Author's Note: Happy Monday! We are back on schedule. This chapter took a bit more re-working than the others, so I hope it reads OK and doesn't come off as too choppy. Please enjoy!

Chapter Seven – Nicolas Flamel

Harry was nervous. He'd never been to a party before. The Dursleys sometimes went to soirees hosted by his Uncle Vernon's coworkers, but on these occasions Harry had always been sent to visit Mrs. Figg, who did nothing but talk about her cats the whole time. On the few occasions when Dudley had a group of his friends stay over, Harry had either been locked out of sight in the cupboard under the stairs, or he'd served as part of the entertainment for the other boys – most often as a human punching bag. So when Blaise asked if he'd happened to pack any dress robes, Harry realized how completely out of his depth he was.

"Are there usually a lot of people who come to this party?" Harry asked as Blaise searched through a closet of his old clothes for something that might fit Harry.

Blaise appeared to be doing some mental math, then he said, "Not a lot. I'd say about fifty people show up each year."

"Fifty?" asked Harry in amazement. He wasn't sure he even knew fifty people by name, much less knew them well enough to invite them to a Christmas party.

"I know, it's not much. But it makes for a pretty decent crowd. Boring though. Mum always makes me spend the evening entertaining Draco... It's bollocks," he added quickly, apparently anxious to assure Harry that he wasn't and had never been Draco's friend.

"But your mum likes them? I mean Malfoy's family."

"Mum and Narcissa – that's Draco's mum – they good friends. They met at St. Mungo's when they were both pregnant, and I guess they bonded over that."

"St. Mungo's is a hospital?" Harry asked.

"Yup, it's a hospital for magic folk. People usually go there for counter-jinxes and remedies for potions gone wrong, that sort of thing. But there is a midwifery ward as well. I guess some witches can have really tricky pregnancies. Others simply don't trust a muggle doctor to know what he's talking about."

Harry didn't need to meet Narcissa Malfoy to know that she fell in the camp of witches who didn't trust a muggle doctor. If she was at all like her son, she'd stick her nose up at anything remotely connected to muggles and their culture.

"Which kind was your mum?"

Blaise smiled sadly at Harry, "I was tricky."

Harry could sense that there was some history Blaise didn't want to talk about, so he tried lightening the mood.

"I thought you said you were born on the back of a broomstick?" Harry asked teasingly, remembering their conversation from earlier in the year.

Blaise erupted into laughter, "Of course! That's what made it so tricky!"

Harry kne whe'd guessed correctly from the way Blaise dissolved into mirth. His joke hadn't been that funny. But he remembered the way Millie let his jealous comment pass unnoticed on the train, and he decided to follow her example by not prying into Blaise's past.

"Aha! Here's something!" Blaise exclaimed with enthusiasm, dragging a set of black dress robes out of his closet. "I wore this last year... It might be a bit big for you, though."

"It looks nice. Are you sure I'll have to wear it?"

"It's a formal party, Harry. Yes, you have to wear it. We'll have to hem it in though..."

They went to appeal to Blaise's mother for assistance, but Mrs. Zabini dismissed them offhand.

"You know I'm no good at domestic spells," she said, placing heavy emphasis on domestic with an air of disdain, "Have Torsh help you."

They found Torsh hard at work decorating a large Christmas tree in one of the grand salons that would be used for the party. Harry felt bad asking the house elf stop in the middle of decorating to adjust his dress robes. He suggested that they help by taking over while Torsh hemmed the robes for Harry's height.

Blaise looked alarmed at the prospect, "But... how are we supposed to decorate the tree without magic?"

"Do you have a ladder?"

"What's a lad-air?"

Harry gave Blaise his most disgruntled glare until Blaise started laughing, "Only joking. Of course I know what a ladder is. I think we might even have one somewhere around here..."

Torsh had Harry's robes adjusted in a matter of seconds. In fact, the task was complete before Harry and Blaise had located the elusive ladder. But as it turned out, they had so much fun adding their own decorations to the tree that they wound up helping Torsh anyway.

Quite a few more people arrived for the party that evening than Blaise had predicted. The proposed fifty guests appeared to have tripled, a turnout that irritated Mrs. Zabini.

"I don't think I invited half of these people," she said testily. "No doubt some have brought friends interested in meeting Harry Potter."

