Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Author Note: At the bottom of the page, I addressed a reader review. It's a little lengthy, so I posted it after the chapter, but if you have concerns about Whitney seeming "wimpy" or similar, it's an interesting read. Thank you, my darling readers, even for critical reviews, and as always, please keep reviewing.

Chapter Fourteen – Happy Christmas

As the weather grew colder, so did Whitney. For no reason that anyone could discern, the girl sectioned herself off from other people and was generally antisocial. It was just as well that most everyone had left for the holidays. In fact, of the first years, Whitney was the only girl who had stayed. This allowed her to be generally surly in the privacy of an empty dorm room without bothering anyone.

Christmas didn't exactly bring out the best in Whitney. She'd never had a good one that she could remember, and whenever the holidays rolled around, she remembered all of the past ones with the Dursleys. Remembering the Dursleys in turn reminded her that she would have to go back when the summer came around.

She did keep herself preoccupied, however. Ever since Hagrid had slipped up and mentioned that Fluffy was guarding some sort of stone, Whitney had been scouring books about stones and their magical properties. So far, she'd found nothing useful, but she'd directed her frustration toward present-buying. Having money was a vastly new experience for Whitney, but she found that buying gifts for others helped her feel better.

Ron had managed to rope her into a handful of wizard chess matches over the course of break. He was apparently just as bored as she was, and stomping her in chess apparently made him feel better. She won once out of every ten matches or so, but Ron was rather brilliant at the game. She shook her head at him after a particularly quick win and asked, "Aren't you supposed to let girls win games?"

Ron grinned and jabbed, "If you want to win, you should stop being so rubbish."

Whitney normally would have laughed and kicked him under the table, but today she merely raised an eyebrow at him and frowned slightly.

Ron raised both hands defensively. "Don't hex me, though," he said, joking a little.

Whitney gave him her best apologetic look. "Sorry," she said. "I don't like this time of year," she admitted.

"Don't like it?" Ron asked, sounding scandalized. "What's not to like? There's snow and no school and presents. I mean, normally I go home for the holidays, but mum and dad went to visit my brother Charlie, instead. He was Seeker before you, you know, but he studies dragons in Romania now."

Whitney couldn't imagine a cooler job than studying dragons, but still hadn't caught Ron's enthusiasm. "I dunno," she said, glumly. "I always have to go out and shovel the walk. It's always too cold to leave the house to get away from my cousin for a bit. And presents?" she asked, pulling a face. "I think last year, I got a sock without a match and a stick of chewing gum for Christmas."

A moment later, she put her hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide. She looked at Ron, surprised that she would admit something so personal about herself. Behind her hand, she flushed pink to the tips of her ears. She cleared her throat and floundered for something to say.

Ron frowned and poked at a quivering lump in his pajama pocket that Whitney knew was Scabbers. "Yeah," Ron said, "I got him last year for a present. That and a sweater my mum knit."

There was something about the way Ron sounded disappointed that greatly annoyed Whitney. She would have been thrilled if someone cared about her enough to knit her a sweater. Now in a slightly bitterer mood than before, Whitney knocked over her king and left the table silently.

On Christmas Eve, Whitney grabbed some toast for dinner from the Great Hall, and ate it on her way back to the Gryffindor common room. She walked straight from the portrait hole to the stairs leading up to her dorm, but Neville spotted her from across the room and waved at her. She paused, not looking entirely thrilled at having been stopped, but tried to put on a smile for him.

"Hey, Neville," she says with as much cheer as she could manage.

Apparently, it wasn't much, because Neville asked, "Is everything all right?"

Whitney sighed. Having to repeatedly explain that she didn't enjoy the holidays didn't help her enjoy them any more. "Yeah," she said unconvincingly. "I'm fine."

"Hm," Neville made a thoughtful noise and looked at her for a moment in silence. "Well, I just noticed you'd been eating in your room a lot. I wondered if you were going to eat dinner with Ron and me tomorrow."

Whitney had intended to skip Christmas dinner entirely, in fact. She bit the inside of her cheeks thoughtfully before answering. "I was just going to work on some school work," she said.

"Oh, come on," Neville urged. "Christmas dinner's supposed to be really great here. They do away with the House tables and everyone sits together. It's nice."

