Harry stretched on his bed after having escaped to his little sanctuary thirty minutes prior. He had spent the time seething while trying to ignore the calmness that was attempting to soothe him. He watched flake after glistening flake of fresh snow fall outside his window. No, he refused to cool down.

Instead, Harry stood up and strode to the door. He knew that he might see Ron as he walked through the Gryffindor dormitory, but that was a chance he'd have to take. Ha, it might do his "friend" some good to be on the receiving end of his ire.

How could Ron be so dull? Harry had given more than enough clues that those mittens were special to him? Why had Ron been so oblivious? The stranger who gave him the gloves had been the first kind person he had met and had convinced him there were still pleasant people in the world. Without that single act of caring, Harry had no doubt that he would have turned bitter by now.

Since Harry had been lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize that he had already reached the common room. Seeing a crumbled shape on the floor, he walked closer. As he neared the odd shape, he realized that it was clad in a bulky sweater and worn jeans. The flaming red hair completed the ensemble. Ah, that's the revenge that Hermione probably set on the redhead. For once, Harry had no sympathy for Ron upsetting the young witch. Barely resisting the urge to lash out and kick the still but conscious form, he instead walked to the Fat Lady Portrait.

"Mighty late on Christmas Eve to be leaving the tower. Father Christmas won't be happy." Harry glared at the nosy picture but kept walking, his eyes determined.

In a soft voice, uncaring if the woman heard him or not, he whispered, "I don't believe in Father Christmas, I never have."

Aimlessly, the child meandered down the hallway to the stairs, not caring if a professor noticed him and took points. Snape could even catch him, and he wouldn't care. Harry had never felt so betrayed in his life; even the Dursleys' hadn't upset him nearly as much. He knew they didn't love or even like him, so their words of "affection" didn't matter to him.

He recalled the old saying about dogs about , "the bark being worse than its bite.," Well, the Dursleys' hadn't gotten that memo. Their bark was weak, but their bite was worse.

Shaking his head, he thought back to the problem at hand. Ron. The boy had been his first real friend his age, one whose family even loved him, Harry, the freak. He recalled the first time a few months ago that he had met him.

***

Harry struggled with his cart. Hagrid had picked him up from the Dursleys' home and had taken him to King's Cross Station, but neglected to actually take him to the platform. Recalling that his ticket said to board on Platform 9 ¾ , he glanced around and noticed nine and ten but no 9 ¾. Maybe he had read the boarding pass wrong.

He pulled the thin piece of paper from his overlarge trousers and read it again. 9 ¾ was bolded and Harry knew he was left with a problem. Perhaps it had all been a dream, or worse yet, a cruel joke, escaping the Dursleys and finding magic! But...no, Harry couldn't allow himself to think that. He had to believe it because if he didn't, there would be nothing left. No dreams of brighter tomorrows, just a dusty cupboard under the stairs. No merciful being to give him a present that to him embodied hope. Harry couldn't lose hope. He had to cling to it. As the tiny threads in his heart began to tear away, he heard a voice. Rather, he heard several voices.

"There are more muggles here every year!" A woman's voice full of exasperation, impatience and yet, love boomed.

Harry's ears prickled. Muggles! Hagrid had called non-magical people muggles! He took a tentative step to the group that he now saw consisted of a sea of red hair. Several of the children looked to be near his age, with two being identical twins. The youngest and the only girl of the group clung to her mother.

"Mama, can't I go, too?" The child whined as Harry slowly walked towards the group. The mother shook her head in the negative and declined the girl's request.

"Er...Hello, I was wondering how to get on Platform 9 ¾ but it doesn't seem like there is one." Harry awkwardly interjected, eyeing the rowdy lot. Well, most of the children seemed wild, save for one who looked upon his family with a coolness that was unmistakable.

"Oh, no problem, dearie. It's Ron's first time, too." The lady turned and addressed her brood, "Ok Percy first, then the twins and Ron, you're last!"

Harry watched the indifferent boy run towards the wall between the ninth and tenth platforms. Whereas Harry expected him to slam into the wall and receive a rather nasty headache, Percy simply disappeared. The young eleven year-old's stomach churned. What if his magic failed him, and he hit the wall? Wouldn't that surely aggravate his already injured body? He didn't have time to dwell on it as the two identical boys cast a glance on him.

