Father Christmas' Gift
by Healer Pomfrey

All recognizable characters belong to J. K. Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story.
I am not a native speaker of English. Please excuse my mistakes.

Arabella Figg stared at the clock on the mantelpiece in surprise, when the door bell rang on this Christmas Eve. It was almost nine o'clock in the evening. 'Maybe something happened with one of the cats,' she thought and swiftly went to open the door, only stare at the scene in front of her in shock.

Six-year-old Harry Potter was standing in the snow, only wearing a T-shirt and much too large trousers, tear-stricken, holding out something to her that she could not make out in the faint light that came through the open door.

"Harry, come in," she said in a soft voice, curious as to what might have brought the child to her that late on Christmas Eve. 'If the Dursleys don't celebrate Christmas Eve, he should be asleep at this time of the evening,' she thought, as she ushered the shivering boy into the living room.

She made the child sit on the sofa in the living room and enquired, "What happened, dear?"

HP

Harry hesitantly sat on the edge of the sofa. He had already learned that Mrs. Figg's rules were different from those of the Dursleys and that he was allowed to sit on any chair or sofa in the house. He held out a pile of small pieces of paper to the kind old lady and explained, "I wrote a letter to Father Christmas, but when I asked Aunt Petunia how I could send him the letter, she tore it and threw it into the bin. I just managed to rescue the pieces." He slowly trailed off, looking at the cat lady - as he used to secretly call her - in expectation, before he carefully placed the pieces of paper onto the table like a jigsaw puzzle.

'I want to send the letter to Father Christmas,' he feverishly thought and stared at the pieces on the table. Somehow, he felt safe enough with the cat lady to do freakish things, knowing that she seemed to like him in spite of the fact that he was a freak.

Very slowly, the small pieces began to stuck together until the letter was complete and whole as it was supposed to be in the first place.

"Very well done, Harry," Mrs. Figg commended the boy, before she reached out for the letter and asked in a soft voice, "May I read it?"

"Sure," Harry replied, and a small smile played on his lips as he handed his letter to the cat lady.

'Dear Father Christmas,
I know that I'm a freak and not a gud boy. So I know that you won't bring me a presend. But I want to ask you somefing. Can you make my ears better and make me go where my mummy is or send me to someone who doesn't hate me?
Please help me, Father Christmas. I promis that I will try to be as gud as possible always.
Yours sincerly
Harry'

Mrs. Figg carefully laid the letter back on the table, giving Harry a sharp look. "What's wrong with your ears, child?" she enquired in a soft voice.

"They hurt and make me sick every other week," Harry admitted in a small voice.

"Do they even hurt now?" Mrs. Figg asked, taking in his flushed cheeks and his still shivering figure in apparent concern.

"A bit," Harry confirmed. "Excuse me, Madame, do you know how I can send my letter to Father Christmas?"

The cat lady smiled. "Yes my dear, I'll see to it that he receives his letter," she promised. "However, first of all, we have to decide what to do with you. Shouldn't you return home quickly and ask your aunt for medicine for your ears?"

"No," Harry replied, darkly. "I'm not allowed medicine, because I'm a freak. And I don't want to return to the Dursleys. I've finished cooking their meals for Christmas, and if I go back there now, they'll lock me into my cupboard until after Christmas."

HP

Arabella could barely understand him, as he spoke in a very small voice. However, she comprehended enough. She rose from her chair in determination and went over to the small boy, carefully extending her hand to feel his forehead that felt hot to the touch.

"Oh Merlin, Harry, you're very warm," she blurted out, shocked. Pondering the situation for a moment, she made a decision.

"Harry, I'm going to keep you here for the time being," she informed the child and led the boy into her guest room, where she made him lie down on the bed and gently tucked him into warm covers. "Go to sleep, Harry," she cooed. "I'll see what I can do to help you."

She remained in the room for a few minutes, gently wiping the boy's face with a wet towel, until she noticed that his breathing evening out, as he drifted off into a slumber of exhaustion.

"All right," she said to herself in determination. She returned to the living room and slightly hesitated in front of the fireplace, wondering whom she should ask for help. Finally, she decided on Poppy Pomfrey, knowing that the healer was bound to her healer's oath and would certainly not talk to anyone about what she was going to confide in her now. She leaned into the fireplace, shouting, "Poppy Pomfrey's office, Hogwarts."

