Harry woke to the sound of vomiting and groaning. Taking a moment to pull his mind back into some kind of order, he realised he hadn't been asleep very long. The light, unfocussed without his glasses, was the faint grey of early morning.

Putting his glasses on, he rolled out of bed, desperately thankful that he had been sobered up. Neville was asleep across his bed, still fully dressed. Ron was still asleep, wrapped up tight in his blankets. Seamus was vomiting copiously into the top drawer of his bedside table.

He paused after a few seconds, falling back against his pillows. He was ghostly pale as he cuffed vomit from his chin.

"Morning mate," Harry said, taking his own glass of water from his bedside table and handing it to Seamus.

Seamus groaned and coughed as he took the glass. "Cheers, Harry."

"Don't worry about it, go back to sleep if you can." Harry said, before pointing his wand into the drawer and casting the cleaning charm.

Rolling his shoulders, he found he ached from the previous night's festivities, but grinned at the memories of those stolen hours with Pansy.

The house elves had put out their Christmas presents as always.

There was a muted crack and Dobby was suddenly standing next to him, holding a small, immaculately wrapped package.

Harry jumped at the elf's appearance. "Bloody hell, Dobby," he said, sitting on his bed and exhaling a long breath, "what're you doing here?"

Dobby blinked his enormous eyes several times. "Dobby is sorry, Mr. Harry Potter sir. Dobby is only wanting to bring him a Christmas present." He said, holding out the gift.

Harry took the small parcel, "It's okay, Dobby. Just… maybe come in through the door in future? Less of a shock, you know?"

"Sorry Harry Potter." the little elf said again, grinning uncomfortably.

"Wha's goin' on, Harry?" Seamus groaned.

"Nothing, don't worry about it." Harry said.

"Dobby?" Ron groaned, rolling over in his bed.

"Yeah, it's him," Harry said, distractedly, suddenly feeling guilty that buying Dobby a gift hadn't occurred to him.

The elf danced on the spot, "Merry Christmas Ronald Weezy! Dobby has come to bring Harry Potter his Christmas present!"

Ron groaned, putting his arm over his eyes, "Merry Christmas, Dobby. Don't suppose you have a hangover cure in that toga of yours?"

Dobby wrung his hands, subconsciously patting down his pristine Hogwarts toga, "I is afraid Dobby does not, Ronald Weezy, but we house elves is making lots of it for Professor Moody, so I is sure there could be some to spare if you would like I to check?"

Ron removed his arm, he looked dreadful, but less so than Seamus. "Would you? Oh Dobby you might just save my life." He pulled a pathetic face.

Dobby looked from Ron to Harry, "Can Dobby give Harry Potter his Christmas present first?"

"Yeah, 'course you can. I got you something too." Harry said, looking around urgently for something to give Dobby in return. Remembering that it was Christmas and knowing what Mrs. Weasley had almost certainly sent him, he rummaged around in his trunk. Seizing his knitted sweater from the previous Christmas which was getting a little too tight, he held it up for Dobby to see. "Sorry I forgot to wrap it, Dobby. It might be a bit big for you."

Dobby's mouth fell into a great O of astonishment before his knees started to tremble. "Mr. Harry Potter, sir." He mumbled, like he had forgotten how his lips were supposed to work.

He took the sweater and held it out, admiring it. "How can Dobby ever show his gratitude, Mr. Harry Potter?" he said, tears swimming around the lids of his enormous green eyes.

"You don't need to do anything Dobby, that's what friends do, isn't it, buy each other things at Christmas. You can say the H is for Hogwarts if anyone asks."

Tears spilled over Dobby's eyes and he ran at Harry, hugging his legs together fiercely. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Harry Potter!" he wailed.

"Okay, you're welcome," Harry laughed, a little uncomfortably at the elf's outburst.

Dobby retreated a couple of steps and sniffling, dragged the enormous sweater down over his own head. It was more of a dress on him and, after rolling the voluminous sleeves up seven times, he picked up Harry's present, holding it out to him.

"Thanks, Dobby." Harry said, taking the little box which was covered with a pattern of what looked like hand drawn snitches and broomsticks.

As he opened the box, there was a crack and Dobby was gone. Inside was a pair of thick winter socks, one in a bright festive red, festooned with golden snitches and the other green, covered with broomsticks that were an incredible representation of his own Firebolt.

Harry held them up for Ron to see, but he had ducked behind his arm again, so he pulled the socks on. They were very comfortable and while garish, he felt a sudden swell of pride and affection for the elf.

There was another loud crack and Dobby was back, an enormous grin on his face and carrying a tray with four little cups filled with a faintly steaming orange liquid.

"These are the potion we are making for Professor Moody, Harry Potter." He said, his eyes still teary.

"Thank you for the socks, Dobby – they're amazing." Harry said, standing and lifting the legs on his pyjamas to show them off.

"Harry Potter likes them?" Dobby asked, welling up again.

"Yeah, they're amazing, really comfy. Where did you get them?"

"Dobby made them himself, Harry Potter. Socks are his absolute favourite part of clothes; he has been making them for a while now. Dobby started making them when he was out of work to make gold, but now does it for fun."

