It was a cold day in Little Whinging, and Harry was sitting in his cupboard, huddled under his blanket, feverishly writing on a piece of paper in his best handwriting. With a hopeful smile on his lips the eight-year-old finished his letter to Father Christmas. ‘Well, probably it will be the same as every year and he won’t listen to me since I’m not a good boy anyway,’ he thought sadly as he once more read over his letter.

‘Dear Father Christmas,
This year, I really tried to be a good boy, and I hope so much that I succeeded. Can you help me? I can’t see well. At school, I can only read what is written on the blackboard, if I sit in the first row. I also have difficulties to breathe in my cupboard. Can you please make me see and breathe better? I hope so much that you can help me.
Harry’

After carefully folding the letter twice and writing ‘To Father Christmas’ on the back, Harry took his letter to his aunt, who was reading a garden magazine in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Aunt Petunia, but I wrote a letter to Father Christmas. Where can I put my letter, so that he’ll find it?” he asked hesitantly, causing the woman to glare at him in exasperation.

“How often do I have to tell you that Father Christmas doesn’t bring presents to freaks like you?” she hissed, tearing the letter into pieces, before she threw everything into the rubbish bin.

Totally in shock at his aunt’s reaction, Harry grabbed the pieces out of the bin, pressing them firmly against his chest, and ran out of the house, feverishly trying to keep his tears back until he reached the playground.

Unaware of how cold the dry December air was, Harry sat down on the ground and tried to catch his breath, placing the pieces of the letter in front of him. He absentmindedly arranged them back to a letter like a jigsaw puzzle, while the tears poured freely down from his large green eyes.

‘I have to try to get some more paper at school tomorrow, so that I can write my letter once more. But how can I send it to Father Christmas?’ he mused, devastated. ‘Perhaps I should ask the teacher, but Mrs. Jones probably won’t help me, because I happened to dye her hair blue the other day, although I’ve no idea how that could happen.’

He carefully straightened the pieces of paper in front of himself and proceeded to once more read his letter, unaware of the fact that all the pieces began to stick together as he read. Only when he finished reading did he notice that his letter wasn’t torn anymore and looked as if he had just finished writing it.

‘My letter is in one piece again,’ he thought in complete amazement as a violent shiver shook his small body, before he let out a series of small sneezes.

Suddenly, Harry realized how cold it was and that he had left the Dursleys’ home only wearing Dudley’s old jumper. Softly stroking the flawless letter, he frantically searched his mind for a solution to his problem of how to get the letter to Father Christmas.

‘I’ll ask Mrs. Figg,’ he finally decided. ‘She is strange with all her cats, but she is much nicer than Aunt Petunia, and she’ll help me if she can. Maybe she has an idea, and at least I can warm up a bit at her place before returning to my cupboard. It’s already evening, so she won’t make me watch her photo albums of all her cats at this time of the day.’ Harry carefully folded his letter again and ran out of the park to the old lady’s house, hesitantly ringing the bell.

It took a few minutes, before Mrs. Figg opened the door, surrounded by half a dozen cats that strode around her feet, curiously eying the child.

“Harry!” Mrs. Figg said in surprise at the sight of the small boy, who stood in front of her with a tear-stricken face, shivering violently. “Come in and tell me what’s wrong, sweetie,” she said gently, ushering the child into the house.

Sitting down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, Harry began to speak in a hardly audible voice. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Figg, for disturbing you at this time of the day. Um... I wrote a letter to Father Christmas. I know that he’ll probably ignore it anyway, because I’m not a good boy but a freak, but nevertheless I want to try. I asked my aunt to send it to Father Christmas, but she just threw it into the bin. Fortunately, she did that in front of my eyes, so that I could save my letter. Could you perhaps help me to send it to Father Christmas, please?”

He tried hard to bite back the tears that tried to escape from his eyes once more but couldn’t prevent a few tears to escape and run over his cheeks.

Mrs. Figg sighed. “I’m sorry, Harry, for your aunt’s behaviour. I’m sure that you’re a very good boy. You definitely are not a freak, and I’m sure that you earn to get a Christmas present just like everyone else. Unfortunately, I can’t tell your aunt what I think of her; otherwise, she wouldn’t let you come to me anymore. Now listen, child, I can’t promise you anything, but if you leave your letter with me, I’ll try to give it to Father Christmas. Come here again after school tomorrow and I can tell you if I managed to hand over your letter,” she suggested in a soothing voice.

Harry’s eyes lit in hopeful delight. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Figg,” he said happily, rising from the sofa.

“No Harry, sit down and have a cup of hot cocoa to warm up a bit before you go home,” the old lady told him, placing a cup in front of him.

Harry hesitantly took a small sip from the cup, craving the taste of the warm liquid. “This tastes so good,” he told her in absolute amazement. “I don’t think I ever had something so tasty before.”

Mrs. Figg, sighed, glancing at the excited child. “Harry,” she began hesitantly, “I’m not supposed to tell you that, but please believe me that it’s only a question of time until you’ll be able to get away from the Dursleys. In a little less than three years, you’ll know more, and you’ll meet other people, who are like you, people, whom the Dursleys would call freaks.” Letting out another long sigh, she added firmly, “Harry, please don’t speak to anyone about this; otherwise I’d be in trouble.”

“I promise,” Harry replied, throwing the old lady a hopeful look. “Can you tell me more, Mrs. Figg? Are you really sure about that?”

“No, I can’t tell you more, and yes, I’m sure,” Mrs. Figg assured him, motioning the boy to take a biscuit.

‘I have to return to the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon will be so angry that I didn’t make dinner yet,’ Harry suddenly remembered and quickly rose from the sofa. “Thank you so much for your help and for the cocoa and biscuits, Mrs. Figg,” he said politely. “I should go back now. I hope it won’t be too late to make dinner.”

“Shall I accompany you, Harry?” the old lady asked gently, standing up as well.

“No thank you. I’ll run, because it’s so cold,” Harry replied urgently, getting more and more anxious at his relatives’ reaction to his tardiness.

“All right, Harry, oh look, it has begun to snow. Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas this year,” Mrs. Figg told him, causing a small fake smile to appear on Harry’s face.

