Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of whoever offically owns it. Not me.

Edited to remove some of the wretched excess. Thanks SomeGuyFawkes.

It was Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts, and as the Christmas holiday loomed ever closer he found himself torn.

For an abused little boy who barely survived the starvation and beatings of the previous ten years, getting to leave the horrible Dursleys and their wretched little village should have been a godsend. Ten whole months away from Vernon's belt and Petunia's skillet and Dudley's fist. Real food instead of whatever scraps he could steal. Real clothes instead of rags. Bed and bath instead of old newspaper and the garden spigot. It all sounded like a dream come true.

But Hogwarts had turned out to be a bit worse than advertised. Psycho potions teacher. Incompetent and negligent staff. Rabid and accepted bigotry. Harry had only been at the castle for three months and already survived four attempts on his life: the troll, the broom, the forest and the cerberus. That plus the fact that a full quarter of the school seemed to hate his guts before he even met them.

But Christmas was coming. A time of love and giving. Well, maybe for others. The only thing Harry ever got for Christmas was pain, and love was certainly never in the air. And so Harry had decided that this Christmas Harry would give himself a present. This Christmas Harry would grab all the gold in his vault and escape all his problems, and try to make a life for himself that didn't include beatings or trolls.

But that still left his newly acquired kind-of best friend Hermione. Harry only needed one day to realize that there was a significant difference between a smart girl and a savvy girl, and Hermione was definitely a smart girl. Unlike himself, Hermone couldn't see the writing that was clearly written on the wall: the wizards just didn't want her. Well, if Hermione was going to stick her head in the sand and ignore the truth, it would be his last act of friendship to help her see.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table having breakfast with her parents, thinking. Harry had been weird the past week. Anxious, as if he was psyching himself up for another Quidditch game. And he wasn't playing with Hedwig. In fact, she hadn't seen Hedwig the entire week.

Harry had put his name down to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas hols. He said both he and his relatives would have a better Christmas if he stayed away. Hermione felt bad that she left him to celebrate Christmas alone with Ron Weasley of all people, but she missed her family too. And it really was nice to have light bulbs, television, central heating and the public library again, even if she did have to leave her beloved magical castle. At the moment Nat King Cole was crooning something Christmassy in the background, and her parents were discussing the Nativity play at St. Basil's.

And then there was that bizarre moment as she got off the Express at King's Cross. Some Hufflepuff girl, complete stranger, with long blonde hair in her face, pimples and green eyes like Harry's came up to her. Gave her a hug, and said she would miss her. Weird.

Suddenly, a tapping sound came from the window. Hermione looked and saw a unfamiliar owl sitting on the sill looking annoyed. Hermione had learned to read owl facial expressions, quite necesary when your best friend has an owl as a confidant. She let the cold bird in, removed the wrapped gift and Christmas card, gave the owl some bacon and let it rest on the back of one of the chairs.

Hermione's mum looked up. "From one of your friends, dear?" she asked.

"No, mum. Never saw this owl before in my life." The owl had delivered two letters and a small package. "I wonder who sent it all," Hermione asked as she looked over the post. "Oh, look! A present for me! And someone sent you a card, too!"

"Oh that's nice. And it's addressed to both Dan and me. How thoughtful. We'll just read it while you open your gift," her mother said.

Hermione opened her package to see a compact disc of the Xanadu soundtrack. That was odd. Not like a wizard to know anything about muggles movies, or to know how she and her mum adored that movie, and Olivia Newton-John. And there was a letter.

She was about to open her letter when she looked up to see her mum crying and her dad going quite red in the face. Whatever they were reading couldn't be good. Was this package from a professor? Maybe she abused a semicolon in one of her extra credit essays? Or maybe a midterm report card she did poorly on? Oh dear.

Emma couldn't believe what she was reading:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,

My name is Harry Potter, and I believe I may be the first friend Hermione ever had. To hear her talk, anyway. I know what it's like to never have any friends. Every time I tried to make friends in grade school, my bully of a cousin would beat them up and make sure they knew that only losers made friends with me and if they wanted to be my friend they should get used to his fist.

