Chapter 16 - Trees & Presents

The next two weeks were the happiest of Harry's life. As a freak, happiness wasn't something he felt he deserved. And even if he did, in some other universe, deserve happiness, he'd never thought it was something that would be handed to him on a plate, served like a dish at one of the fancy restaurants the Grangers went to after purchasing a rather large Christmas tree in December's third week.

But it seemed, for little Harry Potter, that the tides of life were turning. That the sorrows of the past were being accounted for, one at a time, each in turn, such that the smile on Harry's face was morphing into a more permanent feature.

Shopping for the tree had been almost magical, like a spell had overtaken the shop whilst they walked around its aisles. Hermione had been here before, of course, as had the Granger parents, but Harry's eyes gaped with wonder at every little thing he saw. A novel experience that was like reading a new book with Hermione, and seeing everything come to life.

From little conifers of miniature trees, to the largest one in the entire store that sat more than a few heads above even Mr Granger and almost touched the ceiling, Harry stared in delight. And then Mrs Granger had said the most amazing thing. Something Harry had never expected her to say, not in a million gazillion years.

That he was the one that got to choose the Christmas tree they took home.

Harry almost squealed in excitement—which would have been rather embarrassing, especially in front of Hermione—and ran with her to where the normal sized Christmas trees were stored.

The smells of fresh nature fused themselves with his nose, as though wishing to stay there permanently, as though the festive happiness was something he wished to harbour in his heart forever and ever.

He and Hermione, although Hermione claimed the decision was wholly his, had chosen one in the far corner. About the height of Mr Granger, with green spindles sparkling in the overhead lighting. It shimmered as Harry and Hermione neared it, as if a real angel sat on top, and the leaves caressed him as he caressed them.

"This is the one," he'd said whilst turning to Hermione, and the shine in her eyes spoke of agreement. "Let's go and get Mr and Mrs Granger."

"You know you can call them Mummy and Daddy, right?" Hermione said, and Harry froze for a second, limbs stilling in an instant. When Hermione set her mind to something, she never let up, and Harry didn't want to give her the impression that he was invading her family.

The Grangers had been lovely to him, nice in a way that he'd never expected, taking him in and looking after him as foster parents. And they didn't think of him as the freak he truly was.

But he wouldn't steal Hermione's place as their child from her. Not in a million gazillion years. Not ever.

"Okay," he muttered, knowing that any negative answer would only invite the tidal wave of questions and probing from Hermione. She'd already, after the nativity play, resorted to asking him about what he was hiding from her, likely referencing him stuffing his pocket watch away whenever she barged into his room, and Harry's guilt was a palpable ache in his heart sometimes.

Hermione nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time before she barraged him with the questions again. And when that happened, he needed to be prepared for what to say.

Once they'd hauled the Christmas tree back home, decorations began, and Harry absolutely loved it. Tinsel and baubles galore, lights across the entirety of the house, racing down from top to bottom in an array of red, green, and white. All shining, as though reflecting the happiness already on Harry and Hermione's faces as they battled to see who could decorate the tree the best.

The Granger parents just sat back and watched, munching melting chocolate chip cookies, smiling all the while as Harry jumped and stuck the angel to the top of the tree.

"That was a good try," Mr Granger said as Hermione failed her attempt to do the same. She pouted, and Mr Granger grinned, grabbed her by the armpits, and lifted her into the air. And then, with the grace of an angel itself, Hermione placed it at the top. And Harry thought, in that moment, that Hermione had a halo around her head, as opposed to the angel figure.

Once the decorations were done, finished and all set up by the week before Christmas, Harry had been taken by Mr Granger to a football game for the first time in his life. He'd never gone to a match before, since Uncle Vernon only took Dudley and, sometimes, Aunt Petunia as well. Though his aunt wasn't the biggest fan of eleven men kicking a ball about for ninety minutes, and promptly took out her frustrations on Harry after coming home.

Harry had lingered back at home, chores filling his time whilst he dreamt of heading to the match and watching the players score the most amazing goals. In school, he'd played football a few times, but hadn't managed to do well since Dudley liked to barge him out of the way for no reason. And after the fifth time of that happening, Harry had opted to sit on the sidelines and forgo the fun and games the rest of the children enjoyed.

