Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The ground was slippery even under the thin coating of snow that lay on top of it.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He really should get off the road if he didn’t want to be seen and asked questions, but his pitiful shoes were soaked through from his earlier attempt at trekking across country.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

One thing was certain in his mind; he was never going back. Never, never, never. Well, he couldn’t, could he? But how was he supposed to know that the Dursleys’ ‘holiday’ was really just a ploy to get rid of him?

Crunch. Crunch. Squeak – Ah!

The nine year old found himself firmly seated on the ground and the back of his jeans swiftly absorbing the icy wetness beneath him. His breath billowed out in great clouds and he could no longer feel his hands, but despite the cold, the exhausted boy took a moment to simply sit and look around.

He’d never realised how quiet the countryside could be. Apart from the far off song of some brave bird, he could easily believe there was nothing for miles around. Fear gripped him, but in the way of children, he brushed it aside, choosing instead to think that somehow it really would turn out alright in the end.

But why then had the Dursleys not wanted him? Sure, they’d disliked him, but they’d never attempted something like this before.

Shivering, young Harry got to his feet and forced himself to keep walking. What had he done that was so terrible? He made a face; he was always doing something wrong, or something ‘weird’, so it was likely that they’d finally had enough.

Harry jammed his hands into his armpits and kept putting one foot in front of the other again and again. Maybe it was the letter they’d received the week before? Uncle Vernon had torn the envelope off it with his usual fervour, shoving that at Harry to throw away... and had gone exceedingly pale.

Harry’d never managed to find out what was written, but it had been barely five minutes afterwards that his Uncle had been suggesting a trip away. The boy remembered with sudden clarity that the name – stamped in old-fashioned wax – on the torn envelope had read ‘Malfoy’, and he felt a chill run down his spine, though he had no idea why.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

What he could now identify as an old mill chimney cut an ugly silhouette out of the skyline. It was closer than it had looked when he’d started walking, and it drew Harry like a homing beacon, making him hope against hope that when he finally got there it would point him in the direction of some town or village.

The winter light was dim around him when he finally staggered up and touched it, his legs sore and aching. He had no idea how close it was to sunset for heavy grey clouds obscured the sky in all directions, making it look like it might snow again. Harry shuddered, and hoped not. The small town he could now see huddled in the lee of this great tower was a great relief, but he knew better than to expect he’d have a warm bed for the night.

He pressed on, eager to be sheltered among the mean buildings from the chill wind that had sprung up.

Despite the grim exterior of the town, the closer he moved to the centre, the less forbidding it seemed. In fact, he even passed a group of carol singers as he went.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, let nothing you dismay...

The hymn buoyed Harry up, even as his whole body started to tingle numbly with exposure. He’d forgotten that it was Christmas Eve. He stopped a short distance away and closed his eyes to listen, sending up a silent prayer, even as he expected to be disappointed. Dear God, please, please let me have a real Christmas this year. I’ll be extra good and eat all the vegetables on my plate without complaining once! Please, could you give me a Christmas...? Somehow? Amen. He hoped he’d done it right.

The singers finished and moved onto the last house in the row knocking firmly and beginning to sing even before the owner had got to the door.

Silent Night, Holy Night...

Harry hurried forward and squeezed in among them, adding his voice to theirs. He knew the words; they’d been made to sing many Christmas carols in the school assemblies leading up to the Christmas break, and singing hymns had been one of the few things Dudley had been unable to take away from him.

A couple of the carollers gave him odd looks, but festive spirit was thick in the air and they jovially allowed him to stay and join in, a couple even going so far as to pat him on the shoulder. Wedged between several warm bodies, he finally felt the ice that was his skin to thaw. He even started hoping that maybe whoever was in the house would come out and give him a mince pie like he’d seen the last owner do...

“Will you people take a blasted hint and go away?!” the owner snarled, wrenching the door open and glaring in their faces.  “Or maybe you could actually listen to the words of your blasted song and take the hint from there!”

Or not.

Harry felt his recently revived spirits sinking. The people around him broke up and walked away in different directions, grumbling amongst themselves, and Harry realised this had probably been the last house they were coming to.

He was left alone, staring up at the hook-nosed, bad-tempered face of the house owner. He briefly wondered if this was what Scrooge was supposed to look like.

“Well?” the man snapped, making shooing motions with his hands. “Follow the example of your unholy comrades and leave!”

Harry didn’t move, fear building in his stomach as he screwed up all of his courage. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

The man sneered. “Don’t be ridiculous. You won’t scrounge off me so easily! Now run off back home to your warm bed and pile of presents.”

