Okay, so here's the reason (or at least one of the reasons) that KfaR is taking me so long right now. But the idea hit me during October and wouldn't leave my mind, so I had to write it.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who gave me suggestions for Montague's (first) firstname. You'll see him in the next chapter. :D

So, here's the first of 24 chapters. I hope you enjoy them.

The Present that I want…

(is the smile in your eyes)

Title: The Present that I want… (is the smile in your eyes)

Pairing: Angelina/Montague

Rating: PG-13

Inspiration: Title: The Present that I want – Just Friends

Story: The idea struck me in the middle of the night (it must have been between 2 and 3 in the morning) while I was reading 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe'.

Disclaimer: I don't own most of the characters in this story. All recognizable characters like Angelina Johnson or Montague belong to J. K. Rowling. And the old man in his red clothes belongs to… hm… I really don't know, but I know for sure he doesn't belong to me.

Summary: A Christmas present which is not buyable; two orphaned children; two brawlers put together to make a wish come true and Father Christmas who watches over all four. - An Angelina/Montague Advents-calendar -

Door 1

Come, come in and sit down in front of the fireplace where it is warm and cosy. How about a cup of hot chocolate and some biscuits? And now, that you're starting to feel something again besides the cold from walking outsides I'm going to tell you a story…

Our story starts in… no, wait, I promised him to never again say where he lives. You see, after telling so many stories of him, he had already to leave his most favourite homes – the Igloo at the North pole, the little wooden house at the Korvatunturi in Finland, the snow palace in Archangelsk in the north of Russia and recently even the little post office in Himmelpforten in Germany where he sought refuge for some time. And all of this just because some reporters wanted to uncover his secrets. So, I hope you understand that I can't tell you where he lives now.

Oh, what say you? You don't understand of whom I speak? Why, Father Christmas of course! Or Santa Claus, if that is how you call him. Or maybe you prefer St. Nikolaus? Weihnachtsmann? Djeduschka Maros? Julemanden? Babbo Natale? Père Noël? Jultomten? Sinterklaas? Whatever you might call him, I'd say we agree on calling him Father Christmas for my story, for it is taking place in Great Britain, and it is then only fair, if we use their term when talking about him.

For all muggles of you who are rolling their eyes now, or smiling at the foggy mind who tells you about Father Christmas I want to explain you something:

Despite what some wizards and witches claim to be the truth, muggles and wizards have more in common than one might think. For the truth is: they descended from the same people.

In ancient times, long before mankind counted years as we do now, there were only magical beings. But for some – up until now unknown – reason, a group of this old people decided to no longer use its magical heritage.

And thus, by not using magic any longer, by not seeing their brothers and sisters who still held onto the magic, they lost their heritage. They were no longer able to perform magic, to see unicorns, to see the 'wonders' as what they were… simple charms and spells.

And so, they forgot. Only to be reminded of the magic every now and then, when a child is born in whose veins the old heritage tries to break through again. But humans are odd and strong-willed beings. And when those non-magic people had decided that magic did not fit into their world they found ways to ensure that it didn't wound its way in. But you already know the cruel times happenings nowadays known as witch hunt, and I'm digressing…

As I said before, humans are odd beings. There are those who have refused the gift of magic and yet they talk about magic to their children, make them believe in it. Make them afraid of witches and mean wizards while telling them of good fairies and of Father Christmas just to tell them the 'truth' once the children grow up. That they are all but fairy tales – the witches, fairies, and Father Christmas.

So, since you are here, I must assume that you know of the world of wizards and witches. Of unicorns, werewolves and fairies. Then, I ask you, how can you still doubt his existence?

So, after we have settled this now, were going back to the actual story.

Father Christmas was sitting in a red armchair in front of a fireplace in … his current home and read the letters of children who wished for something else but toys or books. All those letters had immediately been handed over to the workshop.

He was just reading the letter of the seven-year-old Cristina Aline Iglesias from Mexico who wished for little dog for Christmas. Father Christmas ran his old hands through his thick white beard and nodded his head slightly.

"She is a good little girl. Helping her parents in the house as good as she can, studying for school, is nice to everyone. I think there should be no problem with fulfilling that wish." And he put the letter aside to open the next one.

This one was from nine-year-old Samuel Adams from London and before he even started reading it, Father Christmas had already decided that his wish should come true.

Dear Father Christmas,

My name is Samuel Adams and I'm nine years old. I live with my sister Emily in Miss Robert's orphanage in London. I swear I've been a good boy all year long and my sister is never doing anything bad at all, so I hope you will make my wish come true.

I wish for parents for my sister and me and I really, really, really hope you will bring us them before this Christmas. (Because Christmas is the worst time in the orphanage because someone is already adopted around this time and the rest of us is to stay behind.)

Emily and I are never adopted because we are odd. Or at least, that is what Miss Robert always says. She says I'm dreaming too often and Emily is mentally retarded (but I don't really know what she means with this). So I hope you will find a couple that will still adopt us.

I don't know if I should even ask for more, but it would be really really nice if you could – just maybe – look if there is a chance of finding parents who are like this:

I would wish for our new mother to be really beautiful and nice and she should laugh with us and tell stories to us and she should listen to Emily (when she is talking that is) and she should bake with Emily (because Emily would love to bake) and (but this I guess is really not possible) it would be really really great if she would knew something about Quidditch. But I would already like it very much if she wouldn't say that Quidditch is nonsense.

I would wish for a father that is tall and strong (so he can protect us) but he shouldn't be strict (or at least, not as strict as Miss Robert). It would be great if he liked Quidditch and maybe could teach me to fly and play.

Oh, but please don't let them kiss so often, kissing looks really disgusting (and I think it must feel very strange too). I really really hope you will fulfil my wish and I promise I won't ever wish for anything else if you do. Oh, but that shall not be a treat or anything.

Samuel Adams

Just as he had finished the letter he heard a beeping from another room. He arose from the armchair and went to where the beeping came from.

He looked at something that a muggle would call a monitor and sighed as his eyes fell on the two people he saw there arguing in the street.

"Not those two again." Father Christmas sighed and shook his head. For fourteen years he had been seeing the two of them fighting each other. And how desperately he had wished that these fights would end once they were grown up, but instead they seemed to have become even worse. And now they were even arguing in December, while everyone around them was already in the mood for Christmas. No, this was something Father Christmas could not allow to continue.

I don't know if someone noticed (especially since it was multilingual), I changed the names of Father Christmas and St. Nicholas on purpose. Mainly because when thinking of some countries (like the Netherlands for example) I just don't think of Father Christmas but of St. Nicholas – or Sinterklaas. Just wanted to let you know that this isn't a mistake. :D