‘I won’t have any snow for Christmas. I’ll only have the dust in my cupboard,’ he thought sadly, before he said “Good bye” and began to run in the direction of the Dursleys’ home.

The house lay completely in the dark, and when he pushed the bell nobody opened. ‘Oh no! They’ve gone out for dinner,’ Harry realized, shivering violently in the heavily falling snow. He went around the house, hoping that maybe his aunt had left the kitchen door open for him, only to find it closed like the front door. ‘What am I going to do?’ he began to panic, while his teeth started to chatter and he felt himself getting wet from the snow. ‘The garden shed,’ he suddenly remembered and ran over to the small shed, squeezing himself inside, where he sat down on the floor, resting his head on the lawn mower.

‘I hope Father Christmas will read my letter and help me,’ was his last thought, before he drifted off in an exhausted sleep filled with dreams of himself running all over the north pole in search for Father Christmas, while his aunt was coming after him with a wooden spoon, trying to take his letter from him.

Closing the door after the child, Arabella Figg returned into her living room, slowly unfolding Harry’s letter. ‘Let’s see what he wishes for; maybe I’ll be able to do something for him,’ she mused, before she read what Harry had written in small, untidy letters, and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I have to speak with Dumbledore about this. He finally has to help the child.’

After a few minutes of pondering what to do, Mrs. Figg headed to the fireplace and floo-called Dumbledore, who stepped over into her living room a minute later.

“Albus, you can’t leave the poor child at the Dursleys. They keep him in a cupboard, and they don’t love him at all. Look what he wrote to Father Christmas, and Petunia threw his letter into the rubbish bin when he showed it to her.”

Dumbledore reached for the letter, while he listened to the old lady’s excited talking with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, I suppose that I could play Father Christmas and do something for his bad sight. I’ll have to ask Poppy about the matter though,” he finally said, pensively stroking his long beard. “Concerning the breathing problems in his cupboard,” he thoughtfully glanced at the letter, “I can imagine that he has a dust allergy or something. Are you sure that he is living in a cupboard, Arabella?”

“Yes Albus, he lives in the cupboard under the stairs,” Mrs. Figg explained firmly. “I’m sure about that.”

“Maybe I should have a word with Petunia, but first I’d like to speak with Harry. I’ll come here as Father Christmas on Christmas morning. Do you think he’ll be able to visit you on Christmas morning?”

“Albus, I don’t know. I asked Harry to come back tomorrow right after school, so that I could inform him if I managed to forward his letter to Father Christmas. I’ll ask him then. If I may floo-call you again tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course, Arabella. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Poppy and ask her how we’ll be able to help Harry. Unfortunately, I’m not very adept at Healing spells, but Poppy doesn’t really look like Father Christmas I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Arabella, but I have to return to Hogwarts immediately. I appreciate that you’re looking out for little Harry. Thank you very much.” With that, Dumbledore turned to the fireplace and floo-ed back to Hogwarts.

HP HARRY HP

The thought, ‘I have to run faster; otherwise Aunt Petunia will tell Father Christmas that I wasn’t good and didn’t make dinner,’ still lingered in his mind when Harry woke up in the morning, shivering violently in the cold. He squeezed himself out of the garden shed, before he dashed through the snow to the back door, seeing in relief that his aunt was in the kitchen making breakfast.

“What do you think you’re doing, running away overnight without making dinner or breakfast, you ungrateful little urchin?” Petunia hissed at the child in an extremely upset voice when she let him into the kitchen, apparently not noticing that Harry was violently shivering from the cold.

Harry didn’t even bother to listen to her angry babbling but hurried to his cupboard to put fresh and warm clothes on, before he left the house, glad that he wasn’t late for school.

It was only when he was sitting in his class, enjoying the warmth of the classroom, that he noticed his throat and head getting incredibly sore. ‘I probably caught a cold,’ he thought, slightly shivering, ‘but I have to hide it from the teachers. Otherwise, they’ll call Aunt Petunia, and she’ll be very angry and already lock me in my cupboard, where I’ll have to stay all over Christmas. I have to go to Mrs. Figg today in any case to see if she found a way to send my letter to Father Christmas.’

Nevertheless, during the first afternoon class, his teacher noticed that his cheeks were deeply flushed and sweat was building on his forehead, recalling that he hadn’t eaten anything for lunch. She crouched in front of Harry, giving him a piercing look. “Harry, are you feeling all right?” she queried softly, gently extending a cool hand to feel his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Harry whispered, flinching away from the cold touch.

“Are you sure, Harry?” the teacher enquired in a soft voice. “You feel a bit warm to the touch, and you don’t look well. Please tell me if you begin to feel worse. All right?”

“All right,” Harry replied in a small voice, averting his eyes to the floor. ‘Thank God it’s the last day before the beginning of the holidays,’ he mused, although he normally preferred going to school to staying in his cupboard or being forced to do chores all day long. During the last two hours of classes, he did his best not to let the teacher notice that he was feeling worse by the hour. He tried as hard as possible to concentrate on his work, feverishly pushing the thought of his letter to Father Christmas to the back of his mind.

Realizing that Mrs. Jones was watching him in obvious concern, he hurried to get out of the classroom as fast as he could once the last class was over. He slowly dragged himself through the snow, heading straight to Mrs. Figg’s house instead of returning home to leave his school bag in his cupboard first. By the time he reached the old lady’s house, he felt utmost ill and was hardly able to keep himself upright anymore.

HP HEALER POMFREY HP

Harry rang the bell, glad that Mrs. Figg opened the door much faster than the evening before.

“Hello Harry,” the old lady greeted him gently, ushering him into the house.

Harry slowly followed her into the living room, where he let himself sink on the sofa in front of the fireplace, unconsciously sighing in relief as he sat down.

“Harry, are you all right?” Mrs. Figg asked in surprise, giving him a piercing look.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied a bit too quickly, causing the old lady to sit next to him on the sofa and carefully place a hand on his forehead.

“You’re not fine, Harry. You’re feverish.”

“It’s just a cold, and I feel fine,” Harry protested when Mrs. Figg fetched a thermometer and proceeded to take his temperature.

