"School's about to start again…"
In one of the dormitories of the Gryffindor common room, Harry lay sprawled across his bed like a starfish. He held his glasses loosely in one hand, but couldn't even be bothered to lift his arm to put them on. Instead, he stared vacantly at the morning light spilling in through the window with blurry, unfocused green eyes, letting out a weak sigh tinged with the raspiness unique to just waking up.
Not even the hunger gnawing deep in his stomach was enough to drive him out of bed. He and Ron had stayed up all night desperately finishing homework and gone to sleep far too late. For some reason, he hadn't slept well at all, and now he felt like—even if Voldemort resurrected right in front of him—he still wouldn't want to get up…
"Tell me about it,"
Ron muttered. He looked even worse off than Harry. Just a few days after the Christmas holiday had begun, his pet rat Scabbers had died of old age, leaving him miserable for quite a while.
That day, Ron had happily gone about his morning as usual, only to realize something was wrong when Scabbers in his pocket hadn't moved at all. When he finally took the rat out to check, Scabbers no longer had a heartbeat. The entire Weasley family who had stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays were saddened by it—after all, the rat had lived with them for over a decade.
In the end, all they could do was bury Scabbers on a patch of land near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, then try to distract themselves with other activities—like officially handing over the Marauder's Map to Harry, or taking turns borrowing Harry's Invisibility Cloak to sneak into Hogsmeade…
"So… what are we doing today?"
Ron asked weakly.
"Who knows. Right now I just want to lie here for the rest of my life…"
"Tap tap tap tap…"
Harry's drawn-out groan was interrupted by a rapid knocking on the window. With great effort, they turned their heads toward the windowsill and saw a brown owl pecking furiously at the glass with its beak. Clutched in its talons was a long, narrow package…
"Did you order something?"
Harry had no choice but to struggle out from under the covers and open the window to let the owl in—only to shiver as a blast of icy air rushed into the room.
"No—close the window first."
Ron shrank deeper into his blankets and wrapped them tighter around himself. "Maybe Seamus or Dean ordered something and had it delivered to the dorm early. Is there a note on it?"
"Let me check… Merlin!"
Harry's hands froze mid-motion as he unwrapped the package. A moment later, he sucked in a sharp breath—what emerged from the wrappings was a gleaming, exquisitely crafted broomstick.
It was a Firebolt.
Harry had never forgotten how beautiful it was. Ever since he'd first seen one in Diagon Alley, he'd dreamed of owning it. He hurriedly finished unwrapping the package and held the priceless broom in his hands, slowly admiring the way it shimmered. He could feel it trembling beneath his fingers, so he let go. The broom hovered in midair, perfectly positioned at a height he could mount. His gaze traced every detail, from the golden registration number at the handle to the sleek, smooth tail of flexible birch twigs.
"…Merlin's beard,"
he murmured hoarsely.
"A genuine Firebolt!"
Ron shouted excitedly. "Who sent it?!"
"I don't know… wait, there's a card!"
Only then did Harry notice a card lying on his bed—probably slipped out while he was unwrapping the package. He picked it up and took a nervous deep breath. At that moment, he was terrified that someone had mixed up the address and the broom was never meant for him—or that it was just another prank from the twins…
"Merry Christmas, Harry…"
The moment he turned the card over, the slightly messy handwriting leapt into his eyes, and he could hardly believe what he was seeing.
"This is for you?!"
Ron lowered his voice as if afraid of disturbing something and leaned closer. "But Christmas is almost over. Who would send a Christmas present now—and something this expensive?"
"I'm reading…"
Harry swallowed hard and continued aloud. "I'm very sorry. This broom was supposed to reach you on Christmas Day, but my current situation is somewhat… inconvenient. On top of that, a friend asked me to help with a few things, so your Christmas gift arrived a bit late…"
The handwriting was earnest yet untidy. It was obvious the writer had tried to make his letters neat, but it was as if he hadn't held a pen in over a decade—or his hand had cramped up—resulting in a chaotic, hard-to-read script.
"Still, perhaps we can look at this broom from a less traditional angle. That way, in addition to being a late Christmas present, it can also serve as compensation for your thirteenth birthday?"
"I've seen reports about you. They say you're an excellent flyer—just like your father. Dumbledore has told me the same. Given my current circumstances, it wouldn't be appropriate for me to personally visit the market to compare options, so I simply bought the most expensive one and hoped you'd like it…"
"Who is this?"
Ron looked at Harry curiously. "A relative?"
"It definitely can't be the Dursleys…"
Harry was just as confused. Judging from the tone, the sender seemed very familiar with him—close, even—but wasn't a Hogwarts student, could casually purchase the most expensive broom available, and yet Harry had no memory of ever knowing such a person.
After thinking for a moment with no results, he continued reading. "Oh, right—I forgot to mention this earlier. Harry, you probably don't know yet, but I am your godfather…"
"I have a godfather?!"
"You have a godfather!"
Ron shouted happily. "Does that mean you won't have to put up with your Muggle relatives anymore?"
"Wait—let me finish…"
Harry felt utterly muddled and could only continue reading like a machine. "I knew your parents. Your father and I were the best of friends back then. When you were born, they entrusted me to be your godfather… Merlin, why did no one ever tell me this?"
After a brief pause, he kept going. "However, due to some tragic events, I failed to fulfill my duties as your godfather after your parents passed away. It's only today that I've had the chance to contact you… I'm sorry, Harry."
"You're probably full of questions right now—but I still have to apologize. For the time being, I can't tell you who I am, nor dare to visit you in person. I'm afraid that would bring you unnecessary trouble. If you really can't contain your curiosity, you may ask Dumbledore and let him decide whether to tell you about me."
"But believe me—this situation won't last long. Once some time has passed and it's confirmed that there's no further danger, I'll contact you again. I've heard that your life with your Muggle relatives hasn't been very good—that's my fault… I'll find a way to help you as soon as possible."
"Also, I've heard about what's been happening to you lately, so I've enclosed something else with this letter. I hope your life at Hogwarts will be a pleasant one…"
That was the end of the card. But as Harry's eyes reached the final line, another small folded slip of paper fell out and drifted into his hand. Written on it was a single line:
[I, (the name obscured by a blot of ink), godfather of Harry Potter, grant him permission to visit Hogsmeade.]
[Give this to Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall. They'll be able to see the hidden content, and then you'll be able to enjoy Hogsmeade just like the other students.]
(End of Chapter)