December 23:

The shadows in the house feel heavier and it is, for once, blissfully quiet. There are no children running on the floor, which means no sounds of sweaty feet slapping the wood. When the children do make appearances, it is never for long and they are not loud. Even the typically abusive painting in the hall is dead silent.

Severus runs his index finger over the spine of a text before pulling it down. Though he has always… had always… been welcome in the Black residence, there is no harm in checking for curses. It would be just like Black to leave the curses on the more interesting books that only Severus is likely to go looking at. He flips it open and is assaulted by a cloud of dust. His face messes up as he tries to hold in the sneeze, but alas it refuses to be swallowed down. In one swift motion, he lifts the book above his head and sneezes toward the floor loudly three times. As a man, his sneezes are just as loud as his father's had been and no less annoying. Certain the attack is over, he returns his gaze to the book.

He's had access to this book only once before—the summer of 1975, when he visited the Blacks for a weekend-long Death Eater retreat. That weekend served as his formal introduction to the Dark Lord. He hadn't expected to gain favor, but it had not been difficult. The Dark Lord studied obscure magical theory and potions with the same fervor as Severus. Many a night they'd spent arguing over little things like how precisely ingredients must be diced in order for a potion to reach maximum potency. Such a shame the Dark Lord had not used his brilliant mind for academia.

Even the title and author's name are in bastardized Latin, making it impossible to translate. Veneficus ius. Vetus sedes anguis.Poisonous Soup, Old House Snake. Literally. Believing it might translate to Potions by Salazar Slytherin is most certainly wishful thinking, but if there's any chance then he is bound by Slytherin honor to investigate it. He tucks the book under his arm and takes one last look at the old library before making his way down to the dining room.

Severus is the last to take his seat, as he likes it. Potter is in-between Black and Lupin, silent for once in his god-damn life. Even the two Marauders have the decency to refrain from their usual foolishness while Weasley is hospitalized. He holds the book on his lap and strokes his thumb over the cover. Potter is almost perfectly still, though no one seems to notice. He seems meek, until he glares up at Severus, his eyes filled with fire.

The sound of the floo catches the others' attention, but Severus continues to stare Potter down. It is astounding that none of the others ever see the temper and disrespect Potter gives him so willingly. What he wouldn't give to ground the child, or hex him. Yes, he would ground the brat, hex him numb and feed him a steady diet of tripe and brussel sprouts, perhaps he'd even test out some nasty potions on him. He hears Albus enter, but waits for Potter to look away first.

Albus stares blankly at the table for a moment before looking up with an impressive fake grin. "Arthur is recovering well. The poison was halted successfully, without Severus' intervention. We are all lucky you were able to get help to Arthur, Harry." He stops for a moment to let those so inclined whisper to Potter what an incredible job he's done and Severus gags just loud enough to draw another glare from Potter. More heads turn toward him and feels obligated to say something.

"Bravo," Severus hisses with just a tad more contempt than planned.

"Bravo indeed," Albus says before the fighting can begin. "However, it is concerning that the vision occurred." He turns his head to Severus and narrows his eyes, as if studying something fascinating. "Has there been any indication that Voldemort's…" Severus digs his nails into his palm to cut the burning pain in his arm. "…mental defenses are failing?"

Severus slowly releases his fist and raises a single eyebrow. "I have seen no evidence that his legilimency is weaker. He does not cast the cruciatus beforehand. Were he struggling, that, I imagine, would be the first sign."

Moody growls and stomps his fake leg. "Ach! Not such a great mind-reader if yer still tricking him, is he?"

"Mind-reader?" Potter asks—the only show of interest he's given—as he puts his elbows on the table and leans forward.

"A gross over-simplification," Severus explains before anyone else can speak. "Legilimency requires eye-contact and can be warded off…."

Potter frowns, obviously not listening, and continues on. "If he focuses on me he can speak to me, or make me talk his words, or do what he wants?" he asks, his voice getting higher with each word.

Severus growls to cut the boy off. "We're talking about Lord Voldemort…." He grips the seam of his trousers to stop his arm from noticeably twitching. "Not Professor X, you twit."

Potter's eyes go wide for a moment before he furrows his brow. "But if this has to do with me and seeing Mister Weasley then… I don't know. I need a… a Magneto hat. But he's not controlling me! I see into his mind."

"A Magneto hat," Severus repeats slowly. "You are beyond idiotic."

"Enough," Albus says with frustration. He gives Severus' eye the look he gives when Severus is acting a bit juvenile before turning the same gaze in Potter's direction. "As much as I would like to hear about this 'magnetic hat' another time, Harry, there is a point to this meeting." Potter returns to looking like an innocent boy and looks at his hands as he sits. A well-practiced show of submission. "Professor Snape uses a mind-magic called occlumency to prevent Voldemort from successfully using legilimency on him. You must also learn."