It was the first mention she'd made of Harry's fame in the magical world, and Harry was a little embarrassed. He felt bad about indirectly causing Mrs. Zabini any trouble. But that was nothing compared to the awkwardness he experienced when introduced to the party-goers. Harry was reminded strongly of his visit to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, where he'd met a group of enthusiastic witches and wizards in the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn't known any of them, but they had certainly heard of him.

Similarly, Harry was ushered around by Mrs. Zabini, shaking hands with countless wizards. Mrs. Zabini explained the position of a few of these esteemed individuals. There were ministry officials, healers from St. Mungo's and several foreign wizards of dubious significance. Harry found it completely impossible to keep up with everyone's names, let alone remember their job titles.

It wasn't until Mrs. Zabini introduced him to Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, that Harry realized exactly how important Mrs. Zabini's connections really were.

"Ah yes, Mr. Potter!" Fudge said with a wide grin. He took Harry's hand and squeezed it affably. Harry thought he'd had too much of the eggnog already. "Can't tell you what an honor it is to meet you. How are you enjoying your first year at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, it's brilliant," Harry said truthfully. He found that it was easier to talk to these strangers when they asked him about school, "Hardly anything has tried to kill me so far, so that's good."

Fudge laughed absently, causing Harry to think that he wasn't really listening to him. Instead, the minister was smiling warmly at Mrs. Zabini.

"Lovely party, Edana. Even better than the last!"

"Thank you, Minister. It's very kind of you to make it again this year," Mrs. Zabini replied, her expression considerably cooler toward the Prime Minister.

"Now, now! You really must call me Cornelius! I won't have these formalities between old friends."

Mrs. Zabini flashed a dazzling smile, "And are we old friends, Minister?"

Harry felt someone tug at his elbow and turned to see Blaise. Together, they slipped away from the pair of adults, weaving their way through the crowd and slipping into the hallway unnoticed.

"Nothing worse than watching your mum flirt!" Blaise declared once they were free. "I swear, if Fudge becomes my next stepdad, I'm moving to France."

Harry laughed, then asked, "Any sign of him yet?"

"Flamel? Not yet. I wonder if mum really invited him, or if she was just messing with me?"

"I meant Malfoy."

"Huh? Oh yeah, he's here. You mean you haven't bumped into him yet? Lucky. I only escaped a few minutes ago when I came to fetch you."

"And just where do you think you're sneaking off to?"

Harry and Blaise both froze at the commanding tones of Mrs. Zabini. They turned to look sheepishly at her over their shoulders, caught in the act.

"We were just going to the kitchen to see if Torsh needed any help with the hors d'oeuvres," suggested Blaise.

"Nice try," said Mrs. Zabini, "But I'm not fooled. Now both of you, back to the party! There's someone who'd like to meet you."

"Someone who wants to meet me!" Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself, "What a refreshing change of pace!"

He thought Mrs. Zabini would reprimand him for the outburst, but instead she and Blaise burst into laughter. He smiled along with them and allowed Mrs. Zabini to direct him back to the salon.

Harry wondered what foreign dignitary or ministry official he was going to meet next. Privately, he hoped that it would be a professional Quidditch player. He knew for a fact that Mrs. Zabini's fourth husband had played for an international team, and he wondered if a few of his old colleagues were among the crowd. Instead, Mrs. Zabini led him to a pair of armchairs nestled near the tall Christmas tree where a couple sat chatting merrily and sipping cider. The man looked to be about forty years old. His graying hair was very long and tied in the back with a red ribbon. He wore red dress robes to match, and had tied a few bells into his beard to add to the holiday effect. The woman at his side was dressed in dark green robes and wore a wreath of mistletoe and poinsettia leaves like a crown atop her head. She appeared to be about the man's age, though her dark brown hair and rosy cheeks gave her a more youthful appearance. They both stood upon observing Mrs. Zabini and the boys, and the man extended his hand cordially.

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" he asked kindly, "Nicolas Flamel, at your service."

Harry was completely taken by surprise. He only barely managed to stammer out a coherent greeting and return Flamel's handshake. When he'd learned that Flamel was the creator of stone that granted immortality, he'd expected some who looked a bit... well, older. But the man now shaking his hand appeared less than half as old as Dumbledore.

