A/N This is not my style, at all. It' really different, but I like it alright. Please read past the first few paragraphs, because it gets better. It's long and not too interesting at the beginning, I promise, but I manage to develop Mrs. Andrews character! I felt the need to.

Anyway, on with the story!

The Christmas Wish

Hello, I would like to tell you a Christmas Story, and before you get all comfortable, snuggled down with your fuzzy blanket and hot chocolate, ready to have your insides fell all fuzzy and warm—grab the tissue box. Well, that may be a little extreme, because while this story is sad, it is not tear worthy unless you were there, unless you saw the difference between the two boys, heard the insults, the quiet pain, saw his face, saw his picture—wait, I am getting ahead of myself. What I mean to say was that this story is no heart-warming, make-you-fell-all-bubbly-inside, cliché Christmas Story. No…it is a story of Christmas and one little boys heart-breaking wish.

Wait? What's that? Oh, who am I? I am Sarah Andrews, and I teach the seconds year students and Surrey Elementary School in Surrey, Great Britain. It really is a wonderful job. There is nothing better than teaching, passing on knowledge to another generation, which will carry all the hopes of the years to come—I once more apologize, but when I talk about my occupation, I tend to get off track. As I was saying, I am Sarah Andrews, known as Mrs. Andrew to my students. I am now around 57-years-old, and hoping to retire by 65. But the story I am about to tell takes place when I was younger…about ten years ago, I believe.

It was nearing Christmas, and that was very apparent, and not only in the red-and-green decoration hanging about the room, the snowflakes—made by my students, of course—hanging from the ceiling, and the little Christmas Tree in the corner of the room. The students whispers and faces were the dead give away. All of them were far too excited for it to by any other time of year.

I clearly remember the day. It was the last day of school before break started—actually, that is the main of the story, but perhaps it is best to start the day before.

The class had just come in from recess; they were all rosy cheeked and runny nosed, but grinning and laughing. It was very cold out, and snow had just begun to fall again. A perfect Holiday Day, in my opinion. And the children seemed to think so, too. But then again, what day to a child isn't a good reason to start to celebrate Christmas? Children are the ones among us who truly celebrate Christmas, and not because of the gifts, though they were a definite attraction to holiday.

I remember smiling as I heard the children talking about what they wanted for Christmas this year, shaking my head slightly at some of their outrageous wished. Susie Peckerton had wanted an elephant, I believe. But she was a very creative young child, one of the best story tellers we had.

"Please hang up your coats!" I remember calling, watching as a chubby young boy dropped his coat on the floor, not even bothering to try to hang it up. I sighed. He was a problem child, quite the little bully. I walked over toward him, once again speaking to the class, though I directed the comment toward the young boy. "Your coats go on the hangers, class," I said again, hoping that he would go back and hang his up. Of course, being the young man he was, he didn't. In fact, not only did he not hang up his coat, he pushed one of the other students towards it and told him to hang up the coat. I remember his words quite clearly, as I was stunned at the time that they could come so casually—so cruelly—from the mouth of a 7-year-old.

"Hang it up, freak!" he'd said.

"Mr. Dursley!" I said sharply, giving him a hard look as I walked over right next to him. Students would not behave like that, not in my classroom. "Is that your coat on the floor?" I knew it was.

"Yes?" he said, shrugging. A few of the boys around him—bullies, all—chuckled. I felt my lips thinning, but reminded myself that these were young boys, just children.

"Didn't you hear me tell the class to hang their coats up?" I asked, once again knowing that he had.

"Yeah, I did," he said disrespectfully, once again shrugging. He looked at me, clearly saying, 'And you're point?'

"Then why didn't you?" I asked him, not really expecting an answer. The one I got surprised me.

"I did—he knocked it down," he said, pointing at the boy he had pushed. I had to blink a few times, realizing that he who he was pointing at. He was trying to blame it all on his cousin. I knew that Harry Potter hadn't knocked down the coat. I had been watching. The young Potter boy had hung his coat up quietly, coming in from recess last and all alone. He had not knocked down the coat.

"Your cousin knocked it down?" I asked again, giving Dudley a chance to redeem himself. I knew I didn't sound as if I'd believed him.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Dudley Dursley said again. And once again, his shoulders rose in a hug of indifference.

He was lying outright to a teacher! I wouldn't stand for this. After all, these were the years to teach them not to do things such as this, and I planned on doing just this.

