Icicle Fingers (Drarry)

Chapter 20 (Fr this time)

•Harry•

Though he would take it over staying at the Dursleys' any day of the week, winter break at Hogwarts could definitely have been better. 

After his worst and only Hogsmeade trip, Harry thought visiting Hagrid would help distract him from the sheer insanity of it all.

Having been greeted by a sobbing, heavily drunk groundskeeper; as well as a letter calling Buckbeak to a hearing at the Ministry, proved him quite evidently wrong.

Christmas eve was spent in the library; him, Ron, and Hermione all buried in books on the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. It had been soul-crushing work -skimming through a seemingly infinite amount of court cases, reading up on bylaws- but most crushing of all had been realising there would be no simple solution to saving Buckbeak. 

As closing time for the library had inched ever closer, not even Hermione wanted to continue reading.

Then, Christmas morning, it seemed like his luck was finally turning for the better.  

"Get up Harry! Presents!" Ron had yelled; practically jumping up and down in excitement, gesturing at the piles at the ends of their beds. 

Still dreary and slightly grumpy from being woken, Harry got to work ripping open wrapping paper. Both he and Ron had recieved red, hand-knitted jumpers from Mrs.Weasley -though his was definitely less brown in colour. They were of course accompanied by large amounts of homemade nut brittle, mince pies and Christmas cake.

Underneath them, at the very bottom of Harry's heap was a long, thin parcel. It had a very particular shape, and though he had a guess as to what it might've been, he was determined to not get his hopes up.

But he had been right, it was a broom. Though he never could've guessed that it would have been this broom.
The Firebolt gleamed just the one at Quality Quidditch Supplies, but this one was his to hold.

Suffice it to say, both he and Ron were overjoyed. Well, until Hermione came into the boys' dormitory.

"Oh Harry -who sent you that?!" she had asked, bewildered. 

Until then he hadn't even thought about the lack of note or card. Hell, it hadn't even been addressed to Hogwarts. 

"No clue," he had answered, which in retrospect was the dumbest thing he'd done in a while. Hermione had steeled herself for a second -taking a deep breath; before going on a very long rant about how he should "hand it in to Professor McGonagall, it could be cursed!"

And that very evening, she had come by with the head of Gryffindor house, and made sure that he wouldn't be seeing it again for a long time. 

Harry knew he shouldn't be angry, really. Hermione was right, it could have been hexed, most likely a replica.  And there was currently someone trying to kill him, after all. 

But all sense faded into the background as the familiar heavy feeling lay itself over his shoulders. This had been his one break in the constant stream of everything going wrong. Finally something good had happened, and immediately stripped away from him to be "stripped down". 

Joy seemed to be something reserved for other people, not the boy who lived. 

This was meant to be his third year at Hogwarts, when he would finally be allowed to go on Hogsmeade trips. But then of course Aunt Marge comes and ruins everything, and Sirius Black even more so. Black had even ruined his secret trip to the village, as well as -oh right, his entire life! Then Malfoy, Malfoys even, were trying to get Buckbeak beheaded; and then he lost the best Christmas present he had ever gotten in his life.