Fanfic: Dear Santa by Calypphire (Read for Free, 1,332,114 Clicks)

Description: Harry writes a letter to Santa, which ends up in the hands of Severus Snape.

Characters: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Rape/Non-ConHarry Potter & Severus Snape Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy Regulus Black & Remus Lupin Regulus Black/Remus Lupin Remus Lupin/Severus SnapeSeverus Snape Harry Potter Petunia Evans Dursley Vernon Dursley Dudley Dursley Original Characters Albus Dumbledore Lucius Malfoy Narcissa Black Malfoy Draco Malfoy Pansy Parkinson Regulus Black Remus Lupin Fenrir Greyback Orion Black Walburga Black Bellatrix Black Lestrange Peter Pettigrew Tom Riddle | Voldemort Weasley Family (Harry Potter)Good Severus Snape Child Harry Potter Child Abuse Severus Snape Has a Heart Abusive Vernon Dursley Original Character(s) Molestation Mild Language Meddling Albus Dumbledore Embarrassed Petunia Dursley Child Neglect Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con Good Lucius Malfoy Good Narcissa Black Malfoy Good Draco Malfoy Child Draco Malfoy Good Pansy Parkinson Confessions Veritaserum Past Sexual Abuse Emotional/Psychological Abuse Pedophilia Graphic Description Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter) Plot Twists Harry Potter is Not a Potter Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter Gay Regulus Black Harry Potter Needs a Hug Severus Snape Needs a Hug Memories Pensieves (Harry Potter) Recovered Memories Good Fenrir Greyback James Potter is Not Harry Potter’s Parent Good Sirius Black Remus Lupin Needs a Hug Good Orion Black Harry Potter is Not a Horcrux Good Peter Pettigrew Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter) Miscarriage Stillbirth Sirius Black is a Good Sibling Regulus Black is a Good Sibling Family Reunions Albus Dumbledore Being an Asshole Bad Molly Weasley Surprise Kissing

Summary: Summary:

Harry writes a letter to Santa, which ends up in the hands of Severus Snape.? This story was inspired by a plot bunny summary by Trickster32, livia6269 and TheColor9? Rate M out of caution. Warnings and tags will be added as the story progresses

Notes: Notes:

For Trickster32, livia6269, TheColor9.

As mentioned within the summary this story under the same title Dear Santa came from reading through some old plots that were gifted to me by Trickster32 a good while back, and I am taking a bit of a risk in seeing how this turns out.The story went away from the original summary/plot idea, though, as in the original thought bubble Harry sent the letter by post mail, that got changed, as you will see below, should you choose to continue.? Warning abuse elements within, beginning with the very first chapter.

