Harry was studying in the common room, trying to finish his homework despite the raucous noise. It was the first of December, and already the skies had graced the grounds of the school with the season's first snow. This had led to many of the children going out to dance in the flurries, but also had much of the older years suffering from a terrible case of Cabin Fever. The normally boisterous students were even worse, feeling cooped up, and for whatever reason this meant that they had to engage in loud and disruptive behavior in the Common Room, despite having an entire castle at their disposal. Already, Harry had considered interrupting his friends in his dorm room, but had decided he didn't need privacy so bad as they did. It was a rare commodity, and they couldn't have a good snog in the Common Room, whereas Harry could theoretically do his homework anywhere. The Library wasn't an option, as he had come from there, where Malfoy had been pelting him with magically thrown wads of parchment.

"Harry!"

With a groan of frustration at this new interruption, the Wizarding Savior turned to his ginger friend, who was standing beside him. "What, Ron? I thought you and Hermione were 'busy'."

"There's a package for you on your bed," The taller boy explained. "And a letter in a Muggle envelope. It took four delivery owls to carry it."

Harry raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "A Muggle envelope? Is it from your parents?"

The boy shook his head. "Nope, it's got Muggle postage from Surrey, the box and the letter both."

Forgetting his homework for the time being, Harry shot from his chair and cut a swath through the crowded Common Room to the stairs of his dorm. He took the stairs two at a time, his friend behind him, and opened the door to his dorm to see a box almost half the size of his bed sitting atop his comforter. A letter sat innocently on the sealed flaps of the cardboard carton, and Harry could see even from the doorway that there was indeed Muggle postage on both.

Cautiously, he walked over to his bed, trying to decide if this were some elaborate hoax. But no, his relatives would never waste the postage, and they could only have sent the package via the Weasley's, who would never have allowed something malicious to pass to him. Another student, perhaps? But no, Harry's 'home' address was well-guarded amongst his friends, lest it be publicized. So what the hell was it?

Harry frowned as he picked up the letter. It was addressed in his uncle's writing. He quickly turned and transfigured a quill on Seamus nightstand into a letter opener. Slitting open the envelope, he pulled out a letter in his aunt's tidy cursive, with after-notes from his uncle and cousin.

Happy Christmas!

This may well reach you before the Holiday, but we've no idea of wizard postage, so it may come after. Either way, don't worry yourself over waiting to open your gift-

"What is it?!" Ron asked, peering over his shoulder.

"It's none of our business, Ronald!" Hermione hissed from his bed. She got up and grabbed her boyfriend. "Let's leave Harry alone."

"No," Harry said, looking to his friends pleadingly. "Please…stay. I don't know what this is, but it's freaking me out. I'd like the company."

Hermione looked at him sadly. "Okay…but we'll let you read your letter in peace," She said, elbowing Ron, who had readied to protest. "If you want to share after you've done reading it, you can."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks." He turned back to the letter.

-don't worry yourself over waiting to open your gift. It's yours to open when you wish. Very recently, your uncle and I had our eyes opened to the pain we put you through during your stay with us. We want to apologize. You aren't a burden, we were lucky to have you. We should never have tried to beat the freak out of you, and understand now that you are a very powerful, very important person in your world.

We don't know much about your world, so we only bought you a few things that we thought you might need and I let myself be taken into your world for the rest. Luckily, that robe shop had your sizes, and Molly Weasley very kindly helped me to pick out everything else. Forgive me, Harry.

Sincerely,

Petunia Dursley

This should make up for the last sixteen years of missed birthdays and Christmases, boy, so don't come around here seeking any favors. We've done our part by you, so keep your freakiness well away from our house.

Vernon Dursley

Hey, Freak, have a happy Christmas. Keep well away from me.

Dudley Dursley

Harry sat heavily on his bed as he re-read the letter. This couldn't be real. It was their handwriting, but this wasn't his relatives. He knew enough about them to know that they hadn't been coerced into writing the letter itself, but something had to have happened to them to inspire it in the first place. A near-death experience? They'd never cared enough about him…he could have blatantly saved their lives and they'd have bitched about how he did it. No, this letter was eerily reminiscent of the apology he'd gotten from Ron when Mrs. Weasley had made him apologize for calling him a wanker over the Summer. It was sincere…-ish.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked carefully.

The Gryffindor looked up from the letter and forced a smile. "Yeah, you bet. Just my relatives being stupid. Apparently they're apologizing for…the way they treated me."

"So what's in the box?" Ron asked curiously. Hermione cuffed him upside the head.

Harry smiled for real and shook his head. "Don't ever change, Ron." He looked at the box beside him and turned to it. "Only one way to find out. They said it was my Christmas present, and that it should 'make up for the last sixteen years of missed birthdays and Christmases'. They even got your mum to pick out some gifts."

