Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd use my multi-billions to fly to my grandmother's, drink way too much egg nog, and I would still probably be posting stories on the web. That said, I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling is probably flying to her grandmother's, drinking egg nog, and had better be writing that encyclopedia. And Santa, please take this with good humour. I know that you know what everyone wants for Christmas. You're wonderful... I'm making cookies for you.

Rating: K

Summary: Father Christmas is preparing to go out on his yearly trip across the world, but has just one problem...

A/N: Happy Christmas, everyone!

Father Christmas frowned as he surveyed the shelves of toys and treats for the people on the "nice" list. There were model trains of wooden and plastic varieties, books for those who valued knowledge, kaleidoscopes, sneakoscopes, telescopes, microscopes, and any other sort of "scope" you could think of. There were candies of white chocolate, milk chocolate, German chocolate, Dark chocolate, mint chocolate, and even Belgium chocolate. There were posters for the Weird Sisters, The Grindylows, the Plaid Putties, and even some Muggle band called The Beatles, which were popular amongst the people Father Christmas brought presents to on Christmas morning.

It was Christmas Eve, the most pressing time of the year for Father Christmas. "Pressing" normally meant that one was a bit short on time, and consequently very frustrated. Father Christmas was short on time and a bit frustrated, but when he got frustrated about Christmas, he didn't show it, not like you and I do, anyway. He is Christmas itself, and enjoys everything that comes with it - the happiness, the frustration, the hot cocoa... especially the hot cocoa.

Father Christmas, contrary to popular Muggle belief, was a very real person. Long, long ago, he had delivered to Muggles, but soon, they began to not believe in him. They began to set out presents for their children, so that their children would not be disappointed.

Well, that was the biggest insult Father Christmas had ever gotten, and that included the one about "Santa" having the letters rearranged, spelling "Satan". Father Christmas was very real - he knew he was real, because when he took a breath, he could see it in the icy Greenland air. Dead people, people made of people's imagination... now, their breath didn't do that, did it?

So consequently, Father Christmas had stopped delivering to Muggle households. He now only delivered to Wizarding households, all over the world. In China, Russia, Brazil, Alaska, Scotland, Wales, Germany, Poland, and more. He flew in his sleigh with his reindeer, using a time-Turner to get everywhere on time. The Time-Turner was not, of course, Ministry-approved, but he was Father Christmas, for stocking's sake. He was the only one who lived up at that end of Greenland, anyhow, and what the Ministry didn't know couldn't hurt them now, could it?

Father Christmas knew instinctively what to give each and every child. He knew that Daniel Collins from Tallahassee, Florida, wanted a beanie hat to keep his ears warm while he was at Muggle school, and he knew Diana Treadaway from Leeds wanted a dolly, so that she could pretend to be a mummy. He knew that Henry from New Zealand, in fact, did want a mummy, but not the kind that held you when you cried, kissed your boo-boos, tucked you in at night, and took you to the cinema - no, Henry wanted an actual mummy. Father Christmas knew that Henry was young, and too young to actually know that mummies were quite smelly and terrifying, so he knew that was Henry really wanted was a mummy figure, enchanted to walk and make zombiefied sounds.

He knew that all Ronald Weasley, from Devon, England wanted was to go to the World Cup this year and Father Christmas would give him exactly that, for Ronald had been a very good boy that year. He had disobeyed his teachers and parents, but he had done what he knew was right, and that was worth tickets to the World Cup for the whole family. Father Christmas would have to pull a few strings later on in the year when the Cup got closer, to make sure Ronald got to go.

Ronald's best friend, Harry Potter, was famous in the Muggle world, and was special to Father Christmas. Not because he was famous, though. No, Father Christmas had a place in his heart for all the children of the world who spent their childhood locked up, getting starved or beaten, or worse. Thankfully, Harry Potter made it out alive. He was still quite small and scrawny, and by all means of Wizarding magic, would not grow very tall thanks to the malnutrition he suffered as a child. But Father Christmas - he knew, you see. He knew how Harry wanted so bad to be tall like his father had been - he would have to perform some very special magic and sprinkle some very special dust over Harry that evening, to ensure Harry grew to the exact same height his father had been, not an inch taller or shorter. And he knew Harry also wanted a family, so Father Christmas would have to sort out a way to ensure Sirius Black's survival... not that Harry knew that Sirius Black was innocent, yet. But thanks to Father Christmas, he would, soon.

Not all miracles happened at Christmas time, after all. Father Christmas may be behind them, but he worked all year long to bring miracles and happiness. Cramming all the presents onto one day was ridiculous - he gave you what you wanted most of all, whether you realised it or not. For Daniel, it was the beanie hat. For Henry, it was the mummy figure. For Ronald, the World Cup tickets, and for Harry, another foot in height and family.

But there was one person Father Christmas was struggling to find a present for. One person... who boggled Father Christmas' mind.

This person never sent him a list. This person never stayed up late at night, thinking excitedly about Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Comet, Blitzen, and so forth. This person was not a child, but once had been... in a way. In a way, this person had never been a child.

"Fliggeroo," he turned to the small elf that stood nearby, placing a neat name tag on the life-size Raggedy Ann. "Can you bring me the nice list once again?"

Fligaroo was not a person, a goblin, a centaur, troll, or giant. Quite the contrary, he was quite small. He was an elf. Not like a house-elf, but almost like a small person, with a long narrow nose, pointy ears, and bright red hair... no, he was not a leprechaun. He was Father Christmas' sole partner in presents and joy... well, there was the reindeer and Father Christmas' wife, as well. But many people thought there were many elves, and that just wasn't so. There was just Fligaroo.

Fligaroo's brown eyes widened. "The entire nice list, sir?" The nice list was especially long, because Father Christmas had a very forgiving heart. He knew if someone was truly sorry for what they had done wrong, and for the right reasons, and if they were, their names were erased from the naughty list. But if their hearts were full of hate, they were on the naughty list.

Father Christmas knew everybody's heart... except for one person.

"Yes, the whole nice list." He assured Fligaroo. Though after a moment, he added, "or, if you want, just the 'S' section, will do."

"'S'?" Fligaroo asked, tangled in a long piece of parchment. "By first name or last name?"

"Doesn't matter."

Fligaroo brought over the list to Father Christmas, which Father Christmas began surveying with pursed lists. "Ah, let's see... Severus Grant, Severus Henderson, Severus Polluchi, Severus Randy, Severus Ricolli, Severus Tittlebaumer..." he frowned even deeper. For Severus Snape's name had now, once again, disappeared from the "nice" list, consequently going into the "naughty" list.

Father Christmas sighed deeply, massaging his forehead. "I don't know, Fligaroo! I just don't know."