Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. Neither do Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Hermione Granger, or Ronald Weasley. In truth, none of the characters here belong to me, only the situation I put them in. JKR owns the world of Harry Potter. The late and missed Dr. Seuss owns the Grinch and his story.

A/N: This idea popped into my head when I was wondering when The Grinch Who Stole Christmas would be on this year, as it is one of my absolute favorite Christmas movies, and I do not own a copy of it. This is post OOTP, completely ignoring the existence of HBP. Ron/Hermione is the only pairing alluded to.

You're a Mean One, Mr. Snape

1

Legilimens!

He pushed against the intrusion into his mind, pushed hard. No matter how much he pushed, how hard he tried, Snape always managed to break through. Harry was no longer allowed his wand in these sessions. With his wand he could block, curse Snape to end his spell, and therefore completely avoid learning how to block his mind.

And he always broke.

Harry was three years old. He knew, because this was the memory of the first Christmas he could remember. He watched as his tiny toddler self climbed up on the step stool and cooked breakfast, being extra careful not to burn the bacon or make the eggs too dry. The toast would be the perfect shade of golden brown that morning.

He remembered having been so incredibly cautious for over a month, ever since he was told that Santa only brought presents for good boys. Harry had been determined to be a good boy.

Sixteen and realistic, Harry pitied his younger self. He knew what was about to happen and watched sadly as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon declared that he was a freak, and a freak could never be a good boy like Dudley, and would never get presents. They laughed, and even at three Harry refused to cry.

He retreated to his cupboard and sat in silence. He did not cry until he heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tell his cousin Dudley how much they loved him, how special he was.

At three, Harry stopped wishing for his parents to come back, knew they were gone forever.

Snape sneered at him, tower above him and calling him pathetic and weak. Harry's head was pounding.

"The Dark Lord will rip your mind apart!" Snape yelled at him.

It was Christmas Eve, and maybe that was why Snape was looking for Harry's Christmas memories. Neither of them should have been there, but Snape had insisted that Harry stay at Hogwarts over break and continue to work on Occlumency.

Naturally, Harry had told his friends to go home to their families. It had taken some convincing, but they had given in. After all, their world was at war. There was no telling when they might never see someone again. So Harry was alone in Gryffindor Tower for Christmas, but it was still a damn sight better than any Christmas before Hogwarts. Besides, the Weasleys were at Grimmauld Place that winter, and Harry couldn't, wouldn't go there.

Legilimens!

Harry wondered if Snape felt Harry's frustration at his inability to get this right. How could Snape not feel it? All Harry did was feel. He felt helpless and small, felt determined and desperate, and then he felt what Voldemort felt, felt the anger and pain and sick pleasure...

The Dursleys laughed at him, all of them. Harry thought maybe it had been Dudley's idea. Uncle Vernon had acted so surprised to find the large box under the tree with Harry's name on it – his first gift from Santa.

Harry had carefully, painstakingly, piled the packing peanuts at his side, careful not to let a single one stray. Aunt Petunia would be furious if any of them were left on her carpet.

And then, all the way at the bottom of the box, Harry had pulled out the hanger.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley were almost falling down with laughter.

"He thought Santa came for him!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed with glee.

Calmly, Harry just replaced the foam peanuts, knowing that there were no excuses, no explanations that could ever get him out of punishment if he did something wrong. He closed the box, all evidence of the unwrapping process gone, and stood with his hanger, headed for his cupboard.

A bony hand gripped his arm and his Aunt glared at him, "Aren't you going to thank your Uncle for your present?"

"Thank you Uncle Vernon," Harry said automatically, blinking at his Aunt in confusion...

Harry was furious. Snape had raped every miserable moment he could find out of Harry's mind, and yet still claimed Harry was a spoiled brat. Harry seethed inside. If Snivelous was so desperate to see into Harry Potter, then Harry was going to let him.

He gripped onto the intrusion and focused, pouring out every memory of every Christmas in his short life, even the foggy haze from when he was six years old and violently ill on Christmas, and punished for ruining Dudley's special day, no one taking care of him.

Harry thanked his Uncle for the sock full of holes, and once again spent the evening in his cupboard while the Dursleys enjoyed a family Christmas dinner. The smells were intoxicating, especially as Harry hadn't had more than a few pieces of burnt toast each day for a week leading up to Christmas. Aunt Petunia had been too busy preparing for the day, and making Harry clean every square centimeter of the house. That was two Christmases in a row, nearly identical in Harry's memories, the only difference being the toys that Dudley got...