"Allow me to introduce my wife, Perenelle," Flamel continued, speaking in a French accent. Perenelle smiled sweetly and inclined her head toward Harry while offering her hand. Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to kiss it or shake it, so he settled for gripping it awkwardly and offering her a sort of half-bow.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you, 'Arry," she said in the same musical accent as her husband.

"I'm here too," Blaise said suddenly, sliding next to Harry's side and gently bumping Harry out of the way. His actions earned him a laugh from Mr. and Mrs. Flamel, who then politely showed him the same courtesy they'd shown Harry.

"Well, now that you're all acquainted, I'll leave you to it," said Mrs. Zabini, "If I'm not mistaken, that's Rita Skeeter loitering near the buffet table, and I've been meaning to have a chat with her about an article she wrote regarding my latest husband."

"Yes, yes. Go play hostess," Flamel said jovially, completely missing the predatory look in Mrs. Zabini's expression as she moved to intercept the party crasher. He turned his attention back to Harry with an interested smile and said quietly, "Now then, Edana tells me you boys are interested in my work?"

Blaise launched into an explanation before Harry had a chance, "Yes, sir. We have a project on alchemy for school, and we were told you're the foremost master of all magic in that subject."

It was a speech they had prepared to use in the event that they actually got to meet Flamel face-to-face. Their hope was that Flamel would dissolve into a diatribe about the grueling process of his work, and perhaps let slip some information on the stone, all the while lending credence to their lie about a school project. But Flamel smiled at them with a very Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eye.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, boys. But in this case, the only thing people are curious about when it comes to my work is the Philosopher's Stone."

They hadn't planned on Flamel addressing the subject so quickly. In the moment it took for Harry and Blaise to exchange nervous glances, Flamel was able to divine that he had hit the nail on the head.

"You boys are enrolled at Hogwarts, correct?"

Harry and Blaise both nodded. Flamel gave a thoughtful hum.

"And how is old Albus Dumbledore these days?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He often spied Dumbledore during evening meals or occasionally strolling about the halls of the school, but he'd never had any direct contact with him, a fact for which he counted himself lucky. It seemed to him if he had done anything serious enough to merit the headmaster's attention, then he must be in very real trouble.

"Old," Blaise said after a pause, eliciting another chortle from Flamel.

"Oh, don't say that!" Perenelle cried with mock dismay, "If Albus is old than I am positively ancient!"

"Not ancient, m'dear. Just antique," Flamel said with a wink. Harry thought this was a very rude thing to say to his wife, until Flamel stated, "Perenelle recently celebrated her six hundred and forty eighth birthday. Hardly what one would consider ancient."

"Shame on you, Nicolas! Revealing a lady's age like that!" Perenelle chided.

Blaise gasped, causing them all to jump.

"I don't believe it!" he cried. "Madame, you don't look a day over twenty!"

This was an exaggeration, of course. Perenelle certainly did not look her age, but she didn't look nearly so young. Harry was surprised to see the obvious flattery so well received. Perenelle giggled, saying, "You're a great flirt, just like your father."

Blaise's attention was completely stolen away. He was obviously interested to speak with anyone who'd been acquainted with his dad. Harry and Flamel did their best to make conversation amongst themselves while Blaise became engrossed with Perenelle.

"You mentioned the stone..." Harry said cautiously after making a bit of small talk about Hogwarts under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore. "The truth is... We were hoping to talk with you about it..."

"I thought so," said Flamel, "When Edana informed me that you boys wanted to interview me for school, I was curious. Alchemy isn't a popular subject these days. This isn't really about an assignment, is it?"

Harry had assumed that stealing the stone was the only way to keep it from Snape. But perhaps if he could win Flamel over to his side, they had a chance of protecting the stone, and getting Snape fired in the process.

"We know it's hidden in the school," Harry whispered to Flamel, throwing caution to the wind, "We think someone is trying to steal it."

He was taking a risk, not knowing how Flamel would respond. Perhaps he would inform Dumbledore of their meddling. But Harry knew this would be the last time he could speak with the creator of the Philosopher's Stone, and he had to at least try to warn him of the danger.

Flamel's response surprised him.

"I'm certain that someone is," he said. "That's why Dumbledore suggested he move it from Gringotts to Hogwarts."

"But it isn't safe there!" Harry protested, "It's just a school! If someone could break into Gringotts..."

"I have faith in Albus," Flamel interrupted smoothly, silencing Harry's objections, "He assures me the stone is well protected."

