It was Christmas morning and Harry trudged down the stairs groggily, leaving Ron to sleep in. His mind was jolted into awareness when he saw Ginny waiting for him at the foot of the dormitory staircase.
She was dressed in a female Santa outfit - a short red skirt and a matching red top, both with white fur trimming and a Santa hat, complete with a fluffy white pom-pom. She held a small wrapped package in her hands, her face alight with a beaming smile.
"Merry Christmas, Harry!" she greeted cheerfully, her enthusiasm cutting through the heavy fog of his thoughts.
Harry blinked, suddenly realizing what day it was. Christmas.
And, of course, he had forgotten. Forgotten to buy any presents. Forgotten, really, to think about anything beyond the investigation into Hermione's death. He cursed himself internally.
In his defence, though, the last few weeks had been consumed by that investigation. Together, he and Ginny had come to suspect Gilderoy Lockhart of having something to do with it. He had spent several evenings spying on the man under the Invisibility Cloak, catching Lockhart muttering strange things to himself in the solitude of his office. Things like, "I really shouldn't have… no, no one will know!" or "The Aurors are gone… everything went to plan, Gilderoy…" or "No need to panic, you're much too handsome for anyone to suspect you."
It wasn't much to go on, but it fed Harry's growing suspicion. Then there was the strange exchange in class before the holidays, prompted by Ginny's suggestion. Harry had casually asked Lockhart about the Obliviation charm. Lockhart had visibly flustered, fumbling over his words before claiming he didn't even know what Obliviation was - a ridiculous lie that only cemented Harry's wariness. Lockhart wasn't the cold and calculating criminal mastermind Harry might have expected from a murderer, but he was definitely hiding something.
The fallout from the Duelling Club still weighed heavily on Harry, too. Ever since the demonstration where he had accidentally spoken Parseltongue in front of everyone, the whispers and fearful glances hadn't stopped. To many of the students, this was damning evidence that he might be a dark wizard.
What angered him most wasn't just the baseless accusations that he was a dark wizard but the whispered speculations that he might have been involved in the murder of his best friend. The thought made his blood boil. How could they believe such nonsense? He could still hear the hushed voices in the hallways, see the sideways glances and the way people avoided his gaze.
Only Ginny stood by him completely, unwavering in her support. Neville still stuck around too, though his attempts at comfort were often awkward. Ginny's roommates sometimes joined them, but Harry could tell they weren't entirely comfortable with him. Mira, in particular, often looked uneasy, her polite words stiff and forced. He didn't miss the fleeting, worried glances she exchanged with Emily or Daisy when Ginny wasn't looking.
Even Ron felt more distant these days, their friendship still intact but lacking the easy closeness they once shared, as if Hermione's death had cast a shadow neither of them could fully escape. Ron's refusal to believe in anything beyond the official explanation - that it was simply a tragic accident caused by a magical beast - felt like a betrayal. How could Ron not see what Ginny and Harry saw so clearly? That this was no ordinary attack. That someone - possibly Lockhart - had deliberately taken Hermione's life.
Yet, Ginny's steady presence kept Harry grounded. She never faltered in her belief in him, her quiet determination pushing him to keep going. As he looked at her now, vibrant and confident even in a ridiculous Santa outfit, Harry felt a flicker of gratitude. No matter what the rest of the school thought, Ginny believed in him and that made all the difference.
"I heard this is a traditional Muggle costume. Do you like it? How do I look?" Ginny asked with a bright smile, twirling around. The motion sent her skirt flying alarmingly high and Harry's face immediately flushed as he averted his eyes.
"Yeah, you look very... traditional... and Muggle," he stammered, trying desperately to sound casual, though his embarrassment was painfully obvious even to him.
Ginny grinned, holding up a neatly wrapped package. "Good! Here's your present."
Harry hesitated as he took it, the weight of guilt settling heavily on him. "I'm so sorry, Ginny! I completely forgot about Christmas... and presents... with everything - Lockhart, Hermione's death and…" His voice cracked slightly and he stared at his feet, overwhelmed by the words he couldn't finish.
Ginny stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle but firm hug, the faint scent of lavender and rain brushing against him. "I know," she whispered, her voice laced with quiet understanding. "It doesn't matter. Just take today to think about something else, okay?"
