All Harry Potter wants for Christmas is a model train set.
He's wanted one for months, ever since he saw one in that toy shop window in town; he had to be dragged away from the window, transfixed as he was by the gleaming scarlet steam engine and the way it glided around the rails like a snake.
He sleeps soundly on Christmas Eve, and wakes up the next morning with rapidly building excitement. Faint light is filtering through the curtains – is it too early to get up? He takes his chances, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed, giving a whoop of delight as he spots the bulging stocking hanging from a bedpost. But he'll open that later … for now, he has more important things on his mind.
He dashes from his room, across the landing and into his parents' room without bothering to knock; they never mind anyway. They're both awake, his mother beaming as he leaps onto the bed to join them, his father laughing, ruffling his hair.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," says Dad cheerfully. "What do you say to going downstairs …"
"And opening some presents?" Mum finishes, her eyes twinkling.
"Yes please!" Harry says excitedly. The three of them make their way downstairs, all still in their pyjamas, and into the living room, where a large pile of brightly wrapped presents are sitting underneath the enormous tree. Dad reaches behind the sofa and flips a switch, and the lights on the tree burst into colour.
Harry stares in amazement at the stack of presents; he can see the labels on some of them, with his name, including a very big rectangular parcel slightly apart from the rest. Mum and Dad follow his gaze and laugh, exchanging delighted looks.
"Do you want to open that one first, by any chance?" Mum says, and Harry is about to say yes, please!, but before he can the doorbell rings, and Mum goes to answer it and comes back with all four of his grandparents, who all bear down on him with hugs and kisses and even more presents.
"Harry was just about to open his first present," says Dad, and his grandparents smile and make noises of interest. Dad leans down and pulls the big present towards Harry, who drops to the floor and immediately starts to unwrap it, sending Sellotape and wrapping paper flying over the carpet. A box comes into view, a shiny box that says …
"The train set!" Harry cries, seeing the picture on the front, of the scarlet steam engine, the exact one he saw in the shop. He doesn't ever remember feeling this excited, so happy it feels unreal.
"Let's set it up," says Dad, and he kneels on the floor to help Harry open the box and pull out the pieces of track and the train, even more perfect than it looked in the shop window. His grandparents settle on the sofas around them, and Mum hands around a plate of mince pies, then puts on the stereo, playing familiar Christmas songs. Soon, Harry and Dad have got the train set up and running, and everyone stands back to watch the red train chugging along the tracks, looking perfectly lifelike.
"Good present, then?" Mum asks, with her kind smile.
"The best!" Harry says, and Mum smiles even more and hugs him, her arms warm around him, her lovely scent surrounding him. Then there's a sharp tapping on the door, and Mum pulls away, and -
"Are you up?" Aun t Petunia snaps suspiciously from the other side of the cupboard door. "Get a move on! Duddy wants breakfast before he opens his presents."
Harry opens his eyes, puts on his glasses, stares around at the dark, sparse cupboard and gets up, the already blurry pictures of his parents fading away into nothing.
He doesn't get the train set, but then again, he never expected to.
Ok, I apologise for the Christmas thing. There's an advert on telly with The Most Wonderful Time of the Year and it got me all confused so I wrote this and then realised I'd forget about it if I waited six months to post it. So. Merry July.