few moments later, sleeve covered in dust, with a much smaller package. "Sorry, I forgot," he said, sliding the package across the table, looking very humbled. "You were supposed to open this first, to build the suspense, but, well, that didn't happen." He wrapped a fleece throw around himself, feeling very small and silly.

Snape banished the wrapping paper without even trying to open it on his own and two identical keys clattered to the table. The lock made a satisfying click as it released, and Harry waited nervously as he opened the box. He knew this was a good gift, he was positive, but still. Maybe it was too much or not enough and it was Snape and he was impossible to please.

The box was divided into eight sections, each containing a small crystal vial, the sort that Slughorn had used for the Felix Felicis in sixth year. The vials on the top row were filled, and the ones on the bottom left empty.

Snape's face remained impassive as he examined each vial. The first was labeled Oculos Ius, H.P., 08/'01. A tiny sampling of his first solo batch. The second said relax ptn, S.S., borrowed 12/'01. Harry was nervous about that, since he'd had to sneak it out of Snape's stores, but he figured since he was giving it back, and it really was only borrowed, maybe he could get away with it. The third vial said calming ptn., H.S., 12/'01 and then, in tiny letters beneath that just in case. That was meant as a joke, but Snape's sense of humor was, to put it mildly, hit or miss, and Harry had no idea how he'd take it. The final vial was labeled Felix Felicis, H.S. & H.P., 11-12/'01. Slughorn had given him a lot of help with that one, and while they never discussed exactly why Harry needed it, Harry was fairly certain Slughorn knew, otherwise there would have been a lot of questioning involved.

Harry stayed silent for as long as he could. "The case is Hebridean," he said eventually. "Because I'm not there, I'm here. The first three potions are sort of sentimental, er, well—" His brain was racing, looking for a word Snape might not hate as much, "—nostalgic, or pathetic, but the last one, I thought a few things, I thought you would be proud of my potion skills, that I could make it, even if I needed help, and also maybe we could use it for our next batch of the current potion, if you think that's a good idea." Harry forced himself to shut up and wait for Snape to say something.

"Potter—" He cleared his throat. "Harry, this is truly incredible. The thought of such a box, and the skill that went into creating these potions—the ones you made, rather than stole from my stores or took from Slughorn—is immense. I would not have thought you capable of brewing Felix Felicis, regardless of who was helping you. I am very impressed."

Harry glowed. He couldn't have asked for anything more. Snape never, ever said he was impressed. Harry couldn't remember a single time he had spoken those words, whether to him or Draco Malfoy or even about himself. "I'm really glad," Harry said. "I wasn't sure…"

Snape closed the box and locked it, slipping the keys into his pocket. "There is nothing to be unsure of," he said.

"Okay," Harry said firmly, again forcing himself to stop blabbing. He had gotten the box from the MacFusty's, who sold a variety of Hebridean wares, making sure to put every part of the dragons to use. They never killed, only foraged dragons that had died naturally. The engraving was done at a shop in Hogsmeade that specialized in dragon hide goods. The vials came from the Hogsmeade branch of Potage's Cauldron Shop. Slughorn had given him the calming draught and Harry had snagged the relaxation draught the first night of holidays. He could tell Snape all of this, but if he wanted to know, he would ask. What's more, he was very clever, and had no doubt inferred it all. Even Harry's earlier outburst was doubtless unnecessary.

Harry forgot entirely he had his own gift to unwrap until Snape gestured at it. The moment Harry touched the box it divided in two, and he looked up curiously. One was a flat rectangle, the other surprisingly large and squishy.

"A slight bit of magic for simplicity," Snape explained.

Harry had to resist rolling his eyes. Of course Snape would magic his gifts into one, smaller box, while Harry's were strewn under the couch. Inside the wrapping paper was a thin, flat box, and Harry would have bet the wood was holly. That touch, that was the sort of gesture he never would have thought Snape capable of. The box opened with a small button, and Harry was presented with a display of knives.

"It is high time you had your own set," Snape said. "You are not as inept as you were when we first began, but I tire of constantly needing to sharpen my knives after the abuse they take at your hands."