Harry lowered his head and studied the slush under his feet. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” he repeated mulishly. “My relatives threw me out and I had to walk for miles.” He paused, turning his head to one side to sneeze. “And I’m really cold.”

Something in his forlorn tone must have got to the man for he grudgingly opened the door wider and stepped out into the street. Harry stared at the black boots before him and didn’t move.

A large, warm hand reached out and touched his cheek, then his hand in quick succession. A sigh of irritation ruffled Harry’s hair a little. “Well, I can’t very well leave you out in the street like this, but I’m warning you, boy, if this is a prank, you’ll be sorry you ever came knocking on my door.

The same hand grasped Harry’s shoulder firmly and propelled him forward into the blissful warmth. It steered him into a poky sitting room and he was pushed down onto the ancient sofa without a glance.

The warmth brought his skin back to stinging life and Harry started to shiver. As he started to wish for the numbness back again, a thick, warm blanket was folded around his shoulders and a cup of something hot forced into his hands.

He drew his legs up and nuzzled his face into the softness surrounding him. No one had ever done anything so nice for him, at least not as far as he could remember.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking a grateful sip out of the mug. “Mmm, nice. What is it?”

“You’ve never had hot chocolate before?” a deep, incredulous voice asked from above him.

“Uh uh. Was never ‘lowed to. Dudley always got–” A huge yawn broke off the end of his sentence, warmth finally allowing him to give in to exhaustion.

“Don’t spill that! Or you’ll be paying for a new carpet. Now, drink up.”

Harry eyed the grungy floor, thinking a new carpet sounded like a very good idea, and wondering if a stain would even show up against it. “I’d clean it up, if I did spill. But I won’t. ‘Cos I’ll be careful.” He cradled the mug in his hands and crouched over it like a watchdog.

“Hmm.” The man seemed to be fighting between exasperation and amusement. “You’re still wearing those sodden trousers – and ruining my sofa, no doubt! Here, hold still.”

He crouched down and Harry tensed. “What’re you doing?”

Then man pulled a long stick of wood out of his sleeve and glanced up. “If you tell anyone about this, I will call you a liar and say you tried to steal my books. Understand?”

Harry nodded his head vigorously. “Y’sir!”

“Good.” The man muttered something under his breath and suddenly Harry’s clothes and shoes were dry! And they fit!

“Magic!” The excited shriek was out of Harry’s mouth before he could think. “I told Aunt Petunia it was real! I told her! I told her!” It was all he could do not to bounce up and down in excitement.

The man slipped the stick – wand – back into its hiding place and smirked. “Yes, well, remember our deal.”

“I will! I will! Can you teach me how to do that? Please?”

The man’s smirk seemed to be slipping into a smile. “It is not something that just anyone can learn. It is...” He broke off, looking Harry full in the face for the first time, and went white. “Boy! Where in Merlin’s name did you get that?”

“Oh.” Harry’s hand automatically went up to rub self-consciously at his scar. “I got it in a car crash when I was a baby. My Mum and Dad died in it, so I was sent to my Aunt and Uncle.” He quickly tugged some of his fringe over it. “It hurts sometimes, which is weird, but I suppose it’s kind of the same thing as people feeling their arm after it’s been cut off...”

“Where did you hear that?”

“About the arm? Well, at school we...”

“I’m not talking about your blasted school, I meant the car crash.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “My Aunt and Uncle.”

The man’s face with very tight with loathing and... something else. “They lied.”

“They... oh.” Harry glanced down at his nearly empty mug. “I did wonder. I mean, car crashes don’t have green light, do they?”

The man’s face was pasty. “You remember it?”

“Kinda. I dream about it. And about a flying motorbike, but I suppose that’s just crazy.” He squinted up at the man. “But how d’you know?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” the man said grudgingly. “You’re far too tired for this kind of conversation tonight. Go to sleep and... I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

“OK.” Harry scooted down and curled up on the sofa, allowing the mug to be slipped out of his grasp. “But only if you promise.”

There was a pause. Then, “I promise... and in future you will refer to me as ‘Professor Snape’.”

“OK.” Harry yawned and snuggled into the pillow which had appeared. “G’night, Professor Snape.”

A silence followed and Harry thought he’d been left alone in the room, but a hand appeared out of nowhere and gently smoothed some of his impossible hair down. Harry lay still and silent as the blanket was tucked in even more and the lights switched out.

A soft, almost imagined whisper reached his ears, “Goodnight, Harry.”