"Well, go on," Ron cajoled anxiously.

Drawing a deep breath, Harry ripped the spell-o-tape off of the box and pulled open the flaps. He gaped at what he saw. The box was slightly deeper than it looked from the outside. To one side were stacks of brand new muggle clothing, and a few cloaks with varied thickness for the different seasons. On the other side was a mesh of items both Muggle and Wizarding. He pulled out the clothes first, stacking them on his bed. There were enough shirts and trousers to completely replace his wardrobe, even some pajamas, and they all looked brand new and fairly expensive. Next he started going through the other items. A new watch to replace the one he'd broken in Fourth Year, a leather wand holster for his arm, a few spell books for everyday and for fun, a brand new cauldron, new lace-up boots…and a stuffed lion that really roared.

"Why in the hell would they give me this?" Harry asked, pulling out the stuffed animal.

Ron snickered. "Mum probably did that. It's a tradition in our family. When you turn seventeen, you get to pick your own pet. You remember when Percy became prefect and he got an owl? It's the same thing, he only got his present early. Even I got to pick a new pet, which I gave up in favor of a new broom. Since you already have Hedwig, Mum must've gotten you this to remind you that you're as much a part of the family as I am."

Harry rolled his eyes and set the lion down. Beneath it was hiding a few more presents. Some books on Defense, which Harry had admitted over the summer was his passion (to no one's surprise), a new potions kit to go with his new cauldron, and his very own wizarding chess set. When everything was out of the box, Harry set it aside and looked over the gifts in awed silence. Where had all of this come from so suddenly?

"Wow, Harry," Ron said, giving a low whistle. "Your relatives must've spent a small fortune on you. These cloaks aren't Madame Malkin's work, these are from Gladrags, same as that wand holster."

Harry looked at his friend, who was fingering the finely made cloaks lying atop the piles of Muggle clothing. He didn't know what to say. He had long come to accept the abuse and neglect handed down by his relatives, even before he'd come to Hogwarts. Never in his life had he imagined they'd apologize, or try to make up for it. It didn't…nothing could really erase the way he'd been treated, the scars (both physical and emotional) were too deeply ingrained. But it did help him to feel like he could move beyond it now.

"What do you think caused this sudden change in attitude?" Hermione asked carefully.

"I don't know," Harry muttered. He looked to the girl. "Could I be alone now? I want to change and…process this."

Hermione smiled softly. "Sure, Harry," She murmured. Without looking, the young witch reached over and grabbed Ron's elbow, then began dragging him towards the exit. "We'll be in the Common Room if you need us. Ron still has to finish his homework, anyway."

The door closed on Ron's groan of protest. Harry sighed and stood up from the bed, looking at all of his new stuff. What was he supposed to do with it all? And how was he going to fit all of it into his trunk? Furrowing his brow in determination, he raised his hand and opened his palm, closing his eyes to better concentrate. He let his magic flow freely through him to his hand.

His private lessons with the Headmaster last year hadn't just been to view the man's memories of Tom Riddle. Dumbledore had also instructed him in the basics of wandless magic. After he'd managed to rebound the most unforgivable Unforgivable at Voldemort, Dumbledore had apparently decided to teach him how to use his raw magic. Most wizards thought that wandless magic was the same as using a wand, but in reality it required much more power for a reason. Yes, you could cast normal spells, and even an average wizard could manage the tame ones if they practiced, but true wandless magic was different. It required a massive core to draw from, and relied almost purely on wishing. There were unbreakable laws that governed it, like any other magic (you couldn't simply wish someone out of existence or dead, for example) but mostly if you wanted it bad enough, it was yours. It was why accidental magic in children often presented in ways that mimicked multiple spells at once, or no spells at all.

When Harry opened his eyes, his bed was cleared of his new things, except the lion, which sat by his pillows. Instead, he saw his old hand-me-downs from Dudley, and his battered cauldron that he'd had since First Year. At the end of his bed his trunk stood open, and inside he saw that everything was packed neatly away. Even his old things had been reorganized to make room. He couldn't stop a grin. This wasn't his first successful use of wandless magic, he'd mastered the basics last year, but it was the first time he'd ever done so much at once without tiring himself out. He reached into the newly organized trunk and withdrew a set of new clothes from the top. If he was getting rid of his old things, he might as well get rid of them all.

While he changed, Harry pondered over Hermione's question. What had brought all of this on? What could possibly cause such a drastic change in the people who, until now, didn't care if he lived or died? They didn't suddenly love and appreciate him, Vernon's comments proved that, so what had opened their eyes?

"Nothing," Harry muttered to himself as he buttoned his new crimson shirt. "There isn't anything that would make them do this. Someone had to have opened their eyes for them, but who?"