"Well they're brilliant, you'll have to make me some more and I'll buy them from you."

Dobby was trembling so hard the potions looked at risk of spilling. He seemed incapable of forming a reply to Harry's statement, so he went to Ron and handed him one of the potions, then to Seamus and to Neville who was just starting to stir.

Ron downed the potion in a single motion and grimaced, lying back. After a few seconds, he groaned, took a deep breath and sat up. "Bloody hell, Dobby." He said, standing and hopping up and down on the spot a few times. "What is that stuff?"

"Good?" Harry asked, as Ron started stretching like he was preparing for some tremendous effort.

"Bloody amazing," Ron said, sitting back on his bed. "I still a bit rough, but it's like it's a long way away, you know?"

Harry smiled, shaking his head. A similar effect was taking over Seamus as Neville thanked Dobby.

"Dobby mate, you're a lifesaver." Ron said, shaking the elf's tiny hand. "I've got something for you, Merry Christmas." Ron said, rummaging around his trunk and handing Dobby a pair of light tan leather sandals. "I got these in Egypt on a holiday a while ago, they're really comfortable, but don't fit me anymore – if you'd like them?"

This display of largesse was apparently too much for Dobby who – lip trembling and eyes full of tears – hugged Ron's legs too, took the sandals and vanished with another loud crack. Where he had been standing remained Harry's cup of potion. He picked it up and sniffed – it smelled like liquorice and some kind of bitter smoke.

"What is that stuff?" Neville said, rolling off his bed and hopping to his feet, "I feel amazing."

The potion seemed to be taking longer to work on Seamus, who had after all been the worse-off of the four of them. "That's better than coffee and bacon." He said, glancing into his beside table drawer and wincing.

"I don't know, something the house elves are making for Moody." Harry said, setting it to one side for a moment.

"Why would Moody need something like that?" Ron asked, stretching again. "It's easy enough to make a recovery potion – Dad's a master at them – but that's way more powerful."

"Who knows, he's always drinking from that hip flask, isn't he – maybe he's a bit… you know?" Neville said, standing after doing a dozen push-ups and miming drinking a huge cup of something.

"Probably, he's always drinking from that bloody hip flask of his." Ron said, starting to open his heap of presents.

Harry nodded, "Maybe, who knows?" He stood for a moment, scrunching his toes into his new socks and wondering how Dobby made them so warm and cool at the same time.

He went up to the bathrooms and showered, reluctant initially to wash the memory of the previous night from himself.

Later, freshly scrubbed and almost desperate to see Pansy, sat on his bed, wondering what she would think of the gift he had bought her, which sat - with his best effort at wrapping – on his bedside table. He had received a message at breakfast the previous day about the dress, which would be arriving later that day.

"Great haul this year," Ron said, pulling on his traditional sweater from Mrs. Weasley, "you okay Harry?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, just excited."

He spent the next several minutes opening a surprisingly large pile of presents. The Dursleys' had reached a new low this year – though after the escapade with the fireplace and Dudley's tongue, it wasn't surprising – having sent him a single tissue, but the rest was excellent.

Hermione had given Harry a book called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland; Ron, a bulging bag of Dungbombs; Sirius, a handy penknife with attachments to unlock any lock and undo any knot; and Hagrid, a vast box of sweets including all Harry's favourites: Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and Fizzing Whizbees. There was also, of course, Mrs. Weasley's usual package, including a new sweater in green, with an alarmingly clear image of a Horntail on the front, and a large quantity of homemade mince pies.

Pulling on his sweater, he decided it was for the best that he and Pansy had agreed to exchange gifts at breakfast, but the anticipation was killing him.

There was a loud sniff from across the room and Harry saw Neville wiping tears from his face.

"You okay, Neville?" Seamus asked, before Harry could.

Neville just nodded, "Mmm, just being stupid."

"What's that you've got there?" Ron asked, pointing at the two books in Neville's hands.

"It's… amazing, I had no idea they existed." Neville said, shuffling off his bed and holding them up. The first, smaller book was the size of a notepad, heavily decorated with beautiful sketches of dragons and mountains with – printed in incredibly neat handwriting – the words 'Property of Alice Whittington' written on the cover. The larger book was much more substantial, bound in pale grey linen which had faded a little on the spine, the cover read 'A Radical Approach to the Applications of Practical Thaumaturgy in Criminal Investigations, by Alice Whittington.'.

"Who's Alice Whittington?" Seamus asked, scrutinising the covers.

It took Neville a couple of seconds to speak as he took deep, steadying breaths. "My mother. These were hers, Moody sent them to me, his letter says he was her supervisor during her Auror training. This was her dissertation."

"Your mother was an auror?" Ron asked, agog.

Neville nodded, "My dad was, too. That's where they met: working for the Ministry."

"I had no idea," said Harry. He knew that Neville had been raised by his grandmother, an elderly and formidable witch, but not what had happened to his parents. He wondered if they'd met the same fate as his own - dead at the hands of Voldemort or his followers.

Neville shrugged, returning to his bed and sitting down cross-legged, just staring at the books.

Harry, Ron and Seamus looked at each other, silently deciding to leave Neville to it, they got dressed and went down to the common room, giving Neville some privacy.