The Houses Competition: Round 2

House: Gryffindor

Class: DADA

Category: Standard

Prompts chosen: (Pairing- positive) Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, (Emotion) Sadness

Word Count: 2855

Warning: Child abuse

Summary: While Harry is staying at Mrs, Figgs for Christmas he meets Santa – or was it someone else?

Title: Merry Christmas, Harry.

A young Harry was staying at the house of Mrs. Figg- a crazy cat lady that lived across the street from the Dursleys. While the rest of his family were visiting Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, for Christmas. Not that Harry minded that much. Aunt Marge was a large and unpleasant woman who believed in corporal punishment and good old-fashioned speaking. She was an entitled, arrogant woman, whose wealth appeared to be great as she always gave her nephew Dudley expensive gifts whenever she visited. Harry was jealous of all the toys his cousin would get. He was given mountains of books and movies, not to mention the ridiculous amount of video games; the favorite of which was Duck Hunt, a shooter game in which the player must hit a certain number of targets.

Dudley's toys were so great that he needed two bedrooms, which is why Harry slept in the closet. Dudley had his main bedroom, where he slept, and his second bedroom, where all of his toys were. Toys like a radio control racer and an action workshop toy set that Dudley got last Christmas.

Harry stood by as Vernon beamed over his son as he played with all the different tools, claiming that his son was a genius. There were Transformers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Voltron, and Bendable Monster Adventure Figures, along with hundreds of other toys that Dudley hardly ever played with because he was too busy chasing Harry around and making his life missable.

The toy that made Harry the most jealous was a Jeep Sand Blaster. It was a toy car that Dudley could drive around the front yard. Harry asked if he could play with it a week later after Dudley ended up breaking it by running it into a tree several times over for fun. His aunt was about to give in since it was a broken toy—the only toys that Harry was allowed to play with—but Dudley threw a fit, screaming that it was his toy and not Harry's. Of course, Aunt Petunia sided with her son, scolding Harry for asking and explaining that he wasn't allowed to touch any of Dudley's toys, and if he did, he would be punished. Only good boys were allowed to play with toys.

Harry didn't know what made Dudley a good boy and him bad. He never complained or cried; he never threw himself down on the ground and pitched a fit in the middle of a store because he was told no. He didn't hit, kick, or spit. He always did what he was told, unlike Dudley. Harry really couldn't understand why Dudley could be considered good and him always bad. Harry tried to be good; he really did, but nothing he did was ever good enough. If he stayed out of Aunt and Uncle's way, it was because he was up to no good. If he was around, he was told that he was being a pest and to go to his cupboard. Harry eventually gave up trying to show that he could be good, and he eventually gave up on gifts. He knew he wouldn't get anything when Aunt Marge came over; he wouldn't get anything for his birthday or for Christmas.

Christmas was just another day for Harry. As other kids got up early, running to the tree to see what Santa Claus had got them, Harry got up and made his way to the kitchen in order to make breakfast for everyone because he knew there would be no gifts for him under the tree. If he was lucky, Uncle Vernon would allow him to have some Christmas dinner, but that was it. So when his aunt and uncle told Harry that this year he would be staying with Mrs. Figgs for Christmas, Harry couldn't be happier.

Every time they visited Aunt Marge, Harry had to hear the story of how he was the offspring of two unemployed layabouts who dumped their son on their hardworking relatives. It was usually the story that was told when he was serving dinner. On more than one occasion, Aunt Marge threatened to put him in the cage with the bulldogs that she bred. Harry wasn't allowed to sit on the furniture in fear that he would ruin it. He wasn't allowed to bathe; he wasn't allowed to do much of anything, not even talk. Every time he opened his mouth, Aunt Marge would shoot him a dirty look, and anytime he stepped a foot out of line, Harry would find himself over Aunt Marge's knee and spanked several times until Harry was crying uncontrollably.

"Stop your crying, or I will give you something to cry about." Aunt Marge always threatened afterwards, having zero sympathy for Harry before roughly tossing him to the ground. So spending Christmas with Mrs. Figg didn't sound that bad to Harry, even if her house smelled like a hundred cats. Mrs. Figg was always nice to Harry, and Harry was sure he would have a good time with Mrs. Figg, and he was right.

During Harry's first night at Mrs. Figg's, she took him to see the Santa Claus parade. He was never allowed to go, his aunt and uncle locking him in his cupboard before leaving, so it was no wonder Harry was excited to go. He wanted to see why Dudley was always thrilled to go every year, with his aunt and uncle taking him every time the parade passed through town.