Chapter 1: Written Letter

Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Written Letter
?
¡°Mummy! Mummy! Can I write my letter to Santa?¡±
Petunia gushed and smiled at her son, Dudley, all excited for the appending season that was leading to the much anticipated Christmas day.
¡°Of course, my Duddykins!¡± she answers.
The plump six-year-old boy grinned broadly, as his mother went to go and get the coloured paper and an assortment of crayons, coloured markers and pencils that he could use.
It didn¡¯t matter if this was his fifth or sixth time in writing to the jolly man in red, whatever Dudley wanted, Dudley got! That was the way it was in the Dursley household.
¡°May I write one?¡± Little Harry asks shyly.
There was a loud snort and a sneer, causing the small boy with messy uncombed black hair to jump a little; something that caused delight in his Uncle Vernon.
¡°You? Why would Santa want anything to do with a pestilent little freak like you?¡± the large man with no neck spits.
Harry murmurs, shuffling his feet where he stood, hands behind his back, not really looking at his uncle. ¡°Everyone else gets to write letters, why can¡¯t I?¡± I don¡¯t want to be too much of a bother, but I don¡¯t want him to forget about me.¡±
¡°Santa doesn¡¯t bother with ungrateful, naughty freaks!¡±
¡°But I have been trying really hard to not be! Really, Uncle Vernon!¡± Harry insists, ignoring the glee on his cousin¡¯s face, who was watching the scene. ¡°But, Santa is magic and -¡±
¡°WHAT DID YOU SAY?¡±
The little boy suddenly felt himself smacking against a wall, clutching his stinging cheek, tears starting to stream from the pain, the fright and the feeling that he had once again made his Uncle mad for a reason he didn¡¯t understand.
All Harry had said was Santa being magic, and…
¡°I WILL NOT HAVE YOU SPRAY SUCH NONSENSICAL SHIT IN MY HOUSE!¡±
Again the tiny boy felt something going against him; he crouched, holding his tummy, where the fist had landed.
¡°HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT FILTH IN FRONT OF MY BOY?¡±
Harry was pleading for his Uncle to stop, crying that he didn¡¯t mean it, that he will be good.
Aunt Petunia had entered back in with the fancy paper and good markers and crayons, including stickers and stamps, she said not a word to stop her husband at first, going over to Dudley, smiling lovingly and setting him up to do his wanted task.
¡°Remember that we have guests coming, Vernon,¡± Petunia then decides to peep, but not before the beast of a man kicked the already huddling boy. ¡°Best to put him in the attic, dear, instead of the cupboard.¡±
Finally remembering himself, Vernon stops, clears his throat and straightens himself, peering with the same twisted snarled at the quivering and crying Harry.
¡°Get up!¡± he growls, grabbing the six-year-old by the back of the ratty old shirt, dragging him to his feet and forcing the boy up the stairs, paying no attention to the sounds of pain, muttering all sorts of words under his breath, but not at all stopping Harry from hearing them.
Trudging down the hall, pulling on Harry¡¯s arm, Vernon reached the door to the attic and wrenched it open, looking like it was going to come off the hinges, and shoved the boy on to the first step.
¡°Go on! Get up there!¡±
Harry nearly stumbles, still very much in pain, having trouble standing straight.
¡°Y-yes, Uncle Vernon,¡± he whimpers, turning to go up each step, with the huge man following to make sure he did as he was told.
When they had reached the top, Harry felt the large hands of Uncle Vernon shove him, causing the boy to flay his hands out, landing hard on the wooden floor, if there had of been dust, it would have created a cloud affect, but since Aunt Petunia detests any speck of dust and dirt in the house, including the attic, there was none.
Vernon then circled and faced Harry, grabbing a chunk of the messy, dreadlocked mop of hair, pulling, nearly ripping hairs from the roots, Harry yelped.
¡°Now, you will keep your smutty, shitty, abnormal trap shut! We¡¯re hosting a dinner party and later tonight with some of the parents from the school, along with Dudley¡¯s friends, if anyone asks, you¡¯re with Mrs Figg. If I catch even a hair of you down with the rest of us, you will be in even more trouble than you are now!
¡°To make sure you understand how much trouble, I¡¯ll give you a little taste!¡±
Before the six-year-old could so much as protest, he felt a large hand seize his baggy trousers and shoved into the material and…
When Vernon was satisfied, he dropped the boy and stormed back down the stairs, slamming the door shut, bolting it.
Harry stayed in a foetal position, shaking and weeping, still as muddled as before. He didn¡¯t understand… All he wanted was to write Santa a letter!
He didn¡¯t know how long he had been on the same spot, but he soon plucked up the courage to see if he could move, despite the searing pain throughout his little body; clenching his teeth, stifling his sounds, not wanting Uncle Vernon to come back and… and…
Looking around, he could see that everything was in its place.
Many old items, and some of the things that Dudley had either destroyed or grown tired of in the short amount of space of getting whatever the item was.
Notwithstanding his curiosity, Harry looking though some of the boxes and drawers, being extra, extra careful to put everything back in its place ¨C he didn¡¯t want Aunt Petunia to scowl at him, and have any more reason to be in trouble.
To his surprise he found an old Crayola caddy, it was given to Dudley from the Christmas before this one now approaching. All of the paint was no longer in it¨C Harry remembered that he and Dudley were in the lounge room, while Petunia and Vernon were in the other room, leaving the two alone, to where his cousin knocked over the paint capsules, making a mess on the carpet, and the larger boy started crying out and pointing at the smaller, which had the adults coming darting in and Harry was thrown into the cupboard after a good solid whack from Uncle Vernon¡¯s belt, he wasn¡¯t let out until the middle of the following day.
Many of the crayons, textas and pencils were missing, broken or dried up because the lids were no longer on top of the texta they belonged to, but he was able to use some of them to write that letter to Santa, especially when he found some paper and envelopes next to it.
Checking over his shoulder to be sure no-one was coming, though he could hear the commotion downstairs, guests were starting to arrive and get the party started, Harry snatched old caddy, paper and envelopes, darting to where he was able to get a better lighting to see, doing his best to ignore the pain, how his tummy hurt… and so did his head.
Harry took the first best looking crayon he could find, which was a dark green one, and began to write.
To finish, he put the address of where he lived, before folding the paper as neatly as he could and fit it into the envelope; ¡°Dear Santa¡± he wrote on it. But he didn¡¯t know where to send the actual letter to, but… Santa was magic! Surely there was a way? Right?
Oh… how his tummy hurt, his vision wasn¡¯t so good… he had to send the letter to Santa, and he didn¡¯t want to anger Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon by leaving the attic, especially now with all the guests and the sun going down.
A single tear was rolling down the little boy¡¯s face, as he lie down on the harden floor, clutching the letter.
Maybe having a bit of a lie down might help.
As he started to weaken, the envelope slipped out of Harry¡¯s hand and unseen by him, got swept up and flittered out of a crack in the window, where it was snatched up by a passing owl.
###
Casting his eyes about the small area that made up the living area, Severus Snape exhaled heavily, it was the end of the first semester for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he really, really wanted to be out of that castle, though it meant being back at the home he grew up in.
The townhouse in Cokeworth was the only place he really knew to call home, other than Hogwarts, even if the memories of both were mixed and marred with jagged thought of what he ought to have done, should have done and the feeling of this impending heaviness wouldn¡¯t be so bad.
The distraction of teaching the students of Hogwarts was helpful, but Severus wasn¡¯t up to the festivities and monitoring the halls with his colleagues, not this year. He was spoken to by McGonagall and Dumbledore, trying to convince him to no avail.
The living area was filled with mix match couches and armchairs, lines and lines of books on shelves, two of the shelves slide aside, the first would reveal the stairs that would lead up to the two bedrooms and bathroom, the other would take him to the combined kitchen and dining area, that would also lead to the small courtyard, where a shed would be, plus a door heading down to a basement from the kitchen.
Some of the things were original, others were added or refurnished to suit Severus¡¯s own personal tastes, to try and erase some of the hurt, while keeping the fond.
As he was about to close the door, a gush went straight passed him, where he followed the blurry mass of feathers.
¡°Arianrhod,¡± he speaks, between surprised, annoyed and amused.
The long-eared owl gives him a look of ¡®what¡¯ after she had landing in the middle of the coffee table, dropping the envelope she had in front of her.
¡°Whose mail did you collect this time?¡± Severus asks, strolling over and picking the light blue envelope and saw ¡°Dear Santa¡± written in childish handwriting.
¡°You and your ¡®Dear Santa¡¯ letters!¡± he comments, with a suppressed chuckle when he looks at the owl who was still maintaining her innocent appearance.
Arianrhod knew her master very well, too well, as this wasn¡¯t her first time in collecting such letters upon this time of year, much like she knew what happens when her Master receives them.
Every year since he was sixteen, a good month before he was to be seventeen, Arianrhod began to collect such letters that were addressed to Santa, (with the occasional Easter Bunny). At first, Severus would ignore them, putting them aside, unopened, (also making sure no-one found them, either). After a while the temptation was too great and he chose to open one of them, curious as to what was written.
The first one was almost pretty standard; a little boy asking for a toy fire truck.
Severus opened and read them all and there was this pulsation in his heart, racing in his brain and all the memories of the Christmases he has had in his childhood, wishing and wanting for things to happen, or to get, only to get them dashed time and time again. It wasn¡¯t to say he was ungrateful, if anything, his loved that his mother tried everything she could to make the holiday season a joyous occasion for him, and she did, doing a little extra effort for his birthdays a couple of weeks afterwards; yet he still remembered thinking that if he could do something that was worthwhile during this time of year, he would, no matter how small it was, even with all the shit that has happened over the years, he just wanted this little light.
It was with that Christmas coming on ten years ago to now that Severus would do something when it came about these ¡®Dear Santa¡¯ letters, he would find out where they had come from and well… let¡¯s just say some pretty happy boys and girls were all he needed to hear about around the place, especially when he hears of the anonymous gift giver of the few lucky children who did get a visit from Santa… and perhaps a few ¡®unlucky¡¯ who were on the ¡®naughty list¡¯; Severus wasn¡¯t going to just do anything if the person didn¡¯t deserve it, including children, a lump of coal or socks and a letter pointing out why such a dismal gift.
So when he took the light blue coloured envelope and read the writing, Severus shook his head a little, before opening it to read it;