"You'll love it," Mr Granger had told him, and Mr Granger was right as always. Because Harry had absolutely loved it. Heading to Highbury with the rest of the fans seemed almost surreal—that this many people, in their thousands, could all come together to support the Arsenal players, crowd more like a hive of bees all buzzing for victory. Not to mention the stadium itself that was meant to hold all the supporters.

The building was gargantuan, humongous (as Roald Dahl would say), and a host of other words Harry would need to flick through The Hobbit again to find. Seats had filled the sides in an array of red, and Harry perched on his seat with Mr Granger to his right, and then the match had kicked off.

And it was wonderful, players slinking the ball about the pitch with a finesse that Harry could only dream of. The way the ball travelled through the air—Hermione would look at the physics of the ball, since she had a scientific mind. But Harry just found it magical, almost otherworldly, that a game could be so entertaining and filled with chants supporting the team.

Harry had joined in a few times, singing along with Mr Granger whilst the Arsenal players poured their hearts out and fought for the win right to the last minute. And when the game had ended at two-nil to Arsenal, with a last minute goal to top it all off, Harry jumped to his feet and clapped along with the rest of the supporters.

"How did you find that?" Mr Granger asked, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulling him into a side hug before letting go.

Harry felt that warmth in his chest again, the same warmth from when he'd spoken with Mr Granger in Harrods, and basked in the glow of the match and Mr Granger and what he had experienced.

"I loved it," Harry said, and the smile on his face and the sheen of excitement in his eyes was all the proof needed for that fact.

After getting home, Harry had almost berated Mrs Granger and Hermione with the details of the match. Speaking about how the players had scored amazing goals, building up the play through the middle, and explaining to them the offside rule just as Mr Granger had explained it to him.

And all throughout, they had listened to what he had to say, listened with attentive ears, without judging him or calling him a freak or trying to cut a word in edgewise. Without shouting at him for speaking too much since silence was expected from a freak. Without verbally wrecking him for finding pleasure in something he wasn't supposed to be enjoying in the first place.

And for the first time since he'd entered the household a month and a half earlier, Harry truly felt like he belonged. Truly felt like he was one of the family, and the sensation burrowed that warm feeling in his chest far deeper into his heart. And he knew that the feeling was something precious, something to cradle, something to nurture, not ignore.

He'd barely gotten any sleep the night after wrapping presents with Mr Granger, still thinking about the game whilst looking at the picture hidden within his pocket watch. His Mum and Dad's faces may have been ripped by Dudley, the movement of the pictures stilling completely, but they listened as Harry told them about his day. Told them about the Grangers, and how he felt like he'd found a new family, and that he still missed them despite finding a new place to stay.

The baby Harry in that picture was frozen in an expression of giggles and happiness, and perhaps that joy could rekindle itself within his life once more.

And then, with those thoughts churning in his mind, Harry had gone to sleep, not knowing that the next day—Christmas day—would heighten that joy to a level he'd never, not in a million gazillion years, expected.


Hermione Granger loved Christmas more than anything in the world. Her family didn't really care for the religious aspect of the celebration, though Mummy and Daddy had gone to church in their youth. But just because they weren't as religious didn't mean that presents weren't going to be given, and that didn't mean the festive period wasn't to be celebrated. Wasn't to be drank in like it was a fountain of happiness.

And more than anything, Hermione was glad that this year would be different. Because this year, rather than waking up super early and being on her own for at least an hour, she had a friend to pounce on immediately. A best friend.

And pounce she did.

Barging into his room, Hermione felt the air fling past her, as if propelling her towards Harry, who was lying on his bed. Fast asleep, no doubt. Snoring in the bliss of slumber, not knowing he was about to be awakened by the excitement of Christmas.

Hermione lunged at him.

She landed right on his torso, almost squashing him into the mattress with a little giggle. She bounced a little, feeling weightless and free for a second, before falling on him again. But instead of Harry waking up, he jerked onto his side, away from where Hermione sat on his bed now, and the duvet fell away.

To reveal something Hermione had never expected him to hold in his hands.