Hermione's a very nice girl, and seems to have lived a very nice life, where adults are always kind and wise and respectable. That's a nice idea in theory but we both know the real world isn't like that at all. There are very nasty adults in the world, and not all of them look like drug addicts and pimps. Some of the very nastiest adults look just like lawyers and school teachers and businessmen. Because they are lawyers and school teachers and businessmen. Successful people can be monsters under their suits. And school teachers and headmasters can be the very worst sort of people under their indulgent smiles.

I had a very abusive childhood. I never told Hermione because she could never relate. Hermione is a smart driven girl who thinks the world revolves around extra credit essays, top grades and being the teacher's pet. I spent ten years locked in a cupboard, only allowed out to do chores and get beaten. I stole food from the neighbor's bins because nobody would feed me. Same well dressed people who went to charity balls to raise money for starving kids in Africa but couldn't care less about the starving kid down the street. They would spit on me and my ill-fitting rags and cross the street when they saw me out scavenging for food. But they never tossed me a quid or gave me some food or got me some proper clothes.

I learned to hate all adults. Adults spat at me, yelled at me, beat and starved me to within an inch of my life. They called me an evil no-good deviant. I was five years old, how much of deviant could I have possibly been? Worse thing I probably did was burn the toast or make the eggs too runny. I was five years old and blind as a bat before I found a pair of specs in the bin. What were they expecting, Julia Child?

I thought my world turned around when I found out about Hogwarts. Not about magic, I didn't care too much about that. Magic didn't fill your belly or keep you warm in winter. But Hogwarts was a boarding school. That meant meals and uniforms and a bed.

But man does not live by bread alone. Don't know about women. I tried to ask the vicar once but he screamed at me to get my evil no-good deviant self out of his church. I used to think Jesus was one of the bastard adults I hated so much, but then I read an old bible I found laying about. Turned out Jesus was just like me, beaten and starved. He just has bastard adults talking about him and Heaven and sin as if they knew what those were. As if they knew anything at all. A lot of very proper church people are going to be very surprised when they don't get to see Heaven.

Hogwarts is a mixed bag for me. It did provide food and a bed and clothes. Things I never had. Things I had always dreamed of. But Hogwarts also provided hate. And danger. And Death.

Hermione once told me that Professor McGonagall hand delivered her Hogwarts letter to your family. Hermione's quite fond of her for some reason. I don't know what sort of impression she made on you. I can tell you that I personally hate her guts. She, Dumbledore and their huntsman Hagrid personally dumped me on the Dursley's doorstep when I was one year old. Literally left me on the front stoop like a bottle of milk. From what I can gather from Petunia's ranting, she woke up to get the paper, stepped on me and broke my arm, grabbed the paper and left me there. I had just spent the whole rainy night of 2 Nov 1991 out doors where any stray cat or dog could have bitten or scratched me. And my bitch of an Aunt steps on a baby and leaves me there. She reckoned if she didn't acknowledge the baby then someone else would deal with it. So I stayed on the stoop for four days, in the rain and November chill, and Bonfire Night on the 5th with the firecrackers and the screaming. All the while my arm getting worse and worse. Eventually Petunia had to take me in because the neighbors had started to notice the smell of my soiled diaper. I never did get my arm fixed. The Hogwarts nurse noticed it while fixing a Quidditch injury and yelled at me for not getting my arm properly healed by an acredited wizard Healer when I was 15 months old. That was when I realized that wizards where not only nasty bastards but really stupid nasty bastards as well.

The Headmaster of the British wizard school and his Deputy Head left a wizard baby on an unknown muggle doorstep and just left. They never checked up on me. They never informed the Wizard Orphan's Office or Crown Child Services. Never took me to a Healer or doctor despite the fact that I had just survived the unsurvivable Killing Curse and had a house collapse on top of me, following the terrorist attack on my family. To the best of my knowledge, no hospitals or government agencies have any records on me whatsoever.

That's why I hate adults, and why I hate Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid.

As I'm telling Hermione in her own letter, I decided to flee both the Dursleys and the wizards. Sending this package was the last thing I did in Britain. By the time you read this letter I'll be long gone.

My remaining problem is Hermione. Hermione is a very trusting kid. I am not. I look into my professors' faces and see evil child-hating bastard adults. Hermione sees kind caring teachers to revere. In the last three months I have survived four attempts on my life. Two of those were direct attempts by a professor to kill me. The other two were deadly situations created by professors, which Hermione and I barely survived.