Whitney took in a deep breath and prepared to tell the boy that, as nice as it sounded, she'd rather be on her own, but she stopped. Maybe it was something about how hopeful he looked, or something in herself that longed to have a normal Christmas for once, but she nodded slowly. "All right," she said. "I'll go."

Neville grinned. "Good! I'll see you in the morning."

Whitney watched Neville walk out of the portrait hole before finally turning to walk upstairs to her room. She grabbed a towel and went to the bathroom for a long, hot shower to try to improve her mood. The last thing she wanted was to be foul and spoil everyone's dinner tomorrow. Surprisingly, it did help some. She was feeling a little more human when she went to bed that evening.

The next morning, Whitney was woken up by the sound of a distressed scream. She sprang up in her bed, but of course the dorm was empty. She looked left and right and checked under her bed nervously before getting up and checking the door.

Not thinking to watch where she was stepping, Whitney suddenly found herself falling and sliding down the stairs to the common room, though when the stairs had become a slide she had no idea. At the bottom of the slide, Whitney collided with something rather soft that groaned its protest at having been landed on. As quickly as she could manage, Whitney scrambled off of Neville who had broken her fall, and moved to help him to his feet. She was fighting the urge to laugh.

"Are… you all right?" she asked.

Neville brushed himself off as he answered, "I… I think so. You?"

Whitney let a single giggle slip. "Ah, yes, I think," she told him. "Were you trying to go up to the girl's dorm?"

Neville turned red. "Well, I… It's Christmas morning," he tried to explain. "You were… still in bed, and I… I mean, look," he finished, pointing to the large Christmas tree in the room. "There are presents."

Neville dashed over to the tree and knelt beneath it, but Whitney's amusement turned back to sullen disassociation. Presents, she thought to herself. Now that she was focusing on the common room, she noticed a handful of people unwrapping gifts all over the room. Ron was sitting practically beneath the tree, tugging what looked like his annual sweater from some wrapping paper. I nearly forgot what day it was. There had to be presents, of course. Why couldn't I have just slept through the whole—

Whitney's thoughts were interrupted by Neville, who was waving a package at her and calling her name. "This one's for you," he was shouting.

Whitney just stared at him dumbly, not moving, as though what he was saying to her made as much sense as Dudley going on a diet. Finally, she managed to squeak a tiny, "…What?"

Neville grinned and waved her over. She silently moved to his side, and he handed her the package which was wrapped in red paper and tied with a string. "I've got… presents?" she asked, turning the package over in her hands.

"Did you expect turnips?" Ron asked her, grinning.

"Well," Whitney said with a half-smile, "sort of." She glanced at Neville, who looked at her knowingly, and she wondered whether he had told Ron about the present she'd received from the Dursleys last year.

She sat on the floor next to the two boys and placed her present on the floor. Carefully she untied it and unfolded the paper from Hermione's gift, which appeared to be a wizarding stationery set. There was a set of parchment decorated with lilies and matching envelopes, a bottle of dark red ink, a stick of gold wax, and a seal with the initials 'WP' on it. There was also several rolls of different-colored ribbon for tying rolled-up letters.

"Ohh," Whitney sighed rather happily. This was so much better than a stick of chewing gum. "This is the best Christmas," Whitney said softly.

Ron laughed a little. "You don't think that's the only one, do you?" he asked her.

Whitney looked up at him, but he was already handing her another package, which turned out to be a wooden flute that Hagrid had apparently carved himself. She looked at the flute with slightly watery eyes. She'd never played an instrument before, be resolved to learn.

"I think I know who that one's from," Ron said, turning a little pink and pointing at another rather lumpy gift. He handed it to her and she set it in her lap for a moment before opening it. Year after year, she had watched Dudley's pile of presents grow in size and number, but she was so grateful for her three. She took her time opening the package, savoring the feeling of ripping paper beneath her hands.

She nearly cried out when she saw that Ron's mother had knit her a sweater, too. She pulled it on over her head, its emerald green contrasting delightfully against her auburn hair. She hugged herself and used the sleeve of her new sweater to wipe at some stray tears. "It's brilliant," she said to Ron, offering the two boys some of the homemade fudge that had been included in Mrs. Weasley's gift.