He was eight years old when he sat at the top of the stairs, face pressed against the banister. Dudley was on the couch between his parents, the three of them cuddled together with a blanket over all their legs. A large bowl of popcorn sat on Dudley's lap and they had mugs of steaming hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

Harry watched the cartoon movie on the telly, squinting to make out the pictures as best as he could. The nurse at school said he needed glasses, but the Dursleys were waiting as long as they possibly could. The movie didn't make a lot of sense. There was a little dog pulling a sled, and the green man pretending he was Santa but really taking the toys away.

He didn't know why the Dursleys were watching the movie. They were nothing like the Whos in Whosville, who saw each other as more important than the presents. Harry would have given anything to live somewhere like that...

Aunt Marge visited for Christmas the year Harry was nine and Ripper chased Harry out into the snow. No one rescued him for hours and many years later Harry guessed that it was his magic that prevented him from a severe case of frostbite. They ate their Christmas ham, glazed of course, and potatoes and cranberries and bread, and so many sweets while Harry shivered outside...

Ten years old, Harry peeked out of his cupboard to see the carolers at the front door. He could see just a hint of the red of someone's coat. The singing wasn't perfect but it was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard, and if he closed his eyes he could imagine they were singing for him.

"How dare you!" Aunt Petunia hissed the instant they left. "They might have seen you!"

Uncle Vernon backhanded him and shut the cupboard door. Harry didn't the outside of his cupboard for days except for his brief allowances to go to the bathroom. He was getting too big for the cupboard and his legs cramped painfully when he was finally allowed outside...

Their first year at Hogwarts Ron woke Harry up on Christmas morning and Harry was startled to find there were presents for him. The small pile seemed like a king's ransom to him. There was one from Hermione, one from Ron, that one package with nothing to say who it was from, a gift from Hagrid, and a lumpy package from Mrs. Weasley. The Dursleys had sent a fifty pence piece, which Harry gladly gave to Ron...

In second year Harry, Ron, and Hermione brewed Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets casting a cloud over the holiday...

Harry's Firebolt was confiscated the Christmas of his third year, the first Christmas present that could even compare to the mountain of lavish gifts Dudley got every year. Dudley would never get a flying broomstick...

He was sick with nerves over the approaching Ball that was part of the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year. Harry did not know how to dance, did not want to dance, especially in front of the whole school, with all those judging eyes watching him. Besides, he didn't even get to go with the girl he had wanted...

Mr. Weasley was hurt when Harry was fifteen, and they saw Neville at St. Mungo's, but he was with Sirius and Sirius for once was happy. It was the only time Harry had actually seen him happy and he wanted to make it last forever...

Harry didn't know if he finally managed to push Snape out without his wand or if Snape left voluntarily, but he didn't care. He had never felt so violated before, like he had been stripped naked before his professor, and he felt ill. He put every ounce of hate and rage into his glare.

"I hope you're fucking pleased with yourself you sick, twisted bastard," Harry's voice was full of loathing. He did not yell. He was beyond angry.

Turning on his heel, Harry's robes swirled around him and he stalked out of Snape's office, snatching his wand off the table by the door on his way, refusing to give into his sickness. His pace did not change all the way to Gryffindor Tower. Once there he finally emptied his stomach, then took a very cleansing shower.

After all the times Snape had seen Dudley humiliate and torture Harry, after the smacks from Uncle Vernon he witnessed, and the ripping insults from Aunt Petunia, the swinging frying pan, how could he possibly be upset that Harry saw him dangling upside down by James Potter's wand? Hadn't Snape seen at least twenty memories equally as terrible, and more that were much worse?

It was Christmas, for Merlin's sake. Staring into the fire Harry resolved that he was through being angry with Snape. The man was pathetic, still punishing Harry for something his father had done before Harry was ever born, his father that he had never known beyond a memory called up by dementors.

Harry remembered what he been told time and again. Let go of his anger. Let it wash over him and through him and transform it into something more useful.

With a small smirk Harry went up the steps to the sixth year girls' dorm. He had found many ways to climb those stairs without them turning into a slide, and one was to cast a spell which made him walk six inches above the ground. He just had to hold it until he made it into Hermione's room, which was a tricky little piece of magic.

In her trunk was what he was looking for. She had discovered Harry's lack of a childhood and determined to repair some the damage the Dursleys had done, and thus movie night had started, along with her never-ending introduction of childhood games. It had drawn a huge crowd, purebloods who had never seen movies before and muggleborns who eagerly anticipated their favorites.