The warmth of her embrace hit Harry like a tidal wave and he had to fight back the urge to crumble entirely. As he hugged her back, a distant thought surfaced - he couldn't recall anyone else ever hugging him like this. Without Ginny, he wouldn't have realized just how much he'd been starved of simple comfort.
They eventually pulled apart, though Harry found himself wishing the moment had lasted longer. "If you ever need a hug, just ask," Ginny said softly. "Everyone deserves at least one person to hug them."
"How did you...?" Harry began, struggling to ask the question on his mind.
"You always tense up when I touch you," Ginny explained gently. "You're not used to hugs or anything like that, are you?" She hesitated, her gaze flicking to his face. "Fred and George told me about the bars on your window last summer. Mom and Dad didn't believe them or that it was a strange Muggle thing, but... your home life isn't good, is it?"
Her voice was quiet, her hand so warm where it held his. Harry could only nod. His throat tightened as words failed him. Was she always this perceptive?
"Well... here's your Christmas present. If you feel guilty about forgetting, you can give me an especially grand birthday gift - 11th of August, by the way," Ginny teased with a playful wink, her tone light-hearted, to make him feel better. Harry, however, took her joke seriously. With the mountain of gold sitting uselessly in his Gringotts vault, he resolved to do just that. It was the least he could do to repay her kindness.
As he opened the neatly wrapped package, he revealed a book. Harry blinked in surprise. "The history of the Potter family? By… Charlus Potter?" The name was unfamiliar to him, and yet here was a book, evidently chronicling his heritage, written by someone from his family. He turned it over in his hands, awe-struck and slightly overwhelmed.
"Yes!" Ginny said excitedly. "Charlus Potter was your grandfather Fleamont Potter's brother, which makes him your granduncle. I've already read the book," she added, a little sheepishly. "It's incredibly detailed. It starts with Linfred of Stinchcombe, a twelfth-century wizard called 'the Potterer'. He's credited with inventing Skele-Gro and Pepperup potions. There are sections about Ralston Potter, who supported the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and Abraham Potter, who founded the American branch of the family in the seventeenth century, that are quite interesting," she rambled on, clearly animated by the subject, while Harry stood frozen, trying to process her words.
How did Ginny know so much about his family when he himself knew almost nothing? Just over a year ago, he had believed his parents were drug addicts that died in a car crash and now he was holding a book with a family tree reaching back centuries.
"Charlus Potter wrote this in 1963, so it's not completely up to date," Ginny continued. "But in the family tree at the back, you can already find your dad, James Potter."
Ginny beamed at him, her expression bright and proud, but Harry could only stare at the book, overwhelmed. He had heard fragments about his parents - how they were kind, talented and brave - but he had never imagined there was a history this vast behind his family name. A family tree? A legacy? It was incomprehensible.
"Harry... are you okay?" Ginny asked softly, her earlier excitement dimming as she noticed his frozen expression. Harry realized he'd been standing motionless for what felt like forever.
"Yeah… just a little overwhelmed. Nobody ever told me anything about this," Harry admitted sheepishly, though Ginny looked at him with a furrowed brow.
"Really? Has your magical guardian never told you anything? I mean, he knew Charlus and Fleamont Potter personally, didn't he?"
Harry's expression turned quizzical. "Ginny, my guardian is my aunt Petunia Dursley. Even if she had met them, she wouldn't have said a word about it."
Ginny's frown deepened, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "Harry, you do know what a magical guardian is, don't you?"
Harry could only blink at her in confusion.
Ginny's tone softened even more, but there was a clear edge of disbelief. "Muggles don't have rights over magical children, Harry. There are protections to prevent people from hexing or abusing them, but they can't act as a guardian according to magical law. That's why Hogwarts houses are so significant - they aren't just symbolic. The head of the house assumes guardianship of muggle-born students when they're admitted, almost like a magical adoption."
Harry's brows knitted together, indignation creeping into his voice. "That's awful! Just taking kids away from their parents like that? How is that even allowed?"
"It's not what it sounds like," Ginny explained. "It's more about ensuring magical children have someone who understands the magical world to guide and protect them. Muggle parents aren't literally separated from their kids - it just means they can't do things like drain a Gringotts vault or stop their child from practicing magic."
Harry's confusion didn't dissipate. "Alright, fine. But I'm not a muggle-born. What does this have to do with me?"
"It means the Dursleys couldn't legally be your magical guardians," Ginny said pointedly. "Your guardian would have to be a witch or wizard."