“38.8 (101.8),” she read from the display. “Does your throat or anything else hurt, Harry?” she asked softly, causing Harry to sigh inwardly.

“My throat and my head are sore, but it’s all right,” he replied in a small voice, hating that he hadn’t been able to hide his ailment from the old lady.

“Well, I’ll give you something that’ll make you feel better,” Mrs. Figg promised and went to fetch a phial of Pepper Up potion. “Harry, this is cold medicine, which works very well; however, it’ll make steam come out of your ears, just to let you know in advance. Here, drink it all, please.”

Harry hesitantly gulped down the strange liquid, noticing that in spite of the fact that it tasted horrible it seemed to work instantly. Within seconds, he felt much better and threw the old lady a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Figg. I didn’t know that medicine works so well. The Dursleys never give me medicine when I’m sick, because it’s too expensive,” he explained to the woman.

Mrs. Figg shook her head in annoyance. “In that case, Harry,” she said firmly, “I want you to come to me whenever you feel sick. I’ll always try to help you, and of course I won’t tell the Dursleys anything about what we do or talk about. By the way, I had the chance to speak with Father Christmas.”

Harry let out an excited gasp. “And did you give him my letter?” he queried hopefully.

“Yes, I gave him your letter, and he told me that he’d like to see you here on Christmas morning. Do you think your aunt will let you come here on Christmas day?”

Harry sadly shook his head. “No, Mrs. Figg. In the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I have to cook the Dursleys’ meals for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and afterwards, Aunt Petunia always locks me into my cupboard, so that I won’t be in the way and disturb them when they’re having Christmas.”

Mrs. Figg tried not to let her anger show in her face when she replied, “All right, Harry, can you come here in the morning of Christmas Eve then? I’ll try to convince Father Christmas to come a day earlier to you this year.”

“I hope Aunt Petunia will let me go,” Harry replied with a hopeful expression on his face. “When is Christmas Eve?” he queried hesitantly.

“Today is Friday, and Christmas Eve is on Sunday,” Mrs. Figg informed him gently.

‘Will Father Christmas really come to me this year?’ he mused in absolute delight, before he thanked the old lady profusely.

“Very well, Harry. I’ll contact Father Christmas once more and ask him. I think you should go home and go to bed though. You still don’t look too well.”

“All right, Mrs. Figg. Thank you so much for everything,” Harry countered gratefully and returned to the Dursleys, knowing that it was already time to cook dinner anyway.

HP HEALER POMFREY HP

“Where have you been all afternoon?” Petunia screeched at his sight. “Go out and shovel the snow, and hurry up since you have to cook dinner before Vernon comes home.”

Harry wordlessly obeyed and spent the next hour shovelling the snow that was covering the footpath and the drive, noticing that he was still feeling terrible. ‘Only two nights and then I’ll be able to meet Father Christmas,’ he mused, while he worked hard to free the path from the huge load of snow.

On Sunday morning, Harry made his way into the kitchen to make breakfast for the Dursleys at the first sign of his relatives getting up. Before anyone could hold him back, he left the house and slowly dragged himself over to Mrs. Figg’s house. ‘I just hope she’ll leave me in peace and won’t notice how ill I feel,’ he mused on his way through the snow that was still covering Little Whinging.

However, Harry wasn’t able to fool Mrs. Figg. As soon as she let him into the living room and got a good look at him, she asked worriedly, “Harry, you’re feeling even worse than on Friday, aren’t you?”

Harry let out a long sigh. “I don’t feel too well, but it’s all right. Do you think Father Christmas will come to see me today?” Harry returned the question that had been bothering him for two days and nights.

“At least he promised that he’d come and visit you here, sweetie. Why don’t you lie down here on the sofa, until he arrives? I’ll wake you up in case you fall asleep,” Mrs. Figg promised, gently covering the shivering child with a warm blanket.

Harry drifted in and out of sleep until suddenly the fireplace flared green and Father Christmas stepped out. He looked exactly like Harry had always imagined him to be. He was dressed in huge red robes with a matching red hat, and he had a long white beard.

“Are you... are you Father Christmas?” Harry croaked, quickly sitting up on the sofa.

“I’m a many times great grandchild of Father Christmas,” the man, who looked as if he had just escaped out of a fairy book, replied in a very gentle voice. “I assume that you’re Harry?”

“Yes sir,” Harry replied hoarsely, ending up coughing.

“You’re a very good boy and an extremely modest child,” Father Christmas began to speak thoughtfully. “Most children asked me for a lot of toys and other presents, but you asked me for medical help.”

“Yes sir,” Harry whispered, shivering.

“Very well, Harry. However, since I’m neither a doctor nor a nurse I brought a good friend with me. Her name is Poppy, and she is a very good Healer. I’d like her to check on you and see if she can do something for you. Is that all right with you, Harry?”

“Yes sir,” Harry replied anxiously.

Suddenly, a woman dressed in white robes appeared out of nothing, causing Harry to blink a few times in confusion, before he helplessly put a hand to his forehead, rubbing it fiercely. ‘Am I delirious?’ he mused, horrified.

“Hello Harry, I’m Poppy,” the lady addressed him in a soft voice, throwing him a warm smile.

“Hello,” Harry whispered shyly, sliding his hands under his legs.

“Harry, you must not be afraid. Poppy is a witch, and she will use her wand to help you with your eyes and your other problem,” Father Christmas explained softly, taking a seat next to Harry on the sofa.

“Kay,” Harry mumbled frightened, shivering slightly as a cool breeze hit his face.

Poppy gently waved her wand at him, muttering to herself, and finally pointed her wand at his head, before she sighed in exasperation.

“Father Christmas, Harry is suffering from lung infection. I should take him with me and nurse him back to health, before I can even try to mend his eyes. He is very ill with a high fever.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Poppy, but I can’t go with you. I have to go back to my relatives and cook Christmas dinner for them,” Harry threw in hoarsely, shivering violently as the Poppy lady put a cool hand on his forehead.

“Harry, did you tell your aunt that you feel ill?” Father Christmas enquired softly, causing Harry to shrug helplessly.

‘What am I supposed to tell?’ he mused, before he decided to say the truth. “No,” he admitted. “If I had told her, she’d have locked me into my cupboard right away, and I wouldn’t have been able to get away to meet you.”