"It's ok," one of the twins started.

"Doesn't hurt a bit," his twin continued as he nodded to his brother.

"You just run towards the barrier-" the first twin explained in a patient tone.

"-And your magic does the rest," the second boy finished.

Harry only nodded dizzily as he watched the identical boys race and vanish into the wall. The last child, the one that was apparently a first year as well, unlike his brothers, looked a bit nervous. Harry could tell though that no matter how nervous the redhead was, that he himself was much more so.

"Ok, Ron, your turn," The mother continued, stated as she ushered him forwards. The child, Ron, gulped and then ran full speed into the wall, blinking out of sight as his brothers had before him.

The lady focused on Harry again. "Love, it's your turn. Only two minutes before the train leaves so you best be going now. Remember, run into the wall. It won't hurt." The woman spoke to him as she laid her arms on him in a small reassuring hug.

Harry nodded his understanding as she let go of him and he backed up a couple of spaces to get a running start. He raced towards the barrier, his churning stomach now in knots. Doubts began to creep up into him again and he swallowed, trying to be brave. Not thinking about the wall, only running, he was surprised when he heard a small swoosh and then a chorus of young voices.

Sharpening his senses, he was surprised to see children frantically running around with trunks such as his. And the train! The locomotive was like none he had ever seen before. With the billowing smoke and the absolute majestic feel, it gave an air of being in an entirely different universe. Harry took a moment and realized that for all purposes, he was indeed in a different world.

Dragging his trunk up to the door and into the train, he paused at all the different compartments and the children. Students of varying backgrounds milled about, finding friends and seats. He walked farther, he spied a compartment empty, save for one of the boys he had just met, Ron.

"Hi, again. May I sit here?" Harry asked shyly.

Ron nodded his acceptance and stuck out his hand. "'Ello, I'm Ron, Ron Weasley. What's your name?"

The redhead scooted over to give Harry some room. Harry gratefully sat down. He hadn't expected to sit in the seat, freaks like him belonged on the floor, or so his relatives told him.

"I'm Harry...just Harry." He responded, remembering all too well the idolizing looks he had received when his last name was mentioned or his scar was seen.

It had been too much, going from one world that refused to positively acknowledge his very existence, to one that practically worshipped him. He watched with keen curiosity as Ron took a little sack from his bag. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was some sort of sandwich. The other child didn't look too pleased with the morsel, but held out a bit of the meal.

"Mum made us all ones to take on the train. It's a long ride, and she didn't want us to go hungry," he shrugged and chewed his piece.

Harry took it as a cue and nibbled at his section.

"Thanks," Harry ate slowly, trying to make sure he wouldn't throw it up upon swallowing. His relatives, never having bothered to give him much food, had offered him even less after Hagrid's departure. He was relieved when the small offering stayed in his tummy, though with a bit of protest.

The two preteens fell into a comfortable silence and startled when an elderly lady appeared at their door.

"Anything from the trolley?" Her voice was kind, not the authoritative kind like Mrs. Weasley or even the serious no-nonsense of the man who had given him his cherished mittens, but a sugary type of kind. Harry wasn't hungry. In fact, he was fairly sure that if he ate anything it would come right back up, but one look at his new friend told him the other child was starving and enviously looking at the offered sweets.

"Sure, we'll take the lot." Harry reached into his pocket and dug out some coins that Hagrid had termed galleons. Reaching out to the lady, he received the yummy-looking treats and handed them to the red haired boy. "Here you go."

Ron immediately stuffed a chocolate cake in the shape of a caldron in his mouth and nodded his thanks.

Harry smiled and reached up to wipe some sweat off his forehead. As he did the black locks covering the lightening bolt-shaped scar was exposed for a fraction of a second. The short amount of time that it took was enough that Ron had noticed his forehead and was staring.

"You're Harry...Potter!" Ron gaped like a fish as Harry flinched a little.

"Yes, but I'm just Harry, I don't remember any of it," Harry had no need to explain what the "it" was, Ron and everyone else in the wizarding world knew.