Harry sighed. Of course he would make this difficult. The other "of course", the "of course" everyone saw. Still, the set was beautiful, and contained everything he'd need, short of that miniature jackhammer for the bezoar stones. Harry was pleased to see that he knew the name of each knife—an Oriental cleaver, a paring knife, a bagel knife, a bread knife and a chef's knife. It always struck him as strange that potion knives retained kitchen names, but it made them easier to identify, as well as lending Harry a handiness in the kitchen he wouldn't have otherwise possessed.

"Thank you," Harry said, though he couldn't resist the urge to add a snarky comment. "These knives are a beautiful gift from yourself to your own set. I'm sure you'll appreciate them very much."

"Knock it off, Potter," Snape said, though his sneer wasn't nearly as mean as it seemed. "I could have merely gotten you a series of potions tools, yet I gave you only what you desperately needed. Open the second gift."

Harry took it onto his lap and unwrapped it. It was a striped, rough woolen blanket. Snape had provided him with more than enough blankets, both throws down here and plushy comforters in his room. But even as he started to ask the question, he knew the answer: it was warm. "Why another…" He trailed off as it became obvious. "Merlin this is warm."

Snape smiled thinly. "A muggle manufacturer, but a fine purveyor nevertheless. I had it in mind for my basement and the Chamber, but you may do with it as you please. This is the largest size available, so it is possible if you were coiled tightly enough it might cover you in your other form as well."

Harry brushed his fingers along the rough surface. Scratchy, but comfortably so. He had never noticed the difference between commercial wool and real wool before. It was a good sort of scratchy, very fitting of the man who gave it to him.

"Thank you," Harry said again. "Really, thank you."

"Living in a basement is hardly ideal," Snape said. "I do not mind making your stays more comfortable."

"You need to learn how to take a compliment," Harry said firmly. He unfolded the blanket and tucked it around himself, shrugging off the fleece in favor of the new blanket. "Want to play chess? It's been a while."

"If you would like," Snape said, summoning the set over.

"You're so bloody cryptic," Harry said, though he helped set up. "'If you would like'. What's that supposed to mean? Would you enjoy playing chess or are you just placating me?"

"Does it matter?" Snape asked. "It is Christmas, and I would like you to be happy."

Harry was touched. That was a better answer than addressing his question. "Fine, then I get to go first."

"Go ahead."

34

Lunch at the Burrow was perfect. It was enough to make Harry forget his condition, except when he was asked how his apprenticeship was going, to which he gave vague, nonspecific answers. He focused on working with the first years rather than what potions he was working on. Only Hermione seemed genuinely interested in those details, and Harry could always find a different conversation he was suddenly a part of to ignore her. The blessing he received from the Weasleys surprised him; he assumed they'd be upset he wasn't working for the Ministry, but they didn't seem to mind at all. Instead they congratulated him on getting along with Snape, and pursuing an unpopular field of magic. There was hope that his teaching would get rid of the negative connotations Snape had given the subject. But most importantly, there was Christmas, and love, and joy, and festivities. Exploding Snaps, a traditional goose for lunch, the exchanging of gifts. Harry couldn't ask for more.

Dinner with Neville and his gran was that "more". Harry had only met her at the final battle, which was hardly time to get to know someone. He found her sharp and witty and caustic, almost the opposite of Neville. But it was obvious how much she loved her grandson, on more than one occasion in a manner that caused him to blush and shoo her off. Harry and Neville talked about work until she demanded that Christmas dinner was not the time for such things. Despite her excellent cooking Harry couldn't handle more than two servings after his lunch, and he really should have stopped at one. There was more Exploding Snaps, a game of chess, and another round of gift giving. Harry lost track of time and didn't leave until quarter of nine, upsetting the table in his rush to get home and generating worried looks from Neville and his gran about being overworked and not even getting Christmas Day off. Harry promised he was fine, and apparated back to Spinner's End with a loud crack.

Harry reappeared in the potions lab, which was empty. A quick check of the rest of the basement revealed it empty as well. So was the kitchen, the sitting room, and Snape's bedroom. He walked back downstairs and, very hesitantly, knocked on the locked door. He had figured out it was Snape's study ages ago, and had entirely avoided it, not even going so far as to knock on the door before now.

"Come in."

Harry opened the door and stuck his head inside. Snape was sitting on a leatherback chair, engrossed in a book so old it Harry was surprised it didn't disintegrate entirely.

