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Sleigh bells ring, are you listn’n?

The gentle lull of the piano filled the warm room like no amount of furniture or people could as Harry sighed, curling himself tighter on the couch. In a small way, he was remorseful that he would not be spending his Christmas tucked away in the confines of his cupboard, locked away as the rest of his ‘family’ opened presents and ate turkey. He almost missed the sense of relief when Uncle Vernon would dismiss the boy for the evening, conveniently right before the chocolate pudding. It was in his cupboard that his real Christmas began; his chess board would become his dinner table filled with his own guests, each one delighted to be in his company, and happily chatting away with not a care in the world except for wondering if they would have enough room in their stomachs for dessert. The broken hat stand at the foot of his mattress became a twelve foot tree, and the woolen scarves became tinsel and lights. All around him, the cobwebs became strands of mistletoe and the little spiders were beautiful stars placed tastefully around the room. But his greatest pride of his own little Christmas was the beautiful star on his roof. The golden five point star that looked over everyone and guided him through the darkness. In actuality, the star was merely the swinging light bulb over his head, but it was enough for him to imagine. But this year he didn’t have to imagine.

Across the dark hardwood floors, placed on a red mat stood not a hat stand but a towering tree with glowing gold lights hovering atop each bow, with the softest hint of mistletoe red and holly green twinkling back at him in the form of glass ornaments filled with what appeared to be miniature snow storms as the aurora borealis swept across the crystal sky. Candy canes fell from beads of silver and gold as the little luminous stars danced between each bow, making the tree look as if it were coated in shimmering diamond snow flakes. He imagined that if he touched one, it would warm his skin instead of freeze it, and if he held one in his hand long enough, a little flickering blue fire would emerge in his palm. His own little christmas miracle, he thought to himself.

The piano in the other room grew slower, transforming from a haphazard jazz reincarnation of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” to a gentle waltz. Not visible from his point of view on the couch, he wondered vacuously who was playing. He doubted it was Snape- he never played when he knew there were other people around to hear him. But when he did...Harry remembered to the time when Severus had forgotten that Harry was asleep in his room upstairs. He had thought it an old record being played, but when when Harry slowly ventured down to see what it was, he was shocked at the majestic image of the sable duo, ivory upon ivory, ebony floating above ebony as the gentle caress of fingers stroked the keys, producing the most heartbreaking music he had ever heard. He sat on the stairs as low as he dared and listened to the man and his music box. Later on, when Sinistra returned home from grocery shopping, that he had been playing a tune by Franz Liszt, Liebestraum as she had recalled. She had called Severus’ work ‘hardly dilettante’ as he had so often refused. She laughed. He ignored her. Harry remained on the stairs looking down in awe, until Sinistra moved into his line of sight, making her way to the kitchen. From that day, he held that word in his heart as a firm reminder that Severus Snape was in fact human, if something so beautiful could be produced from his cold and calloused fingers, no longer the paragon of a gelid heart.

Reminded of his sleuth-like actions, he decided to unravel himself from his warm quilt and make his way across the floorboards, and taking refuge in the envelopment of umbrage surrounding the grandfather clock. His brow knotted together in confusing as he spied the unmanned piano, until he saw the two figures in the centre of the room, the sylphlike knot of green and blue tangled in the soothing lull of music.

The pair were not looking at each other, rather gazing about the darkened room with feigned curiosity. Of course, on occasion their eyes would meet, and the acknowledgement of meeting each others gaze was met with the fond hint of a courteous smile gracing their lips. They held each other gingerly, as though the other might turn to glass in their hands, and their bare feet moved perfectly with the music, gliding over carpet like the wind.

He wanted to look away, but he found it impossible to tear his gaze away from the single unified entity before him. It was like seeing two strangers, having thrown away all past pride and prejudice. The mere thought of Sinistra and Snape living harmoniously was laughable, but the image in front of him defied all. For the first time since they had begun their living arrangements, they were not hurtling vociferous cannonballs of lambaste at each other. They weren’t even glaring at each other. They were united. Curiously, that scared Harry more than their diatribe ever could, and the terrifying thought that everything he knew would soon be torn asunder made his heart pound furiously.

As the piano played away, and the hummingbird couple slowly turned, the small boy behind the grandfather clock released his silent flow of tears, imagining how it would all end. They had probably been discovered that morning, when Harry had gone to the corner store to pick up a bottle of milk. He had let slip that he was new to the neighborhood to the shopkeeper. It was all his fault, he knew it. And now, it was only so long before they had to send him away, his days pretending to have a family over, even if his family was just the snarky bat of the Dungeons and the demure Astronomy Professor. For the meantime, it was all he had.

Above him, the clock sounding twelve echoed through the house, startling Harry in his hiding place. He brushed the tear streaks from his eyes as he rose from the shadows, sneaking back into the lounge room and onto the couch, his quilt covering him with a new weight. Merry Christmas, he thought sadly to himself as he closed his eyes and leaned his head onto the sofa cushion.

He hadn’t noticed the absence of the mellifluous chimes of the piano until he heard footsteps entering the room. He decided that pretending to be asleep would hopefully deter them away from his cosy spot. A part of him didn’t want to look upon the faces that had showed him so much kindness, all to have it taken away like the thin wisps of a memory of a dream. He didn’t belong here. He never would.

Surprisingly, he felt gentle fingers pry his glasses from his head and set them on the table. Breathe in, breathe out, he thought to himself as the overwhelming urge to open his eyes became more and more evident.

“Should we wake him?” Sinistra whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

“No, he will be fine.” Snape spoke rather than whispered, like he knew Harry wasn’t asleep at all. He felt the warmth of skin hovering over his head, and the caress of fingers against his hair. “He needs rest.”