25 December, 1997

Mellowed from the several snifters of brandy he had consumed, Snape's brow furrowed as yet another gift floated over to him. He had already received a lovely set of scales for measuring the smallest of ingredients from Flitwick, a wonderful collection of freshly harvested plants from Pomona, a thick woollen scarf in the Hogwarts tartan from Minerva, a first edition collection of the poems of Edgar Allen Poe from Albus and the inevitable box of Honeydukes from the rest of the staff. No one else of his acquaintance would have given him a Knut. The Death Eaters were not known for being a particularly social group. "Who is it from?" he asked as his curiosity got the better of him.

"I have no idea," admitted Dumbledore. "But it doesn't appear cursed. There are no signs of Dark magic that I can find. Indeed, I find nothing magical about it at all. It seems to be as it appears: a gift."

With a scowl, Snape sat down in one of the wingchairs dotting Albus' office and as far from the gaily decorated Christmas tree as he could manage. A fairy fluttered down towards his plate of biscuits and tarts, all twinkly and sparkly. He swatted at it with his napkin.

"Severus, it's Christmas," said the headmaster in a tone of mild rebuke. "A day for merriment and rejoicing."

"So, naturally, a celebration of such magnitude is held in the dead of winter because nothing says 'good cheer' like a blizzard," said Snape in mocking tones. "If that is indeed the case, Headmaster, perhaps we should relocate the staff party to the edge of the Black Lake so the merpeople and Giant Squid won't feel slighted."

Ignoring Snape, Minerva, Pomona and Filius all gathered around the small box sitting innocuously on the small side table, poking and waving their wands over it. Not even the decoration provided any clues. It was wrapped in glittering gold paper with a tiny sprig of mistletoe tucked under the shiny gold ribbon. Finally satisfied it posed no danger, Snape rose from his chair and picked it up, held it to his ear and shook it as he listened carefully.

The tiny package provided no hints.

Pocketing the mistletoe—it could be used in several different potions—he carefully slit through the ribbon and with a surprisingly soft touch, unwrapped the package. A green velvet box sat in the centre of the wrappings, giving no hint of its origins or its sender. Frowning, he opened the box, peering inside as he did so. When the cover was lifted, his dark eyes widened as he set the box on the table and took a step back.

"Why Severus, these are beautiful," breathed Minerva as Pomona oohed and ahhed right alongside her.

"Oh my," exclaimed Filius. "Why, it's for your Mastery. Haven't you a set of your own, Severus?"

Snape shook his head. Either cufflinks or a broach were traditional gifts from Master to Apprentice once the Apprentice passed his or her qualifying exams. Since Snape's Master had been executed by Voldemort a few weeks prior to Snape sitting his examinations that particular tradition was left unfulfilled. As were so many other milestones of Snape's life unnoticed or unremarked upon; this was but another in a long list.

Worked in gold and platinum and set with the dust of several precious stones, only qualified Potions Masters were permitted to wear the crossed wands over a steaming cauldron sitting in a colourful magical fire. The three stars over the wands indicated that Snape had passed his examinations with highest honours.

"Did you have anything to do with this, Albus? If so, I thank you, though regretfully, I must decline such a handsome gift." Snape's disappointment was as genuine as his reluctance to forgo such a welcome gift. "It would be most inappropriate."

Dumbledore shook his head. "As much as I wish I had thought of it, I promise you I had nothing to do with this, Severus. I am as perplexed as you." He picked up the box and smiled at the contents. "Accept it with a clear conscience. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to send this to you."

Minerva poured herself another dram of Firewhisky as she asked, "Whatever do you mean, Albus?"

"Simply that this was not amongst the pressies set aside for tonight," said Albus. "Nor did I notice anyone set it down on the table. It simply appeared at the proper moment."

Shooting the box a suspicious glance as he closed the lid, Snape said, "This does not bode well, Albus."

"Sybill's water glass indicated you would have a happy Christmas this year, Severus. You're not afraid that her prediction will come true, are you?" asked Pomona with a chuckle. "She should request a pay raise if it does. After all, Hogwarts could use a Divination instructor who is adept at seeing the future."

Albus and Snape exchanged a quick glance that spoke volumes.

Over the course of the next week and a half gifts appeared daily, either in Snape's quarters or at his place during meals, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not discover the source of these presents. He ruled out his Slytherins almost as soon as the second gift materialised at his elbow during lunch on Boxing Day. No pureblood would think to enchant a miniature piano to play a sonata composed by a Muggle, no matter how soothing the music.

"Have you been in contact with Remus lately, Severus?" asked Dumbledore as the music drew to a close. "Given the selection, it could be from him."