Neville took a piece and in return handed her a flat package. When she took it from him, she knew instantly that it was a framed picture. "I got it from my gran," Neville said, and Whitney looked confused.

She opened the package, wondering what Neville could have gotten from his Gran for her, and her fingers froze in midair when she saw what the picture contained. All of the air left her lungs as she studied the photograph.

Two pregnant women sat next to one another in rocking chairs, both with their hands folded over their stomachs. On the left was a proud-looking woman with black hair and the same round face as Neville, and the other woman had Whitney's auburn hair and dazzling green eyes. Behind the woman on the left stood a man with an honest face and a receding hairline, one hand on his wife's shoulder. They waved at Whitney, smiling. Next to the red-headed woman, one arm around her and the other resting his hand on her stomach, crouched a man with mess, black hair and glasses. Both had tears in their eyes.

Neville's voice sounded like it was coming from far away as he explained. "Those two on the left, those are my parents," he told her, though it was obvious. "Gran said they went to school with your parents, but they were in different years and didn't know each other very well. They got to be good friends later on, though."

Whitney's fingers traced over the picture of her parents and a few droplets of moisture fell onto the glass. She sniffed and wiped the tears off the photograph and then off her face.

"Neville," she said softly, failing to find the words to describe just how much this gift meant to her. Instead, she leaned over Hermione's gift and put her arms around his shoulders. He patted her back a little awkwardly, clearly not sure what to do with the affection. He threw an uncertain glance over Whitney's shoulder, through her hair at Ron, who grinned and shrugged at him. She let him go a moment later, looking a little embarrassed, but entirely pleased with the Christmas presents she'd received.

"This is really the best Christmas," she repeated, hugging the picture to her chest. "Oh!" she realized, jumping up. "I almost forgot!"

She dashed away, leaving Ron and Neville looking confused at one another. She returned a few moments later with gifts for each of them. Ron's gift was a collectible Chudley Cannons figurine. A small Chaser, whose name was unfamiliar to Whitney, had been bewitched to fly around a thin metal rod set on a wooden stand.

Ron turned a little pink when he unwrapped the gift. He'd seen it in the Quidditch shop in Diagon Alley and knew how much it had cost her. "This is wicked," he said softly, watching the figure circle its axis.

For Neville, she had bought something that looked much like a watch, but with a compass on it instead of a timepiece.

"It comes with these instructions," Whitney said, handing him a small pamphlet and pointing to an incantation. "You cast this spell on something and the compass will always point to it. It's meant for people who lose their wands, and for children who wander off, but I thought you could use it on Trevor. I got it from an article in the Daily Prophet," she admitted, "so I hope it works the way it's supposed to."

Neville laughed a little. "Now, I just have to find Trevor so I can put the spell on him," he said, shaking his head. "Thanks."

"Oy!"

Twin voices behind Whitney signaled the arrival of Fred and George who were looking particularly jolly. "Look," said one of them. He was wearing a knit sweater with an 'F' sewn into it, which probably meant he was George. "Whitney's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Whitney grinned at the pair of them. "It's really great," she said. "No one's ever made me anything before."

"Come on, Ron," said the brother in the 'G' sweater, "put on your sweater."

"Yeah," said the other, waggling his eyebrows. "Everybody's doing it," he jokingly enticed.

Ron grumbled as he pulled his on over his head, muttering something about how much he hated maroon.

"Oh, it doesn't look that bad," Whitney insisted. "Could be worse. It could be orange, and then where would you be?" she teased. "You'd look like a carrot with a pimple."

"Gee," Ron said darkly while his brothers both doubled over with laughter. "Thanks."

When Fred could breathe again, he pointed at Ron and instructed, "Don't be late for dinner. We're dragging Percy away from the Prefects."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Christmas is a time for family. That goes for the lot of you," he added gesturing to Neville and Whitney, who looked very pleased.

"Wouldn't miss it," she said quietly, and the twins wandered off through the portrait hole. Whitney turned to Neville and Ron. "There's a couple things I want to do before dinner," she told them. "Meet you down here around five?"

"Deal," Neville said, and Ron nodded.

Gathering all of her presents, Whitney walked up the stairs to the girls' dorm. She set her things on her bed and grabbed a quill, ink, and parchment from her bookbag. Picking a sturdy book to put the parchment down on, she flopped onto her bed to begin writing thank you notes to Mrs. Weasley and Neville's gran.