"Er, I'm home," Harry said, then immediately smacked himself. Since when was Spinner's End his home? He was staying there. It was Snape's home, not his. And no doubt Snape knew when he apparated in; he would have enough protection charms on his home to defend it against the most wily of wizards, never mind Harry.

"So I see," Snape said, not looking up from his book and thus not seeing anything.

Harry shrunk away. "Never mind," he said quietly. "Sorry for bothering you."

Snape finally looked up. "What do you want?"

Harry felt himself grow smaller. It had been a long time since Snape had intimidated him this much. "Relaxation draught," he muttered. "I thought, maybe, we might have had plans, but never mind."

Snape marked his place and closed his book. "I apologize, you are entirely correct," he said, standing and sweeping out the door, past Harry, closing the door securely behind himself. "My book was very engrossing."

"If you want to keep reading, that's fine," Harry said quietly, still feeling small. "I really didn't mean to interrupt, I know your study is locked."

Snape turned and gave Harry a small but genuine smile. "You must learn to listen, Potter. I say what I mean. I have been looking forward to this, and I will not miss it due to a short lapse in memory."

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay," Snape echoed. He led them down to the potions lab, unlocked his trunk and removed a flask before continuing into Harry's basement room. They sat on their respective couches, Harry on the right one, Snape on the left, the way it had been since the first time Harry transfigured them, and Snape poured them equal measures of the potion.

"To Christmas," Snape said, startling Harry.

"To Christmas," Harry echoed. They drank, and Harry relaxed back on the couch, letting the brew take effect. At first it felt like a calming draught, but instead of getting limp and wiggly, he seemed to sink into the couch, his brain along with his body. The calming draught muffled panic, while the relaxation potion made him genuinely happy. Happy and open and silly and—well—relaxed. He covered himself in the blanket Snape gave him and sighed happily.

"This has been a surprisingly good Christmas," Harry said. "Actually this year has been pretty good in general, despite me, y'know, turning into a Basilisk."

"Indeed," Snape said. "I have not enjoyed a Christmas in a very long time."

"Last year was good, too," Harry mused. "Not as good, I was stuck in the Chamber and Ron and Hermione were at the Weasleys, but good. This is better. And the Christmas before that I almost died."

"Good," Snape said. "The book I was reading, that was a gift from Horace. A first edition of Moste Potente Potions. It needs to stay locked in my study, of course, but it is a fascinating read."

"Great," Harry replied happily. "Hermione got me a book too, she always does, and some candy to offset it."

Snape snorted. "You would need candy to placate the giving of a book."

"Yeah, but I like candy," Harry said. He summoned a bag from Honeydukes. "Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, a little bit of everything." He took out a Chocolate Frog and bit the head off before it could escape. He sighed happily again. "This is the first time I've had chocolate for fun, rather than as a cure, in ages. D'you want one?"

Snape considered. "Do you have Lemon Drops? Albus left me with an addiction."

Harry dug through his bag. "Yeah, here you go," he said, tossing a small box over.

"The perfect end to the day," Snape said, sucking on one of the candies.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Harry let his mind wander. Spending the holiday at Spinner's End was very good. And they were close to controlling his changes, almost. He frowned slightly. What would he do when they perfected the potion? Would he still be Snape's apprentice? No doubt he'd move back to the loneliness of Grimmauld Place. At least he wouldn't be stuck in the Chamber of Secrets anymore—if he kept the apprenticeship, that was.

"Can I still work with you?" Harry asked nervously. "When we're done with this Basilisk business?"

Snape paused for a moment. "You would rather remain a potions apprentice than work for the Ministry?"

"I wouldn't have thought so," Harry said. "But yeah. It's nice not having to fight Death Eaters all the time, I like living at Hogwarts, and I like teaching a lot more than I thought I would. If you don't want me that's fine, but I thought I'd ask."

"You're welcome to stay on," Snape said. "If it's what you want."

"Yeah," Harry said. This had been bouncing around the back of his head for a while, and he had been trying to work up the courage to ask Snape for the past few weeks, but it was only now that he was finally relaxed enough to talk about it.

"I don't think anything needs to change," Snape mused. "As far as Minerva and the rest of the school is concerned, you are already my apprentice, and nothing more. You'll just continue on as it is. You'll have your own quarters of course, once you don't need to live in the Chamber. You'll probably end up living with Longbottom; that's how it's worked in the past, when there are two apprentices."