"Harry, is that a…pocket watch?" she asked, staring at the object in his hands. It was golden, shining in the little light that snuck in through the curtains covering the window to her left. And the metal shimmered too. Harry held it with great importance, clutching it to his chest, before turning over and quickly stuffing it into his rucksack.

So that was where he'd hidden it the entire time, always out of reach just as Hermione entered his room? And was that why he'd never allowed Mummy and Daddy to get him a new rucksack when his old was fraying and ripping at the very seams?

"Harry, it's okay," Hermione said, watching as he glared at her for a second. Then his lips tightened, pursed as though mimicking anger, and then his shoulders deflated and he sunk back against the headboard. Defeated for a reason she couldn't fathom.

And for some reason, a toothpick was held in his other hand, clasped just as tightly as the pocket watch had been.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione said, edging closer to him. She reached a hand out to touch his arm, and he let her. "It's Christmas day. You can tell me the truth."

"Freaks aren't allowed to keep secrets," Harry said. "Sorry Hermione for hiding it from you."

"You're not a freak, just like Ralph said last week," she said fiercely, slamming a hand down on his mattress, recalling his previous session with the social worker, where he'd been adamant that he was, still, a freak. A dull ache reverberated around her fingers from hitting the bed. But for Harry, she would take a lot more pain before admitting defeat. "And you're allowed to have secrets, of course you are. We all…have things we might want to hide from other people. But you…your secrets make you sad, it looks like. And if you need the help, you can always ask me."

Harry resembled a deer caught in not just headlights, but the sun itself, and shrank back as though anything he said would be the wrong thing to say.

"I reached out to you for help, Harry. Do you remember?"

Harry gulped and nodded. Let that gulp sit in the pit of his stomach, churning and churning. It looked as if he wished for the earth to swallow him up whole.

"Then you'd know how much it helped me, Harry. You…when we rehearsed together, and when we ate cookies together—that was like the best moment of my life. And the next day, when I was performing on the stage, I just looked at your face, and that calmed me down a lot. Even Miss Bailey said that you must've helped me a ton, and she was right."

"Yeah but—"

"No buts," Hermione interrupted before Harry could swing into his downward spiral of thoughts. "You helped me a lot, and I'm all the better for it." She squeezed his arm once more, trying to transfer comfort through touch. "And I can help you too, Harry. All you need to do is reach out."

Harry nodded, mute, before a cough at the door gripped their attention.

Mummy stood there, smiling at them, her hair in all manner of directions and her eyes crusty as she rubbed them clear.

"Lovely to see that the two of you are already awake," she said, staring at Harry and then flitting her gaze to Hermione. "I assume she's already gotten you hooked onto the yearly tradition, has she? Waking up earlier than hens on a farm."

"I think she has," Harry said with a smile, as if their earlier conversation was completely forgotten. He shuffled out of his bed and pocketed the toothpick, as though its rightful place was in his pyjamas.

"Well, come on then you two. We'll get going downstairs and get some food in us. Then, and only after eating, Hermione Granger, we'll get to opening presents."

Hermione couldn't wait for breakfast to be done and dusted so present-opening could commence. She hopped off Harry's bed and brushed up in the bathroom, before heading downstairs. A few minutes later, a sleep-addled Harry wobbled into the dining room and sat at the table, whilst Mummy cooked all their Christmas favourites in the kitchen, Daddy there to help her just in case.

"Are you excited to open presents, Harry?" Hermione asked him, leaning over the table.

He looked confused, eyebrows furrowed. "Why would I open presents?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "What do you mean? You're supposed to open the present, aren't you?"

"Open the presents for all of you?" Harry asked, looking crestfallen for seemingly no reason. Just what had gotten into her best friend all of a sudden? It was meant to be Christmas day, the happiest day of Hermione's entire year, perhaps only seconded by her birthday, and that meant cheers and smiles all round.

But Harry seemed gloomier than ever, as though the darkness of last night had latched onto his morning mood.

"You get your own presents, silly," Hermione said.

And Harry's shock wasn't even a little disguised. "Huh?" he muttered, perhaps not knowing what else to say.

"I said you get your own presents. Why do you think we split up in the middle of Harrods like we did, with you and Daddy and Mummy and I?"