1st Deadly Situation: The Broom

When McGonagall learned that I'm good at flying a broom, she put me on the Quidditch team. Quidditch is a dangerous game. It's like polo played 300 feet in the air at 100 miles per hour, while the opposing team is allowed to drop iron cannon balls on you. The minimum age to play is 12-13 years old though most of the players are actually 16-17 year olds.

McGonagall didn't ask me if I wanted to play, she just put an untrained 11 year old kid on the team playing the game's most dangerous position because Gryffindor hadn't won a game in years and she was tired of Snape rubbing her nose in it.

So there I am, first game of the season, 400 feet in the air cause I'm a seeker and seekers fly higher than the other players, when my broom goes all wonky and starts to shake me off like an angry bull. No one's paying any attention to me, despite the fact that I'm the most famous wizard in Europe and the youngest Hogwarts Quidditch player in 100 years and holding on to the bucking broom with one hand and 400 feet from a messy death.

Hermione, who alone among the 1000 spectators somehow *does* notice that I'm seconds from death, looks through her binoculars to see who's cursing my broom. She sees Professor Snape staring at me, unblinking, muttering continuously. She decides to save my life, sneaks under the bleachers, runs over to Snape and sets him and whole VIP box on fire.

Now I didn't notice any of this, you understand. I'm still hanging onto my broom with one hand while it jerks and shakes and continues to rise, now at 500 feet above my messy death.

Hermione says my broom stopped shaking the moment she set Snape on fire. I get back on the broom, descend to 400 feet, somehow see the 1 inch flying walnut 100 feet beneath me and 200 feet away. I go into a quick dive, avoid the other players doing their "polo" type formations. I'm 25 feet above the ground when I'm hit by one of those iron cannon balls in the arm, breaking it in two places. I fall off my broom and the snitch flies in my mouth while I'm screaming in pain.

End result: I'm lying on my back on the hard ground after falling 25 feet, my right arm in a very unnatural position and some of the bone is peeking out, and trying not to choke on the snitch that's in my mouth. I spit the snitch into my left hand and hold it up. Hooch blows her whistle and announces I've won the game. Snape lodges a complaint for cheating, since I didn't catch the snitch in my hand. The Gryffindors are ecstatic over their first win in years. Only Hermione notices me bleeding and screaming in pain and levitates me to the hospital wing, where the nurse yelled at me for getting my arm broken in two places and having to heal a compound fracture.

Which I suppose is better than yelling at my corpse for falling off my broom at 500 feet and making her repair a collapsed rib cage or cracked skull.

2nd Deadly Situation: The Troll

The next attempt on my life happened on Halloween and involved Hermione. Hermione did well in class and her assigned partner did badly. She tried to help him, but Ron is a poor idiot with inferiority issues. It ended very badly with Ron loudly telling everyone what a annoying friendless know-it-all Hermione was, as a way to save face before his peers. Hermione fled in tears and spent the next seven hours crying in the loo.

It turns out that Halloween was the wrong day to spend crying in the loo, because someone let a mountain troll into the castle. The staff told those of us at dinner, but didn't bother to announce it throughout the school. When I realized that Hermione was in the loo and didn't know about the troll, I ran to find her before the troll did. In that I was successful, as I found her 30 seconds before the troll found the both of us.

I never saw a mountain troll before and I hope I never see one again. It's a 14 foot man-eating sasquatch that smells like raw sewage, and it carried an enormous wooden club. I'm used to being attacked by grown men, but Hermione isn't. She was frozen in fear. Literally frozen stiff. I kept trying to pull her out of the loo but she wouldn't budge. The troll swung its club through the toilet stalls, smashing them to bits and peppering us with shards of wood and porcelain. Since I couldn't get Hermione to move, I ran at the troll, climbed it and stabbed my wand up its nose, but all that did is get it mad enough to grab me by my leg and try to smash me with its club. Apparently that woke Hermione up because she levitated the club out of it's hand and dropped it on his head, missing my head by inches but knocking the troll out. Ron, who started the whole mess, then walks in loudly proclaiming how he saved us all with a levitation charm he didn't know how to cast and still can't perform even today.