"That'd be good," Harry said. "We'd still see each other though, right? You and me?"

A long pause. "You are my apprentice, Potter. I don't see how I could teach you without seeing you."

Harry blinked. "Oh, right."

"Are you implying you would miss me?" Snape asked.

"Well, y'know," Harry muttered, suddenly embarrassed. "You're, y'know, an adult, who takes care of me, sort of. I'm short on those. And not because you're forced to, but because you want to? I think?"

Snape looked at him. "You would be correct," he said. "Not at first, and you are still very difficult at times, but I suppose I have come to care for you."

"At times," Harry repeated. "That's better than before."

"This is between us," Snape said firmly. "I do not wish to have my reputation ruined."

Harry smiled to himself. "Yeah, of course. Merlin forbid you actually care for someone, let alone admit it."

"I'm not kidding, Potter. You may continue your apprenticeship only under the condition that you do as I say," he said. "And I say this is between us."

Harry laughed. "Fine, you wheezy old git."

"Immature prat."

They fell into another comfortable, relaxed silence. Harry had no idea how much time had passed, but he found himself getting sleepy. The relaxation potion, his three Christmases, continually waking up early due to his Basilisk tendencies. He yawned.

"I think I'm gonna sleep down here," Harry said, curling up on the couch. "Upstairs is so far away. Besides, I'm lacking in Christmas traditions, and last year I was in the Chamber, so it's only fitting I stay in the basement."

"Is that a backhanded way of asking me to stay with you?" Snape asked.

That honestly hadn't occurred to Harry. "No," he said. "You can if you want, but I'm not going to ask you to sleep on a couch because I have some stupid need for holiday sappiness. Go on, it's fine."

Snape stayed on the couch. "Didn't you receive presents at the Dursleys?"

"Only if Dudley broke something," Harry replied. "And, er, I think I got a pair of socks one year. A fifty-cent piece my first year at Hogwarts. That was sort of sweet, that they remembered me."

Snape sighed. "If your parents—"

"Don't," Harry interrupted. "You told me not to dwell on the past, when we were at my mum's house."

"Very true," Snape replied. "I will stay down here. I have slept on this couch before, it's comfortable enough."

"Mkay," Harry said with a smile.

"Toss me the throw, would you? Even with the heat lamp and the fireplace it's drafty."

"You could just conjure yourself something warmer," Harry said, though he did levitate a blanket over to Snape. "I'm warm, due to someone who refuses to be complimented. I'm perfect."

"Sod off, Potter," Snape said pleasantly.

"Whatever you say," Harry replied. He was very nearly asleep, and the relaxation potion was still coursing through him, and while neither were a real excuse, it was all he could come up with. "Remember last year, when it was just before N.E.W.T.s and I sort of had a breakdown, and you gave me calming potion and stuff?"

Snape sighed. "Don't tell me you need calming potion on top of the relaxation draught."

"No, no, not that," Harry continued. "Well, er, I said I was lonely, because I was, and now it's Christmas, and I'm not exactly lonely because I had the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, and you, but still."

There was a moment of silence. "Still what?"

"Well, y'know," Harry started. "Christmas is usually, er, I mean—never mind." He buried his face in his pillow. Merlin this had been a moronic idea. Gryffindor stupidity at work yet again. He could practically hear Snape thinking, trying to figure out what nonsense he was talking about. And Snape was very clever. Bloody hell.

"Would you be implying that you wish to share a couch with me?"

Harry kept his head in his pillow. Yes, he and Snape were close, at least by Snape's standards. Yes, he was sort of a guardian-esque type figure, in a difficult, ornery sort of way. And yes, Christmas was a time for physical contact. But really, was any of that an excuse for what he had said?

"No," Harry told his pillow.

Snape sighed irritably. "I am far more put off by the means in which you asked than the request itself."

Harry didn't know how to handle that, only that he felt remarkably immature and stupid. So what if he missed his parents on Christmas? That was no excuse. Merlin, if he was so desperate all he had to was wait until he definitely wasn't going to change—after three in the morning, Snape had decided—and then get Hermione. Only she'd be with Ron, or her parents, and he wasn't keen on interrupting holiday activities with Ron, and he had never been to her parents' house, so he couldn't apparate there.