“But she would have given you medicine,” Father Christmas replied gently.

“No, I’m only a freak and not worth of medicine,” Harry explained in a hardly audible voice, causing the people in the room to gasp.

“Harry, did your aunt tell you that?” Poppy enquired in a very upset voice that caused Harry to shiver violently in spite of knowing that the anger wasn’t directed towards him.

“Yes,” he breathed, before he let out a few coughs.

“Harry, may I ask you something?” Father Christmas once more turned to the small boy. “In your letter, you wrote something about ‘your cupboard.’ What exactly did you mean with that?”

Harry let out a small sigh. “I live in the cupboard under the stairs, sir,” he admitted in a small voice.

“Father Christmas, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Harry is in dire need of medical treatment,” the Poppy lady threw in, causing the man to rise from the sofa. The Healer sat next to Harry and pressed a small phial containing a light green liquid to his lips. “Please drink, Harry, it’s a fever reducer and will make you feel a bit better,” she explained gently.

Harry complied and sighed in relief as he felt the effects of the potion immediately. He threw the kind lady a grateful smile, before he turned to Father Christmas. “Excuse me, Father Christmas, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course my boy,” the old man replied with a merry twinkle in his eyes.

“Why is this the first time that you come to me? Have I been such a bad boy all these years?” Harry queried softly, causing the twinkle in the blue eyes to stop.

“It might be that I somehow missed you, my boy, but I’m sure that you have always been a good boy,” Father Christmas told the child in a grave voice. “Now Harry, would you like to come with us for the time being? I told you that I’m a many times great grandchild of Father Christmas; however, Poppy and I both live in a huge castle, which is a magical school for small wizards and witches. We’d like you to come with us.”

“Magic?” Harry enquired, throwing the man an excited look. “Is magic real?”

“Yes Harry, magic is real, and you’re a wizard just like me.”

“I’d love to come with you, sir, but I’m a freak and a good for nothing burden,” Harry admitted in a small voice, causing Father Christmas to throw him a horrified look.

“No Harry, you’re definitely not a freak neither a burden to anyone, but a very fine little boy,” Poppy returned firmly. “I suggest that I take you with me, while Father Christmas visits your aunt and tells her that we’re going to take you with us to nurse you back to health.”

When Harry agreed, Poppy took his right hand, frowning at the heat he radiated, and made him touch a golden ring, which she wore on her ring finger. “You’ll feel a slight pull behind your navel, and then the world will turn around; this is a method of magical transportation and the fastest and easiest way to take you with me,” she explained gently, causing Harry to give her a frightened nod. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll be with you the whole time,” she added soothingly, before she spoke the activating password.

HP HEALER POMFREY HP

A few minutes later, Harry found himself lying in a crispy white bed in the hospital wing, where Poppy waved her wand at him several times, before she made him drink a few strangely tasting liquids, which she called ‘potions.’ Before he knew what was happening, he drifted off into a potions induced sleep, during which he dreamed of Father Christmas with his twinkling blue eyes, who was waving a wand at him, causing him to feel much cooler and better.

When he woke up a few hours later, it was already dark outside, and he couldn’t see anything but a faint moon light outside the huge windows surrounding the hospital wing. However, he saw that the lights were on in the office, in which he had arrived together with the Poppy lady, and that several people were sitting in the office, apparently animatedly talking to each other, although he couldn’t hear a sound. He noticed Poppy and a man, who resembled Father Christmas, but there were two other ladies and two more men in the office, and all of them were wearing the same strange kind of robes, which Father Christmas and Poppy had been wearing in the morning.

‘Is this what Mrs. Figg was talking about when she told me that someone would come to take me away, so that I could meet other freaks? Well, since it was Father Christmas, who decided to take me here, it can’t be bad, and it definitely won’t be worse than at the Dursleys’ home,’ Harry mused, feeling too exhausted and ill to worry about what was happening.

In the morning, Harry woke up to soft voices next to his bed. He blinked and saw Poppy sit on a chair next to his bed together with another elder woman. They were both smiling at him warmly.

“Good morning, Harry; how are you feeling?” Poppy queried.

“Happy Christmas, Harry, and welcome to Hogwarts,” the other woman told him, causing a small smile to appear on his lips.

“Good morning,” he replied, noticing that his voice sounded very hoarse. “I feel much better. Thank you so much,” he informed the Healer.

“This, Harry, is Professor McGonagall,” Poppy gently introduced her colleague.

A small bang from the other side of the room caused Harry to turn his eyes towards the doors, where the Headmaster just entered the room. ‘He looks like Father Christmas, although he isn’t dressed in red clothes and instead wears glasses,’ Harry mused, gaping at the man’s long white beard.

“Good morning, Harry, and Merry Christmas. How are you on this fine morning?” Dumbledore enquired gently, taking a seat next to Professor McGonagall.

“I’m much better,” Harry replied in a small voice, before he couldn’t help blurting out, “You look a bit like Father Christmas.”

The Headmaster laughed, and his eyes began to twinkle happily. “Well, that might be, my boy. He wears a similar white beard it seems. However, I am Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of this school, and I heard that Father Christmas brought you here because of health problems and because he didn’t find your upbringing with your relatives adequate.”

“Excuse me, sir, but where are we exactly?” Harry asked in confusion. “I know that Father Christmas explained several things to me, but I wasn’t feeling so well and I didn’t understand everything he told me.”

Dumbledore thoughtfully stroked his beard, before he threw Poppy a questioning look.

“Harry, Father Christmas explained about magic and told you that you’re a wizard just like we are witches and wizards,” the Healer gently explained to the child. “He also told you that I came from Hogwarts, a magical school, before I brought you here. At the moment, you’re at the hospital wing, because you are very ill with lung infection. All magical children from the age of eleven onwards attend this school, and even your parents studied here when they were children.”

“My parents?” Harry queried, while his eyes lit up in amazement. “Were they...?” He trailed off unsurely.

“Yes, sweetie, your parents were both my students, very good students I might say, and they were very powerful magical people just like you,” McGonagall informed the child in a soft voice.