"What makes you so confident in him?" Harry asked. He, like most of the students in his house, had never been sold on the "Dumbledore's a genius" rhetoric bouncing around Hogwarts's halls.

Flamel mulled over the question silently for a few moments. He stared at Harry thoughtfully, looking directly into his eyes before eventually glancing up at Harry's scar.

"I've known Albus for a very long time," he said suddenly, as if breaking out of a reverie. "Met him when he was just a bright young boy enjoying his last year at Hogwarts. Very promising mind. I had no idea that he would go on to defeat one of the greatest dark wizards in modern history."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Rather than flinch at the sound of the name, Flamel laughed, "Goodness no, Harry. Did you forget that you yourself saw an end to that dark wizard? No, the man I am speaking of was called Grindelwald. You see, Harry, Voldemort was only the most recent dark wizard to appear. But he was not the worst of them, and I am certain he will not be the last. I've lived a very long time, and I can attest to that."

"Sorry, sir. But what does all of this have to do with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Flamel smiled, "Merely that I feel sorry for anyone wandering into Hogwarts thinking they can steal from under the nose of Albus Dumbledore."

Harry recounted his conversation with Flamel to Blaise as the party continued on. They were standing near a recessed window, partially hidden by a pair heavy drapes, watching the crowd while remaining unnoticed themselves. Harry was grateful for the reprieve. It was a little tiring having to mingle with so many adults.

"So he's confident Dumbledore can keep the artifact safe?" Blaise asked, reverting to their old code-word.

"He seems to think that with Dumbledore in charge, a school for children is safer than a goblin bank."

"Well, he didn't count on us," Blaise said with such bravado Harry nearly shouted with laughter.

"Keep your voice down! We'll be discovered!" Blaise commanded in a hoarse whisper, but it was already too late.

"There you are!" Mrs. Zabini said, swooping down on the mischievous pair, "I can't leave you alone for a minute without you running off! Blaise, you've been ignoring Draco all night!"

"Mum!" Blaise groaned, "I already spent, like, an hour with him!"

"But Harry hasn't seen him at all," Mrs. Zabini said. Harry knew by her tone that Draco was probably complaining about this fact to his parents.

There was no arguing with Mrs. Zabini. She dragged the boys away from their window post and ushered them across the hall into a separate parlor that had been opened just to accommodate the number of unexpected guests. Harry spotted the Malfoy family before they noticed him. They were standing aloof from the other guests, looking haughty and proud.

Mrs. Zabini rushed to her friend with genuine delight. Harry had understood from Blaise that his mother and Malfoys were old friends, but he hadn't really understood how close they were. He watched the women embrace laughingly and marveled at their dissimilarity. Where Blaise's mother was dark, Mrs. Malfoy was fair. While Mrs. Zabini wore her hair short and curly, Mrs. Malfoy wore hers long and straight down her back. She and her husband had the same white-blond hair as their son. Harry thought they shared the same pointed features as well, though Mrs. Malfoy didn't appear too bad when she smiled.

Harry noted that the meeting between Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Zabini was much more reserved. Mr. Malfoy offered Blaise's mother a deep bow and what was meant to be a charming smile. Mrs. Zabini merely inclined her head, her lips pursing imperceptibly. It was clear she had no fondness for him, though Mr. Malfoy appeared completely unconscious of that fact.

Finally the moment Harry had been dreading. Mr. Malfoy stepped aside to reveal his son, Draco. They locked eyes instantly. Draco gave Harry a sneering smile and a very pretentious bow. His action drew the attention of both his parents to Harry, who seemed quite shocked to see Harry Potter standing right in front of them, although surely they must have heard that Harry would be there. Draco was sure to have talked of nothing else since getting home for the holiday.

"Father, this is Harry..."

"Harry Potter..." said Lucius Malfoy, completely cutting off his son's introduction. Harry didn't like the look of appraisal Mr. Malfoy was giving him, as if evaluating a lamb for future slaughter, "Congratulations on your sorting into Slytherin House. I would have thought with your parents... background... you would be more suited to Gryffindor."

"Funny, I just about to say that Draco seemed more Hufflepuff material," Harry replied coldly.

"Don't be silly, Harry!" said Blaise, "Hufflepuffs are hardworkers. Draco's never attempted anything without first evoking his family name!"
"Now, now boys!" Mrs. Zabini cautioned, no doubt noticing the murderous look on Narcissa Malfoy's face as her son was insulted, "Try to keep your joking to a minimum! Draco's parents might take you seriously!"

