Well, it's December again, so I thought I'd get into the Christmas spirit and roll out another little festive story. Enjoy!

Harry Potter: Father Christmas's Apprentice.

Chapter 1: The Letter.

"Alright class," called out Mrs Peterson over the excited noise being generated by the group of twenty or so seven and eight year olds "if you all pass your letters to the front of the class, I'll collect them up and send them to Father Christmas as soon as school is finished."

The excited class each began passing their work to the students in front of them so that Mrs Peterson could collect them from the tables at the front.

It was the last day of school before the Christmas holidays began and, as a special treat, Mrs Peterson had allowed them to use the afternoon to pen letters to Father Christmas. While some might have considered this a waste of time, she knew that she could review the letters later and see how the various students were doing in their writing skills, especially spelling.

In every class, though, there is always going to be at least one child who did not enjoy taking part in a fun activity, and this class was of no exception.

Harry Potter usually enjoyed it somewhat whenever the teacher allowed them to have a little fun, but today was different for him. It was different for two reasons. The first was because he did not look forwards to Christmas. His relatives, with whom he lived, did celebrate Christmas but every year Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley decided that they did not want their nephew intruding on this special holiday. Harry was excluded from Christmas at home, and so saw no reason to look forward to it.

The second reason that he had not enjoyed writing his letter to Father Christmas was that Harry had been forced to lie in it. There was no way that he could put what he really wanted in a letter to Father Christmas as it would only cause trouble, so instead he had added in a list of toys the existence of which he was dimly aware of. He had also listened carefully as the other boys in the class discussed loudly what they were putting in their own respective letters. Harry's rule was that if four or more boys were all including something in their letters then that something must be reasonably popular, meaning that Harry should add it to his own list as well.

Harry knew, of course, that even if Father Christmas did bring him anything on his list, he would never see it. Either Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would see the present for him under the tree, would tear the label off and then give it to Dudley, who would have wrecked it within a week.

The bell rang and Mrs Peterson wished the class a Merry Christmas before allowing them to leave, must to their delight.

Outside the school the layer of snow that had fallen a few days ago had now mostly been reduced to a watery slush, but that did not stop the children from playing about in it, laughing in joy or screaming after being hit by an icy handful of slush.

Harry did not have any friends at the school and so did not join in the playful antics of the others. He had learned long ago that he was not welcome to join in on the fun.

He made his way down the steps at the front of St. Grogory's Primary School and was just minding his own business as he walked along the front drive when something big and heavy collided with him, knocking him face down into a heap of wet slush.

He heard the hated voice of his Cousin Dudley call out loudly "Oops. Didn't see you there, freak!"

Harry looked up to see his guffawing cousin walk off, accompanied by his best friend Piers Polkiss, who was also laughing loudly.

He got to his feet, feeling a pain in his left knee as he did so, and brushed as much of the slush off of himself as he could. Harry pulled up the left leg of his far-too-large trousers and saw that in his fall he had badly grazed his knee on the tarmac. Blood was now oozing from the wound.

Harry covered his leg up again and limped off down the path. He arrived at the gates of the school just in time to see Aunt Petunia drive off with Dudley and Piers in the back. That was just his luck. He was going to have to walk home in the cold, wearing clothes that were soaking wet, and limping due to a bleeding knee. And just to top it all off, Piers was coming to tea.

Brilliant!

It took Harry over forty minutes to stagger home, by which time he was certain that, not only would he be spending the holidays miserable and alone, he would have a massive cold to go with it.

Harry opened the front door and Number Four, Privet Drive and stepped inside. How was he greeted? By Aunt Petunia shrieking at him for dripping on the mat inside the door, that's how.

She swatted him around the head as she shouted at him before grabbing him forcibly by the elbow and all but throwing him into the cupboard under the stairs. All of this was, of course, watched by a delighted Dudley and Piers.

"You wait in there until your Uncle gets home!" Petunia shouted at him "He'll sort you out, you little freak!"

With that, she slammed the door, sealing Harry in darkness. He heard the bolt on the outside of the door get slammed into its locked position before hearing Aunt Petunia's footsteps as she stormed away, muttering about how she was going to clean the mat.