“When your parents died, I thought it would be the best if you grew up with your aunt,” Dumbledore explained gravely, “but obviously my choice wasn’t the best and for that I have to apologize. From now on, you’re going to live with someone here in the castle, if that is what you want.”

“Where is Severus by the way?” McGonagall queried, throwing Dumbledore a questioning look.

“Ah, Severus was throwing a temper tantrum at the news, but well, he’ll come over it,” the Headmaster gave back. “He is supposed to be here shortly with a stronger pneumonia potion for Harry, which should enable him to get up for a few hours to enjoy Christmas breakfast in the Great Hall with us.”

An instant later, the doors opened with a loud ‘bang,’ and a younger man, completely dressed in black, strode into the room. He approached Harry’s bed with a sneer and thrust a phial into the Headmaster’s hands, before he turned on his heels. However, he was only able to walk a few steps, before Dumbledore called him back.

“Severus, I’d like to introduce Harry to you, and I wish that you accompany us to the Great Hall for Christmas breakfast,” he informed the man in a no-nonsense voice.

“Albus, I’ll join you in the Great Hall in a few minutes. You know what you asked of me, and I have to prepare several things,” Snape gave back and strode from the room with his robes dramatically billowing behind him.

Everyone turned back to Harry, whom Poppy gently helped to sit up, so that he could take the potion Snape had just brought for him. “That was Professor Snape, our Potions Master,” McGonagall explained softly, causing Harry to giggle.

“He was funny,” Harry replied, coughing. ‘But somehow like a stubborn child, perhaps a bit like Dudley,’ he mused, before he gulped down the potion, sighing in relief as he felt his body cool down immensely. “And his potions are brilliant,” he added in complete amazement.

“That they are,” the Headmaster agreed gently. “Harry, if you feel well enough to get up you may accompany us to the Great Hall for a few hours. We’re going to have breakfast, and we have to see if Father Christmas brought something for us.” Seeing that Harry’s face darkened immensely, he continued, “I saw at least two presents with your name on them. I also want to introduce you to all of our teachers, and I’d like you to speak with them and think about whom you like best. All of them, including the three of us, are willing to take you in, so that you can live with them in the castle until you’re old enough to become a student here.”

“So I won’t have to return to the Dursleys?” Harry asked in a small voice with a hopeful expression on his face.

“Exactly, my boy.”

Harry’s attention was diverted when Poppy pointed her wand at his head, before she sighed and told him, “All right, Harry. You may get up for a while. However, you have to promise me that you’ll tell me if you feel worse and go back to bed.”

Harry cringed under her piercing look and promised in a small voice, “I’ll tell you.”

As soon as he sat up to get up, McGonagall pointed her wand at him, exchanging his hospital pyjamas with dark blue trousers and a white shirt as well as green robes just like her own.

HP HEALER POMFREY HP

Knowing that Harry was only feeling well because he was under the effect of the strong potion, the adults walked down to the Great Hall in a very moderate pace that gave Harry the opportunity to look at the moving pictures along the corridor in complete amazement, which only increased tenfold when they entered the Great Hall.

“This place is absolutely beautiful,” Harry breathed in awe, looking around the Great Hall, which was decorated festively with several huge Christmas trees.

McGonagall and Pomfrey ushered Harry to a seat at the breakfast table, and the Deputy Headmistress gently introduced all the teachers to the boy, while they were waiting for breakfast to begin. “Breakfast will commence as soon as Professor Snape joins us; he is the last to make his appearance,” she informed Harry in a small voice.

All of a sudden, a tall black figure stormed into the hall, took a small detour around the huge Christmas tree to drop something under the tree, and finally sat down at the table a few seats to the right of Harry, causing the Headmaster to clap his hands, so that breakfast appeared on the table.

McGonagall and Pomfrey, who were sitting on both sides of Harry, laid a little bit of everything on Harry’s plate, trying to coax him into eating a few bites. ‘Am I allowed to eat at the table together with the teachers?’ Harry mused in surprise, but he noticed soon that the kind women seemed to expect him to eat. Nevertheless, he could only stomach a few bites, before he felt completely full.

“Well, Harry, shall we go and see what Father Christmas brought for all of us?” the Headmaster invited him, seeing that he had finished eating, and motioned him over to the largest Christmas tree, under which Harry could see several piles of presents.

Harry crawled under the tree and pulled the first pile out, before he proceeded to read the names on the presents, handing the boxes to their respective owners. After a few minutes, he found one addressed to himself. “Harry Potter,” he read, looking at the present in absolute amazement, before he cradled it close and threw the Headmaster a happy smile.

“Your first Christmas present?” McGonagall, who was standing next to Dumbledore, asked softly, causing Harry to throw her an enthusiastic nod. “Open it, sweetie,” she suggested gently.

Harry carefully took off the colourful wrapping paper, finding a book inside. ‘Hogwarts: A History,’ the title said. ‘Oh, a book just for myself,’ he mused in complete amazement as he sat down on the spot and began to read.

“Harry, are you not going to open all your other presents?” McGonagall’s voice suddenly penetrated his ears, causing Harry to look up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but this is so interesting,” Harry explained, “it’s...” Unfortunately, he was interrupted by a coughing fit, causing the teacher to look at him piercingly.

“Are you still feeling all right, Harry?” McGonagall queried, carefully extending a hand to his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied, slightly unnerved at the attention, and tried hard not to flinch back at the cold touch. He quickly turned to the other presents and discovered several more books as well as a huge package containing clothes. “Is this really all for me?” he enquired, incredulously gaping at two pairs of trousers, three sweatshirts, a warm jumper, pyjamas, underwear, socks, a warm scarf, mittens, a hat, and a warm winter jacket.

“Of course this is for you, sweetie. I suppose Father Christmas noticed that you’re in dire need of clothes. We still need to get shoes and robes for you, but that has to wait until you’re completely recovered,” McGonagall told him in a soft voice.

Finally, there was only one present left, which had a different form from all the others, and Harry opened it anxiously. “What is this?” he asked in complete surprise at the content.

“That is a Potions starter kit,” Pomfrey explained gently. “For most subjects taught at Hogwarts you need a wand, but for the brewing of most potions no wand is needed, and perhaps Father Christmas thought you’d like to try out brewing potions.”