The parade was stunning, breath-taking, and remarkable to a young Harry. All the themed floats, dancing, and marching groups. The bands were playing all the Christmas songs. It was more than Harry ever thought possible. His favorite had to be the Frosty the Snowman float, with Harry seeing the cartoon through the vents of his cupboard whenever Dudley watched it. Harry waved at everyone, earning himself some candy canes that were being handed out to the kids. Harry made sure to say thank you to everyone who gave him one once Mrs. Figg reminded him to use his manners.

At the end of the parade, Harry got to see Santa ride in on his sleigh with his eight reindeer. "Santa!" Harry yelled, jumping up and down as he tried to get the man's attention who gave a few extra ho ho ho's in his direction.

After the parade, Harry and Mrs. Figg stood in line to see Santa, but due to Mrs. Figgs's old age and her aching back, she couldn't stand in line for long and ended up having to go home.

"I'm sorry that we couldn't stay to see Santa. We can always go tomorrow and see if we can get you to see him." Mrs. Figg offered, feeling bad that she had to pull Harry away before he could talk to the man.

Harry gave a slight shrug. "It's alright; I didn't need to see him." Harry reassured. He was sad that he didn't get to see Santa, but he wasn't sure he would be welcomed like the other children. He stood in line and watched as one by one kids would run up and Santa would lift them up onto his lap and talk to them for a little bit, and ever so often the man would laugh. Harry wasn't sure if he would get the same treatment or if the man would tell him that he wasn't good enough to talk to him. Harry was just happy that he was able to see the parade.

The next couple of days were heavenly for Harry. He got three meals a day, and Mrs. Figg would even give him a snack in between meals. His favorite had to be the apples with peanut butter. The creamy, nutty flavor of the peanut butter and how it complemented the crisp, sweet-tartness of the apples. It was the best thing Harry had ever tasted in his short life. It wasn't brown or mushy like the apples his aunt would give him. Harry didn't even know apples could be crunchy until now.

Mrs. Figg also insisted that Harry take a bath before bed, and it wasn't the freezing cold, once-a-week baths he was used to back home. The water was warm and bubbly. Soaking in the heated water and feeling it hug every inch of his skin, he breathed in the aroma of the bubble bath. It was something that he wasn't familiar with but got used to very quickly. Harry would stay in the bath, playing with the bubbles, until Mrs. Figg told him that the water was getting too cold and that it was time for him to get out and get ready for bed.

Everything was much different at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg didn't expect him to do any chores. He could spend his day playing with his toys, either the broken ones he brought with him or the ones that Mrs. Figg got him. She even got him some clothes so he didn't have to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs, and she read him bedtime stories. Harry wondered if this was what mommies did and considered asking Mrs. Figg if she could be his mom so he would never have to go back to the Dursleys.

On Christmas Eve, Mrs. Figg and Harry made sugar cookies, which Harry was able to decorate himself. "That's very nice, Harry; I'm sure Santa will love those," Mrs. Figg said as she worked on decorating her own cookie, giving her snowman a little bowtie.

"Is Santa really coming tonight?" Harry asked as he squeezed out a blob of green icing onto his cookie and worked on spreading it around with his finger.

"Of course Santa is coming tonight. Santa always visits my house, and I'm sure he has something very special for you," Mrs. Figg explained, already having picked up Harry's gifts the moment the Dusleys asked her if Harry could stay with her during the holiday.

Harry nodded, but he still didn't get his hopes up. Santa always gave gifts to his cousin, but never to him; why would this year be any different? But Mrs. Figg did make it sound so exciting that Harry could hardly wait to get to bed tonight. Maybe Mrs. Figg talked to Santa and told him that he was a good boy? Maybe this will be the first Christmas that he finds a gift under the tree with his name on it. Maybe, this Christmas, he will be happy.

That night, Mrs. Figg read him The Night Before Christmas before tucking him into bed. "Good night, Harry; I'll see you in the morning," Mrs. Figg said, giving Harry a kiss on his forehead before flicking on the nightlight that was beside the bed. "I will be right down the hall if you need anything," Mrs. Figg reminded him before she made her way out and down to her own bedroom, keeping the hall light on in case Harry needed her during the night.

Harry found himself unable to sleep as he tried to listen for Santa, but all he could hear were Mrs. Figg's cats as they roamed about the house, knocking things over. Harry didn't know how much time had passed, but he figured that it wouldn't hurt if he went out and saw if Santa had come, and he just didn't hear the man.