Dear Santa,
My name is Harry Potter, and I am 6.
I want a family who loves me.
My real Mummy and Daddy died in a car crash.
I am a good boy, I think, but, I don¡¯t know because my Aunt and Uncle don¡¯t think I am.
My Uncle really hurts me, calls me a freak and he really hurts my tummy when he kicks me there.
It hurts bad.
Aunt Petunia hates me. Let¡¯s Uncle hurt me. My cousin gets me in trouble a lot.
I can do a lot, cooking, gardening and even cleaning the house.
I want a Daddy, who reads with me, tug me in and calls me his little boy.
I can’t do anything against those freaky accidents.
I’ll try, but it happens all the time, and then I have to spend days without food and water into my cupboard
Please, Mr. Santa – I just want a home, nothing else.
Kind Regards Harry Freak Potter.

The sudden feel of something heavy dropped to the pit of his stomach when he read the letter. A myriad of feelings flurrying within his head, comprehending on who had written the letter and what was being said.Severus had made a promise; he was going to keep it.Quick as a flash, Severus changes into something more fit for a Muggle ¨C ever helpful when he was half-blood and knew of Muggle attire ¨C and set out to apparate to Surrey. He found Privet Drive in no time, noticing his owl had managed to speed her way over and landing right on top of the roof of the house with the number 4 on the door and mailbox. The entire outer of the house was meticulously decorated.
Arianrhod was perching right at one of the windows and tapping on the glass, flapping now and again, almost as though trying to get attention.
Not really thinking after this point, Severus marched over to number 4 Privet Drive, where he could hear laughing and chattering inside.
Staring at the letter still clutched in his hand, remembering what he saw from his own owl, and this sense within his very gut, the wizard knocked hard upon the wooden door.

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