Harry took the opportunity to slide of his wet school clothes and get into something warm and dry. All of his clothes were formerly owned by Dudley and everything was much too big for him, but Harry never complained. At least he had clothes!

When he was changed he reached into his school bag and pulled out a book. He then fished under his bed for the torch that he had hidden then and switched it on. He sat down on his small bed, bundled himself up in his thin and worn blanket and tried to take his mind off of things by reading from a collection of Christmas stories for young children.

About two hours later, Harry was deeply immersed in a story about a little orphan reindeer who was adopted by Father Christmas when he heard a sound that sent a fearful chill down his spine.

He could only just make it out, but there was no mistaking it. He had trained himself to listen out for it over the years that he had lived with the Dursley family. It was the sound of a car pulling into their driveway, and that could mean only one thing.

Uncle Vernon was home.

Hurriedly Harry shoved his book back into his school bag and buried his torch underneath his thin mattress. Then sat and listened.

Uncle Vernon came in and was greeted by his wife and son. Then he heard the man's footsteps coming his way and he held his breath.

But they passed by.

Harry listened as the family, plus Piers, had their dinner. He listened as his Aunt and Uncle watched the evening news on the television whilst Dudley and Piers created a lot of noise upstairs.

Harry heard the doorbell ring and the door open. He heard his Aunt and Mrs Polkiss making forced small-talk whilst Piers got ready to leave.

Piers left. The door was shut. Footsteps came down the hall. Harry's cupboard door was wrenched open and he was dragged out by the hair on the back of his head.

"So," snarled Uncle Vernon, his beady black eyes dancing with anger as his meaty fist pulled Harry's head around to look at him "make a mess on your Aunt's clean mat will you, you ungrateful little freak? Get out here and clean it up!"

Harry was thrown towards the front door where he landed in heap. He looked up to see Uncle Vernon's bulky form almost completely blocking the way to the kitchen. Horse-faced Aunt Petunia was watching on from the doorway that led to the living room, and Dudley was sitting on the stairs, his face alight with joy at Harry's suffering.

Uncle Vernon threw his a small hand brush that only just missed his head. Harry dutifully picked it up and turned to the mat inside the front door.

Now that the water had dried there was absolutely nothing wrong with the mat, but Harry knew that such a thing did not matter to the Dursleys, so he began scrubbing.

"I'll be back in an hour, boy," growled Uncle Vernon, and he and Aunt Petunia vanished into the sitting room, Uncle Vernon to read the financial section of the newspaper and Aunt Petunia to watch her soap operas.

Harry did not dare stop scrubbing. After five minutes, Dudley got bored and skulked up to his room, but Harry still did not dare stop. It would be just his luck that if he did, Dudley would suddenly reappear and shout very loudly to his parents that Harry had stopped.

An hour passed before Harry became aware of Uncle Vernon's approaching footsteps. Once again the obese man grabbed Harry by the hair on the back of his head and pulled him up.

"Now let that be a lesson to you, you little freak!" the man barked, spittle flying from his mouth.

He dragged Harry back towards his cupboard and shoved him violently inside, snarling "You'll be getting no dinner tonight, boy. Now stay in there and keep quiet!"

And with that he slammed the cupboard door shut, once again plunging Harry into darkness.

Harry curled up into a ball as far away from the door as possible and began to cry quietly. He really did wish that he had a nicer family. Eventually he fell asleep

A few hours later, he was awoken by his Aunt and Uncle heading upstairs. It was then that Harry noticed something. A faint band of light was visible just at the edge of the cupboard door. The light vanished when Uncle Vernon switched off the landing light upstairs, but Harry knew that his not been a trick played on him by his eyes.

He approached the door and nudged it.

It opened.

Joy filled him. In his anger, Uncle Vernon had slammed the door shut, but completely forgotten to lock it afterwards. Harry was free to leave his cupboard. He was free to sneak into the kitchen and find something to sate his hunger.

He didn't dare go now though. He had to wait, at least an hour, to allow his Aunt and Uncle time to fall asleep. He pulled the door shut before pulling out his torch and book once again.

Eventually he plucked up his courage to sneak out of his cupboard and into the kitchen where, as quietly as possible, he opened the fridge door.

The Dursleys had so much food stuffed into this fridge that it was a wonder that they would ever notice anything missing. But from experience Harry knew that if he wasn't careful about what he took, his Aunt would know.