Potter perks up at that. "You'll teach me then?" he asks with far too much hope for Severus' liking. "Over break? You can stay here with us, I guess."

Albus raises a hand to cut Potter off and redirects his gaze to the table. He's shared his concerns with Severus regarding a mental link between Potter and the Dark Lord, but he never expected the man to ignore Potter so directly. "I do not have the time, Harry, and quite frankly I lack the expertise. Professor Snape is the best man for the job." He pauses, clearly anticipating the backlash.

"Not the best man for any job," Black taunts with a pompous smile. Now that he's been cleaned and de-wormed, the dog almost passes for a proper Black—at least as far as physical looks go.

Severus holds off on responding for a long moment. If he plays this right, it could be rather enjoyable. "If you expect me to give up my holiday to stay here…." He punctuates the last word. There is no reason not to make this as painful as possible for the old man.

Albus nods once. "You've grown predictable with age," he says with a small laugh. "Harry will train at yours. Will you be returning home, then?"

Severus does not bother to withhold his smirk. Yes, Potter can stay at his home for the holidays, in a structured environment. "Indeed. My humble abode must be upkept, after all." At the mere mention of cleaning, Potter's face sours and the glare is back. "Discipline is vital to occlumency."

Black snarls like the rabid dog he is and jumps to his feet, ready to attack. "Harry is an heir not a house elf! You will not treat him beneath his station."

"Pity, prince Potter can't manage a few chores in exchange for the vital, possibly life-saving instruction I am willing to provide."

"He will not do…"

Albus mutters but it is not until the stinging spells hit that either of them pay him mind. Black yelps and draws his wand, slow to realize who the spell came from. He lowers it slowly and shifts his weight around like a child trying to fidget the pain away. Severus is far more stoic and refuses to acknowledge the pain. He is not a child now, if he ever was. "Are the two of you finished?" Albus asks.

Severus gives a single nod while Black growls. Surely the whole debacle will be blamed on Severus, but nobody will speak until Albus has fled. "Harry will spend his weekends here," Albus continues. "Monday morning through Friday evening, you will stay with Professor Snape," he says, looking in Potter's general direction. "Will you do that for me, Harry?"

Potter does not gulp or flinch, instead he tenses the muscles in his throat and arms. It's subtle and defensive. "Monday morning through Friday evening. I'll go pack." He stands, still maintaining his defensive stance, and walks off like he's fighting the urge to run.

A tea set appears, as if a hot beverage is going to calm anyone. To Severus' surprise, it's Molly that speaks. "It's Christmas, Albus," she says with typical motherly concern. "Let Harry stay here."

"Dark Lord doesn't care about Christmas," Severus whispers in between sips.

The wolf's ears twitch and Lupin focuses on him. "It can't possibly be that serious," he snarls. The man looks disheveled and quite frankly homeless, despite living at the Black residence. Or perhaps it is because of living with Black. "Harry can start after Christmas."

Severus raises a single eyebrow and takes a long sip of his tea. Albus appears to be considering the idea, but Severus will shut it down as soon as Potter is within ear shot. "I am afraid it is that serious," Albus says. "I cannot estimate the power Voldemort might have over Harry's mind."

"It's Christmas," Black pleads. He smiles innocently, the same way Potter does when he wants something. "He should be with family."

"He should be safe!" Severus retorts before thinking better of it. "Funny how you think you know what constitutes as serious when you've been hiding away in your mum's house. Some of us risk our lives on a regular basis, you know." His lips curl over his teeth and he glares. He could kill this man, would kill this man, over far less than he takes points for. Albus' gaze is back on him and he struggles to reign his temper in. The sound of Potter in the hallway behind them stops whatever reprimand is coming and Severus stands. He keeps his gaze on Black and straightens his robes while Potter enters.

Albus nods in Potter's direction while the charmed kettle pours him a fresh cup. "I know this is not ideal, Harry, but I appreciate your maturity."

Potter bites down on his lip like he's holding back and his neck muscles tense again. The boy is furious, and a furious Potter is never reasonable. "Yes sir," he says as if pained, "Happy Christmas." Instead of continuing a tantrum, Potter storms out in the direction of the front door.

Black gapes after him and Severus quickly snaps out of his shock. "Potter," he calls as he hurries after the boy, overwhelmed by the fear that the idiot might have stormed out of the wards. His worry over the boy's recklessness fades slightly when he finds Potter leaning against the wall, bag at his feet. "Potter?"

The boy stares up at him with red cheeks and pushes off the wall dramatically. "Are we apparating?" he asks as he slings the bag over his shoulder.

"Indeed." Severus opens the door and walks onto the front step. He keeps his gaze back, wanting to see Potter longingly stare in the direction of his mutt. Potter doesn't. Instead, he ducks his head and follows obediently.

"Well?" Potter snaps. The fire is back in his eyes as he stares up.

