A Christmas Gift for Y'all...
Dec. 26th, 2007 11:37 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
auntbijou.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hp_misfitficsTitle: A Visit
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
auntbijou
Rating: G
Pairing: none
Summary: For some little ones, Santa’s gifts are more intangible.
Warning: Wistfulness
Words: 1, 181
Disclaimer: I don’t own it, nor am I making any money off of it. It all belongs to JKR, and it is only my writing exercise.
A/N: I always wondered, given Harry’s circumstances, how he managed to have such a good nature, how he managed to be able to love, and receive love, even though he was awkward about it. And then I got to thinking…
It was a cold, clear December night, with stars clear-cut against the dark sky, and a sled landed on the roof of a painfully neat house in Surrey. A tall, large-boned man got out of the sleigh, walking up to the front to stroke velvety noses, and reassure his reindeer when they saw he wasn’t carrying his bag. He never left presents at this house. Well… not physical ones.
He went to the chimney and pulled out his wand, murmuring a spell to transfigure it into something more appropriate, and with a whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa,” he floated down into the gaping maw and into the house below.
It was quiet, except for the window rattling snores of the man upstairs. A very precisely decorated Christmas tree stood primly in the front room, with presents piled at least hip deep around it. The man paused, but he knew none of them would have the name he was looking for on them. No, he left no presents here. They weren’t needed, not by the overly indulged child who slept upstairs.
He moved quietly to the stairs, and then down the little hall until he stood at the door of the cupboard that was under them. Then he used his wand to unlock it, and murmuring, “Solumnus,” he opened it, and looked at the child sleeping inside.
He was curled up tight on a mattress that sat on the floor, wrapped in the one thin blanket he was allowed, swallowed by too large pajamas, and too thin by a half. The man sighed and gestured, and the tiny body floated up into his arms. Slowly, holding the boy warmly against his chest, he walked back into the front room, and conjured a large, comfortable rocker, then sat down. He transfigured a doily into a soft, warm blanket, and wrapped it around the small boy, settling him against his chest and holding him affectionately as he began to rock. The child sighed and snuggled into him, and the man smiled. Yes, the magic still worked.
Coming into houses like this, where a child was neglected, or abused, was always difficult, but this one was the most difficult of all. Because this was a magical child. A miracle child. And he could do nothing. Dumbledore saw to that. “You may enter the house to give him your gifts, Nicholas,” Albus had said sternly. “But you must leave him there. You cannot rescue him, or remove him. Everything depends upon his staying in that house.” And just to be certain, before he could say a word, Dumbledore placed a binding on him, and that was that.
And so Nicholas had obeyed. But he didn’t have to like it.
He rocked the small boy, who slept on, completely unaware of the man who held him except on the most basic level. And that was what Nicholas was aiming for. This was his gift, the only one he was allowed to leave at this house.
“You are loved, little Harry,” he said softly. “You are loved, and treasured, and cherished. You are important. You matter. You matter to me. You were so wanted by your mother and father. They were so happy when they knew you were coming, and even happier when you arrived. They loved you with all their hearts and souls, Harry, enough to sacrifice their lives for you. You won’t be here forever, Harry. One day, you will leave this place, and you will find your life family. The family you make will love you, and care for you, and cherish you always. They will lend you strength, they will help you, and they will let you help them.” Nicholas rocked as he stroked the boy’s soft, wild hair, cuddling him close and smiling when the tiny hands clutched at his red robes. “My dearest, sweetest boy, you are loved, loved by people who will matter to you as much as you matter to them. One day, you will meet them. This is my gift to you, Harry Potter. This love will sustain you, though you know it not. This love will keep your heart from growing bitter. This love will be your greatest strength in your hour of need.” He raised his hand over the small face, and tiny, glowing white motes dropped to land on his face and hair, dusting his hands and shoulders and sinking into his body. Harry sighed, eyelashes fluttering slightly, then snuggled deeper into the man.
“Cookies,” he murmured. “I ‘mell cookies.”