Harry quietly tiptoed his way down the hall and into the living room. Sadness washed over him as he saw the cookies untouched, the milk undrank, and the bottom of the tree still empty. He should have known better. Harry turned around, about to go back to bed, when the fireplace suddenly came to life. Harry turned around to see bright green flames as a man stepped out of the fireplace and into the living room.

The man was tall, thin, and very old. He had bright blue eyes that twinkle and a crooked nose with a long silver beard. He wore half-moon spectacles and a red cloak that went down to his feet. Harry's mouth fell open; he couldn't believe it—it was really him. He wasn't like the Santa he saw in the books or movies. He didn't have a belly that shook as he laughed or a large bag filled with toys over his shoulder, but Harry knew it was him.

"...Santa?" Harry asked hesitantly, knowing that he shouldn't be out of bed and that Santa might be mad at him. "Santa? Is that really you?" Harry asked again as he took a step towards the man.

The man known as Dumbledore turned to face Harry, and all of Harry's worry disappeared when he saw the smile on his face. Santa wasn't mad at him for being out of bed; he wasn't going to get in trouble. Harry brought his arms inward as Santa kneeled down, so he was face-to-face with him. "What are you doing out of bed? If I'm correct, little boys are supposed to be sleeping," Dumbledore chuckled.

"I…I wanted to see you," Harry confessed. "I...I made you some cookies." Harry couldn't help but stutter as he picked up the plate from the side table and held it out to the man. "I decorated them myself," Harry explained.

"You did?" Dumbledore asked, the twinkle in his eye never leaving as he reached forward and took the cookie that was shaped like a Christmas tree and took a bite. Some of the cookie crumbs landed in his beard, causing Harry to giggle a little.

"Santa?...Can I ask you a question?" Harry asked, as he didn't want to take up the man's time, knowing how busy he was tonight.

"Of course you can," Dumbledore answered before finishing off the cookie and taking another one, his sweet tooth always winning over his willpower.

"Santa, am I a bad boy?" Harry asked, watching as the man's eyes lost their twinkle and his smile slowly disappearing into a frown. Harry sucked on his bottom lip, thinking that he was about to get yelled at. The man didn't raise his voice; he didn't look like he was about to hit him, but he led him to the couch instead and sat him down on his lap.

Harry's question sadded Dumbledore more than anyone could know. He knew about the abuse that Harry suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, but because of the blood wards, he was unable to do anything about it. The Dark Lord may be gone for now, but he would return, and when he did, Harry was going to need to be protracted at all costs. Dumbledore knew that Harry deserved better than the Dursleys, but he must do what needed to be done in order to protect the boy.

"Why would you ask me that?" Dumbledore asked, wanting to see where Harry was coming from.

"Because you always give presents to my cousin but never to me?" Harry explained. "Aunt Petunia says that only good boys get gifts from Santa. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Harry, you didn't do anything wrong. You are a very good boy. I know it's hard to understand, but sometimes it's hard for me to deliver gifts to all the children, even the goodest of boys." Dumbledore explained as he reached into his robes and pulled out a small stuffed doe and handed it to Harry before waving his hand over the toy, making it glow for a second.

"What was that?" Harry asked, confused.

"Magic," Dumbledore answered, "Now, no matter how hard your cousin tries, he will never be able to take away your toy, and neither will your aunt and uncle. It will always find its way back to you," Dumbledore explained.

"It's mine, then?" Harry asked as he looked down at the doe in his hands, his first ever toy that was his. "Thank you, Santa," Harry said as he looked back up at the man with a big smile.

Dumbledore returned the smile. "You're welcome, Harry. Now, let's get you back to bed. You don't want to be tired on Christmas morning, do you?" Dumbledore asked as he took Harry by the hand and led him back to bed, and tucked him in. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Santa. Merry Christmas," Harry said softly before drifting off back to sleep with his doe in hand.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," Dumbledore said, making sure Harry was asleep before going to do what he came here to do, which was to power up the wards that surrounded 's house.

It wasn't until eight years later, when Harry walked down the Great Hall for the first time, his eyes landing on the man that sat at the head table, that Harry understood. The twinkle in the man's eyes, his crooked nose, the long silver beard, the half-moon spectacles. Harry almost froze in the middle of the aisle, causing a couple of other first year's to trip a little. It was him, it was really him; it wasn't just a dream after all.

The man Harry believed to be Santa for so many years was actually Headmaster Dumbledore.