My Christmas Special. A magical adaptation of one of my favourite Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales...
The winter of the year 1978/79 was one of the coldest the United Kingdom had seen in many years. The blizzard brought too much snow, no cars could drive and the airports stopped working. The people bought all of the warm clothes they could get and soon the shops were plundered.
Petunia Dursley, a very normal woman, was talented with a needle and decided to knit hats, scarves, gloves and everything else the freezing people desired to ,ake some profit from the freezing cold. She bought all the wool she could get and sat on her couch in front of the fireplace. On her left was a basket, in which she put all the finished clothing. As soon as it was filled, she send for her nephew.
'You wanted to see me, aunt?'
'Yes. I have here a basket full of knitted goods for the freezing people out there. I want you to sell them and bring back all the money you earn. I have written you a list with the prizes for each piece of clothing.'
'Yes, Madam.'
'And don't come home ere you haven't sold everything!'
'Yes, Madam.' The boy, Harry, picked the basket up and went to his cupboard to fetch his thin jacket and boots. He sadly didn't own a scarf and gloves nor a hat. He opened the door and walked out into the bitter cold of christmas eve. As soon as the freezing air surrounded him, he started shivering, wishing that he could stay in the warm house or - at least - own warm clothes. But he was quite unlucky and walked - with a last, longing look back to the house - down the street he lived in.
The snow was deep and he - being on the smaller side - had problems getting through it.
About an hour later, the little boy had fought his way valiantly to the park around the corner where he would start selling the knitted clothes. But only few people were outside and Harry feared that he would spent all night here or in the neighbourhood to sell everything.
Harry sat down on a bench near Wisteria Walk and watched the streets, looking for anything human. Sometime around noon, a small family came walking down the street, the children were dressed warmly and were throwing snowballs at each other while the parents laughed good humouredly at their antics. Harry rose from the bench and walked over to them, asking if they needed some of the knitted goods his aunt had made. The mother, probably pitying him, bought a few woolen hats and scarfs and gave him more money than he wanted. Harry put the money into the small wallet aunt Petunia had given him and thanked the family heartily ere returning to the bench.
The hours flew by and a few more people walked down the street. Some in a hurry - those were the people who ignored him and didn't buy anything - and some just outside for a little walk - those bought some of his aunts knitted clothes.
But as the evening came and the darkness fell, he still had about a quarter of the basket filled with warm, but damp clothes because it had started to snow sometime ago.
Little Harry, he was eight years old, sighed and rose from the bench. He didn't know what to do. His aunt had told him not to return home ere he hadn't sold everything but he was cold and wet and hungry. The small boy decided to walk around some more, mayhaps he would meet some more people. He walked into a small road and followed it for some minutes. But he was so cold and tired. Harry found a nice, small stone wall and sat down again, looking up and down the street, envying the people in their warm houses. But then he remembered the strange lighter he had found earlier today near his uncle's house in Privet Drive. Maybe it still worked and would keep his fingers warm. He pulled it out of his pocket and lit it. A blue ball flew out of it, hovering in front of him for a few seconds ere rising in the air and brightening the street. A warm oven suddenly appeared next to the boy. Harry scooted closer to it and held his fingers and feet out, soaking up the heat the oven emitted. But much too soon, the light faded and with it the warm oven.
Not wanting to get cold again, Harry lit the lighter again, hoping that the oven would return. It didn't but he got something else instead: a richly decked table. A fat, brown and crispy goose was in the middle of it, surrounded by cakes and pastries and steamed vegetables and other deliciously smelling goods. Harry rose from his places on the wall and walked over to the table to pick something to eat but ere he could get a hold of the pumpkin pastry, the light faded, again, and left him in the bitter cold, alone on a dimly lit street near Wisteria Walk.
Disappointed, the boy took the basket and walked further down the road. Oh how he wished that his parents were still alive. Then he wouldn't need to earn his keep with working at his uncle's house or selling his aunts many homemade things. He could sit under a large and beautifully decorated christmas tree instead and cuddle with his mum and dad.
He sighed again and pulled the lighter back out of his pocket, tempted to use it again. What would he see? Harry stopped and turned around. No-one was there. Good. He lit the lighter and watched the blue ball illuminate the street again. This time a tree like he had imagined it stood to his right. A bright smile broke out on his face as the boy stared at the wonderful christmas tree. But as soon as it came it had vanished again. Like the others.
A small tear escaped his eye and found its way down his cheek. How he wished for a family. Throwing a glance into the basket, the boy sighed. It was unlikely that anyone would cross his path tonight anymore. But maybe he should return to his uncle's house. It was getting colder every minute now and a few days in his cupboard combined with a probable beating would be better than freezing to death out here. He stopped again. Was it truly? Harry looked at the lighter he was still holding in his small, cold hand. Should he try it again? One last time? He lit it and waited what the magical blue light would show him.
'Harry! Oh my dear, beloved Harry! How I missed you' A pretty young woman with red hair, green eyes - his eyes - and a kind face said. A smile on her face.
'Mum, is it truly you?'