Hermione had found an owl-order business that specialized in adapting things from the muggle word for wizards, including movies. The house elves had provided popcorn and hot chocolate every Wednesday night that term and the Slytherins were the only ones to schedule quidditch practice on Wednesdays.

2

He needed a stiff shot of whiskey, or possibly two shots. Thinking on it, Severus left the bottle out on the table in front of his fire.

Albus had tried to tell him, oh how Albus had tried. There had been many lectures, all involving lemon drops and tea of course. Severus had always refused to listen, refused to believe that the son of James Potter could be anything other than a spoiled brat, arrogant and cruel just like his father, and refused to eat that sickeningly sweet candy.

No one could possibly have created those memories though, and the raw emotion that went along with them and sliced through Severus like a sharp knife, so he only felt the pain long after the wound was inflicted... and was still feeling it.

He still hated the brat. He comforted himself with thoughts of Harry Potter insulting his Slytherins, invading his privacy. Potter was no saint, as Albus claimed him to be. Severus remembered the mess in Albus's office after the mutt had been killed. Potter was brash and disrespectful enough that he would actually have a temper tantrum in the headmaster's office.

There was the popping sound of a house elf arriving and Severus immediately had his wand out. He had not called for an elf.

It was that elf that worshiped Potter of course, with a stack of knitted hats atop his head from the Granger chit. Had the brat gone running to the kitchens and cried on the elf's shoulder about the mean Professor?

The elf bowed though, and held out a crudely, hastily wrapped package, a Christmas present! No one got presents for Severus except for Albus, and that would show up in the morning, flashing brightly and invading his quarters with bright irritating colors.

"What," Severus hissed at the elf, "is this?"

The elf's round eyes somehow got even bigger and rounder, "Is a present sir, from Harry Potter sir. He says all you needs do is tap with your wand say 'Play' sir and 'Stop' to stop it Master Snape sir."

Most likely in fear, as Severus did his best to intimidate the elves as much as he did the Hufflepuffs, the elf dropped the small package on his lap and disappeared.

A present from Potter. Now Severus was truly confused. He tossed back a shot of whiskey, deciding that he did need to be drunk in order to open this. He scanned it for curses and hexes and even malicious potions, having no idea what the Weasley twins might give their brother's best friend.

It was completely free of magic aimed at the handler, but heavy with charms. They were not Potter's work though; they had a magical signature that Severus had never encountered before, but it did feel at all malicious. There was not even a charm used for wrapping, which explained the sloppy job.

Slowly, Severus pealed the paper back, and found a small rectangular case made of muggle plastic. That explained the charms anyway. They made this muggle object work despite the magic that permeated the very air in Hogwarts.

The gift was enough to bring out a little, bitter laugh. Here Severus was, a Death Eater, opening a gift of a muggle... something... from Golden Boy Potter. Severus could be killed just for this moment, so he might as well go on.

He opened the case and took out the flat disc with the hole in the middle, placed it on his table, and tapped it with his wand, "Play."

The colors were almost offensively bright – the kind of thing Albus would love. It was sickeningly sweet, also the kind of thing Albus would love, and Severus wondered for a moment if Potter had sent the gift to the wrong person.

Still, he was engrossed, enthralled. How did muggles do this without magic? Hell, Severus wasn't even sure how he would go about creating something like that with magic.

"Sentimental nonsensical drivel," Severus grumbled when it was finally over.

He inspected the plastic case then, and saw that a brief description of the story had been on the back. Taped to the back was also a scrap of parchment.

Happy Christmas Professor Snape

It was Potter's handwriting clearly, and Severus was stymied. The boy had left his office in a fury, and had then gone up to his Tower and sent him a present? It had sparked a memory though, and Severus closed his eyes tightly and searched his well-ordered mind.

There... he had it... a small Potter watching his relatives with clear hopeless longing as they watched the very same story that Severus had just seen. There had to be a hidden message in there somewhere, but Severus had absolutely no desire to spend his night analyzing what passed for Potter's mind.

Still... the brat had given him a Christmas present, the only one apart from Albus to do so in many long years. It would only be appropriate for Severus to give him something in return. He looked at his clock and saw that it was already Christmas.

Searching through his stores, Severus came upon a potion that the brat would doubtlessly love to get his grubby hands on, and would never in a million years be able to brew on his own. He cast a quick charm that wrapped the beaker in shining green paper.