"But still...!"

Harry gave Ron a look that the other child seemed to realize it meant that that was the end of the discussion.

Ron nodded but before anything else could be said, they heard the door open.

A young girl with bushy brown hair stared at the two new friends. "Have either of you seen a toad? A boy our year is missing one."

***

Harry remembered the satisfaction that making a friend brought. Sure, Ron had been a little weird when he realized that Harry was "the-boy-who-lived," but he had gotten over it.

Darn it! Why had Ron done something so stupid? Harry didn't want to be mad at his first friend, but he found that he could scarcely help the feeling. Ron had done something so moronic, and Harry couldn't get himself to forgive the boy.

The young Gryffindor reached the stairwell and started the lengthy trek down. Despite his overall failure to care if he got caught, he was nonetheless relieved that he hadn't been. He just wanted some peace and quiet, a rarity in his dorm room. He needed a place to think. The library would be a good place to hide out; no one would think to look for him there.

With that thought in his mind, Harry walked with new resolve. The staircase was akin to an ever-moving maze. It never stayed in the same spot, so one would have to be careful while traveling on the magical stairwell. Harry knew all of the warnings, had even been nagged on by Hermione to "slow down" but he was too fed up to care all that much.

He ran with gusto, quickly clearing the seventh floor, then came to the sixth floor. The way he felt, he could run to the dungeons and back up to the tower and still have anger to fuel his energy. His too-large shoes flopped furiously, seemingly attempting to keep up with him.

That's when it happened. Harry had barely enough time to consider his dilemma as first his left shoe flung off his much smaller foot and he lost his balance, stumbling to the step below him. He felt a shift and realized with a start that the stairs had moved. Caught in the middle of the tumble, the child was unable to right himself before he was flung down the staircase several more steps down, his body slamming on each with jarring pain . Almost crying, he caught himself by his hands on the very last step, his body dangling in midair. Harry clawed at the edge, attempting to pull himself up. Meanwhile the stairwell kept misbehaving as it parted with its brother and moved to the left. The movement was too much for the small eleven-year old as he was flung in the air like an old forgotten ragged doll. Tears filled his eyes as he realized that he was fighting a losing battle as he was unable to force his hands to support his weight and pull him up. The Gryffindor was rarely afraid of anything, but he was deathly scared as he knew that falling six floors down to the ground would probably kill him. Funny, this wasn't how he had envisioned his death. He had thought that it would probably be from his "loving relatives," or the evil wizard known as Voldemort. Would anyone realize he was missing from the towers? How long would his body lay on the ground before anyone found him? Would anyone really care about him, not, the-boy-who-lived- but him, Harry? Would Dumbledore send the notice of his death to the Dursleys' via owl post or send someone to the family? No! he couldn't let himself think like that, he could get out of this mess but only if he kept a positive attitude. He furiously thought of anything that could help him. His wand? Harry tried to recall if it was where he could reach it. "Darn!" He shouted, realizing that he had stashed it in his back pocket. He should have listened to Hermione and bought a wrist holster, but no, his back pocket would be just fine. If Harry had a hand to spare, he would have slapped himself on the forehead for his bullheadedness. So his wand was not an option, if only he knew wandless magic, then perhaps he could do a charm but being a First Year, that was out of the question as well. He remembered that the pictures could talk and relay messages and thus help him. The raven-haired child scanned his line of vision but to his dismay, the only portrait housed a person who was off visiting another frame. Harry was out of ideas-and he was out of time as his arm sockets burnt with a fierce fire of having to support his whole body. His fingers strained with their undeserved burden. He recalled those disaster movies that Dudley was found of, with the victims falling to their deaths after trying to escape some ghastly ordeal; he never thought he'd ever relate to them. He was suspended in the air by the still-moving stairwell for several minutes, sweat dripping down his pale face and hands. He willed himself to stop sweating as the moisture was beginning to loosen his precarious hold on the cold step. It wasn't enough though.

First one finger slipped and he lurched, catching himself.

Then another.

Another.

Another.

And another.