Sneering at the gift even as he closed and reopened the lid of the piano so it would play again, Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Rather a preposterous proposition, Headmaster." Still, the idea had merit given that he'd been brewing the Wolfsbane potion for Lupin for years with little more than his sanity to show for it. The little piano made its way around the table where Filius and Minerva speculated about who might have sent it.

As he had brewing to do for the infirmary, Snape spent the next three days down in the dungeons working in his private laboratory. At some point during each day a brightly wrapped gift mysteriously appeared in his quarters, once on the bookcase, once on the small table near the fire, and once set in the middle of his bed.

By the time the students returned to Hogwarts, Snape had received the following gifts: an airtight box carved of malachite with the Prince crest etched into the lid, an amazingly soft flannel nightshirt in black forest green, a heavy black cloak with the Potions Master's emblem woven into the fabric across the back, a charmed phial of basilisk venom, an enormous jar of crushed dragon eggshells, a braid of Veela, unicorn and thestral hair as long as his arm, a petal from an incredibly rare (and amazingly malodourous) Corpse Flower, a crystal knife with a diamond edge that would never get dull, and a pair of very fine, lined dragonhide gloves.

"And you've still not discovered the identity of the sender?" Minerva asked as she poured herself several fingers of Firewhisky. The staff meeting the night before the term started somehow always managed to turn into a bit of a drunken affair, a bit of a farewell to the slight whiff of freedom the holidays afforded them.

Idly running his fingers through the dense fur lining of his magnificent cloak, Snape nodded his head before looking quizzically at Minerva. "No? Yes? I am no closer to discovering who has seen fit to send me such bounty than I was at Christmas day, but as none of us have found so much as a Featherweight Charm set upon any of the gifts, they appear not to pose any danger. Indeed, several of them are quite rare and nearly beyond price."

"Don't forget the Stasis Charm, Severus," sang out Pomona with a tipsy hiccough. "Or the stench from the Corpse Flower would have cleared out the castle." To put it kindly, the petal stank to high heaven; it was wretched enough that even the portraits would have gagged.

"Do you suppose it is a student, Severus?" asked Filius, eyeing the dragonhide gloves with undisguised interest. Charming gloves to fit his small hands was always an undertaking, but these appeared malleable enough to take the enchantments well. He didn't mind admitting he coveted them very much. "One of your Slytherins, perhaps?"

"It is not a Slytherin. Of that much I'm certain." If Snape had had any doubts after receiving the miniature grand piano, something he listened to every evening, they had been erased when he unwrapped the warm flannel nightshirt. It was far too prosaic a gift to come from any member of his House. It was much easier to believe a Hufflepuff had sent it, but he couldn't think of a single member of that House who would do such a thing. The only thing he knew for certain was the sender knew him very, very well, a thought that was all too disconcerting.

"I'll put a Galleon on it being a member of the Order," Minerva whispered to Albus as the headmaster buttered a scone. "Hestia Jones or that Tonks woman."

"I would think Tonks would know better than to set her sights on Severus," remarked Albus. "Kingsley is far better suited to him, both intellectually and temperamentally. As is Harry."

Minerva drew back, a look of horror on her face. "Harry? Potter?" She snorted in displeasure. "They'd kill each other inside of a week."

"Until last year I would have agreed with you," replied Albus as he watched Filius and Severus debate the identity of Snape's secret Father Christmas. Last year, when so many things went wrong, but the Order had prevailed in the end, turning a near rout into something much closer to a draw. The true loss had been when Snape had chosen to save Harry from certain capture and in doing so revealed himself as Dumbledore's spy. "Since they've started training together, though, they've managed to keep the need for mediation down to once or twice a month. On the whole, they work rather well as a team."

Sinking into a comfortable chair, a plate of fresh shortbread at hand, Minerva settled in next to Albus and exchanged gossip with the rest of the staff. She would wager her pension that Snape's benefactor was not a current resident of Hogwarts. The gifts were far too worldly for even one of the Seventh Years, but not beyond Kingsley Shacklebolt. "I'll wager my next pay packet that it's Kingsley. Gryffindors do not hide behind secrecy, and Harry Potter is as Gryffindor as they come."

Snape scowled as Minerva's words reached his ears. "If it's Potter, I'll cover your losses myself." Still, the thought niggled, an instinct calling to him that could not be ignored. Since the school year had begun, he and Harry had found reasons beyond the boy's lessons to seek each other out and Snape shifted uneasily as he realised how empty the past two weeks had been without Harry's company.

The twelfth gift appeared halfway through his NEWT Potions class, but Snape was prepared for such an eventuality. During the night he had given much thought to the nature of the bounty he had been given. Rare potions ingredients were one thing, but no one knew he fancied Beethoven, he had told no one of his fondness for malachite carvings, had never confided to anyone his secret desire for a cloak as fine as any Malfoy would wear.