Harry looked positively shaken, as though—

Of course he'd never expected a present, Hermione realised. Given the abuse he'd suffered at the hands of his old guardians, he'd likely never received a present in his life. Not even one. And that meant…this would be the first present he ever received.

Hermione hoped he liked it, for she and Mummy had deliberated a lot on what to get him for their first Christmas together. And Hermione knew what they'd chosen in the end would blow Harry's socks off.

The idea he'd never been given a Christmas present ever waved sadness through Hermione's heart, and she vowed to make this Christmas, and all future Christmases, the best just for Harry's sake.

"Harry, we bought you a Christmas present as well," Hermione explained in a soft voice, seeing the disbelief in Harry's expression, as though him getting a present was the farthest thing from reality. "It was Mummy and I's decision to buy presents for the boys. And then you and Daddy bought presents for the girls." Hermione tilted her head to the side, imploring him. "Didn't you know that?"

Harry shook his head, and all that escaped his mouth was another, "Huh?"

Hermione, sensing that Harry still didn't believe her, stood from her chair and walked over to him. She paused before his chair, meeting his gaze head on to show that yes, she was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And Harry would be the judge to drop the hammer on that fact.

"You, Harry Potter, are getting a Christmas present. In fact…I was the one that chose it for you."

"Huh?" was all the reply he gave. And then he didn't express himself with words, for his eyes began welling with tears. Hermione could see him pulling them back in, trying to stop them from spilling over the edge. But the urge to let them all out was too strong, like an emotional crescendo bubbling for days and days, and the first of the tears slipped down his cheek, starting a stream.

And then he did something Hermione had never expected.

He was the one that hugged her. He latched onto her shoulders and pulled her closer, and Hermione squeezed him close and comforted him as much as she could. She recalled Mummy whispering words of comfort to her whilst they hugged whenever Hermione was upset, and so she did the same with Harry.

"They really do love you," she found herself repeating over and over again, and though Harry attempted to shake his head, the tears in his eyes were a testament to his belief in what she said. That he knew, deep down, the care and love the rest of the family had for him, even if he couldn't state that belief out loud.

And Hermione would, with every passing day, make him believe in it more and more.

When the hug had ended, tears were dried, and redness vanished from their cheeks, Harry gave Hermione a special smile. As if reserved just for her. An upturn of the lips that glowed far brighter than the sun lingering outside.

"I'll show you my secret," Harry said, finally. "I will show you, I promise. Just not now…I don't know when. But one day I'll show you my secret, okay."

Hermione nodded. As long as Harry was improving, as long as he knew who his family was, that was good enough for her. She sat back as Mummy and Daddy entered with plates full of food, piled-high pancakes with milk chocolate satsumas on the side, not to mention Christmas pudding that filled you up with a warmth that wasn't just from the temperature.

Christmas day was the only day where desserts were for all three meals, and Hermione wouldn't have it any other way.

As Hermione and Harry tucked in with gusto, she sent him a glance and a smile. And he returned it wholeheartedly, and though their Christmas had begun on shaky grounds, the rest of it was going to be an absolute blast.

Hermione just knew it.


Catherine Granger couldn't get the image of Harry Potter's face out of her head that night, with Mark snoring beside her in bed and the night sky revealing twinkling stars blinking into the void. The house was comfortably quiet. Naturally, since the exhausting day was even waning on Catherine's own eyelids, let alone that of her two children fast asleep in their respective rooms.

And the only thing keeping her awake was a vision of Harry's face, flashing constantly in her mind's eye, from earlier that day. Harry, for some reason, hadn't believed he'd be getting a present this year, since he'd never gotten one before. Catherine recalled the day at Harrods buying presents for everybody, and remembered that neither she, nor Mark, had explicitly told Harry he'd be given a present for Christmas.

And so the buildup to Christmas, all his excitement, the way he wished to help out with every little thing like decorating the house and turning on the lights every morning—that was all under the pretext that he was receiving nothing in return.

And then Hermione had told him the truth just prior to breakfast (Hermione had later told Catherine this), and when they gathered in the living room where she and Mark had put the wrapped presents under the tree, Harry's face split into such a wide grin Catherine almost thought the boy's face would tear down the middle.

He'd waited patiently, the anticipation building up in his eyes as he sat on the sofa, and the water therein was not tears of sorrow, but a sheen of joy brimming as they all took their presents in hand.