He only had one hand left on the stair, his weight straining it. When the last of his fingers on his right hand had slipped off, his body had shifted left in surprise such a manner that he couldn't replace his other hand. One hand was the only thing keeping him from plummeting down to his death on the hard stone ground many floors below.

Harry clenched his teeth together, his whole body going rigid in an attempt to save himself. He denied himself the luxury of shutting his eyes, hoping that someone would come and see his plight. It was ironic, really, that not more than five minutes ago had prayed to be unseen, and now he was pleading to be noticed by someone.

An agonizing minute passed with Harry hanging to his life by five tiny fingers. That's when he saw the shadow, a dark figure with robes on. A professor. A potential savior.

Risking a bit, he craned his neck to the person. "Professor-" Harry's scream was cut short as pain shot through his forehead like a sledgehammer. "Help!" Harry rasped as his vision blurred and various colors danced in his eyes. His hand slipped.

So this was it, he was going to die. Die a horrible, painful death, he almost wished that if he had to die young, it could have happened when Voldemort had attempted to kill him and succeeded in murdering his parents. Then at least he would have died with people who had loved him, a death relatively pain free compared to this way. If he had died from the Aveda Kedavera cast on him, his younger self wouldn't have even known he was in mortal danger.

Harry recalled an adult he had seen in Surry describing a near-death experience who said that their whole lives had flashed before their eyes. The Gryffindor fleetingly remembered the events that had meant the most to him. Finally getting his Hogwarts Letter, escaping the Dursleys, meeting Hermione and Ron. Ron. Merlin, he wished he had forgiven the boy. Sure, Ron had been a right git, but it had been a mistake. If he had chosen to at least talk to the Redhead, he'd been nestled in his bed now, not rushing to his death. Harry finally allowed himself to howl like a deranged animal as the bitter salty tears drowned his face.

Plummeting like a muggle bullet, Harry's last thought was the bitter irony of "The-Boy-Who-Lived," becoming "The-Boy-Who-Became-A-Pancake."

A few suspended in-time moments later, his body crashed to the floor.

***

Severus Snape swiftly moved through the halls of the enchanted castle searching for prowlers of student or enemy nature. He knew the rumors that students whispered about him. To them he was a bat, a vampire who never slept.

It was true that the Potions Master didn't get as much sleep as most of the professors at the school, but his battle with insomnia was a never-ending struggle. The man's mind was too wound to sleep. This Christmas Eve was the worst in a long time.

Even after seeing Weasley squirm and gag dissecting snake brains, he had not been able to get the abominable Potter out of his mind. The boy almost drove him to drink as troublesome as he was! Yet, the raven-haired child really had not done anything...this time. Well, except being friends with Weasley, but that was neither here nor there.

Try as he might, he couldn't get those chapped hands out of his mind. Even if the miserable child did have his green mittens unceremoniously snatched from him, didn't the fool know enough about the weather to put on a different set? The spoilt prince was probably so accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, that he wouldn't settle for anything else.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it of all things Potter, he scanned the hallways of the esteemed school, hoping to find a student, preferably of Gryffindor nature out after curfew. For once, no one seemed to be roaming the hallways this night, lest fear of punishment on Christmas Day. Pity.

Severus steepled his fingers in frustration. Of course the students would be obedient little dogs on Christmas Eve but not the rest of the year. Shame, pickled pig feet would be a lovely present from his victims...er...students.

Snape went through a mental checklist. His own Slytherins were in bed, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs settled in the dormitories presumably asleep. That only left his favorite fresh meat, the Gryffindors. Gryffindors...Potter. DARN! Why did his brain keep wrapping around that wretched boy? Scowling, he walked to the corridor that would lead to the stairwell Minerva's students used to travel the seven flights to their dormitory.

Severus' obsidian eyes had long since gotten used to the dim lighting provided by the torches and plentiful Christmas candles. He was accustomed to the shadows that such lighting provided, the normal shapes of the suits of armor, the portraits, and the usual affair the castle was dressed in. He walked a few more paces to the entrance to the Grand Staircase only to see a shadowed lump. Frowning, he whispered a Lumos and crept closer.

The broken, bleeding body of Harry James Potter lay crumpled to the ground.