Nicholas smiled. “Yes, people have often said I smell like cookies.” He pulled one from the shielded pocket of his robe, and placed it in a tiny hand. Even in his sleep, Harry’s nose twitched, and he began to nibble on it. A very special cookie indeed, imbued with a nutrient potion that would bolster Harry’s immune system, and keep him going. He waited until Harry had finished it, then stood, regretting he had so little time for this. Slowly, he carried the child back to the cupboard, and with a wave of his wand, it was clean and tidy, and the mattress was a wee bit softer. The covers still looked thin, but they would be warmer for Harry. Petunia wouldn’t notice a thing.
Sighing, Nicholas kissed the boy’s forehead, away from the scar, then laid him back down in his bed, covering him carefully and tucking him in. He laid his hand over the wild hair for a moment. “Bright blessings on you, Harry Potter. Until next year.” He stood and slowly closed the door of the cupboard, relocking it, and stepping away before looking up the stairs and listening to the Dursleys sleeping. If it were allowed, he’d ensure their dreams were anything but peaceful. He looked at the overstuffed stocking hanging next to the fireplace and shook his head. If he’d had his way, it would be full of coal, but it would be blamed on Harry, and Nicholas would do nothing to add to the child’s burden. Wishing he could leave some gift other than just his blessing, Nicholas went to the magically enlarged fireplace and disappeared.
The reindeer grunted at him, and he stroked their noses, balancing himself before he got into the sleigh. Yes, houses like this one were hard, but this one was the hardest of all. This place where all their hopes lived, knowing that the child within had no hopes for himself. Then Nicholas smiled. That would be his gift. The gift of hope. He raised his hand, whispering to the wind, and a small, pale blue ball was floating just over his palm. He whispered to it, and breathed into it, watching as the glow brightened, and it shot down the chimney. Light flared through every opening of the little house, and Nicholas smiled. His gift had been received. He could leave now.
“Hi, hi-up!” he cried, and the reindeer pranced before leaping into the air.
In the small house below, four year old Harry Potter smiled in his sleep as he snuggled into his warm covers.
Author:
auntbijouRating: G
Pairing: none
Summary: For some little ones, Santa’s gifts are more intangible.
Warning: Wistfulness
Words: 1, 181
Disclaimer: I don’t own it, nor am I making any money off of it. It all belongs to JKR, and it is only my writing exercise.
A/N: I always wondered, given Harry’s circumstances, how he managed to have such a good nature, how he managed to be able to love, and receive love, even though he was awkward about it. And then I got to thinking…
It was a cold, clear December night, with stars clear-cut against the dark sky, and a sled landed on the roof of a painfully neat house in Surrey. A tall, large-boned man got out of the sleigh, walking up to the front to stroke velvety noses, and reassure his reindeer when they saw he wasn’t carrying his bag. He never left presents at this house. Well… not physical ones.
He went to the chimney and pulled out his wand, murmuring a spell to transfigure it into something more appropriate, and with a whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa,” he floated down into the gaping maw and into the house below.
It was quiet, except for the window rattling snores of the man upstairs. A very precisely decorated Christmas tree stood primly in the front room, with presents piled at least hip deep around it. The man paused, but he knew none of them would have the name he was looking for on them. No, he left no presents here. They weren’t needed, not by the overly indulged child who slept upstairs.
He moved quietly to the stairs, and then down the little hall until he stood at the door of the cupboard that was under them. Then he used his wand to unlock it, and murmuring, “Solumnus,” he opened it, and looked at the child sleeping inside.
He was curled up tight on a mattress that sat on the floor, wrapped in the one thin blanket he was allowed, swallowed by too large pajamas, and too thin by a half. The man sighed and gestured, and the tiny body floated up into his arms. Slowly, holding the boy warmly against his chest, he walked back into the front room, and conjured a large, comfortable rocker, then sat down. He transfigured a doily into a soft, warm blanket, and wrapped it around the small boy, settling him against his chest and holding him affectionately as he began to rock. The child sighed and snuggled into him, and the man smiled. Yes, the magic still worked.