Every fiber of Harry's being burned with a desire to tease Draco more, but he didn't want to anger Mrs. Zabini or embarrass her in front of her friend – no matter how poorly-chosen a friend she may be. Blaise and Harry offered Draco cheerful smiles, as if they were good friends merely having a laugh. Draco frowned, but surprisingly played along with the farce. Harry thought he was probably going to enjoy playing friends with them. It was only what he had been trying to do all term.

Harry and Blaise then commenced a game of how to ditch Malfoy without causing Mrs. Zabini's anger or drawing the wrathful attention of Draco's parents. Blaise came up with the clever idea of challenging Draco to a game of hide and seek. Draco would be instructed to hide first, while Harry and Blaise crept off to Blaise's room for a game of exploding snap instead. It was a complete success, and Draco wasn't found by anyone except Torsh, who discovered the young wizard huddled in the pantry near the party's end.

Against no competition whatsoever, Christmas morning was the best Harry had ever experienced. He awoke to Blaise jumping enthusiastically onto his bed, shouting loudly about presents. Harry was instantly alert, in spite of their late evening partying with Mrs. Zabini's friends and followers. They spent a few moments aggressively pummeling each other with the pillows on Harry's bed, then they raced down the stairs. Neither one of them bothered to change out of his pajamas.

"Presents! Presents!" Blaise cheered as they made their way down the hall toward one of the sitting rooms.

"Please, Master Blaise!" pleaded Torsh, "Mistress Edana hasn't risen yet! Please help yourselves to breakfast instead! Quietly!"

"Breakfast! Breakfast!" Blaise cheered in a whisper, pivoting on the spot and directing Harry toward the kitchen.

Torsh had prepared a very hearty breakfast of pancakes, waffles, kippers, sausages, bacon, eggs, scones, and countless fruits. Blaise and Harry sat in the breakfast nook, gazing out the windows on the snowy garden beyond. Mrs. Zabini made a quiet entrance as Harry helped himself to a third serving of bacon. She was dressed in a night gown and a long bathrobe, looking tired but still stunning. She accepted a cup of coffee offered by Torsh and gave Harry and Blaise a very fatigued smile.

"Happy Christmas," she said sleepily.

"Happy Christmas!" Harry and Blaise chorused back. Mrs. Zabini flinched, one of her hands flying to her temple. She strode quickly to a cabinet containing several small glass vials, selected one containing a light pink liquid, and sipped a tiny bit. She gave a slight shudder, then brightened visibly.

"That's the ticket!" she said brightly, dumping the rest of the vial into her coffee. Any signs of fatigue were instantly erased from her face. Harry wondered exactly what potion she'd used in her drink. "So, shall we go see what Saint Christolas has brought you?"

"Who?" asked Blaise in confusion.

"It's a muggle thing," Mrs. Zabini said, looking toward Harry for confirmation.

"Actually, I think you mean Saint Nicholas," said Harry as Mrs. Zabini led the boys out of the kitchen and back down the hall.

"Who?" Blaise repeated.

"You know, Santa? The fat old man with a white beard in a red suit. He flies around with a team of reindeer and comes down people's chimneys to bring them Christmas gifts."

Blaise stared at Harry as if he had just sprouted a pair of reindeer antlers himself.

"Muggles..." he said with a tone of amazement.

Harry thought about explaining that no one actually believed in St. Nick, but Mrs. Zabini had already ushered them into a small sitting room. It was far more cozy than the salon used for the party the night before, and much more suited to their little party of three. Mrs. Zabini sank into an overstuffed armchair and continued to sip her coffee as Blaise dove into the pile of gifts clustered at the base of a modest pine tree.

"Harry, aren't you going to open yours?" Mrs. Zabini asked.

Harry was shocked. He didn't expect anyone to have gotten him anything.

"I have presents?"

"Of course you have! Here's one from me!" Blaise said, lobbing a small package at Harry's head.

Elated, Harry tore open the red paper and found a small box inside containing a very familiar golden ball.

"It's a practice snitch," Blaise explained, "Figured you might want to give it a go if you're going to try out for the Quidditch team next year."

"It's brilliant!" Harry said, "Thanks!"