Severus nods once. It is rude, to study the boy so fervently, he knows. That hardly stops him. As he reaches his stained fingers toward Potter's shoulder, the boy tightens his neck muscles again and flares his nostrils. Thinking about Potter restraining a flinch only returns Severus to memories of his step-father beating him and the ability not to move that came from it. He grips Potter's shoulder with more force than he should and apparates without another word.

He grips Potter's shoulder with even more force when they arrive to keep himself upright. Crossing any body of water is difficult, much less going the distance he has, but if he is going to host Potter, he'll do it at the home he pleases. Potter's eyes go wide as he pushes against Severus' grip and he manages not to vomit. Once he catches his breath, Severus shoves him aside and starts up the walk.

There's quite a bit of open field between his house and the neighbors', far more than at his house on Spinner's End. Taking Potter to his mother's old house would be an outrageous risk to security. Besides, there isn't anything for a boy to do there other than drink and copulate –neither of which Potter ought to be doing. Here in Barbhas, alternatively, Potter can frolic in the snow without fear and Severus can brew without interruption.

Severus rubs his hands together before fumbling in his pocket for the key. He isn't dressed for the weather yet and Potter certainly isn't. As he enters the house, Potter is at his heels.

"It's cold," Potter mutters as he rubs his hands and glances around the sitting room. There's an old telly in the corner and a few old reclining chairs; there are books stacked everywhere and maps scattered about. In the room to the left, if it is even large enough to be called a room, a few coats hang from the walls and the supply of peat for the winter sits in stacks.

"Indeed," Severus hisses as he moves around Potter and picks up a peat log. He walks to the heater and light things up quickly. It will take some time for the heater to put out enough for them to feel warm, but the smell from the peat comes immediately. This is the smell of home.

They pass through a small dining room containing a cupboard of cutlery and dinnerware and a 4-person table. Potter doesn't give it a second look. In the kitchen, Severus stops for a moment and sets the kettle on. He's got a few cauldrons on the counters and various vials sitting around. Potter rubs at his nose as he pulls open the fridge and inspects its contents.

"Come along, Potter," Severus calls. Potter shrugs and lets the door slam shut. A scowl flitters across Severus' features, but he swallows his rebuttal. The brat is not going to get a reaction yet. He leads the boy upstairs and tries to ignore the sound of dragging feet.

His bedroom is first on the left, the room above the heater. He waves his hand in its direction. "My room, stay out." There's a non-committal sound from Potter, but no real reply. He steps into the next room and sighs loudly. His office is packed with papers and research proposals and books that will have to go somewhere other than the floor if Potter is to have a spot to sleep and the desk is already clamored with term papers that need grading.

Potter huffs and stomps down the small hall, clearly looking for his room. The door to the loo creaks as he opens it and Severus briefly wonders if Potter will throw a tantrum over there not being another room. He waves his wand and the mess flies into a bottomless box next to the desk.

Potter slumps against the door jam and drops the bag at his feet. "Can I at least get a blanket and pillow?" he asks with the same look he gave Dumbledore when they left. It's some combination of disgust and resignation Severus cannot quite put a name to.

Severus considers him as he takes a pencil off the desk. He twirls it in his fingers for a minute before tossing it to the ground and muttering a quick spell. By the time it lands, it is a twin mattress. Potter looks surprised, as if he actually thought Severus might make him sleep on the floor, but the look fades to indifference quickly. It is not an emotional range Severus has ever seen in the boy.

"Wait here," Severus orders as he passes the boy. He runs down the stairs to get his temperature up and fetches the spare bed-set from the cabinet. The peat smell is full strength now and he feels all the warmer for it. When he returns upstairs, Potter is in the same position as when he left, but his body is rigid. "Potter."

He turns quickly and his nostrils flare as he takes the items from Severus. "Thank you, sir," he says quietly.

Severus gives a single nod and watches for a moment as Potter starts making the bed before entering his room. He's kept his old clothes from the summers and Christmas holidays he spent on the island along with most of his old books in his school trunk, which is still stationed at the foot of his bed. It feels juvenile now that there's a teenager in the house. He does a quick mental check of everything in the trunk before moving it into Potter's room. There's nothing in there that Potter won't benefit from.

He sets it down at the foot of Potter's mattress with a thump and focuses on the bed –the sheets are pulled perfectly over the corners and he imagines he could bounce a coin off it. Potter and perfection are not words that go together in any context.

"These," he says once he manages to tear his attention away from the bed, "are my things from my school years. You'll find wool and flannel clothing that should fit you and is more appropriate for the weather."

Potter looks down at it with a glare of suspicion. "Thanks."

Severus exhales slowly as he returns to the kitchen to check on his brews. He's not prepared for this side of Potter –the boy is practically melancholic and… tame, like he might be hit at any moment. It is far too like Severus' own youthful demeanor for his liking.