It's the holiday season and once again none of the Dursleys give a good cahoot about the wizard boy living in the cupboard under their stairs. Here Harry comes —dressed in an oversized checkered shirt and a sorrowful facial expression—to remove his Aunt Petunia's sugar biscuits from the oven. The scent of this sugar treat for cousin Diddykins, presently sitting by the telly, brings a dribble of saliva to Harry's lips and he reaches for a fallen crumb to savour on his tongue.

"None for you," Aunt Petunia hollers, swatting Harry's hands away from the tray, causing the entire contraption to scatter on the floor. "Now look at what you've done, idiot boy!"

Floor biscuits are still delicious. Alas, Petunia won't let Harry eat the soiled dessert—a basic courtesy given to cockroaches and rats.

Harry goes to fetch the broom and dustpan. Not all is lost. If his aunt turns her attention to the ham glaze, Harry might be able to sneak in a bite before he dumps the crumbs in the bin.

-xxx-

"A present for that boy?" Uncle Vernon harrumphs, fiddling with the rearview mirror.

Harry huddles in the backseat of the Vauxhall Vectra— a futile wall between the 'defenceless' Diddykins and the mountain of bagged and boxed toys that might topple over his growing, rotund form.

The Dursleys took Harry Christmas shopping in fear he might knock down their holiday tree or set their stockings on fire in their extended absence. When the store clerk suggested some gift ideas for the shaggy orphan, Uncle Vernon nearly burst into tears.

"What do you say Dudders? Should we give Harry one of your new bikes to ride around his cupboard?" Vernon quips.

'Dudders' is too concerned with his second chocolate waffle to respond, but shoves Harry in the ribs with his elbow. Uncle Vernon takes this as a 'no'.

The snow has covered the tracks in the driveway as the car pulls into 4 Privet Drive. Harry's hands stick to the handle as he follows Dudley out of the car. Harry quickly licks the chocolate off his fingers before his hands are filled with boxed Gameboy chips and miniature Trolls dolls. Yes, that was a good chocolate waffle.

-xxx-

"Diddykins, you made this for mummy in Nursery, remember?" Aunt Petunia gushes as she hangs yet another styrofoam and pipe cleaner ornament ball with Dudley's portrait pasted inside on the Christmas tree.

At the tippity-top of the tree, it proudly takes its place among the ten family portrait ornaments from Uncle Vernon's drill company—Grunnings— and the various glass reindeer and snowmen purchased by Aunt Petunia from the local parish's holiday fundraiser.

The pantheon of ornaments glares down at Harry as he changes a bulb on the garland—smirking. When Uncle Vernon and Petunia aren't looking, Harry clutches his fists and sticks out his tongue at their glassy faces. In an instant, Ornament Petunia, Vernon and Dudley's eyes, ears, mouths and noses disappear leaving empty, pale blobs in a stiff holiday embrace. That's better.

-xxx-

Uncle Vernon didn't like the ornament magic trick, so he sends Harry to his cupboard without supper. Harry lays in bed, the clink of the carving fork taunting him as his aunt serves Uncle Vernon yet another slice of ham. Well, Harry's not big on ham, and if he sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and squints his eyes tight enough, he can still taste the chocolate waffle from this afternoon. That's supper enough.

Finally, Aunt Petunia opens the cupboard door.

"Go wash up," she orders.

Harry follows her to the sink, removing one plate after another from the soapy, leftover-filled, murky water and giving them a good scrub.

His eye catches a small plate in the corner, filled with a good helping of ham and potatoes and even waxy, green beans and gravy. Without thinking, Harry pulls the plate over, then tenses.

Peaking over his shoulder, he sees Aunt Petunia watching him like a spider, arms crossed. Of course, this is a test, and Harry should return the plate to its original spot, cover it in cling wrap and put it in the fridge, but Harry holds her eye contact and clings to the plate desperately.

Aunt Petunia nods her head and gives Harry a quick smile. Harry waits until she's gone upstairs to help Uncle Vernon wrap the presents —listening for the creaking of the steps to wane—before shoving ham and potato into his mouth with soapy fingers. When he's licked the plate clean, Harry resumes washing up the dishes with a grin on his cheeks. Merry Christmas to him.


A\N: I can't be certain as to what prompted me to write sad Christmas Harry, but I am definitely in that holiday spirit and was in the mood to write a holiday fic. Enjoy!