Anyway. The point was that he was almost twenty and he needed to grow up.

"I was just muttering," Harry muttered. "Mostly asleep and all."

Snape sighed again, much less upset. "Potter, I absolutely swear you to secrecy, but if it's important to your Christmas sensibilities, I suppose it wouldn't be unbearable."

Harry blinked. "Er—"

"Harry, it's Christmas, just come here."

Feeling very small, especially draped in his giant blanket, Harry shuffled to the other couch. He sat uncomfortably. "I know I'm really childish," he mumbled. "I just, well, y'know, didn't have a real…" He trailed off. This was stupid. He really was the whiny brat he'd always been accused of being. If Malfoy could see him now, practically begging for a tiny bit of physical contact, especially from Snape; Merlin, he'd have a field day, and he'd have every right to.

"You—" Harry started, his voice dropping. "Sort of—" Even lower, quieter than a whisper. "Family, almost, not really."

"I know," Snape replied. "Please don't ask me to talk about it. I find it acceptable only if you keep quiet."

"Okay," Harry whispered, looking down at the stripes on his blanket. Black, yellow, red, green… He heard a muttered incantation, and glanced over to see the couch had extended into a chaise. Snape shifted so he was mostly lying down and held out an arm.

"Either come here or don't, but do not just sit there staring blankly," Snape said, striving for irritable and not quite making it. "Really, Potter, I do not enjoy being gaped at."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. Feeling sort of like he was in a dream he scooted over and, very hesitantly, certain that he was going to be cursed to hell and back at any second, lay down, using Snape's chest as a pillow. Snape wrapped an arm around him.

"Not a word, Potter," Snape said firmly. "Do you understand me? Do you have any idea what I can do to you if you say anything about this, ever?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly. "I won't."

"All right, then."

Despite being tense and nervous as all hell, Harry was strangely comfortable. He hadn't felt cared about like this since Sirius had been alive. It was weird, because it was Snape, but he was fairly certain this had been building for a while, and so maybe having someone like him, especially on Christmas, was a little bit brilliant.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, Harry, Merry Christmas," Snape replied. Harry was certain he was supposed to sound sarcastic and unpleasant, but he was just as sure that he was sincere. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"Mkay." Harry was almost too warm—the combination of the fireplace, the heated ceiling, the woolen blanket and Snape provided quite a bit of warmth—but there was no question that it was worth it. He could hear Snape's heart beat. When was the last time he'd felt someone's heart beat? Maybe never. He sighed, and the relaxation draught resurfaced, and he yawned again. "G'night, Snape."

There was a long pause, and Harry thought it was because Snape was regretting his offer, or agreeing to Harry's suggestion, however it had gone, but Harry was wrong.

"As long as it's Christmas—and mind you, it's only Christmas for another few hours—you might as well call me Severus."

Harry had to force the relaxation draught to surface. Otherwise he thought his heart might stop with shock. "Er, okay."

"Sleep well, Harry," Snape said.

"You, too," Harry replied. Then, very quietly, he added, "Severus."

35

Harry and Snape were arguing before Harry even had a chance to properly wake up. It was his fault, he supposed. The first thing he said was a normal good morning, which was echoed back, and then he said he wanted to try the same potion again before changing the recipe.

"Why?" Snape asked. "What do you feel the point is? We have already proved you can be ordered to change back, but not when you first turn into a Basilisk."

"No, we think it lets me change back," Harry corrected. "It could've been a coincidence, you said so yourself. And what it does work, then we need to see if I can tell myself to change. You said so yesterday."

Snape frowned. "Perhaps we do not know those things, but it does not matter. We need to refine the potion anyway, there is no point in wasting time on frivolous experiments."

Harry half sat up, leaning his elbow on Snape's legs so he could face the man. "There is if it means I can turn back whenever I want," Harry said. "That's not frivolous, that's the difference between being held hostage and being free."

"It will not take me long to have the next version of the potion ready," Snape replied. "If the old one is still in your system we will not be able to test it."

Harry struggled to come up with the words. "Yeah, but—"

"I will have it ready by the end of break," Snape interrupted. "Surely you can wait a mere five days."

Harry was not confident in that ability. "But—"

"But nothing," Snape said firmly. "If I have not prepared something by New Year's Eve you may retry what we already have."