"This one's for you, too..." Blaise said, sounding a little confused. He was holding a poorly-wrapped gift in thick brown paper.

"Hagrid," said Harry immediately, knowing by sight that the gift had to have come from his giant friend. Inside was a wooden flute that Hagrid had obviously whittled himself. It looked a little rough, but when Harry blew into it it made a very pleasant sound a little like an owl.

His third gift was a very small parcel, easy to miss. Blaise nearly stepped on it before quickly scooping it up and passing it to Harry. Inside was note from the Dursleys.

We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Attached was a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," said Harry without sarcasm. He was used to things like a single toothpick or a used napkin. By comparison, this was very thoughtful of them.

Mrs. Zabini did not appear impressed. She was frowning slightly as Blaise looked at the coin with interest.

"Is that muggle money, Harry? It's funny looking, isn't it? Can you really buy things with this?"

"You can have it if you like," Harry said, offering it to Blaise.

"No thanks," Blaise said, shying away from the coin as if it might contaminate him, "I wouldn't want you to lose a precious gift from your Aunt and Uncle."

Harry and Blaise shared a smile. Harry had told Blaise enough for him to know that there was no love lost between Harry and his relatives.

Millicent had sent them both gifts as well. Blaise looked a little guilty as he opened his box of licorice wands.

"I didn't get her anything..." he muttered. Harry felt a bit guilty as well. He hadn't had an opportunity to do any shopping for Christmas gifts.

"We'll get her something before we head back to Hogwarts," Harry said, mentally determined to get something for Hagrid as well.

Mrs. Zabini agreed to take the boys on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley on their way back to school, which satisfied their consciences for the time being. Blaise turned to open a gift prepared for him by a distant relative while Harry proceeded to unwrap a lightweight parcel addressed to him, but with no sender. Something fluid and silvery gray slithered to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds.

Blaise glanced at it, "What's that?"

Mrs. Zabini leaned forward in her chair with interest, "If that's what I think it is, it's very valuable. And very rare. And probably had best not be left lying on the floor. Harry?"
Harry bent to pick up the shimmering material. It felt very strange in his hands, like water woven into material. It was even cool to the touch.

"Try it on, Harry dear," Mrs. Zabini said, a look of detached interest still on her face.

Harry did as he was bidden. He threw the cloak – for it was indeed a cloak – over his shoulders. No sooner had he done this than Blaise let out a yell of surprise.

"Harry! You're invisible!"

Harry stared down at his own body in shock. He could feel his arms and legs, but they were nowhere to be seen. They and the cloak had vanished, leaving only his head, floating in space.

"I knew it," Mrs. Zabini said sagely. "Is there a note Harry?"

Harry looked about and saw that a small message had indeed slipped out of the gossamer fabric when he'd opened his gift. He stooped to pick it up, his hand becoming visible as the material slid over his arm. Written in narrow, looping writing that Harry had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

Harry read the note silently to himself, then again out loud to Blaise and his mother. They exchanged looks of bewilderment. Neither one of them could come up with an answer as to who could have sent the gift. The question was brushed away in the next moment as Mrs. Zabini bid the boys to finish opening their gifts.

Mrs. Zabini's gift came last. She wanted Blaise and Harry to open their presents together. Harry was immediately excited. He knew enough to recognize a broomstick when he saw one. But his excitement was nothing compared to Blaise when he tore open the paper and saw the racing broom in all its glory.

"A Nimbus 2000!" He exclaimed, launching himself from the floor and into his mother's embrace, "Thanks, Mum! You are the best mum!"

Mrs. Zabini laughed at her son while Harry stared at his own broom, and identical model to Blaise's.

"It's beautiful..." he murmured, admiring the shine on the handle and the perfect shape of the brush. He knew very little about racing brooms, but he knew this one must be good. "But... first years aren't allowed to have their own brooms, are they?"

"You can keep it here and use it during holidays," Mrs. Zabini said practically. "Besides, you'll need something to help you practice those Seeker skills. Why don't you boys take them out for a spin?"

Harry and Blaise didn't need telling twice. They sprinted out of the room, brooms in hand, and were in the air so fast that they were barely out the door. They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon racing through the sky, testing Harry's new snitch and generally just enjoying the sensation of flying, though they were careful not to clear the tops of the trees, lest they be spotted by the muggles living in the town nearby.

All in all, it was a very Merry Christmas, indeed.