He took some meat, but only a few scraps, and a few lettuce leaves. He took a chocolate bar from right at the back and a single, cold roast potato. He took out the milk bottle and took a couple of gulps, though not enough to be noticed. He knew better than to use a cup or glass. He took a drink from a large carton of pure orange juice, and a few mouthfuls from a jug of water.

Always not enough to be noticed.

He closed the fridge and scuttled over to the counter. From the fruit bowl he stole a couple of grapes, but did not dare touch an apple.

He hurried back to his cupboard and buried himself under his blanket in order to savour his stolen horde.

As he ate he reflected upon how his life was. About how uncaring his relatives were and how miserable they made him feel.

He thought of the orphaned reindeer in his book, and then thought of school and the letter he had written to Father Christmas.

And the letter he had wanted to write.

He paused. The letter he had wanted to write…

Did he dare? His cupboard door was unlocked and he could certainly get to a post box under the cover of darkness, but did he really want to?

Yes, he did.

He pulled open his school bag and pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper.

Fifteen minutes later he pushed open his cupboard door once again and peered out into the hall. There was no one about.

He stepped out into the hall and made his way towards the front door, all the while listening out for any sign that someone else in the house might be awake.

His tatty old trainers adorned his feet and he had pulled on an old and worn coat.

The front door was locked from the inside, but the key was still in it. He undid the lock and opened the door as quietly as possible. He stepped outside into the freezing night air and pulled the door shut behind him.

Nobody on Privet Drive was awake to see a small boy making his way down the Dursleys' driveway and onto the pavement. In his hand was clutched a piece of paper, folded in half, with an address scribbled on one side.

To Father Christmas

The North Pole

By the light of several street lamps Harry made his way down to the corner where there sat a red post box. It was quite high and he had to stand on his tip-toes to manage it, but he slid his letter through the slot at the top and, in the dead quiet of the night, heard it land on top of the pile of Christmas cards that were inside, awaiting delivery.

As Harry made his way back to Number Four, a few flakes of snow began to fall from the dark sky above. He pushed open the door again and slipped inside. He locked the door quietly behind him and crept back to his cupboard.

There he took of his worn out old coat and his tatty old trainers before climbing in underneath his blanket and closing his eyes, wondering if his letter would help.

Down on the corner at the end of Privet Drive, the post box stood quietly and looking perfectly normal.

But no post box was what most people would call normal. There was a magic spell on every post box in the world, a spell that was there for one reason only. Every time a letter was put into a letter box, the spell checked the name on it, looking for one name in particular.

Depending on where you were in the world, that name could any one of a wide variety, be it Father Christmas, Santa Claus, St Nicholas, Pére Noël, Papá Noel, Babbo Natale, Télapó, or even Kris Kringle. But each and every one of those names referred to one person only - a jolly old man who lived in the frozen north and liked to ride about on a sleigh pulled by reindeer.

Harry's letter had been addressed to Father Christmas, and the spell on the post box detected it.

There was a faint pop than none nearby heard, and a small figure appeared, standing at about three feet in height, about the same as Harry.

He was an Elf, and a very special kind. He worked for Father Christmas, and was one of the many Elves whose job it was to collect letters addressed to the man himself.

With a wave of his hand the Elf sent a bit of Elfin magic at the letter box, and Harry's letter slipped out of the slot in the top. The Elf caught the letter and disappeared without a sound, heading back to Father Christmas's workshop at the North Pole.

Nobody on that street saw him, apart from a slightly bemused cat who immediately put him out of her mind and trotted off back home so slide in through the cat-flap of Number Eight and curl up near the radiator in the kitchen.

Harry Potter didn't know it, but that letter would soon change his life.

So, how was that? I know that I really should not be starting another story, but its Christmas and I usually do some kind of themed story around this time of year. Readers of my other stories, please bear with me. I have updates for each of them in the works, but my muse is currently fixated on this. The next chapter of my Pokémon story should be up before the weekend, with updates for my other two Harry Potter stories coming after that.

This one will be updated as and when.

I know the chapter is a little short, but it's a short, light-hearted (eventually) holiday story, not a fully fledged novel with half a dozen sub-plots.