To her relief, the healer replied after a short while and readily came over to listen to Arabella's problem. Arabella showed the witch Harry's letter and informed her about how he had come to her house an hour ago and what he had told her.

"May I have a look at the child?" Pomfrey asked. "Maybe I can do something about his ear problem."

Nodding gratefully, Arabella led the healer into the guest room, watching in growing concern how the witch waved her wand over the child multiple times, muttering to herself in apparent annoyance.

Finally, Poppy slid her wand back into her robe pocket, letting out a long sigh. "Right now, I can only give him a fever reducer and a pain relieving potion," she finally spoke up. "I need Severus to brew an ear salve for me. The problem is, however, that his ear problem seems to result from multiple untreated colds or infections and seems to be chronic. He'll probably get sick every now and then, and I don't know how much his hearing will be affected by the problem. The poor child," Poppy added, compassionately. "If only Albus didn't insist that he had to stay with the Dursleys."

"They're horrible," Arabella agreed, full heartedly. "However, I have some good news, which I really need you to keep to yourself." Seeing that the healer gave her a questioning look, she explained, "A few weeks ago, I met someone whom I believed dead all these years."

"Whom?" Poppy queried in obvious surprise.

"Rose Evans," Arabella informed her.

"Rose is alive?" Poppy blurted out in apparent excitement, looking up in disbelief.

"She told me that she doesn't want anyone to know," Arabella informed her. "I was only lucky to see her. Apparently, she's a shape shifter..."

"Oh right, that's true," Poppy interrupted her, nodding.

"... but on that day, she was ill and wasn't able to keep up her shape shifting abilities, so that she appeared in her real form," Arabella explained. "I asked her if she'd be able to take Harry in if necessary, and she promised that if the need arose she'd do so but thought that it might be inconvenient for Harry, as she is living in hiding. She still doesn't want anyone to know that she's alive."

Poppy stared at the Squib and smile. "Yes, there is the need, and I don't mind if it's secretly. Rose is a Potions Master and a healer, just what Harry needs nearby. We can easily place a charm on the Dursleys that will make believe everyone that Harry was still living there."

"Shall we call Rose here?" Arabella suggested, giving the healer a questioning look.

Poppy agreed, immediately, and a few minutes later, Rose Evans, Lily's and Petunia's younger sister, stepped out of the fireplace.

HP

When Harry woke up in the morning, he realised immediately that his letter had made it to Father Christmas, and that Father Christmas had fulfilled his wishes.

His ears felt much better and barely hurt at all. Moreover, on the edge of the most comfortable bed, in which he had spent the night, the prettiest woman whom he had ever seen was sitting, looking at him with a friendly smile. She had red hair and the same green eyes as Harry, looking exactly how he had always imagined his mummy to look, even if he had never seen a photo of her. She was wearing what seemed to be a long, dark blue one-piece.

"Good morning, Harry," the woman spoke up in a gentle voice. "I'm your Aunt Rose, the younger sister of your mummy and your Aunt Petunia," she introduced herself, causing Harry to hesitantly smile at her, feeling torn between hope and anxiousness.

"In contrary to Aunt Petunia," Aunt Rose continued to speak, "I am a witch like your mummy, while you're a wizard like your daddy was. You're not a freak, but you're magical just like myself, and if you want, I'd like you to come and live with me."

Harry's eyes widened at the news, even if he was much too excited to fully comprehend the information. 'She's a freak like myself and she wants me to live with her,' he thought, incredulously. 'That's too good to be true.'

His eyes widened in surprise, when his aunt pulled a long stick out of her pocket and waved it at him, changing his T-shirt and much too large trousers from Dudley into fitting blue trousers with a red jumper, on which small black cats were moving around, occasionally letting out one or the other meow.

Harry giggled happily, as he followed one of the cats' way with his forefinger. "Thank you Aunt Rose," he said, giving his aunt a genuine smile.

"You're very welcome my boy," Rose replied, holding out a hand towards the child. "Now, shall we wish Mrs. Figg a Happy Christmas and return home?" she suggested. "Today is Christmas Day."

Harry excitedly agreed and hesitantly slid his small hand into his aunt's, ready to allow himself to be taken to his new home, which Father Christmas had chosen for him.

tbc...