Until this year, christmas meant very little to Harry Potter. Christmas was for family, after all, and his aunt and uncle and cousin had gone to great lengths to make sure he knew that the term 'family' did not apply to him.

The gift they had sent, a small envelope with 50 pence, was proof of that. Harry gave the gift the consideration it deserved, and chucked it in the fireplace. He was surprised at the bold move, for the Harry Potter who lived in a cupboard under the stairs would not have been brave enough to be so defiant - even when his guardians would never know.

But that Harry was gone, now. Here, now, he knew something had changed. It wasn't the link with his alternates, though that helped, because while they were always with him, they were never with him.

Harry looked around the Gryffindor common room, watching the Weasleys (and a few other students) opening their gifts, laughing and joking around. He smiled, looking down at the small stack of presents in his lap. People care, he thought. It was a revelation - he, Harry Potter, the freak, was actually important to someone. Several someones, in fact. Important enough that they sent christmas gifts.

Hagrid had given him a flute, which he looked forward to learning how to play. Hermione and Neville had both sent Chocolate Frogs, with an extra package of muggle fudge from Hermione's parents. Susan Bones from Hufflepuff had sent a small bag of sugar quills, which looked like muggle lollipops made in the shape of quills. Ron's mother had knitted a sweater, and it was warmer than any piece of clothing he owned.

Almost any, rather, for there had been another package as well. Inside was a winter cloak, warmer than the one he had gotten with his school uniforms, yet lighter. The gryffindor crest was set on the front of the cloak, and the edges had red and gold trim. Inside the package had been a note, and a pamphlet of some sort.

Harry,

As you've no doubt learned, Scotland can get a bit chilly. Bundle up.

I've also included a few catalogs, if you wish to purchase warmer or more comfortable clothes, or if you wish to buy some small gifts or treats for those who sent gifts to you. The shops can send you pretty much whatever you like, including muggle or magical clothes in your size. The best part? You can order and pay via owl. Just send a letter to Accounts Manager Foecleaver, at Gringott's, and he will let you know how to set that up. He can also answer any other questions you may have, whether about your bank vault, your vault key, or other matters.

Foecleaver worked for your father, James, and your grandfather Charlus before him. If you are polite, I imagine he might be willing and eager to share some stories of your family. I've found that sometimes, especially during the holidays, those shared memories can be the most precious gift of all.

Happy Christmas, Heir Potter.

The note was unsigned, and the parchment was unmarked, except for the note. The handwriting was crisp and clean, but the identity of his mystery benefactor remained unclear. Well. Looks like I need to write to the goblins sooner rather than later, Harry thought. Perhaps they would have answers. He carefully folded the cloak and placed it back in its box, before carrying his gifts up to the dorm. Breakfast would be starting soon.

oOoOoOoOo

Chaser Potter heard his father's voice behind the door. "Come," he said, and with that the door unlocked and allowed him entry.

Lord Potter's study was the only room in Potter Manor that was out of bounds for the Potter Heir. His father joked that it was due to all of the dark tomes that might injure the unsuspecting, but Harry knew that to be less than true. The reality was that James Potter simply liked having a space for himself.

Harry knew the feeling well. Not long after his eighth birthday, when he received his first broomstick, the old storage room at the back of the house had been turned into a Quidditch Den. A rack of broomsticks dominated the long wall, with shelves for polish and cleaning supplies, as well as a workbench for maintenance. The posters decorating the space were a blend of James (Puddlemere and Holyhead) and Harry (Appleby, as well as a replica poster for the 1978 England National Team). The bold Gryffindor pennants hanging from the ceiling honored their shared quidditch heritage. A set of couches in the corner, if seen by a muggle, might have made them think of a "man cave".

But that room, even more so than any other in the manor, was Harry's. It was his sanctuary, just as the Lord's study was a safe place for James.