Harry felt a flicker of uncertainty, then hesitantly asked, "So… is Professor McGonagall my guardian, then?"
Ginny shook her head slowly, looking more serious now. "No, Harry. Your magical guardian is Professor Dumbledore."
Harry froze, blindsided. "Dumbledore?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How… how do you know that?"
"I've done some reading," Ginny said, a trace of hesitation in her voice, "I was curious about how you ended up with the Dursleys when so many magical families would have loved to take you in. There are old Daily Prophet articles from just after You-Know-Who fell in the library. There was a scandal back then - Dumbledore used his position as Chief Warlock to take guardianship of you."
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?!"
Ginny pressed on, her voice calm but tinged with frustration. "It would have been his responsibility to make sure you knew about your family and inheritance. But instead, he left you with the Dursleys. I don't know why, but it had to be Dumbledore who placed you there."
Harry's fists clenched at his sides as a whirlwind of emotions surged within him - shock, disbelief and something bitter and darker. For the first time, he felt the full weight of choices that had been made about his life without his consent.
"I… I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny said softly, gently reaching out to take his clenched fist in her smaller hands. Her touch was warm and grounding. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you with all this. I just… thought you should know. I didn't want to upset you." She glanced down, her expression unsure, almost nervous, as if afraid she had pushed him too far.
"No! Ginny, I could never be angry at you," Harry said quickly, his voice firm as he squeezed her hand back in reassurance. "I was just… frustrated. At everything. I shouldn't have shouted at you." His gaze dropped to the book she had given him, his grip tightening on its edges. "Thank you for this. You can't imagine how much it means to me - how much you mean to me. You're the only one who's honest with me… Thank you."
Just then Hedwig swooped into the room, a small package clutched in her beak.
"Hey, Hedwig," Harry greeted warmly as she landed on his shoulder, nibbling his ear affectionately. It was a gesture far more heartening than the package she'd delivered, which turned out to be from the Dursleys. Inside was a toothpick, accompanied by a note suggesting he find out if he could stay at Hogwarts over the summer.
Ginny leaned over his shoulder, catching sight of the note. Her face darkened. "They're really awful, aren't they? We should talk to Dumbledore about you spending the whole summer at the Burrow."
"I asked last year," Harry replied with a defeated shrug. "It didn't work."
Sensing his disappointment, Ginny quickly changed the subject. "Well, forget about them! Let's open our presents, Harry!"
Harry's mood lightened as they turned to the small pile of gifts. He unwrapped a book titled 'Flying with the Cannons' from Ron, filled with interesting facts about Ron's favourite Quidditch team. From Mrs. Weasley came a hand-knitted jumper and a large plum cake.
One package surprised him - a small box of chocolates accompanied by a card signed by Ginny's friends Mira, Emily, and Daisy. Though he didn't know them well, their thoughtful gesture brought a small smile to his face.
The common room was unusually quiet, with most Gryffindors having gone home for the holidays and the hour still being relatively early. The stillness was broken by Percy's voice as he descended the dormitory stairs.
"Ginny, what are you wearing? Casual clothing is fine during weekends or holidays, but skirts must be at least below the knees! You know that. Or do I need to take points from Gryffindor first? And this… style is certainly not within Hogwarts decorum, as the rules clearly state."
Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed. "Merry Christmas to you too, dear brother," she said, pulling out her wand. With a flick and a muttered, "Multicorfors," the hem of her skirt lengthened, reaching an acceptable level.
She then stepped beside Harry, giving Percy a cheeky smile. "Also," she added, her tone mischievous, "this is a traditional Muggle Christmas costume. Harry said so! So, it's not breaking decorum on Christmas, is it? Right, Harry?"
"Er… yeah," Harry mumbled, caught off guard.
Percy huffed in frustration and stormed off, probably muttering something about decorum and rules under his breath. Ginny just smirked, clearly pleased with herself.
Gradually, the dormitories came to life as other Gryffindors began to trickle down the stairs. Ron emerged first, yawning and scratching his head, followed closely by Fred and George, who were whispering about their latest prank. The twins gave Ginny an approving nod for her costume and made a few jokes about her starting a Hogwarts Christmas pageant.
Harry's attention wandered as more students joined them, including Dean Thomas. Dean paused mid-step when he saw Ginny, his eyes lingering on her in a way that made Harry's stomach twist uncomfortably. Dean quickly looked away, but not before Harry caught the expression - a mixture of admiration and interest that made Harry feel oddly protective. Ginny, oblivious to it all, was busy examining the present from Mira - a book on Beltane customs.
