Anonymous

Harry was just stepping out of the shower (wearing nothing at all, of course), when he heard the disturbance in the Common Room. He dressed as quickly as he could, but was stopped short when he realized he had no clean socks. Well, no normal clean socks. He reluctantly pulled on a pair of Dobby's mismatched hand-knitted socks, slid on his trainers without tying them, wrenched the door open, and ran down the stairs.

He stared, open-mouthed, at the chaos that he normally called the Common Room. Fred and George were dancing a jitterbug in the middle of the room to a tune by Linkin Park. A punchbowl full of a suspicious-looking yellowish milky liquid sat on one of the tables normally reserved for studying. Neville, who was sporting a yellowish milk mustache, was on standing on top of another table, swaying to the music and slowly removing his clothing. Seamus and Lavender were snogging enthusiastically under the mistletoe hanging over the portrait hole.

Harry was surprised to see Fred and George in the Common Room, since they had left school the previous year. "Oi! Fred! George! What are you two doing here?"

"Dad and Mom went to bed early," Fred (or George, whatever) said, slightly out of breath. "We Apparated over here to see if anything was going on. It wasn't, so we were really glad we brought the eggnog!"

Harry was about to comment that it was impossible to Apparate into Hogwarts when George's (or Fred's, whatever) face suddenly clouded over. "Oh, no," he said, discontinuing the dance in midstep. "I've just realized that most of our birthdays are in September."

"Ewwe!!" said Fred and George together. "I think we'll stay here overnight," said one of them, Harry had no idea which.

Harry was distracted from his momentary nausea by a pecking on the window. He opened it to admit Hedwig, who circled the room, preening herself a bit, before landing neatly on Harry's shoulder. "Show off," he hissed at her, reaching up to take the letter from her talon.

He read:

Dearest Harry,

I just wanted to let you know during this holiday season how much I love you and appreciate all you're doing for the wizarding world.

We all believe in you! We just know that you will eventually save the world by killing You-Know-Who. It's horrible that people like us have to live in fear from someone like him. He's only a half-blood, while I'm from a family who can trace our magical blood back for centuries. But nevertheless, if he's allowed to rule, all of our kind will be unfairly killed or persecuted.

I'm sorry, Harry, that I can't let you know who I am. I must continue to admire you from afar. I must continue to show you the guise of hatred. I hope somehow, someday, you'll be able to think of me kindly.

Merry Christmas, my love.

"Ooh, who's it from, Harry?" asked Hermione. Curiosity is, of course, one of her primary character traits.

Harry looked up and noticed that Hermione had somehow straightened her hair for the occasion. As he was wondering if she had used Muggle or wizard methods, Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, mate. Share."

"It's not signed," Harry said with a deep sigh. "Too bad, really. Whoever it is seems to be in love with me."

"Ooh!" squealed Hermione, rather uncharacteristically, grabbed the letter from his hand, and started to read. Harry couldn't help wondering which of her roommates she was currently channeling. Ron read over her shoulder.

"Okay, good, she left some clues," Hermione said briskly, thankfully back in character.

She flung the note into Ron's face, who obviously wasn't finished reading it. "How do you do that?" he breathed in awe.

Ignoring him, Hermione continued, "Let's see ... she's someone who pretends to hate you, is a Pure-blood, and part of a group that's hated by Voldemort."

"A lot of people hate me," Harry said bitterly. A soft chorus of "Awwwwwwe" echoed around the room, causing Harry to turn his head frantically in confusion. He finally shrugged and said, "But why would Voldemort want to kill Pure-bloods? I thought he was out for Muggles and Muggle-borns?"

"A squib," said Ron. Harry and Hermione both turned to look at him incredulously. "Well, it just makes sense," he said defensively. "A Pure-Blood, but someone Voldemort would hate."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "You're right," she conceded. But then her expression changed. "Hey! I'm supposed to be the one who figures stuff out, not you! How dare you!"

"I can be the smart one if I want to!" said Ron defiantly.

Harry walked over to the roaring fire to get away from their argument and to think. The only squib he knew was Mrs. Figg, and somehow he couldn't picture her being in love with him, although stranger things had happened. But, no, she didn't act like she hated him; in fact, she seemed to genuinely like him.

Wait a minute ... Harry suddenly realized he did know another squib, one who seemed to hate him ...

Harry threw the letter into the fire and ran around the room screaming for someone to Obliviate him. But no one paid attention; they were all busy staring at Neville in his green silk boxer shorts.

*********************

Three weeks later, Harry noticed a gleam in Filch's eye as he screamed at him for tracking mud into the castle after Quidditch practice. Harry screamed, ran to the nearest bathroom, and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. When he had recovered somewhat, he ran as fast as he could (still tracking mud) to Professor Flitwick's office, and begged him for a Memory Charm. Flitwick was very obliging once he understood the circumstances, and five minutes later, Harry wandered back to the Common Room with a confused, but much happier expression.

THE END