Harry entered the study, and saw his father reading a letter at his desk. Amelia Bones, Harry's godmother and Susan's aunt, was sitting nearby. Both had mugs of hot chocolate, a tradition in the Potter household dating back to Lily's first christmas with the family.

The warm winter cloak, subject of much discussion during dinner, was hung by the door. Harry walked over to the desk, before taking one of the other chairs. "Dad, Auntie, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Harry." said James. "How was your walk?"

Harry grinned. "Well, it was less of a walk around the grounds and more of a surprise snowball fight." He looked over at Madam Bones. "Susan was less than pleased, I'm afraid, but she held her own."

Amelia tried very hard to hide her own smirk. "Your Uncle Padfoot, I presume?"

"He may have said something about turning prongslet into a reindeer. Then Susan had him ducking for cover before he could say anything more."

Nodding, Amelia took a sip of her chocolate. "Good."

James lifted his own mug, and the movement drew Harry's eye to the desk. "No ideas, I guess?"

Lord Potter shrugged. "I didn't recognize the handwriting. Your Aunt thinks that whoever sent the cloak used a modified dictaquill to write out the note. There's no magic on it, and none but a warming charm on the cloak, or else you wouldn't have been allowed to wear it." He shook his head. "About the only thing we do know is that this person apparently wants you to speak with Foecleaver, at some point. Which means, at least, that we know it's not him - Foecleaver would have sent an actual letter, or just asked me directly, Merlin knows I'm in the bank often enough."

Harry knew that Seeker Harry had gotten a similar cloak, only his had the Gryffindor crest instead of the Potter one. They had not heard from Spellforged or the girls, as yet - but the same gift, with the same note, was its own clue.

"Dad, do we still have that intent ward up?"

Amelia's eyebrow raised at the question. James was surprised as well. "We do. Anyone or anything that has an intent to harm you or I, or anyone under our protection, will be bounced off the wards and into the sea." He inclined his head. "They aren't teaching wards to first years, are they?"

Harry smiled. "No, dad, they aren't - though I bet Hermione could handle them. She's smarter than everyone in our year, I think. No, I was just thinking that if there's an intent ward up, and the cloak still managed to get delivered, then whoever sent it couldn't mean us harm, right? If they did, their house elf would get bounced when they delivered the gift."

James and Amelia looked at each other, then at Harry. "Son," began James, "What's really on your mind?"

Harry looked down. James tapped his desk, and an elf appeared beside him. He raised his mug to the elf, then nodded at Harry, and the elf nodded. Seconds later, Harry had a mug of hot chocolate pressed into his hands. After another few moments, Amelia began to rise.

"I'll be downstairs, James." She said. Harry looked up at her, his expression unreadable.

"No, Auntie, please. It's not… I mean…" He sighed. "It's halloween, Dad."

Amelia resumed her seat, relieved. "You shouldn't worry, Harry, you did the right thing - and really, how many first years can say they fought a troll?" She smirked. "Just leave that sort of thing for the professionals next time, yes?"

Harry grinned. "Thanks, but that's not what I meant. I've just been thinking about, well, about that halloween."

James sat back in his chair, saying nothing. Amelia did the same, responding with a quiet "oh".

"I mean," continued Harry, "So many things went wrong that night. And so many more could have." He looked his father in the eyes. "What if I had lost you too, Dad? And Padfoot, and Moony… what if I lost everyone? I could have been alone, out in the muggle world, with no idea who I was." He shuddered, not even realizing that he had.

Amelia looked horrified. "We would have taken you in, if your uncle couldn't. You know that."

Harry nodded. "I know it, and I can't thank you enough Auntie. But… well, I had a nightmare the other day and it's stuck with me a bit." He had struggled with how to convey his meaning without revealing too much, and worried that he already had. "I dreamt that I was found by the muggle police, and they took me to the only family they knew about. My mom's sister." This last, he said quietly, for he knew how close he had come to that exact fate. When debris knocked out his father and removed him as a threat, an impatient Voldemort had marched up the stairs to his fate. One killing curse, one additional movement, one spell - and everything could have changed.