After Ron walks in claiming we owe him our lives (as if), four professors come running in: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell. They look around, see the unconscious troll, the destroyed bathroom, the two soaked students covered in grime, flesh wounds and blood. Then Snape screams about how Potter and the Know-It-All clearly caused the mess and deserve to be punished before being expelled. McGonagall punishes me by deducting 30 house points, I can only deduce, for saving a muggle-born. That or she believes I went into a rage and single-handedly destroyed the whole bathroom while the innocent 14 foot man-eating sasquatch looked on in disapproval. Dumbledore smiled an enigmatic smile. Quirrell fainted again.

After being punished for saving each other from a wild beast that roamed the castle while the staff did nothing, we were ordered back to our dorms. When I suggested we go to see the nurse I was punished again for speaking out of turn. Finally I just carried Hermione to the hospital wing (because she kept insisting on returning to the dorms as ordered). As the nurse cleaned and stitched our wounds closed, and gave us an antidote to the apparently fatal venom trolls can sometimes secrete, she yelled at us for getting injured by a troll and not calling for medical assistance.

3rd Deadly Situation: The Cerberus

On the first day of school, at the opening feast shortly after our sorting, Dumbledore told all the students to avoid the 3rd floor corridor if we did not wish to die a most painful death. Knowing what I know now, I would add that we should also avoid the castle, the grounds, the Quidditch pitch and possibly all of Scotland as well. You never know with those Highlanders.

Somehow on the train ride up to school, I got caught between two households, both un-alike in dignity. A poor boy in hand-me-down clothes named Ron and a rich Lord's son named Draco, both vying to be my "best friend" while disparaging the other. Of course, because I'm an abused and hated child, I align myself with the stupid poor boy rather than the stupid rich boy.

In truth, both boys were stupid bullies and I should have avoided the pair of them in favor of Hermione. And things might have gone better had someone bothered to tell me that I was a rich Lord's son too, as well as being the most famous wizard in Europe. It also would have been nice had someone told me that both boys' families had been fighting a blood feud for centuries over a broken betrothal or a stolen pig or a rusted sword or something impossibly ancient and stupid.

Instead, a month later the rich idiot challenges me to a wizard duel. And even though only adult wizards are allowed to fight wizard duels, the poor idiot accepts the challenge on my behalf. Neither the poor idiot nor I know any magic, nor do I suspect does the rich idiot. But the rich idiot does know how to schedule the duel after curfew where the caretaker will be able to hear us. And he does know how to tell the caretaker that we plan to damage school property.

And though I tried to ignore the stupid duel, since I neither issued nor accepted the challenge, the House of Bravery wouldn't allow me to decline the fight. Even though 11 year olds aren't allowed to fight duels and we don't know any magic yet. Poor idiot is dragging me to the trophy room telling me all about spells he doesn't know anything about. Hermione is bitterly lamenting how I'm going to lose her every house point she's ever earned writing extra credit essays. (** Note to Hermione: Next time, just teach me some spells from your extra credit essays)

So midnight comes, and instead of the rich idiot the caretaker comes running, yelling about how he's going to chain us to the wall by our thumbs. So the bunch of us run away to avoid being chained to the wall by our thumbs. And run smack into the forbidden 3rd floor corridor, and a giant three headed dog. One of Hagrid's pets. Thing's bigger than a stone cottage and looking at us like we're steak. We somehow manage to escape mostly unharmed. Well, I might have pushed the poor idiot to the front of the group while the rest of us escaped. Anyway, poor idiot has a ripped pair of trousers and doggie drool running down his legs. I swear the cerberus smirked.

4th Deadly Situation: The Forest

Hagrid, the bastard huntsman who's not-so-mythical cerberus almost swallowed us whole, decided to raise a dragon for fun and profit. Hermione made a big stink about how he should get rid of it before it burned down his wooden hut. Any bastard who would leave a baby alone for four days in November deserves to have his house burned down as well as getting eaten, along with the other bastard professors. Unfortunately, Hermione managed to convince the poor idiot to write his brother, the poor dragon tamer, to help move the dragon to a nature preserve. It seems raising dragons without a license has been illegal ever since the Great Fire of London in 1666, despite intermittent pleas by gentleman dragon breeders to raise their pets at home.