"It's my body," Harry muttered. "My change. I ought to be in charge of it."

"It is my potion," Snape replied. "And you are my responsibility. I will make these decisions."

Harry went from humble to intense annoyance. "It's not up to you!"

Snape smiled thinly. "That is where you are wrong. It is most certainly up to me, however little you may like it."

Harry's eyes were blazing. "This isn't fair."

"I am sorry you find it so," Snape replied.

Harry continued to glare at him before resigning himself. Snape was even more stubborn than he was; there would be no changing his mind, not when he was so obstinate. Harry supposed he could sneak a dose away, but if Snape found out—and he would—that would not end well. Harry sighed and lay back down.

"Do you understand why we are waiting?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry said irritably.

"We will get there," Snape said. "I promise we will find a way to control this."

Harry sighed again. He had pushed back any reaction to yesterday's quasi-success under the guise of Christmas spirit, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how frustrated and angry at how close they had come. So bloody close, and it didn't mean a damned thing.

Well, at least he saved the moping for Boxing Day instead of on Christmas itself.

"I'm gonna go shower," Harry said, starting to sit up.

"Harry, stop," Snape said uncomfortably. "I'm doing this for your own good. As your doctor, so to speak. A scientist."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, though he didn't try to get up again, not when he was still wrapped in Snape's arms.

"But," Snape continued, "as your—family, I believe you called me—I am sorry. Truly."

Had he said that? Merlin. No more relaxation potion, not ever. "Right," Harry said, trying to hide his embarrassment and sulkiness. It occurred to him that couldn't have been easy for Snape to say, but he thought acknowledging it would only make things worse. "Do you want help brewing?"

"Prepare the bezoar stones," Snape replied. "And aconite."

Harry closed his eyes. Of course. "Are you sure I can't brew anything?"

"I will teach you when the potion is complete," Snape said. "For now I need only the ingredients."

This day was just going brilliantly. But not doing anything wouldn't make the testing process go any faster, so he took a quick shower and joined Snape in the potions lab. He couldn't even use his new knives, not when he needed the jackhammer for the bezoar stones. They worked diligently through breakfast, taking a break for lunch before returning to brewing.

Harry was doing a very bad job of focusing on his work, and Snape tossed his first three attempts, claiming they were too mangled and would ruin the entire potion were they to be added. It was a tribute to Harry's distraction that he wasn't upset with Snape, merely started on a new batch. His thoughts were swirling, switching from anger and frustration at not being able to retest immediately versus slowly running over what they had said the night before, and how exactly that impacted their relationship. Clearly Snape wasn't going to go any easier on him, not that Harry expected him to. But maybe—maybe he did have someone. More than maybe, in fact. It was just a question of how much Snape was willing to admit to when he wasn't under the effects of a relaxation potion, when it wasn't a holiday, when it wasn't the middle of the night.

The answer, unsurprisingly, was not much. He might have been slightly kinder to Harry, and it was possible he used his given name more often, but that was about it. As promised, the new potion was ready to test on New Year's Eve, and it was anticlimactic. Harry didn't change that night, which meant nothing. They spent quite some time trying to get Harry to change to no avail.

What happened that night was so surprisingly sweet Harry was half-convinced he hallucinated it. He and Snape were in the basement, sort of counting down to the New Year and sort of just not doing anything. Harry and Snape were sharing a couch—that was one of the few things that had changed—and the Tempus charm that was hovering above the fireplace slowly counted down the minutes. Harry's eyes were closed and he was dozing lightly and Snape was engrossed in Moste Potente Potions when the charm started ticking down to midnight. Harry opened his eyes, watching the numbers. Snape marked his place and closed his book. When the charm reached zero it let out a trumpet noise and burst into confetti.

"Happy New Year," Harry said. He slipped into Parseltongue. "Change, goddammit!" Nothing happened.

"Happy New Year," Snape echoed. "Stop ordering yourself around. We have performed enough tests tonight."

Harry sighed bitterly. "Yeah, fine."

Snape shuffled over and, nearly giving him a heart attack, gave him a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Happy New Year, all right?" he said. "Let it go."

Harry stared, dumbfounded, at whatever happened to be in front of him—the other couch, in this instance. "Okay," he said.