The thought brought another shudder to Harry, just as his words had done the same to James.

"You're right, that would have been a nightmare." James remembered the young couple who had attended his wedding, grudgingly sitting in the back and speaking to no one. The idea of them raising Harry, and the results of that sort of childhood did not bear further thought.

"I mean," Harry continued, "Christmas is about family, and I just can't help realizing how good I have it. We got so incredibly lucky that night, dad, even with Mom and everything. Because I know in my heart how much worse it could have been."

Amelia set her mug down on the desk. "You're never alone, Harry." Harry nodded, before giving her a hug. He then walked around the desk to his father, who wrapped him up in a bear hug of his own.

"I love you so much, Harry. And I'm so proud of you."

"I know dad." Harry closed his eyes. "I know."

When father and son parted, Amelia sipped her chocolate again. A laugh from outside drew her eye to the courtyard, where another snowball fight had started again. She snorted, before she could stop herself, when she saw who the newest victim was.

"Harry, you may want to head back downstairs. Apparently, Sirius has recruited my niece into setting an ambush for your uncle Remus."

Harry's face lit up. "Moony!" He looked to his father, who nodded. "Thanks, Dad, thanks Auntie." And with that, he rushed out of the room, stopping only to grab his cloak.

Once the door closed, James and Amelia looked at each other. They didn't need to speak, for their expressions said it all.

Harry's nightmare was not a new one. Both of them had had the same fears, the same worries about the events of that night. And both were thankful beyond words for how lucky they had been.

oOoOoOoOo

That evening, Seeker Harry had found another gift, sitting on his bed. It was a thin, silvery cloak of some sort, with another anonymous note. So this was my father's? He would have to ask Chaser Potter about that when next they spoke. Ron entered the dorm at that point, and asked about the odd gift. Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders, and a shocked Ron told him to look in a mirror.

An Invisibility Cloak? He grinned. Now this could be useful.

After leaving the library that night, it did not take long for Harry to find the abandoned classroom. He did not know whether the cloak would protect him from the angry old caretaker or his cat, but tonight was not the night to find out. Instead, he decided to pull up his Gryffindor courage and hide.

The room had been emptied of desks and decorations. The only object he could see was an old mirror. The frame was ornate and ancient, decorated with words.

"Erised…" he muttered. What sort of mirror was this? He stepped forward, removing the cloak.

He saw himself, standing in his school robes, grinning happily. Behind him, he saw a taller version of himself, wearing robes in an older style. On the pocket of the man's sweater, Harry saw a family crest, and he knew without a doubt that the crest was his own.

Which meant…. Dad?

A woman stood beside the man. Her red hair came to her shoulders, framing a kind face with brilliant green eyes. Eyes that matched his own. Mom.

As he watched, more figures stepped forward, as if they walked out of a fog. His twin brother stood beside him, his unruly black hair pulled into a ponytail. The silver ring on his hand answered Harry's question before he could ask. Chaser Harry.

His eye was drawn to the other boy in school robes. Here, the blue and grey trim and the Ravenclaw crest were the clues he needed to identify Harry Spellforged. He was surprised to see a small silver dagger on the boy's belt, the only hint of the ravenclaw's goblin heritage.

To Chaser Harry's left, Harry saw one of the girls approach. Her long, dark hair was kept in a neat braid, tied with green and silver ribbon. The slytherin robes suited her, he thought - for after having spoken with Rose Potter for these few months, it was crystal clear that she belonged in the house of cunning.

Marigold Potter appeared alongside Spellforged. She had the same kind expression as their mother, he thought, though it was strange to see his father's eyes on a girl who might have been his sister.

Who was my sister. Is my sister. He chuckled to himself. There is no language to describe whatever we have.

He saw others standing even further back, but the fog still obscured them. Some were tall, some short, but the meaning was clear, for all that.

You'll never be alone.

"Never alone," Harry said, softly, to himself.