"Mr. Potter, did you knock down your cousins coat?" I asked him kindly. I felt bad putting him in this position. Now, if I had been shocked at Dudley Dursely's excuse, I was more shocked at Harry Potter's answer.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," the young Potter boy said quietly, quite the opposite of his louder and disrespectful cousin. He didn't look up at me, and it was then that I noticed how pale and thin he was, compared to his robust and over-weight cousin. Harry lived with the Dursley's, I was pretty sure. So why did he look so…painfully thin and uncared for and his cousin looked—and acted—spoiled rotten? Alas, that was not the issue at hand. I had to deal with Dudley lying about the coat.

I was about to turn to Dudley and ask him why he had lied when Harry's answer suddenly clicked in my mind. Yes? But I had been watching…he hadn't done anything of the sort.

"Mr. Potter…did you hear me? I asked if you knocked down you cousins coat," I said, once again kindly, and watched as the young, sad-looking boy glanced at is older cousin and flinched. I also saw the look of triumph in his cousin's face, though I didn't know what it was about.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he said, his young voice barely a whisper. I was standing right over him and I barely heard him.

I was beginning to get an odd feeling in my stomach, thinking of everything I had seen in this young boy. His clothes were far too big, his glasses taped, his school lunch far too small for a boy his age, his eyes sad. And now, his voice was fearful. Now that I thought about it, his voice was fearful whenever he talked, and most especially when asking a question or talking to his cousin. I was beginning to wonder exactly what his home life was like, and my thoughts were none to pleasant. But I had an issue here and now to deal with, I could deal with the Dursley's later.

"Are you sure, Harry?" I asked again, kneeling down to see his face. He avoided my eyes, but I still saw the fear in them.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrew," he replied again, once more in his quiet, timid voice.

I sighed. There was nothing I could do. He was admitting it, even though I knew he had done nothing.

"Alright then. Harry, hang up your cousins coat," I said heavily, and my eyes narrowed slightly as Dudley smirked at Harry. "And Mr. Dursley, don't call people names!" My voice was rather sharp when speaking to the older of the two boys.

That day went on, but I watched Harry throughout it. He did his work quickly and efficiently, and waited when he was done, staring at his desk, looking neither left, nor right, nor up. Just at his desk. His left leg would swing nervously, but he would suddenly stop, glancing around with wide eyes before realizing what he was doing and looking back down again. He never engaged the other kids, and I noticed that Dudley kept giving him mean looks. Harry would always pale when he saw them, and Dudley would smirk.

I was almost relieved when the students when home for the day, but I was also worried. I paid more attention to the parents picking up their children that day than I had before, and I what I saw only added to my worry.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley looked like your average couple, except for the very obvious weight difference. Mr. Dursley was very fat, and I could see where his son got it from. Mrs. Dursley was thin, but not painfully so, unlike her nephew in his too-large lothes. When they picked up their two students, I watched surreptitiously.

"Dinky Duddems! How was your day!" Mrs. Dursley said, hugging her son and beaming down at him as he grinned at her. The father was standing in the background, also smiling proudly. The other young child—the sad Harry Potter—was standing slightly apart from the group, looking at the ground and holding the sack that served as his backpack. I had never noticed that before, the fact that Harry didn't have a backpack.

"Okay…but he got me in trouble!" he said, pointing at Harry. I smiled, thinking that at leas the truth would come out here and Dudley would get scolded for lying to a teacher. Sadly, this didn't happen.

"Did he? Oh, my poor boy!" Mrs. Dursley said, hugging Dudley and giving her nephew a cold, hard, angry look. He flinched—physically flinched.

"Boy…" Mr. Dursley said threateningly, his glance toward the young boy anything but cold. It was blazing, and I felt my heart pick up speed in fear for my young pupil.

Harry seemed to shrink in upon himself, slowly raising his eyes to his uncles face before dropping them again, clearly afraid. I wanted to close my eyes, knowing that there was nothing I could do. Favoritism and dislike don't mean anything to the courts. However, my eyes remained open, determined to feel a bit of the pain my student felt.

Mr. Dursley grabbed Harry Potter by his arm. I could tell the grip was painful from where I was standing, but Harry didn't make a sound. He just bit his lip and allowed his uncle to drag him to the car. I watched as Mrs. Dursley grabbed her sons backpack and followed, still talking about how unfair it was for her Dudders.

As soon as they left, I finally closed my eyes. I knew that to anyone else it looked normal. It looked like a man giving his son a talking to for being bad at school. But I had begun to put two-and-two together. I knew there was more to it than that, or at least I was sure there was. But I knew that there truly was nothing I could do. They may dislike him, punish him more harshly than their son, and play favorites…but that is not abuse. That's not something I can stop. After all, if anyone asked, Harry had admitted to being naughty in class, knocking down his cousins coat. The head of the house had the right to give him a talking to.