“I’d love to try to brew. Perhaps it’ll be easier for me than other things, because I know how to cook,” Harry mused aloud, startled when the Potions Master let out a loud snort.

“Of course, leave it to a Potter to believe that he already could brew Potions,” Snape sneered at the child, causing Harry to frown.

“Professor, I’m sorry if what I said sounded as if I could already brew. Of course I don’t, but I’d love to learn it. Would you please teach me how to brew?” Harry asked anxiously, hesitantly looking up into the teacher’s obsidian eyes.

“Yes,” Snape replied grumpily, seeing from the corner of his eye that the Headmaster threw him a demanding look. “Shall we begin immediately?” he queried, searching his mind for an adequate fourth year healing potion, which an eight-year-old would definitely not be able to brew.

“Yes please,” Harry gave back enthusiastically, and after a few minutes, during which McGonagall, Pomfrey, Sprout, and the Headmaster had admonished the Potions Master to be friendly, keep an eye on him, and not make him aggravate his condition, he followed the teacher out of the Great Hall in delighted expectation, his new Potions kit in his hands.

By the time they reached the dungeons, Harry was already exhausted. Snape made him sit down at a table in the first row of the Potions classroom, and Harry was glad to be able to rest, while the professor gathered the recipe and the ingredients. A few minutes later, Snape laid a recipe on the table next to the cauldron in front of Harry.

“All right, Potter, you can brew a potion for your lung infection. It’s a bit difficult, but if you succeed, I don’t have to brew it later on,” the teacher sneered, while he placed the ingredients next to the recipe.

“I’ll try, sir,” Harry replied timidly, trying to ignore the menacing tone in the professor’s voice. “I’m sorry, sir, but could you please help and tell me how exactly I have to prepare the ingredients? Does it matter in which size I cut the moon fern for example?”

‘That’s a good question for an eight-year-old,’ Snape thought to himself and showed Harry how to prepare the moon fern. Harry continued to ask the teacher about every ingredient and diligently did exactly what he was told, so that Snape couldn’t help enjoy teaching the boy, and two hours later, they had brewed a flawless potion together.

‘He seems to be extremely adept at Potions in spite of being Potter’s son,’ Snape mused. ‘Well, he is Lily’s son as well and she was very good at brewing Potions,’ a small voice in the back of his mind spoke up, while he bottled the potion into small phials, glancing at the child from the corner of his eyes. “Well done,” he told the boy in a neutral voice, noticing that he was slightly shivering.

“Thank you, Professor, for teaching me,” Harry replied politely, before he enquired hesitantly, “Would you mind teaching me more? It was very interesting, although I should perhaps learn a bit about the ingredients beforehand.”

Severus let out a long sigh. “I have to brew several potions for the hospital wing,” he finally admitted, “and you may assist if you wish. However, seeing that it is nearly time for Christmas Dinner and that you’re in dire need of some rest, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey would kill me if we continued to brew right now.” Seeing an expression of disappointment flash over Harry’s face, he added, “If Madam Pomfrey allows you out of bed again tomorrow, I’ll continue to teach you how to brew. In the meantime...” He motioned Harry to follow him and led him through his office into his private quarters, where he made the child sit on the sofa and proceeded to skim one of the huge bookshelves.

“Here,” he finally said, handing Harry a small book, titled, ‘The Basics about Magical Potions Ingredients.’ “If you feel well enough to read, I suggest that you look at this first. We can talk about what you read later on since you’ll surely have questions.”

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Harry replied hoarsely, feeling very grateful towards the man. ‘He is much nicer than he seems to be,’ he mused in confusion. ‘Why does he behave as if he was the meanest teacher on earth? I like him, and he doesn’t fret over me like all the others do just because I’m a bit sick.’

“All right, Potter,” the professor’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “If you’re still awake, I suggest that we return to the Great Hall for dinner. You may leave your potions kit in the classroom since nobody is here over the holidays, and we can continue tomorrow if you wish.”

“I’d love to brew again tomorrow, Professor. Thank you very much,” Harry replied, before he dragged himself back to the Great Hall, glad that the teacher walked in a moderate pace without even pointing out the matter.

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When they reached the Great Hall, all the other teachers were already waiting for them.

“Please excuse our tardiness, but the way up from the dungeons is far enough and just manageable for normal eleven-year-olds but not for small eight-year-olds, who belong into the hospital wing,” Snape sneered, taking his seat next to the Headmaster, while McGonagall and Pomfrey called Harry over to sit on the empty chair between them.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” McGonagall queried in a soft voice, giving him a piercing look.

“Yes, I enjoyed it very much, and it was very interesting,” Harry replied, ending up in a coughing fit.

“Are you feeling all right, Harry?” Pomfrey enquired, worriedly extending a hand to his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Harry croaked in spite of feeling absolutely exhausted. He forced himself to eat a few bites of the delicious meal, knowing that he wouldn’t find the way back to the hospital wing on his own and therefore had to wait patiently until dinner was finished anyway.

“What did you brew?” the Healer asked interestedly, causing Harry to frown.

“I don’t know what the potion is called, but Professor Snape said it was a potion for my lung infection,” he replied thoughtfully, fiercely rubbing his forehead hoping to make the headache bearable that had been bothering him during the last few hours.

“Severus, did you honestly let Harry brew a fourth year’s potion?” Pomfrey turned to the Potions Master, causing her colleagues to frown.

“Why not? Mr. Potter seems to be very adept at brewing, and with my help he managed to brew a flawless potion,” Snape returned, and his colleagues let out a collective gasp.

“Well done, Harry. Professor Snape doesn’t easily commend people,” McGonagall told the child. Seeing that Harry remained unresponsive, she stood up from her seat. “Come Harry, let me take you back to bed.”

Harry threw the teacher a grateful nod, slowly following her out of the Great Hall. “Professor, are these pictures enchanted so that the people can move?” he asked interestedly, tiredly leaning against the wall.

“The pictures are charmed, Harry. In the magical world, all the pictures move. Even if you take photographs of people or have pictures of persons for example in the newspapers, the people in the pictures and photos move and talk.”