Somehow, though, someone had discovered the innermost secrets of his heart and delivered to him things he had long coveted. It was not a member of the Order. The few he'd contacted to convey his thanks in person were greatly bemused by Snape's dilemma and could offer no clues to the identity of his secret admirer. Albus passionately denied any knowledge, and for once Snape believed him.

Improbable as it seemed, that left a student, but only a handful had both the wealth and connections to obtain items as rare and wondrous as he'd received. Parkinson was wealthy enough, but her interests went no further than Draco Malfoy. The Malfoys had nothing to gain; nor did the Greengrasses. The Crabbes, Flints, and Goyles were too insignificant and too poor to afford all but the most meagre of gifts, not that they'd be inclined to give any. Outside of Slytherin House Susan Bones had the Ministry connections necessary to procure the Corpse Flower and the dragon eggshells, but was too timid by far to embark in such an outlandish display of...what? Affection? The thought was inconceivable.

That left Harry Potter and whilst Snape would admit that the whelp wasn't as insolent as he'd initially believed and wasn't as impudent as he once had been, he was still Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One and beloved by the entire bloody country. The idea was beyond preposterous, but it was all he had left, so he'd come up with a plan to confirm his suspicions.

The golden box appeared whilst Snape was wandering through the classroom, ensuring that the potions being brewed had reached the proper stage in their preparation. Satisfied that no disasters were looming, he had turned back to his desk only to be greeted by another infernal gift which he steadfastly ignored.

When he didn't bother to unwrap it, the students slowly turned their attention back to their brewing and class proceeded much as it usually did. "By this point, your potion should be an icy blue with the consistency of thick syrup. Bottle and label your work and bring it up to be graded." He glanced around the class to see that all eyes were on him. He waved his wand over the box and spoke a single word. "Confringo." The box exploded into smithereens.

Most of the students gasped. Potter went white. Seconds later, Hermione grabbed his arm and whispered frantically. Snape watched as Potter nodded mechanically and began to fill a phial with the potion he'd brewed. Green eyes searched his face as Potter brought up his sample, but Snape said nothing, merely tracked Potter's movements with inscrutable black eyes.

Potter was not at dinner that night and as he walked through the Great Hall, Snape heard snatches of conversation as he made his way up to the Head Table. Most of the castle had heard about the exploded present and judging from the hard looks he was receiving, few approved of his manner in dealing with it.

The students weren't the only ones engaged in discussion about his latest present, but Snape shrugged off all attempts to draw him into conversation about it. "It is done," he snapped finally. "Perhaps you should discuss something more important, such as the weather." Slytherin were playing Hufflepuff in Quidditch on Saturday and a storm was predicted.

Keeping half an eye on the Gryffindor table, Snape rose a few seconds after Harry's friends finished eating. "Ms Granger, a word if you please," he said coldly, stopping Hermione just before she left the Hall.

Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes for a moment, Hermione squared her shoulders before turning around. "Yes, Professor?"

"Mr Potter failed to grace us with his presence this evening," he said, "and I require a word with him. Where might I find him?"

A moment's indecision flashed in her dark eyes before she deflated a little. "Were I to search for him, I'd start with the owlery, and since it's likely he has his Cloak with him, I'd probably check for warming charms whilst I was there."

With a curt thank you, Snape turned on his heel and started the long climb to owlery, wondering to whom Potter would be writing. The werewolf, he supposed. Doubt began to niggle at his mind as he headed up the spiral stairs to the topmost tower and he wondered if he might have been wrong to suspect Potter. But no, the students had been surprised, shocked even. But Potter had been devastated. He'd watched the blood drain from the boy's face with his own eyes.

The owlery appeared empty and Snape grimaced as the carcasses of mice and voles crunched under his booted feet as he walked slowly around the open aired room. It appeared empty but as he started to head back down the stairs, he remembered Granger's comment about warming charms. It wasn't cold enough in there by half and he turned back and stood in the centre of the room, listening keenly.

The owls hooted, chirruped and cooed softly as he pulled from inside his robes a square box, roughly four inches in each direction and began to peel apart the wrapping.

"You destroyed it," a rough voice said from the edge of the room farthest from the door. "I saw you do it." Harry's head appeared as he pushed the hood of his Invisibility Cloak back, revealing red-rimmed eyes set in a pale face.

"Geminio charm," Snape replied softly. "I destroyed its clone, not the gift itself." He stepped back towards the door and leant against the jamb, propping his foot against the wall and using his thigh as a table. With some difficulty, he was able to remove yet another box from inside the package.