I shook my head and went back to my desk, putting my head into my hands. I sighed, knowing that even if I was right, that the courts wouldn't do anything about it. Favoritism is not reason enough to remove a child from a home. Not harmful enough, according to the law. I almost snorted, and would've it wasn't so sad. Not harmful enough? That could leave mental and emotional scars that will never go away…

I almost cried, but I had work to do. I could not dwell on this, no matter how much I wanted to. I could not think of unloved and unwanted children, no matter how much I wished I could help…

"Sarah, you're not superwoman…you can't save everyone…" I told myself firmly—though not half as firmly as I wished. With that, I started to grade the spelling tests, thinking of the Christmas party that would be tomorrow and trying to keep my mind off of a pair of tragic green eyes…

The next day, I was laughing along with the kids as we played Christmas games. The last day party was always so much fun. I almost forgot about Harry and his sad little eyes, until I noticed him standing apart from the others. I sighed, but knew that I could do nothing about that bit. He truly was shy, and that might have nothing to do with non-legal neglect. But then again, it could be the real reason.

I noticed that he seemed to stock up on the chips and candy, glancing at Dudley every so often as he ate them quickly. I felt my heart clench…I feared for why he was so thin…Was it more than favoritism? Was it true, court-bonified, reason-to-remove neglect? I didn't know whether to wish it was or not…

I noticed the way he didn't really take part in the gift exchance, at least not the way the other students did. He didn't fight for a gift, nor did he seem too interest in what happened to his. I'm not even sure he knew what was in it…I also his eyes light up and quickly dim at the Teddy Bear he received, especially when his cousin patted the bears head. I saw his cousin mouth the words "mine soon" to Harry, and had a feeling that the bear was only his during school. A child without even a backpack wasn't going to have a Teddy bear. What else didn't he own? I didn't even want to think about it…

We had one more activity to do as a class.

"Children! Grab a piece of paper and a box of crayons!" I said, and the children hurried to obey, all chatting excitedly. Except Harry. He hung back until all the others had grabbed theirs and then grabbed what was left, the dreaded almost-empty box. He was once again alone.

"Okay, class…I want you write something at the top of the paper. Write down what I write," I said, turning to the board. I wrote a short sentence. What I wish for Christmas is… "Do you have that?" I asked after a few minutes of the children writing it down. "Good. Now, I want you to draw me a picture. I want you to draw me want you really want for Christmas. A Barbie, a toy truck, an elephant…" I said, smiling at Sarah. These pictures should be fun. Children's wishes were so carefree and happy.

Silence stretched, except for the sound of crayon on paper. I watched from the front of the classroom as my students coloured, smiling. But my smile fell when my gaze landed on Harry. It wasn't that he wasn't doing his work, because he was. He was just sitting on the edge of his seat, squirming as if in pain. I closed my eyes again, sure that his uncle had spanked him much harder than natural for getting Dudley in trouble. I had trouble reigning in my anger. This was a student of mine, and someone was hurting him. That I couldn't allow, I wouldn't allow it—but I had to. It had been a spanking, I was sure, for getting disobeying a teacher. Spanking was legal. I sighed, but got up to talk to Harry anyway. I had to ask.

"Hey, Harry," I said, quietly, after commenting on the good job a few other were doing. Harry placed his small hands over his picture, making sure I couldn't see it.

"Hi, Mrs. Andrews," he said quietly, not quite meeting my eyes.

"I'm sure your doing a really good drawing," I told him, smiling. He didn't glance up. "Harry, can I ask you a question?" My heart was beginning to pound. I was nervous, not knowing how to react if he answered yes. I cared for this little boy. He was one of my favorite students, sweet, shy, and kind. Very creative, almost as creative as Sarah. My heart seemed drawn toward him. Maybe it was just his sad eyes….

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he replied. He was always polite. I don't think there was one time when he responded without calling me Mrs. Andrews. It made my heart warm to see such a well-behaved young boy, but heavy now that I thought I knew the reason.

"Does your uncle….ever hit you?" I asked quietly, making sure no other students heard me. For once, Harry met my eyes. His emerald orbs were wide and fear-filled, and I knew there was no way I was going to get an honest answer. My heart clenched, knowing his response before he gave it.