Harry thought for a moment, before he asked with a mixture of curiosity and hopefulness on his face, “So if I had a picture of my parents, would I be able to speak with them?”

McGonagall let out a small sigh as she slowly continued to walk in the direction of the hospital wing. “Yes Harry, if it was a magical picture, you’d probably be able to talk to them. However, they might not know you. They’d only have the knowledge of the time when the picture was taken. I’ll have a look when I’m back in my quarters. Maybe I still have a photograph of your parents. You could also ask Professor Snape. He was your mother’s best friend while they were at Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry blurted out in surprise, causing the professor to throw him an amused glance.

Back in the hospital wing, Harry gratefully returned to his bed, throwing the professor a thankful look when she magically exchanged his clothes with his pyjamas. McGonagall had just made Harry drink the potions that Pomfrey had prescribed when Dumbledore, Snape, and Pomfrey entered the room.

“Let’s retreat to Poppy’s office, so that Harry can sleep,” Dumbledore told his colleagues in a small voice, causing the teachers to assemble in the small office next to Harry’s bed.

“Father Christmas, can you hear me?” Harry whispered in a very small voice. “I don’t know if you’re able to hear me, but I want to thank you so much for bringing me here. This is the best Christmas present I could have ever imagined. This is only my first day here, but I’m already really happy. Thank you very much.”

He glanced at his night table in amazement, wondering how all his presents, which he had left in the Great Hall when he went to brew his potion with Professor Snape, had found their way to his night table. Sighing happily, he took the book that he had borrowed from the Potions Master in his hands and began to read, until he noticed that his headache worsened immensely. ‘I better stop reading,’ he thought sadly, closed the book, and lay down, cuddling the book close.

A few minutes later, the Potions Master’s voice penetrated his ears. “I didn’t lend you the book to cuddle with it but to read it,” the teacher said, smirking, without any malice in his voice.

“I wanted to read, but my head hurts too much,” Harry replied in a small voice, taking the book in his hands.

“I believe that you shouldn’t read at all tonight, considering that you have quite a fever,” the professor told him in a soft, silky voice. “Do you want me to tell you a bit about Hogwarts?” he queried, taking a seat next to Harry’s bed.

“I’d love that, Professor,” Harry replied gratefully, slowly looking up into the teacher’s dark eyes.

During the next thirty minutes, Severus talked to the boy about the four people, who had founded Hogwarts nearly a thousand years ago and about the school as it currently presented itself, lulling the child into sleep with his soft silky voice. Only when he was sure that Harry was fast asleep, Snape placed the book on the night table and returned to the office, where his colleagues were still having tea together.

Hearing that Harry wanted to cuddle with a book, McGonagall conjured a stuffed dragon, which she gave the child in his arm, noticing that he cuddled the stuffed animal close, while a small smile played on his lips as he continued to sleep.

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When Harry woke up in the morning, the Headmaster was sitting next to his bed, greeting him with twinkling eyes.

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry croaked, coughing a few times.

“Good morning, my dear boy, how are you on this fine morning?” Dumbledore enquired gently.

“I’m all right,” Harry lied. “Professor, is there any chance to get a piece of paper and a pencil somewhere? I need to write thank you letters to Father Christmas for bringing me here and to Mrs. Figg for forwarding my letter to Father Christmas.”

The Headmaster quickly conjured two pieces of parchment and a quill, explaining, “I’m sorry, Harry, but we use parchment and quills in the magical world. I’ll post your letters afterwards if you want me to do so.”

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Harry croaked gratefully. “Would it be possible to brew potions again with Professor Snape, sir?” he asked hesitantly, causing the Headmaster’s eyes to twinkle merrily.

“Of course that would be all right, my boy, provided that Madam Pomfrey deems you well enough to get up at all. However, I believe that it would be better if you spent some time with the other teachers in order to get to know them all, so that it will be easier for you to decide, whom you want to become your guardian,” Dumbledore replied thoughtfully.

“Oh, I don’t have to think about that,” Harry said, coughing violently. “I like Professor McGonagall a lot, but if I had to decide on one person, I’d love Professor Snape to become my guardian.”

“Professor Snape?” Dumbledore asked incredulously. “Are you sure, my boy?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure, provided that I’m not too much of a burden to the professor,” Harry said firmly, hating how hoarse his voice still sounded.

The Headmaster frowned, before he replied in a soft voice, “Harry, please don’t forget that you’re not a burden, neither to Professor Snape, nor to anyone else here at Hogwarts. We all love you, and we’re glad to have you here. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for placing you with the Dursleys in the first place. Will you forgive an old man for a grave mistake?”

Harry could merely nod as a coughing fit shook his small body, and Madam Pomfrey hurried to his bedside. “Headmaster, what are you doing to my patient?” she asked sternly.

“Nothing Poppy,” Dumbledore replied gently, rising from his seat. “I hope to see both of you in the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry has an announcement to make.”

Pomfrey waved her wand over Harry several times, muttering to herself, before she replied, “I’m sorry, Albus, but I’d prefer to keep Harry in bed for the moment. I need to give him his next dose of potions, and then he should be well enough, so I could try to mend his eye sight, which was what he asked Father Christmas for, wasn’t it, Harry?”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry replied excitedly.

“I also have to do a few tests with him concerning the breathing problems he spoke about in his letter,” the Healer told the Headmaster in a firm voice, causing the old man to nod approvingly and excuse himself.

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Thirty minutes later, everyone, who had remained in the castle over the holidays, except for Pomfrey and Harry, met in the Great Hall for breakfast.

“I suggested to Harry that he should spend some time with each of you today in order to get to know you,” Dumbledore told his colleagues. “However, the boy told me that he already knew whom he wanted to become his guardian.”

“And who might that be?” Flitwick enquired, slightly surprised.

Dumbledore glanced around, before he replied, “He told me that he liked Minerva a lot; however, if he had to decide on just one of you, he’d choose Severus.”

A collective gasp followed the Headmaster’s explanation, which was only interrupted by a vehement “No!” from the Potions Master. “Albus, the boy is delirious. He can’t mean that. Nor would I be willing or even able to raise the offspring of James Potter. No, I’m sorry, Albus, but definitely not.”