Though we were able to send the dragon off on its long trek home, McGonagall caught us, and sentenced us to catching some monster in the Forbidden Forest that was killing unicorns. Though students aren't allowed in the forest because of the danger, McG certainly had no problems sending three 11 year olds into a forest infested with werewolves, giant spiders, unicorn-killing monsters and belligerent centaurs, on a full moon at night. That none of us knew any magic and so couldn't protect ourselves, and that we were being supervised by Hagrid, a Hogwarts dropout who also didn't know any magic, didn't seem to dissuade her. That I was almost eaten by a Nazgul and subsequently almost executed by a tribe of centaurs for tresspassing on their lands didn't seem to interest her either. Of course, back when I was a baby she couldn't be bothered getting me medical attention after a house fell on me. That was before leaving me on a doorstep for 4 days in November.

Anyway, I quit. I'm out of here. Despite the brochure, Hogwarts isn't the greatest school of magic in the world with the greatest headmaster. Hogwarts is a house of horror run by psycho professors. But Hermione being who she is, will insist on staying in that murder house so she can rack up more house points from her extra credit essays. There is no doubt in my mind that Hermione will successfully earn more house points through more extra credit essays than any other student. There is also no doubt in my mind that Hermione would not survive to return home in June.

It is quite clear that the staff wants her dead almost as much as they want me dead. Or at least they are so indifferent to her health and well-being that they punished me for saving her life, punished me for trying to get her medical attention, punished us for surviving.

My fondest Christmas wish is for you all to visit Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley today. I've left 1000 galleons and instructions for a goblin solicitor to advise Hermione on her options. About alternative magical schools. Daily after-school magical tutoring. Weekend magical tutoring if Hermione goes to a muggle boarding school. Or my personal favorite option of fleeing the UK and the bigotry of their wizarding community.

No matter what McGonagall told you about careers in the wizard world, the fact is Hermione will never get a well-paying or prestigious job in the wizarding community. No matter how smart, how determined or how talented, the vast majority of British wizards would consider Hermione a filthy uppity mudblood. Good enough to fetch their coffee or clean their homes... maybe.

The truth is magic is just a talent and a skill set, like piano, mathematics or ballet. It can provide a livelihood as well as convenience and enjoyment in her life. But it shouldn't define her, consume her, restrict her or murder her. Yes Hermione could choose to become a Potions Mistress or a Curse Breaker, but there's no reason why she couldn't be a concert pianist, or a brain surgeon, or an astronaut. Being capable of turning a beetle into a button shouldn't keep her from being whatever she wants to be.

But the first step is to escape the fairy tale castle where professors try to kill their students.

Happy Christmas,
Harry Potter

PS: I've included 12 Memographs taken from my memories of the above events. They've been authenticated and notarised by the Ministry and are admissible in any magical jusrisdiction worldwide. Just in case any school or government official disputes your claims.

While Emma was still crying, Dan looked through the envelope and found some other pages. These weren't letters however but 8x10 enlarged magical photographs, with the images animated like a looped video clip. Each photo was annotated, for example "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Troll; 3rd Flr. Bathroom, Hogwarts; 31 Oct 1991" and was stamped:

Authenticated Memory Photograph
UK Ministry of Magic, Records Division
Source: HJ Potter, 19 Dec 1991
Authenticated: CS Flint, 19 Dec 1991
Subscribed and Sworn: RJ Bell, MLegil, 19 Dec 1991
Copies Furnished Upon Request

and bore the embossed seal of the UK Ministry of Magic. Dan couldn't help smirking at the proud roaring British lion wearing a crown and waving a wand, surrounded by fleur de lis.

Dan thumbed through each of the 12 photographs. Each of the events in the letter were shown:

* An enormous snarling three headed wolf snapping at five very small children, at one point Dan swore he could see straight down one of the wolf's throats.

* A terrified Harry all alone in some evil looking forest being attacked by what truly looked like a Nazgul out of Tolkien.

* Another of the same Nazgul lapping blood from the neck of a dead unicorn.

* A battered Harry being held at spear-point by a group of very large and angry centaurs.

* A desperate Harry in a team uniform barely holding on while being jerked all over the place by a psychotic broom.