"No, Mrs. Andrews!" he said, and his voice was as quiet as ever. I could've sighed, but I didn't. I knew that he probably had, but I also knew Harry wouldn't say.

"Are you sure?" I asked, trying to keep hope out of my voice. I wanted him to say yes, as horrible as that sounds, so I could get him away from there. But I knew he wouldn't, I knew…but I had to try.

"Yes, Mrs. Andrews," he said, shaking his head.

"Alright, Harry. Keep colouring," I said, my heart heavy. I walked away slowly, buy my glance kept shifting to the young boy. He seemed to be trembling in his seat, his thin form shaking as he coloured his picture.

I looked at his cousin once, and noticed a calculating look in his eyes as he stared from me to Harry. It was slightly sadistsic, and my heart clenched. I knew that break would not be happy for Harry. But I wondered if anytime was happy for Harry?

I wondered why anyone had to go through this?

I wondered why there were cruel people in the world?

I wondered why I was stuck watching his sad, green eyes, and not be able to do anything to make them happy?

I wondered—and the bell rand, signaling the end of class.

"Students, place your pictures on my desk! Thank you, and have a Merry Christmas!" I called as they left. For once, Harry didn't hand back. He shot me one terrified look, and left the classroom. I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched, out the window, as he and Dudley were picked up. I watched Dudley telling something to his parents, pointing at Harry. I watched Mr. Dursley's face cloud with anger. I watched as he grabbed Harry's arm again, in his strong grip. I watched as Harry's face twisted in pain. I watched as they drove off, taking a young chilled—only 7-years-old—to a home that made his eyes hopeless and sad. I watched, and was able to do nothing. Merry Christmas, indeed.

I walked slowly back to my desk, and froze, looking at the pictured piled on it. Glancing out the window in time to see one last glimpse of the Dursley's car, I shuffled through the pictures, trying to find Harry's. Harry was a talented young artist. But it wasn't a picture I found, it was a note. A note that broke my heart.

Dear Mommy and Daddy,

I love you. I miss you. Where are you? Can Santa bring you for Christmas?

Do you love me? Does anybode love me?

Harry

I dropped the letter, tears spilling down.

"Oh, Harry…" I said, glancing down. I froze again, and leaned down. The page had flipped when I dropped it. On the back of the letter was his picture. I couldn't really see it to clearly, so I wiped the rest of the tears from eyes and brought the image into focus.

My eyes filled with tears again when I did, my hand going to my mouth as they spilled over.

On the page, drawn in red, black, green, orange, and pencil were three people.

There were three people in the picture, all wearing what appeared to be dresses…or robes of some sort.

On the left was a man, with messy black Harry and brown eyes. He was smiling, a very large grin. I could almost swear that Harry had been trying to draw him laughing. He looked something like Harry, in a drawn way. I knew that this was Harry's version of his father.

There was a woman, with long orange hair and eyes that were green, like Harry. She seemed to be smiling and laughing, just like the man. This must be Harry's mother.

In the middle was a young boy, with messy black hair and green eyes. This was where Harry had decided to draw himself. Both of his parents were holding his hands.

Behind them all, in red, was a huge heart.

There was writing at the top, next What I want for Christmas is… Harry had finished the sentence. And it broke my hear.

His sentence, Harry's Christmas wish, was so simple, but so sad. It was worse seeing in a child's handwriting.

What I wish for Christmas is… is my mommy and daddy. What I wish for Christmas is…someone to love me.

And that is the end of my story. I cannot tell you what happened to Harry Potter, because he moved on, to a different class, with his cousin. I remember seeing him in the halls, seeing the same pain-filled green eyes. I never knew if he got his Christmas wish, but I hope did. I truly do.

Now I have told you. I wonder, what is it you wish for for Christmas? A Barbie, a toy truck, and elephant…?

As for me, what I wish for, every year, as I fold up the faded and creased drawing done for me 7-year-old Harry Potter, is for someone to love the unloved children of the world.

What I wish for is for Harry's wish to come true, and not just for him. I wish it for every child like him.

And maybe, just maybe…someday our wished will come true, mine and Harry's. Maybe, someday, it will be more than just a Christmas wish.

A/N Wow…corny ending. Weird, too. Anyway… Any questions, ask me. Tell me what you think, whatever it is. I wrote this in about half-an-hour, by the way, at 1:25 in the morning on the 26th of December, so I'm out of it. Sorry if it's bad…plot bunny kept me awake and I had to free it or go insane.

Hoe you managed to enjoy it.

Please review.

Thanks for reading.