“As much as I regret to remind you, Severus, but please recall that we decided yesterday to let the boy choose his guardian and not the other way round,” Dumbledore replied sternly. “If he is too much of a burden for you to use the boy’s expression, we can make you and Minerva both his guardians.”

“Yes please,” Snape threw in quickly, trying to push all his memories of James Potter to the very back of his mind.

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A short while later, Snape entered the hospital wing, where Harry was engrossed in his potions book.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” he said in his soft voice, causing Harry to look up in delighted surprise.

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry replied hoarsely, frowning when he felt the teacher’s cold hand on his forehead.

“Mr. Potter, are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, and Madam Pomfrey even mended my eye sight, so I can see really well now. But she told me to stay in bed until lunchtime,” Harry whispered the last sentence, averting his eyes to the floor.

“I was wondering what could have made you choose me as your guardian and thought it must have been the high fever,” Snape said softly without any malice in his voice.

“No Professor, I’m not delirious if you mean that,” Harry told him, getting slightly upset. “There are two reasons for my choice,” he explained. “One is that you were the only one apart from the Headmaster, who didn’t make a fuss about me, and the other is that Professor McGonagall told me you were a good friend of my mother, and so I thought that maybe...” He slowly trailed off, unsurely playing with his bed covers.

“That what?” Snape queried, while his dark eyes seemed to look right through the boy.

“That perhaps you wouldn’t hate me as much as Aunt Petunia does,” Harry replied in a hardly audible voice, hesitantly turning his eyes to the teacher.

“I don’t hate you child,” Severus reassured the boy, “and I’ll become your guardian if that’s what you want. The Headmaster decided to assign you a second guardian though, which will be Professor McGonagall, who was your second choice as far as he told me. He asked the house elves to prepare a room for you, which is just opposite of this room and has two doors, one leading into my quarters and one into Professor McGonagall’s.”

“Thank you so much, Professor,” Harry croaked happily, throwing his new guardian a huge smile, while he busily cuddled his stuffed dragon.

“Very well. If Madam Pomfrey allows it, I’d like you to move into your own room, so that you’ll get used to living together with me while we’re on holidays, even if you still need to stay in bed. I’ll go and ask her,” Snape announced, before he headed into the Mediwitch’s office.

After receiving several instructions from the Healer, Severus was allowed to take Harry home. He gave Harry some space so he could dress himself, causing the child to look at his new clothes in amazement. ‘These are all new and they’re all mine,’ he mused in absolute delight. They entered Harry’s room through the door right over the corridor, and the boy looked around in admiration. There was a four poster bed, a huge wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a desk with a comfortable looking chair in the room that was held in light blue colours. The enchanted window opposite the door through that they entered the room showed the view onto the Hogwarts grounds and the lake.

“This is beautiful,” Harry gasped, looking around in utter amazement.

“I’m glad you like it, Mr. Potter; however, as you know I have instructions to keep you in bed. You can either lie down here or rest on the sofa in my living room. Of course you can also spend the day in Professor McGonagall’s quarters, but if you don’t like being fussed over, I suggest that you stay with me until your condition improves.” He raised an eyebrow at the child, who quickly made a few decisive steps into the Potions Master’s direction.

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Harry spent the rest of the day in Severus’ quarters. To his delight, the teacher sat with him and began teaching him about potions ingredients. In the afternoon, Severus taught him how to properly prepare some of the ingredients, before he laid out the recipe for an easy potion, which Harry managed to brew flawlessly after the teacher’s instructions.

“This is a simple healing potion, which I make all the first year students do in the third week of the school year,” the teacher explained, while he showed Harry how to bottle the potion into small phials for use in the hospital wing. “Over the rest of the holidays, we’ll brew the other first year potions together, so that you might be able to participate in their class when school starts again, provided that you’d like to do so.”

“I’d like that very much. Thank you, sir,” Harry replied in absolute delight.

“I believe that you’re extremely adept at Potions just like your mother was,” the professor told him when they returned to the living room.

“Professor, do you perhaps have a photograph of my mother?” Harry enquired hesitantly, causing his guardian’s expression to become thoughtful.

“Yes, I think so,” he finally replied, pulling a few photographs from a small drawer in the bookshelf, handing one to Harry.

‘Mum!’ Harry thought, feeling incredibly happy at the sight of his mother, who was dancing in the snow throwing kisses at him. “Hello Mum,” he whispered, softly stroking the photo.

“Mr. Potter, are you feeling well enough to attend dinner in the Great Hall, or shall we have dinner here in my small kitchen?” the teacher’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t mind, sir,” he whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t have to walk down all the way to the Great Hall.

To his relief, the professor decided to remain in his quarters and floo-called McGonagall to excuse both of them from dinner, before he turned back to Harry, smirking.

“You see, even here in my quarters you won’t be completely safe from my colleagues’ fussing. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey will come down for tea after dinner to make sure that I’m not using you for potions ingredients,” he explained, letting out a long sigh that caused Harry to laugh.

For dinner, Severus made Harry eat some chicken broth, before he allowed him to return to the sofa again. Back in the living room, Harry placed the parchment and quill he had received from the Headmaster on the table in front of him and began to write his letters.

Dear Father Christmas,

Thank you so much for arranging for me to be taken to Hogwarts. I love it here, my new guardian and all the other teachers are very nice, and Madam Pomfrey has already healed my eyes. I also have to thank you for all the Christmas presents, but the present of getting a new home is the best I could have ever wished for. I’m the happiest boy in the world. Thank you very much!

Harry

He folded the parchment twice and turned to his guardian, throwing the man a pleading look. “Professor Snape, do you know how I could get this letter to Father Christmas?” Seeing that the man raised an eyebrow, looking at him with an unbelieving expression, he showed him the letter. “It’s just a small thank you note, but I want him to get it.”

“Yes child, I know what we can do,” Severus replied pensively. “Let’s give the letter to Professor Dumbledore when he comes for tea in a few minutes, and he can ask his phoenix Fawkes to take it to Father Christmas. I’m sure that’ll be the fastest way to send your letter.”

“Thank you so much,” Harry replied gratefully and threw his new guardian a huge smile, knowing that from now on his letters wouldn’t end up in a rubbish bin anymore.