January 24, 2014
When Christmas Comes to Town—Alan Silvestri (4:08)
Harry Potter
Harry
He thought maybe that he hated Christmas. Really hated it. He hated how everyone else seemed so happy. Hated how the other kids at school seemed so eager for the break and time to spend with their families and the presents Father Christmas would bring them. Even Dudley seemed happier as the days counted down.
Harry dreaded it. Hours spent working while Dudley and Uncle Vernon sat and watched telly. Dreaded the hours spent cooking and smelling the wonderful scents of the foods he wasn't allowed to taste. Dreaded the day itself more than anything else. Hearing Dudley's joyous shouts as he opened the gifts beneath the tree while Harry sat alone and cold in his cupboard.
He'd learned long ago that Father Christmas was either a myth or the fat old man detested him. If the reactions of his relatives were anything to go by then the man detested him the same as everyone else. He never expected anything anymore. He never even hoped for anything. He knew that he was worthless and wouldn't be gifted with anything like normal boys were.
He didn't care. Really he didn't. He just wished Dudley wasn't quite so loud in his joyous shouts. He wished the cupboard didn't have vents so that he couldn't smell the cooking food. He was starving. Aunt Petunia had been so busy she hadn't fed him in two days. And he knew the Christmas dinner leftovers were off limits. Unless they were in the trash.
Trying to ignore his stomach's irritated grumbling Harry closed his eyes and sent his mind far away. In his mind he saw a nice little house with a cheerily burning fire. Lights were strung in all the windows and on the snow covered eaves. Inside a man and a woman cuddled on the couch and whispered to each other under the blinking lights of their tree.
"Harry," the red haired woman called up the stairs. "Come here. It's time to eat."
The dark haired man chuckled and shook his head. "Leave him be, dearest. Father Christmas brought him that chemistry set he's been begging for. We won't see him again until he blows up his room or the new year."
Harry watched himself scamper down the stairs. "I'm not going to blow up my room, Dad," the other him scoffed. "I could, of course, I have the proper chemicals but I won't. I like my room."
His dad reached out and ruffled his hair. "As you should. Now come sit and eat before the others get here and take all the good parts."
The other Harry grinned up at his parents and sat down at the overflowing table. "Okay. It looks really good, Mum."
"Potter!" Aunt Petunia's voice shattered the dream. "We're going to service. Stay in that cupboard and don't come out until tomorrow."
He didn't know why she told him to stay. He'd heard the bolt sliding into place earlier. He might be a bit strange but even he couldn't unlock a bolt from the wrong side. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he called back so that she'd go away and he could go back to his family in his dreams.
He hated Christmas because the dreams were his only escape and they always made his reality so much worse.