As Severus went to sleep that night he cursed to himself. He would have to tell Albus that Potter had finally occluded his mind, and tell him how it had happened. All one had to do to get Potter to occlude was to work him into a fury. And Potter had not only occluded, he had help Severus captive in his mind and forced specific memories on him, only releasing him when he desired.

Severus cursed again. Albus was going to be angry with him.

He dreamed that night and saw Potter's pathetic face looking up at him from next to a gaudily decorated Christmas tree, all innocence and childlike, while Severus dangled gifts out of his reach and gloated.

Needless to say, he was not in the best of moods when he woke up. He opened the gift from Albus, the predictable socks and book, and tossed the blinking paper into the fire, watching with a pleased smirk as it burned.

As required by Albus he joined the staff and only three students in the castle for Christmas dinner in the great hall. Potter was already there, sitting at the far end of the table across from Hagrid, the two of them discussing something with Potter grinning widely.

"Happy Christmas Severus," Minerva smiled broadly at him, knowing how much it would irk him, and gestured to the only available seat, the one across from her and between Hagrid and a Hufflepuff third year, who looked positively horrified that Severus would be sitting next to her.

Albus clapped his hand and the Hufflepuff girl found her seat swapped with Filius, who had been on her other side. Severus just raised an eyebrow and sat down.

As he ate he half-listened to the conversation between Hagrid and Potter. They were discussing something to do with flying, and invisibility, when Severus felt the blood drain out his face. Scores of people were trying to kill Potter and that idiot half-giant was giving the boy Black's old motorcycle! He glared at Albus, and saw that there would be no interference from the headmaster.

Severus scowled at his plate and heard Potter singing quietly.

"You're a mean one, Mr. Snape..."

Hagrid was trying... and failing... to hide his amusement. Minerva was smirking. No one further down the table could hear Potter, but unfortunately they heard Severus's response.

"If your next words Potter, are that I am as cuddly as a troll –"

"Why Severus," Minerva interrupted him, her eyes lit up with internal laughter at his expense, "I never took you to be a connoisseur of Muggle culture."

That was simply taking things too far. Severus's legendary temper was reaching boiling, when the image of himself dressed in a Santa suit and denying a small, pathetic Potter of his Christmas presents flashed before his eyes.

Potter was either completely unaware that Severus was about to snap, or he just no longer cared. The boy's face took on a positively Slytherin expression and Severus considered that the headmaster may not have been lying about the sorting hat's difficulty in placing Potter. Severus had put that claim down to an attempt to get him to tolerate the brat.

"I wouldn't say that sir," Potter smirked, his eyes staring straight into Severus's. "You do smell a sight better than a troll, and it would be much easier to wrap one's arms around you. On the other hand, you would be far more likely to kill me for hugging you than a troll would... so maybe... yes, I would say it just about evens out."

There was a shocked silence in the hall. The Hufflepuff girl and her older Housemate were staring at Potter in pure worshipful awe. The staff was split between cautious observance of Severus and raised eyebrows towards Potter.

The boy had been mostly silent that year, only speaking when spoken to with a few exceptions. His friends and Hagrid had been among the very few that Potter would actually begin a conversation with. He no longer rose to the taunts of the Slytherins, and never offered information in classes.

Severus was among to very select group within the Order who knew that Potter was seeing a therapist. Molly Weasley had stormed Albus's office not long after Black had been killed and for once did not demand that Potter be released from his relatives and sent to her family. Rather, she had insisted that it was about time Potter had some professional help to cope with his losses, torture, Albus's manipulations, and his abysmal childhood. For the first time Severus was seeing the positive results of those sessions.

"I shall find you a troll then Potter," Severus replied icily, "if you are that much in need of a hug."

Potter just continued to smirk at him, his eyes almost challenging, until Hagrid broke the tension in the air and dragged Potter away from danger and out towards more danger in the form of a huge chunk of metal that had been charmed to fly at speeds faster than any broom.

Albus snickered a few seats away and Severus left the meal, trying his hardest to keep his dignity intact.

He did not see Potter again until late that night, when he found the boy standing on top of the tallest tower, catching the falling snowflakes on his tongue. Severus watched for a moment, wondering what the possible allure of such an activity could be.

"I used to watch Dudley and his friends do this," Potter said, startling him. He had not revealed his presence, and assumed that Potter thought he was still alone. "I was never allowed to play in the snow. I might have gotten sick and then I wouldn't be able cook."