When they later reached the Great Hall, it was clear Christmas had transformed it into something magical. Frost-covered Christmas trees lined the space, thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossed the enchanted ceiling, and soft, warm snow drifted down in a picturesque scene.
Dumbledore led the small group of remaining students in a few of his favourite carols over breakfast, his energy unrelenting. Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze fell on Ginny's outfit more than once, her disapproval clear, but Dumbledore waved it off with a cheerful grin, granting permission for her attire 'just for today'.
Meanwhile, Percy - oblivious to the fact that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge to now read 'Pinhead' - kept demanding to know why everyone was sniggering.
At the Slytherin table, Malfoy sat unusually quiet. Since his father's arrest during the raid on Malfoy Manor a week ago, he'd kept a noticeably low profile, his usual sneers and taunts absent. It was, Harry thought, one of the best Christmas presents he could have asked for.
Harry's gaze wandered to the staff table as the Great Hall hummed with the sounds of Christmas cheer. The usual sight of Hagrid's massive frame and wild beard was absent. His seat stood empty, a glaring reminder that the gamekeeper was in Auror custody. The thought twisted in Harry's gut, dampening the warmth of the festive atmosphere.
He clenched his fists under the table, his jaw tightening. Hagrid didn't deserve this, not after everything he'd done for Harry. He knew in his bones that Hagrid wasn't guilty of anything, but proving it meant unravelling the tangled web surrounding Hermione's death.
His eyes flicked briefly to the other end of the staff table, where Lockhart sat preening and chattering to an uninterested Professor Sprout. Harry's suspicion flared anew, his mind recalling the half-muttered confessions he'd overheard and the man's clumsy attempts to feign ignorance.
Whatever Lockhart was hiding, Harry resolved, he would uncover it. For Hermione. And for Hagrid.
During the remainder of the Christmas holidays, Harry spent most of his time with Ron, the twins and Ginny. At some point, Ginny had put her foot down and insisted he stop obsessing over investigating Lockhart - at least between Christmas and New Year's. Seeing the genuine worry behind her demand, Harry found himself compelled to agree. It was odd to have someone care for him so deeply, more than Ron or even Hermione ever had - a thought that lingered darkly in his mind.
Ginny knew his home life with the Dursleys was terrible, but she was tactful enough not to pry, seemingly waiting for him to tell her when he was ready. Ron had never shown much interest in his life with the Dursleys, even after witnessing the bars on his window last summer. Hermione, on the other hand, had never truly grasped the idea of relatives being so cruel. But Ginny was different.
She also understood his yearning for family, which was why she'd given him a book on his family history for Christmas. He had read it several times by now. He wondered if there were still Potters in America or if Charlus Potter might have had children after the book was written - a Potter cousin would hopefully be different from Dudley.
Out of curiosity, he searched through his parents' photo album, that Hagrid had gifted him, for any other Potters, like his grandparents Fleamont and Euphemia or his granduncle Charlus and his wife Dorea, but to no avail. Ginny suggested they look through old Daily Prophet editions in the library, where they discovered his grandparents had died of Dragon Pox around the time his parents got married.
'It seemed my dad had been the last Potter by then, like myself…' Harry thought as he turned to a wedding picture of his parents. His father looked so happy beside his mother. He flipped the page to see a school picture of them, both sporting Head Boy and Girl badges. James looked strikingly like him, his gaze full of love for Lily, who was beautiful with her vibrant red hair and green eyes.
Harry pondered how James must have felt looking at Lily. What was it like to love someone enough to later sacrifice yourself for their safety against Voldemort? Harry didn't really understand love… The Dursleys had never shown him any and while he knew in theory his parents loved him, he had no memories of it. All he'd known growing up were hate and loneliness.
His throat tightened. He swallowed against the feeling and kept staring at the picture.
For a moment, he thought he saw himself instead of his father looking lovestruck at Ginny, who had momentarily replaced his mother in the image.
He blinked, and the picture returned to normal, but his heart raced.
What? What was that?
Him, looking at Ginny like that... Loving Ginny? That was absurd. They'd just spent so much time together to catch Lockhart, right? And besides, he didn't deserve someone like her, nor could she possibly love him back.
Why was he even thinking about this? He must be tired. So, he closed the book and decided to head to bed early that night.