Catherine had opened her one first, amongst the faux drumroll from Mark, revealing the beautiful perfume her husband had gotten her. She sprayed it on immediately, and marvelled as the scent instantly put her at ease. As though smelling nice caused the mind to find comfort, and it was clear the rest of them, Harry especially, loved the smell.

"He's the one that loved it the most when we first tried it," Mark revealed to Catherine later that day, just before falling asleep himself. "He was beside himself when we were in there. But once he smelt this—it all vanished. Almost like magic, you'd think. He just became so much calmer—and I put it down to the perfume in the end."

Catherine then watched as Mark opened his own present covered in reindeer wrapping. It was a lovely tie from Hermione, as expected. This year, rather than a goofy animal of some kind, Hermione picked out a green tie imbued with lots of little cakes. Vanilla cakes, chocolate cakes, and even a cheeky Victoria sponge had been drawn on in a cartoony style mimicking the comics Mark loved to read as a child.

And he'd been ecstatic at the present, lifting his 'little princess' up to the ceiling as though an expression of how his gratitude reached the stars. Then he'd showered her with so many compliments that Hermione's face almost turned a permanent tinge of tomato, much to the giggling delight of Catherine and Harry.

And then it was Harry's turn, and Catherine watched closely as the emotions crossed the boy's face. His hands trembled a little, then a lot, as the last of the reindeer wrapping ripped off, revealing a little box inside.

"What is it?" Mark asked, trying to lean over and get a better look. But Catherine pushed him back with a glare, and her husband knew not to mess with that glare if he wanted what was best for him.

She turned to Harry again, noticed the quiver of his lip, and then he gave in to his inhibitions like every child did, for he ripped open the rest of the wrapping with gusto. It fell to the floor like leaves in the autumn Hampstead wind, and Harry gazed at the present Hermione had chosen for him.

"It's a snowglobe," Harry announced, staring at the box with a curious fascination. And that was all he did—stare at it, with such wonder in his eyes, with such adoration of the present, that Catherine thought the boy wouldn't move for the next hour. Such was his transfixion.

But he did, eventually opening the box and taking the snowglobe out. He balanced the snowglobe in his hands, as though squeezing it too hard would break the glass. But the Harrods store clerk had assured both Catherine and Hermione that the glass was shatter-proof, fool-proof, accident-proof, and a whole lot of other proofs related to inadvertently breaking.

When Catherine had asked her for the actual proof of all these claims, the woman had produced a little manual with lists of studies done on the types of glass used in the snowglobe. To say Catherine had been surprised would be an understatement, but her surprise paled in comparison to the shock and happiness on Harry's face.

And it was that face which caused Catherine's sleep to evade her. For even Hermione hadn't watched with ardent wonder like Harry when receiving her present—a special diary in which to write her thoughts, with a pen made to look like an old-fashioned quill attached to it, and spare ink in the form of inkpot-shaped add-ons.

Hermione had been happy, hopping up and down before lunging for Harry and wrapping him in a warm hug. Then shifting her attention to her parents and hugging them too. Catherine drew Harry into a tentative hug thereafter, not wanting him to feel left out despite how he stiffened in her grip with awkwardness. Mark did so as well, a little side hug, and Harry seemed pleased at that.

And for the rest of the day, as they played games in Hampstead Park in the light drizzles of December snow, and they came back to eat Christmas lunch and a roast turkey for dinner, that look of wonder and happiness remained on Harry's face like a permanent feature.

And Catherine, now as she sat up in bed with sleep feeling a million gazillion (as was Harry's recent favourite catchphrase) miles away, couldn't get Hermione's words out of her head from earlier in the month.

If you love him, Mummy, why don't you tell him?

Whether she loved him wasn't in question. That answer had been cemented from almost the first week of his stay. But to tell him out loud seemed like another leap altogether, and Catherine didn't know why she was hesitating so much.

She wrapped herself in the bedcovers once more and tucked them up to her chin, as though she was a child being put to sleep. Then, with Harry's face of wonder, that oh-so-adorable expression, flashing in her mind, she slipped into the warm embrace of slumber.


A/N: Hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. See you next week!