Harry never imagined Christmas could feel like this.
His eight or so christmas's that he could remember when living with the dursley's could be described in a word.
Cold.
But instead what he was experiencing now was the complete opposite.
Warmth.
Actual warmth.
Not the thin, rationed scraps of affection he'd once dreamed might come from Petunia on a very good year.
Not the hand-me-down holiday pity of Hogwarts, where people smiled at him like the Boy-Who-Barely-Lived, the pity usually reserved for orphans only Harry was more like the orphan, who was orphaned from the others who simply formed their own Friend family groups rather than being truly alone.
This was different.
His mother—his mother— fussed over the table setting.
The scent of cinnamon and pine filled the tidy cottage in Lavenham.
A tree glittered beside the fireplace, real candles burning in glass globes that floated lazily like tiny suns.
Everything felt… safe.
"Harry," Lily called, her voice warm as cocoa, "come sit. I've got your present ready."
Harry grinned, stepping into the living room with a bounce he barely recognized as his own. She looked up at him—bright-haired, bright-eyed, smiling like Christmas itself.
A long, thin package leaned against the sofa.
Harry's breath hitched.
Surely not.
Lily gestured. "Go on."
Harry tore the paper away—
And froze.
No way.
No—
Bloody—
Way.
"Mum… is this… a Firebolt?!"
Lily's smile turned proud and smug all at once.
"The very newest model. Direct from the Continental circuit. Faster than any broom legally sold in Britain." She tapped the polished handle lightly. "I had to call in a few favors."
Harry's heart soared.
His Nimbus 2000 had been precious—his first real gift one he'd found out was actually from her to begin with, something he'd polished, protected, and treated like a fragile sacred relic.
But this—
This was a weapon.
A Quidditch miracle.
"Mum, this is incredible!" Harry laughed, hugging the broom, practically vibrating. "I—thank you! I can't believe—this is amazing!"
Lily's smile softened...
…for about three seconds.
Then her expression sharpened.
Her tone tightened.
"Oh, and Harry?"
"Yeah?" he asked, still admiring the Firebolt's sleek finish.
"I expect you to win."
Harry blinked.
"Mum?"
"Your last match." Lily folded her arms, lips pursed. "You let that Snape boy run circles around you."
Harry winced. "Well, Cassius is—"
"Don't." Her voice grew clipped. "Don't give me excuses. You are my son. You have the talent. You have the reflexes. And now—"
she pointed at the Firebolt— "you have no reason whatsoever to let some thirteen-year-old outfly you again."
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"Mum… Cassius is really good—"
"AND?!" she snapped.
Harry jumped.
Lily stepped forward, jabbing a finger into his Firebolt's handle for emphasis.
"You will catch that Snitch in your next match. Quickly. Decisively. The crowd will not remember the score—only the moment you seize victory. I expect a new school record."
Harry stared at her.
This… was not the soft, glowing reunion he had imagined, instead it was the return to how things were over the summer when he first came to live with the woman he came to learn was his birth mother.
Lily placed both hands on his shoulders, eyes sharp with that fierce Evans fire.
"You're a Potter. A champion. You will not be humiliated by some… some gutter rat born to a man whose never even heard of the concept of washing ones hair."
"…I don't think Professor Sn—"
"I don't care!"
Harry's stomach twisted into a complicated knot of pride, pressure, excitement, guilt, and confusion.
She smiled again—a gentler, motherly smile.
But her eyes were still the eyes of a woman who expected results.
"Make me proud, Harry."
Harry swallowed.
"Y-yeah. I—I'll do my best."
"No," Lily said firmly. "You'll win."
Harry nodded slowly, clutching the Firebolt like a lifeline.
"Merry Christmas, Mum…"
Her smile softened again, and this time there was no steel behind it.
"Merry Christmas, darling."
But even as he hugged her…
Harry couldn't stop feeling the weight of her expectations pressing between his shoulder blades.
He hoped—
He really hoped—
He wouldn't let her down.
~
Cassius pinched the bridge of his nose.
He regretted nothing.
Except this.
Everything except this.
Cho, Hermione, Daphne, Astoria, Luna, and Ginny stood outside Grimmauld Place bundled for winter, each girl radiating excitement like six magical, dangerously sparkly puppies.
All because Sirius had told them—
"Oh, the Knight Bus? Best bloody thrill ride in Britain!"
Which was, to be fair, a blatant lie.
The few time Sirius had ridden the bus, he was wailing like a banshee just like all first time riders, or hell even those getting to ride the Gringotts railcars for the first time.
Unfortunately, he'd said it with enough enthusiasm that the girls had latched onto the idea like kneazles with catnip.
And now Cassius stood in the snow, staring at the violently purple triple-decker monstrosity screeching around the corner like a drunk dragon with no concept of traffic laws.
Hermione clapped her hands eagerly. "I've never ridden it before! Magical transportation history, Cassius—it's iconic!"
Cho grinned. "If the national team uses quick-travel, I should know how to stomach wild motion."
Astoria vibrated. "THIS IS THE BUS THAT GOES SIDEWAYS!"
Daphne corrected primly, "Only when the driver sneezes."
Ginny practically sparkled. "Dad says it's amazing! He always wanted to try it! I think he even based his car off of it."
Luna simply whispered, "I heard it occasionally phases into what the muggles call alternate dimensions. I wonder if they have pudding there."
Cassius stared at all of them.
Then at the Knight Bus.
Then at the fireplace nestled within the home behind him, still warm and comfortably connected to the Floo Network.
He could step through it and be at Hogwarts in mere minutes, arriving at Hogsmede requiring nothing more than a carriage ride up to the castle.
Instead—
He was going to be violently jostled across Britain in a magically irresponsible death-wagon travelling at irresponsible levels of speed bordering on reckless.
The Knight Bus screeched to a halt, sparks flying off its tires.
The doors burst open with a bang.
A conductor leaned out.
"Welcome tae the Knight Bus! My name is Stan Shunpike and i will be your conductor this evening. Where you lot heading?"
The girls gasped in delighted horror.
Cassius died inside.
Ginny grabbed his sleeve. "Oh come on, Cassius, it'll be fun!"
Hermione beamed. "A bonding experience!"
Astoria tugged his other arm. "PLEEEEASE?"
Cassius exhaled deeply.
They were too cute to refuse.
"Fine," he muttered.
Six squeals erupted.
He surrendered his dignity to the universe.
"We're going to Hogsmede Village just outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The conductor gestured grandly. "Board when ready, young Master!"
Cassius stepped up, resigned to fate.
Paying seven sicles as the price to climb aboard this wizarding world death trap.
Behind him, the six girls climbed aboard cheerfully, taking seats two to a bed, while looking cheerfully around at the interior of the bus itself.
Cassius took one last look at Grimmauld Place.
One last silent goodbye to sanity.
He took the remaining steps onto the knight bus, passing the driver with glasses thick like coke bottles, and a shrunken head that just talked endlessly, before taking his own seat, and using a quick binding spell to practically lash himself to his chosen seat.
And the doors slammed shut.