"I hope you do think a mere muggle story could transform me into a kindly father figure," Severus sneered, still trying to figure out the puzzle that Potter had become.

The boy grinned at him, "Oh no sir, and it's a muggle story with a few twists. Some of it was altered for wizards." The boy caught another snowflake. "Anyway, I could never see you as a father, kind or otherwise. After all, to become a father would mean that you're human, and then I would lose my bet with Ron."

Severus stared at the boy. Where had the fury gone? Where was the rage?

"I just realized it's not worth it sir," Potter continued as if Severus had asked his questions out loud. He frowned. The last thing he needed was for Potter to develop some instinctual ability at Legilimency. "You hate me because of my father, and I hated you because you hated me because of my father." He shrugged. "What's the point? James Potter is dead. I never knew him, and it's not like you can hurt him by hurting me. So I decided not to let you hurt me anymore."

There were no words to respond to Potter's declaration. Severus was going to hate it when Albus brought this up, as he would no doubt hear about it from the gargoyle perched on the parapet. One of Severus's students was acting with greater maturity than Severus himself. The twinkle was going to be infuriating.

Potter hugged his cloak around his skinny torso and started towards the door. He passed where Severus was standing and smirked again, "Thank you for the potion sir. Hermione planned to brew it this summer. She'll be furious that I got hold of some before she had a go at it."

The boy hummed as he walked down the stairs, that damnable tune from the story he gave to Severus, and the adapted words went through his head.

You're a mean one, Mr. Snape

You really are a...

"Don't worry sir," Potter had turned and was grinning up at him, his green eyes alight with mischief, "I won't tell anyone your heart grew three sizes."

With a flash of cloak the boy bolted, as if expecting retaliation, and Severus realized he hadn't berated him for being out of bed. He hadn't taken a single point or assigned detention.

"Happy Christmas Severus," Albus stepped out of the shadows from behind Severus, no doubt having come out to watch over his Golden Boy. His blue eyes were twinkling brighter than ever.

Severus cursed loudly as he stormed down to his dungeons, cursing Gryffindors in general and Potter specifically.

3

One Year Later

Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord near the end of his first term in his seventh year at Hogwarts. The fight had been long and exhausting and painful, and Harry would not have survived without help from the Order, and their spy in particular.

Once Harry had finally occluded his mind the previous winter his lessons with Snape had changed into more offensive material, still with practice in both Occlumency and Legilimency thrown in. He taught Harry how to fight, not duel on a stage for judges, but fight, dirty and sneaky and most of all, lethally.

There existed some sort of unspoken truce between them. They snapped back and forth and could be downright cruel to each other in public, but it was always with a playful challenge in their eyes that almost no one saw.

Harry was still covered in bandages nearly from head to toe when he, along with his friends, persuaded Poppy Pomfrey to let him leave the hospital wing for movie night if he promised to be back when the movie was over.

"What happened to my other copy?" Hermione asked him, her arm linked through one of his.

Harry just smiled at her, but refused to answer. He was not about to lie to his friends ever again, but that didn't mean he was going to answer her question.

Ron was on his other side, his arm around Harry's waist. Ron and Hermione were a couple, finally, but always made time for Harry. He was grateful for their friendship, grateful for their understanding, and at that particular moment grateful for their help. Despite his pleading with Pomfrey, Harry doubted he would have made it to the Room of Requirement without their assistance.

"You can just tell her you broke it mate," Ron urged Harry. "It's not like she'll get mad at you. I break stuff all the time."

Harry just laughed at his friends. He felt lighter than air recently. It was mostly because Voldemort was gone. The prophecy was fulfilled and Harry could actually think about having a future. He contemplated getting a Mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts and teaching. He might even break the curse on the position.

Some of his extreme happiness had to be a result of the painkillers Pomfrey kept pouring down his throat.

"Really Harry," Hermione looked like she had latched onto a mystery, "what did you do with it?"

"I promised I would never tell," Harry told them.

His best friends looked both intrigued and doubtful. After all, what great secrets could surround a DVD of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas? Hermione just shook her head, knowing that if Harry was determined to keep this a secret that there was no getting it out of him.

They walked into the Room of Requirement, which had been converted into the ultimate movie watching room. It was filled with reclining chairs and couches and the floor was tiered so no one's view would be blocked. There were tables of snacks next to chairs and in front of couches and the couch at the very back had been reserved for Harry and his two best friends.