Coming into houses like this, where a child was neglected, or abused, was always difficult, but this one was the most difficult of all. Because this was a magical child. A miracle child. And he could do nothing. Dumbledore saw to that. “You may enter the house to give him your gifts, Nicholas,” Albus had said sternly. “But you must leave him there. You cannot rescue him, or remove him. Everything depends upon his staying in that house.” And just to be certain, before he could say a word, Dumbledore placed a binding on him, and that was that.
And so Nicholas had obeyed. But he didn’t have to like it.
He rocked the small boy, who slept on, completely unaware of the man who held him except on the most basic level. And that was what Nicholas was aiming for. This was his gift, the only one he was allowed to leave at this house.
“You are loved, little Harry,” he said softly. “You are loved, and treasured, and cherished. You are important. You matter. You matter to me. You were so wanted by your mother and father. They were so happy when they knew you were coming, and even happier when you arrived. They loved you with all their hearts and souls, Harry, enough to sacrifice their lives for you. You won’t be here forever, Harry. One day, you will leave this place, and you will find your life family. The family you make will love you, and care for you, and cherish you always. They will lend you strength, they will help you, and they will let you help them.” Nicholas rocked as he stroked the boy’s soft, wild hair, cuddling him close and smiling when the tiny hands clutched at his red robes. “My dearest, sweetest boy, you are loved, loved by people who will matter to you as much as you matter to them. One day, you will meet them. This is my gift to you, Harry Potter. This love will sustain you, though you know it not. This love will keep your heart from growing bitter. This love will be your greatest strength in your hour of need.” He raised his hand over the small face, and tiny, glowing white motes dropped to land on his face and hair, dusting his hands and shoulders and sinking into his body. Harry sighed, eyelashes fluttering slightly, then snuggled deeper into the man.
“Cookies,” he murmured. “I ‘mell cookies.”
Nicholas smiled. “Yes, people have often said I smell like cookies.” He pulled one from the shielded pocket of his robe, and placed it in a tiny hand. Even in his sleep, Harry’s nose twitched, and he began to nibble on it. A very special cookie indeed, imbued with a nutrient potion that would bolster Harry’s immune system, and keep him going. He waited until Harry had finished it, then stood, regretting he had so little time for this. Slowly, he carried the child back to the cupboard, and with a wave of his wand, it was clean and tidy, and the mattress was a wee bit softer. The covers still looked thin, but they would be warmer for Harry. Petunia wouldn’t notice a thing.
Sighing, Nicholas kissed the boy’s forehead, away from the scar, then laid him back down in his bed, covering him carefully and tucking him in. He laid his hand over the wild hair for a moment. “Bright blessings on you, Harry Potter. Until next year.” He stood and slowly closed the door of the cupboard, relocking it, and stepping away before looking up the stairs and listening to the Dursleys sleeping. If it were allowed, he’d ensure their dreams were anything but peaceful. He looked at the overstuffed stocking hanging next to the fireplace and shook his head. If he’d had his way, it would be full of coal, but it would be blamed on Harry, and Nicholas would do nothing to add to the child’s burden. Wishing he could leave some gift other than just his blessing, Nicholas went to the magically enlarged fireplace and disappeared.
The reindeer grunted at him, and he stroked their noses, balancing himself before he got into the sleigh. Yes, houses like this one were hard, but this one was the hardest of all. This place where all their hopes lived, knowing that the child within had no hopes for himself. Then Nicholas smiled. That would be his gift. The gift of hope. He raised his hand, whispering to the wind, and a small, pale blue ball was floating just over his palm. He whispered to it, and breathed into it, watching as the glow brightened, and it shot down the chimney. Light flared through every opening of the little house, and Nicholas smiled. His gift had been received. He could leave now.
“Hi, hi-up!” he cried, and the reindeer pranced before leaping into the air.
In the small house below, four year old Harry Potter smiled in his sleep as he snuggled into his warm covers.
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