'Of course, my dear!' Harry beamed happily and lit the lighter again and again and again. Many blue balls flew out and his mother became more solid.
'Can you take me with you, mum? I am so lonely here.' The woman placed her hands on his cold cheeks.
'My darling boy, I would love to take you with me but sadly it is not your time to come and join me and dad.'
'Dad is there, too?'
'Of course he is, Harry bear!' She caressed his cheek lovingly. Harry lit the lighter a few more times.
'Oh why can't I come with you? I never wished for anything else than to be with you!'
'I know, my darling, I know.' She looked into his eyes. 'Give me your hand, Harry, and I will take you someplace nice and warm.' Harry did as told and was suddenly surrounded by a blinding light. It felt like heaven.
When Harry didn't return the next day, Petunia - feeling quite a large amount of remorse - called the Police. They searched Little Whinging all day but only found the nearly empty basket near Privet Drive, the woolen clothes were covered in snow, indicating that no one had touched it for some hours. They resumed searching the next few days, questioning the neighbours and putting up posters with Harry's photo everywhere but no one had seen the little boy after dusk. Only some remembered a strange, blue light that had illuminated the street four times that night, with the last time being the brightest. Two weeks later, they gave up the search and told Petunia that her nephew had probably died and was buried somewhere under the deep snow. They suggested starting a new search for his dead body as soon as the snow had melted.
'Oh Vernon, what have I done?' She said that evening, crying bitter tears of regret and guilt. Her husband placed his arm around her shoulder and tried to console her.
But what had happened to little Harry? Had he truly died? I think we need to return to that night once more...
As soon as the bright light had faded, Harry reopened his eyes. He found himself in front of a large, festive decorated manor house. The lighter was still in his hand and his mother on his right. She led him up the stairs and knocked on the door. Movement was heard inside until an elderly looking lady opened the door. His mother kissed his cheek lovingly ere vanishing like the other visions he had.
'Oh by Merlin's beard!' He heard the Lady exclaim. 'Whatever happened to you, my boy?'
'My aunt had sent me outside to sell her hand knitted clothes and told me not to return to her house ere I sold everything. But I didn't.' He hung his head. 'I walked the streets unsure what to do. I was cold. And hungry. And I lit this to try and get warm fingers. It brought me here instead.' The lady gasped.
'How can someone be that cruel?' She moved to the side. 'Please come in, my dear. I will draw you a warm bath and give you some proper clothes to wear. And of course some food. There is so much left.' She ushered him inside, closing the door after him. 'And tomorrow, you can join me and my grandson Neville. He will surely share his presents with you.' She lead him upstairs into a large bedroom and sat him on a chair in front of a lit fireplace. 'What's your name, love?'
'Harry, Madam. Harry Potter.' The elderly lady gasped.
'Oh my…' She kneeled down next to him. 'I am Augusta Longbottom but you can call me 'Gran' like Neville does.' She pulled out a wooden stick and waved it over his clothes who became very dry.
'How did you do that?'
'Magic, Harry. You will be able to do that, too, one day.'
'Really? My aunt and uncle always told me that there is no such thing as magic.'
'Oh nonsense! They have been wrong, Harry. But let's get you into the tub right now for some much needed warmth.' She took his hand and let him into a room connected to the one he was inside right now.
About an hour later, Harry was fed, bathed and clothed in a soft pajama. Gran had tucked him in and read him a fantastic story about a hopping pot ere bidding him a good night. They boy had fallen asleep very quickly.
On the next morning, Harry was woken by a shy boy about the same age as him.
'You have to be Neville!' Harry deduced and smiled contentedly.
'Yes.' He said and sat down on Harry's bed. 'Gran told me about how you came to be with us half an hour ago and I was so curious. I am sorry if I have disturbed you sleep.'
'Oh I don't mind, Neville. I rather prefer being woken like this than having my aunt knock loudly against my cupboard door.'
'Your cupboard door? What cupboard door?' The boy cried upset.
'I have been living in a cupboard under the stairs as long as I can remember.'
'But that's terrible. I hope Gran won't send you home again. You could live here with us and be my brother.'
'I always wanted a brother!' Harry said shyly.
'Me too!' Neville got up and took Harry's hand. 'Let's find Gran and ask her!' Harry nodded and was pulled out of his room by his new friend.
They found Augusta Longbottom in the small dining room, reading a funny newspaper with moving pictures. Neville excitedly told her what Harry had told him and asked her, if he could stay with them. Gran smiled and pulled a letter of the table, giving it to Harry.
'This is my gift to you, Harry. I have been away all morning to get it!'
'Thank you, Gran!' He took the letter and opened it carefully ere reading it. His eyes took in every word (even though he didn't understand all of them) and at the end, tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. 'You really are my new guardian?'
'Yes, Harry!' She smiled. 'Welcome to the family!' The little boy had the brightes smile on his face and jumped in the elder lady's waiting arms for his first ever hug.
AN: The original fairy tale has a much darker, sadder ending where the little girl with the matches dies after seeing and talking to her grandmother. I didn't want to be that cruel to little Harry, so I gave him a family instead. A happy Christmas to you all!