* A sallow hooknosed man moving his lips and not blinking, and then being engulfed in flames. Dan thought he could just make out Hermione's face in the shadows under the bleachers.

* A distraught Hermione being screamed at by some furious red-haired child and bursting into tears.

The troll incident was by far the most terrifying. Nothing quite brought Harry's narrative to life like a 8x10 glossy of his little Hermione huddled on the floor in a ball while a nightmare monster 4 times her size smashed his club through the sinks and toilet stalls, destroying everything and showering Hermione and Harry in debris. There were several of this incident:

* Harry trying to drag a petrified Hermione away.

* Harry standing guard over a curled up Hermione.

* Harry trying to attack and climb a troll 4 times his height.

* Harry being held upside-down by the leg and being shaken by an angry troll

* Harry about to be bashed by a troll club when the club suddenly floats up and then comes crashing down on the troll's head. Dan noted that the club did come within 2 inches of Harry's own head. Dan also noted that Harry performed some sort of gymnastic mid-air flip to avoid being crushed underneath the collapsing troll.

Dan arranged the photos on the table. Emma could only shake and cry louder as she saw graphic evidence of what Harry had written about in his letter.

Finally when it seemed she could cry no more, Emma folded up the letter and wiped her tears. She had already made her decision even before she glanced at her husband to hold a silent conversation. A quick quirk of her eyebrows was enough to get Dan's agreement.

If Harry was kind enough to provide them with an exit strategy to escape the incompetence and cruelty of the Wizards before he fled, the Grangers could certainly sit down with a goblin and chart their future.

"Hermione, get dressed. Harry left you a Christmas present at Gringotts and we have to pick it up today." Emma said.

"But... But... He already gave me this," Hermione sputtered holding up her CD.

"Oh, what's that?" Emma asked. Dan was still too furious to speak.

"Xanadu. How did he know?"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't. Maybe he just liked the movie. Maybe the songs spoke to him. Or maybe he's trying to tell you something." Emma said

Hermione looked confused. "Tell me what?"

Emma just smiled sadly. "It's probably in your letter."

Dear Hermione,

You're a dear sweet girl, and the smartest person I've ever met. But you don't have the sense God gave a goose.

If McGonagall come into my house and turned my clean and sanitary coffee table into a filthy pig I'd throw the bitch out into the street. Dear Lord, did you actually eat off that table again?

As I've told your parents, I truly hate McG. Spit in her face hate. Break her arms hate. Bash her head in with a cricket bat and feed her carcass to Norbert hate.

Of course I also hate Hagrid, Dumbledore and Snape. Jury's out on Flitwick. He's never done anything to me personally, but I've heard he orders hazing and bullying of Ravenclaw firsties by the older 'Claws to keep them in line.

I'm very fond of you, Hermione. And as I told you at King's Cross, I will truly miss you. But there's a limit to how much pain a soul can take, and my VISA card's all maxxed out. That all the pain I've experienced can be traced directly to Dumbledore, McG, Hagrid and Snape is a terrifying thought. That they expected me to continue taking it is just insane.

Talk to Bloodfist about your options. You shouldn't have to give up Oxford or Harvard or Ecole de Beaux-Arts just to wave a wand. Of course, personally I think you should leave Britain. It's a cold gloomy country filled with cold gloomy people. I'd like to run into you sometime in the future. Of course I'd look completely different. But I'm sure a smart girl like you can cope.

I think all those story books you read as a kid did a number on you, prepped your mind to embrace witches and castles and dragons. And I think a girl can get Stockholm Syndrome even in Scotland.

But mostly I worry that the castle will find a way to kill you. Whether by an angry student or an uncaring teacher or another bloodthirsty monster.

You're a very lucky girl to be alive. But no luck lasts forever. It's time for Snow White to leave her castle.

All my love,
Harry

PS: Got to believe we are magic

A/N: Letter to Hermione is a maudlin whine-fest from David Bowie's first album. Hermione was Bowie's girlfriend who dumped him before he got famous for a slightly more successful rock musician that no one remembers today. Though many people insist Letter is a classic rock love song, to me it's an embarrassing sack of shit. Space Oddity is much cooler. Of course, so is Rocket Man.