It's Christmas Time Again: A Time-Traveling TMS Holiday Extravaganza

Christmas Eve 2005 (Part Two)

That night, Gran took me home before I was really ready to leave the Potters. People were still there, still laughing and talking, and the evening had brought on a time of reminiscing that often led to stories about my Mum and Dad or else funny memories of Harry's school days and relatives I'd never gotten the chance to meet, whose memories I carried as close to my heart as if I'd known then my whole life.

I was just finishing putting my pyjamas on when there was a knock on the door of my room.

Harry came in, ducking under the short door frame.

"Harry!" I said happily - I'd expected my Gran to be tucking me in.

Harry smiled, "Hey Tedders. I have something for you. Well, two somethings."

"Yeah??" I asked, excited. Harry went and sat on the edge of my bed. I bounded over with excitement. "What is it?!" Scrambling onto the bed next to Harry, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two presents that seemed too large to have been stored in the smallness of the pockets.

"Here you are," Harry said. Then, "Open this one first."

I pulled away the paper to find a worn out book with a leather cover. In fading gold lettering, the title read, Quidditch Through the Ages. I felt a jolt of excitement.

"This was mine when I was in school," he said, "So I'm afraid it's a little outdated, but it's a brilliant edition."

I pushed open the cover and found the title page, gilded gold lettering again, but this time it was accompanied by a matching golden snitch that shimmered, peeking out from between the fingers of a man with golden hair and piercing blue eyes.

Oliver Kent, Seeker, Chudley Cannons, page 261.

I stared at the picture - fascinated. Though I had no idea why or what it was about Oliver Kent that fascinated me. He just... did.

"Who's that?" I asked.

Harry said, "Oliver Kent. He was a brilliant seeker. Uncle Ron was a big fan of the Cannons, Kent was their best player."

"Was?"

"He - well, he died," Harry said.

"Oh," I said.

"I met him once, you know. A few times, really," Harry added. "He coached one of the other Champions at the Triwizard Tournament."

I looked up at him, "The Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry nodded - and proceeded to tell me a very fantastic, very child-friendly version of the story. He fed into my imagination as he described the dragons and the castles of the Mermish. He described the huge muscles of Viktor Krum (who was in later editions of Quidditch Through the Ages, he said), the overly pretty Fleur Delacor and the brawny Cedric Diggory, who, he said, won the tournament by grabbing the Cup first, technically - and - he left it at that.

If Harry hadn't already been a superhero in my ickle childish mind, he would've become one then.

"I want to grow up just like you," I said.

He handed me my second present then.

I unwrapped it eagerly, tearing away paper to find a picture frame. I flipped it over to find a very, very old photograph, frayed about the edges, of a cluster of people dressed in their festive best. In the center, a woman with red hair and bright green eyes, just like Harry's, sat holding a squirming baby with black hair and chubby cheeks. Beside her, holding up a fat orange cat, was -- it looked like Harry. But without the lightning scar. I stared at him, then looked up at Harry.

"Those are my parents," Harry explained, pointing. "And that's me."

I stared at the baby that would grow up to be Harry Potter.