"Professor Longbottom?"

"Yes, Chip?"

"When Harry Potter was growing up, what would he do over the holidays?"

"What do you mean by that exactly?"

"I mean—well, since he didn't have any parents, and Ron Weasley and Hermione Grainger were always leaving to see their own families over holiday…" Chip looked down as he trailed off, embarrassed that his professor might guess at the hidden meaning behind the inquiry. What Chip didn't know was that Neville Longbottom had been in a similar situation. Not completely alone, never completely alone—but he often dreaded going home over past holidays.

What did Professor Longbottom have to face over the holidays growing up, you ask?

Parents that couldn't talk to him, couldn't offer advice; Parents that couldn't defend him when the Slytherins used to make fun of him. Parents that had given themselves to the highest cause—freedom—forcing him to walk alone. Resentment rose in him then, which was surprising because Neville was positive he'd come to terms with everything. But he realized in that moment that just because you understand something, and so completely too—it doesn't necessarily mean that you're over it.

Looking at his student, Neville realized something else: There were children at Hogwarts that he could help. And he knew just who to talk to about it. He recalled a memory from his early school days when he saw Harry roaming around the commons with Ron, wearing a sweater with an "H" on it, looking uncomfortable to be doing so. Obviously it had been a gift since the holiday had just passed, but Neville could have sworn that beneath the superficial discomfort of the boy, warmth and tentative happiness bled through. A fragile light began to shine in Harry that day, and without it, Neville didn't think that Harry Potter would have been Harry Potter: The Chosen One that millions of witches and wizards alike revered to that day.

So, after talking to his student, he wrote to the person who wove that magical sweater and who ultimately helped shape one of the world's greatest heroes: Molly Weasley. She agreed immediately, turning down Neville's offer of payment, sputtering and muttering about how ridiculous he was for even suggesting such a thing. Insisting that presents from the heart didn't hold meaning if they were paid for.

So he shrugged, realized he was shrugging to himself in an empty classroom, forced himself to stop, and forwarded her a list of all the students he knew of that needed the power of a magical sweater.

…

The week before finals came, Neville received a rather large package.

He became a little nervous; what would the students think of him? Would they shrug him off? But Neville had to ignore that line of thinking. If he had faith, then that would sustain him. Especially with the help of his friends.

…

It was early in the morning when Chip decided to go downstairs. Being a second year, he knew his way around the common room fairly well. He didn't know if he would receive any gifts: His father had died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and his mother had passed giving birth to him. He lived with his uncle who was very nice, but he was always working—he was an auror. Loneliness was Chip's constant companion.

In fact, he wasn't expecting to get much for Christmas. He almost died of shock when, under the tree, he spotted a gift with his name on it.

He picked it up gently, and read the card attached. It read:

Dear Mr. Chip—

I was once a very lonely boy on Christmases. A very good friend of mine tells me that we have the same problem. I had a friend named Ronald Weasley (you might have heard him: terrifically red hair, my best mate?) Anyway, his mother, bless her soul, has one of the biggest hearts I've ever seen. Well, er, I haven't seen it, but you get it, don't you?

Anyway, she knit me a sweater. And it wasn't just any old sweater—it was red and scratchy, and I hated the blasted thing, had a big "H" on it, and it was huge on me (she can't be blamed, she insists, because how was she supposed to know my size?). It's not about the sweater, though, it never was.

The sweater showed me that someone actually cared about me. Enough to knit me the most god-awful piece of clothing one could ever hope to own, but my point is, Mrs. Weasley's kindness forced me to believe in something. In fact, I believed enough that I fought for it, and well—you know the rest.

So, even though I'm sure her sewing hasn't improved any, wear this. Proudly. And never forget for even a second that you're cared for and loved. Never forget that there's still kindness in this world. Keep fighting.

Best,

Harry J. Potter

Head of the Auror Department

Sweaters were received by many students that day, and each read inspiring words from the Golden Trio. (Even Hermione took a break from all of her protesting and freedom fighting to partake.)

The day after holidays ended, every child who'd received the special gift was wearing it proudly: Standing taller, had more confidence, and shone with their own brilliant beams of light.

Professor Longbottom was hit by two different emotions simultaneously. Pride that he'd taken part in—commandeered, even—his own Christmas miracle, and sadness that so many lives to this day were being effected by the Battle of Hogwarts. His happiness, though a touch bittersweet, was immeasurable to anyone else's that day.

…

Weeks passed, and then a month or two passed. The warmth and magic of Christmas had dissipated. Or so it seemed.

As Professor Longbottom walked into his classroom, he spotted a lumpy package on his desk. He picked up the card, read it, and, not one to hide his emotions, allowed a single tear to slide down his cheek.

He tore open the package, and inside lay the lumpiest, frumpiest sweater he'd ever seen. It was blue, had an "N" on it, and one sleeve was longer than the other. But he loved it anyway.

He slipped it on, and suddenly, it was Christmas again.