The other students cheered as they joined the party. There were even a few Slytherins there that had ventured to join movie night a few months back out of pure curiosity. Almost the entirety of Gryffindor House was present, along with a large number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. They were all intermixed around the room, the DA providing the precedence for mixing between the Houses.

"Harry!" Cheers and clapping, whistles and catcalls filled the room. Most of them hadn't seen him since the death of Voldemort had been announced.

Harry just grinned and let Ron direct him to their couch and hand him a cup of hot chocolate, smothered with whipped cream with cinnamon sprinkled on top. He took a sip and grinned when there was scattered laughter at the whipped cream that stuck on his nose.

Hermione set the movie up then hurried back to the couch and sat between them, snuggled up against Ron. The lights in the room dimmed and the movie started, just as Harry felt a presence slip into the room and lean up against the back wall. He turned and saw no one there, and smiled.

"What is it?" Hermione leaned over and whispered, looking back to where Harry had looked.

"Nothing," Harry whispered back and took a mouthful of whipped cream to savor.

"This one again!" a voice up front yelled out as the opening credits began.

"It's my favorite Christmas movie!" Harry countered, and there wasn't another comment.

The end credits had finished and the light had come back up. The students were milling around and joking with each other, not at all worried about homework as their winter holiday started the next day.

"How many say Snape is the Grinch?" Seamus called out.

The vast majority of the hands in the room shot into the air, Slytherins included, and laughter ensued.

Harry started up the singing though.

"You're a mean one, Mr. Snape."

The rest of the students joined in gleefully. Most of the purebloods didn't know all the words, but they joined in where they could.

Hermione and Ron let the room fully empty before they helped Harry stand from the couch and began to escort his back to the hospital wing. He shrugged off their arms and lingered behind for a moment.

"See you in the New Year Professor," Harry whispered to the empty air next to the door that shimmered in the shape of a tall robed figure if you looked at it just right.

"Harry?" Hermione gave him a quizzical look.

He smiled and stepped out of the room, glad for the invisible helping hand at the small of his back. Ron and Hermione took up their positions on either side of him and the three of them sang as they slowly navigated their way down the stairs.

"That's not very nice you know," Hermione scolded them with much less conviction than was usual for her. "Professor Snape isn't that bad."

"C'mon 'Mione!" Ron protested. "He's an evil, greasy git!"

"He was on our side Ron!"

"And I still say he's a cruel sadistic bastard!" Ron pressed on his argument. "Look at the way he treats Harry!"

Both faces turned to him and Harry shrugged, "I think I'd take the seasick crocodile. After all, I can just Evanesco the puke."

"Ew," Hermione wrinkled her nose and Ron burst out in laughter.

Harry just grinned and refused to react when invisible fingers flicked the back of his head, one of the few uninjured parts of his body. They turned towards the infirmary then, their path now changing from the straightest route to the dungeons from the Room of Requirement.

Poppy Pomfrey ushered him to his bed in the infirmary (Ron had even made a plaque that had his name on it and affixed it the headboard) and gave him several pain potions.

Feeling especially floaty Harry grinned at Ron, "Hermione's right. Snape's not that bad." He raised up his hands, "His heart grew three times its normal size."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded while Ron continued laughing. They headed back towards Gryffindor Tower, promising to fetch him in time for breakfast and the trip to the Burrow, which had been reopened just that week.

Darkness fell over the infirmary and a shape shimmered into sight at the foot of Harry's bed.

"I thought my secret was safe with you?"

"It's not like they believed me."

"Cheeky brat."

"Greasy git."

"Do I get a present this year?" Snape sounded like he was dreading such an occurrence, but after all the Occlumency and Legilimency, the two could no longer lie to each other effectively.

"You'll have to wait 'till morning to see sir," Harry grinned sleepily and yawned. One of those potions was most likely a diluted sleeping aid.

Snape huffed, "No midnight visits from your own personal elves?"

"Nope."

"Happy Christmas Potter."

"Happy Christmas sir."

Snape glowered, with none of the desired effect of course, and swept out of the room grumbling under his breath. Harry grinned and fell asleep with the smile still on his face, and the lyrics stuck in his head.

He was looking forward to the gift he knew would be under the Weasleys tree the next morning, no indication of who it was from, but wrapped in shining Slytherin green paper.

You're a mean one, Mr. Snape...

Harry chuckled to himself and decided he was going to have to change the lyrics again. Snape really wasn't that bad.

The End

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