She grabbed her pillow and pulled it down to lie on top of it, and was surprised to find a small, wrapped bundle underneath. She looked at it curiously. "Another present?" she wondered out loud to herself. She sat up and took the package in her lap, reading the card that had been left with it. "Use it well?" she wondered out loud. "It doesn't look particularly warm… It's sort of shiny, though."

Looking confused, she tossed it around her shoulders and went to go and look at it in the mirror. Whitney had never received clothes as a gift before, unless you included too-large hand-me-downs and old socks. She wasn't particularly vain, either, as looking in the mirror generally meant look at the same, old Whitney she always saw. The cloak, however, proved her wrong in this; she definitely did not see her plain self wearing a shiny cloak. In fact, she barely saw any of herself at all.

Whitney gasped and her hands flew to her chest, her arms, her stomach, patting every invisible inch just to make sure all the parts were still attached. They… felt like they were still there. She licked her dry lips and looks down at herself, seeing more of the same nothing as before. Her eyes crossed and she suddenly felt a little ill and off-balance. Vertigo grabbed hold of her and knocked her to the floor, where she sat for a moment, dizzy.

Safe on the ground, she took a moment to adjust to looking where her feet should be and seeing nothing. "A cloak that makes you invisible," she said out loud to herself, wonder in her tone. "I love magic."

Author Note: Here is that review and its response.

Review:

"i feel a little bad for saying this, bc you said this is based on you, but whitney wanting to throw up when anything goes wrong is just plain annoying. the tears when she almost died with the troll this chapter, yes, that's what i would imagine whitney's reaction should be. but i mean, who's THAT queasy that that's their first go to reaction when things are bad, it honestly makes me feel like you're trying to hint at bulimia or something. you just mention it ALL the time! i also can't really seem to find anything too different on how she's treated differently by others for being a girl, though that's what you said you would be writing. the only one that's seemed to be different so far is whitney/harry herself, and so far it's only been that instead of being a bit more calm and collected during crazy stuff, she cries and wants to puke. i would hope that that's not actually what you see as a difference between a boy and a girl 11 year old, and that you're going somewhere else with that, bc if having her be a girl just means wimpier, that's not cool. i get that your trying to show how the abuse affects her more than harry, but i think you do that well enough with her other characteristics like being all shy, etc, without needing to make her just so...sad and wimpy. the story's well done and everything, but i don't really think that you got how the world would a treat a girl differently at all, you've only really changed her character, and there's nothing really wrong with that except that you point out at the beginning that you're supposed to be doing more than that"

Response:

"I was prepared to tell you that I've only written Whitney feeling sick twice in the story, but as readers often see things that writers do not, I searched through the story to see how many times I had used the word 'stomach.' I found a startling number. Many were innocent, but I found that I use the phrase, 'sinking sensation in her stomach,' and similar turns (i.e. 'cold, twisty feeling,' and 'worried weight in her stomach') a great deal more than I should.

I would, however, not consider these phrases as indication of nausea, and I'm certainly not hinting at any eating disorders. I use the phrase to induce an emotion akin to dread, rather than actual vomiting.

I would also agree that you don't see how much different she's treated by others at first. You may not even see a great deal of it in the first book, but it will become very obvious later on. For now, the biggest example is her relationship with Hagrid, who doesn't bond quite so easily to a girl.

I do not, under any circumstances, wish to imply that the hero of the stories would be 'wimpier' were he a girl. I would probably, however, consider an eleven-year-old me to be wimpier than an eleven-year-old Harry. I think for a child his age, the books portrayed him as too calm and collected. I never thought it was realistic. But, Whitney will grow stronger and quite fast. If anything else, she adapts to her surroundings, and in the following chapters, she grows so attached to Hogwarts and the magical world that she will let nothing take them from her.

At this stage in the story, Harry hasn't received a lot in the way of worldly or media attention. When that part of the story comes up, that's when you'll see the difference. I know that's quite far ahead in the future, however, so my apologies if my description was misleading.

I appreciate your review. It's nice to hear some actual feedback that makes me take a look at what I'm doing and see things I need to change.

/-wujy"