It was made of fine grained wood, polished to a high degree. On the lid was a replica of Hogwarts castle as seen from across the lake. On an outcropping of rock stood a tiny figure in black, robes billowing in the breeze and Snape recognised it as an image of himself. He opened the box and a soft strain of music filled the night.

Snape listened intently as sweet strings played an enchanting melody to the gentle accompaniment of a celeste. It was a song of innocence, the first stirrings of love given voice. "I cannot name this," he said with a slight frown as he closed the hinged lid.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think it has a name. It was..." His voice disappeared into a whispered mumble.

When Snape stood waiting, Harry swallowed and spoke again. "It was written for you. I've not given it a name. I found someone who writes music and told her what I wanted. She wrote this instead." Harry shook his head. "It didn't sound anything like you, but there wasn't time to have her write a new charm for the box."

"So, this is from you," said Snape, wondering why his voice sounded so peculiar, almost as if his heart was lodged in it. "And the rest as well?"

Harry nodded mutely, his eyes enormous in his pale face.

Snape stared at the boy, incredulous. "Why?" he asked after what felt like hours had passed.

Harry turned away to gaze out of one of the arches. "Look inside the box," he replied stiffly.

Opening the lid and smiling inwardly as the tender melody began playing again, Snape peered inside and discovered a thick square of folded parchment. He walked across the owlery and handed the box to Harry before unfolding the parchment. With a puzzled glance he unfolded the document and began to read.

Stunned into speechlessness, Snape skimmed through the lengthy document twice before looking at Harry. "You wish to court me? To enter into a formal courtship contract and bond with me?" He took a step closer. "Have you lost what little remains of your mind?"

Offering a small smile, Harry nodded. "Probably. Since the attack on the castle last year, we've spent part of nearly every day together, sometimes for hours on end whilst you've struggled to teach me what I need to know to destroy the Dark Lord. You've listened to me when no one else would, you've guided me, protected me, cared for me, pushed me harder than anyone ever has, but more than that, you've always, alwaysbeen honest with me. Is it such a surprise that I've fallen in love with you?"

"Why the gifts? Why the secrecy? You could have sent this," Snape gestured with the parchment still in hand, "with Hedwig or waited until our lesson tonight and given it to me then."

Harry shrugged. "I wanted to do something for myself for once without having it announced in the Daily Prophet. If I'd gone through proper channels that," he pointed at the courtship proposal, "would have been filed with the Ministry and the entire wizarding world would have known about it before you did. And Hedwig is too well known.

"As for the gifts..." Harry's voice trailed off as he shifted. "I learnt a lot about you during all those Occlumency lessons last summer. More than you intended, I think." He rubbed his scar with his fingertips. "I kept remembering things I couldn't have known so I used what I'd found out. I have more Galleons than I can spend in a few lifetimes so I indulged myself."

"You thought to buy me?" Snape asked sharply, not relishing the thought of returning everything to Potter.

"Never that!" protested Harry. "Some things are beyond price. But that's why I didn't want you to know they were from me. I enjoyed myself immensely, finding and commissioning those things for you. I was going to give them to you over the hols, but Dumbledore sent me to Grimmauld Place and that put a crimp in my plans. Fortunately, the house elves have taken a liking to me. Rather embarrassing, that, but useful. Don't even consider trying to give them back," he added. "The presents, not the house-elves."

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it, electing to listen to the music from the charmed box instead. "Harry in the Key of Winter," he murmured. He regarded Harry through dark eyes that smouldered with inner fire. "It is best that the witch who enchanted the box composed the piece with you in mind." Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. "I would much rather be reminded of you upon hearing it, your charming stubbornness and your shockingly innocent smile, rather than listen to the dirge she would have no doubt composed for me."

Losing himself in the beauty of the music, Snape was startled when Hedwig flew down from the rafters to alight on his shoulder and nip him sharply on the ear. "Potter, your owl has gone mad," he growled as he tried to fend her off.

"Hedwig, stop that," ordered Harry, holding out his arm to invite her to fly to him. "He'll answer when he's good and ready. Right, sir?" he added anxiously, frowing as Hedwig clacked her beak at him. "You'll answer after you've thought about it?"

For a brief, shameful moment, Snape wasn't certain what Harry was talking about, but then he unfolded the contract and extracted his wand as Hedwig resumed her place nearer the roof. Placing the tip at the bottom, he said, "I, Severus Tobias Snape, accept the terms and conditions of this contract for courtship." With a blaze of magic, his signature appeared at the bottom.

"Really?" squeaked Harry, voice and body trembling.

To answer the question, Snape took three long steps forward, tilted Harry's face up and claimed the boy's lips in a searing kiss, tasting happiness for the first time in a very long time. "Harry in Winter. Beyond price indeed."

THE END