-Hello, my dear viewers. First story of 2018, here we are! Now this story is particularly different. Young Harry Potter has been born in the year of 1988, instead of 1980, and he's 7 years old in the year of 1995. Charlie Calvin is presumably 9 years old in 1995. Scott or Santa has been at the job for nearly 2 years now as Christmas is not done yet. So, enjoy and imagine what is happening. -Traveler.

There are many legends and myths, yet the biggest myth idol is Santa Claus, the man himself. He has been around for 2,500 years, yet nobody except for some choice families knows when a Santa dies or retires, another Santa takes the job, basically like the president without voting and all that stuff. The North Pole knows about every world within the countries, and there's one that interacts closely with Santa's magic, and that's the Wizarding World. Yet there's the mundane world, and that's where our story begins.

Through Britain, over fields of green, the mist of fog, the cobblestones of villages, and large glass buildings of a city, and toward the similar yet boring suburbs, is a house by the name of 4 Privet Drive, and hiding besides the shed is a young boy with a mess of black hair, and bright green eyes hiding behind taped and broken glasses. He looks like 5, yet truly 7.

He merely has been in school for a while, yet he had never heard of Santa Claus until this recent morning, when someone told him that if he sent a letter of what he really wanted from his heart, Santa Claus can come and make it true. The boy had hope in his heart for the first time ever, and now he's writing a letter with all the best he could. He's smiling softly as he finished the litter with his newfound name, Harry Potter on it, when a obese, pig-like boy grabbed his letter, and laughed with a smirk, "You're writing a letter to Santy, freak! Dad will hear about this! Daddy, look what the freak has done!".

He ran with Harry chasing him into the house, "No, that's mine! Give it back, Dudley!". Dudley chortled smugly as he ran into the living room toward his father and mother. Vernon Dursley is a large, grossly obese man who's quick of anger, yet smart as a frog, and his wife, Petunia Dursley, a skinny, plain-looking woman looked up as Dudley called, "Daddy, the freak wrote a letter to Santy! Look!". He thrusted Harry's letter, and Harry who froze still upon the border of the rug in the living room, has watched his Uncle's face change to chaulky white, crimson red, puce purple, and finally sickly green as he growled.

"Boy, you are punished to the cupboard, without food for a week. You don't deserve the shelter, the food, the room we give you, yet you did this, this freaky thing. Understand?!". Vernon shouted, and Harry shrank down, his shoulders hiding his face, as he whispered, "Yes, sir.". He left the living room, but not without a last glance at his letter, the letter to Santa Claus, get thrown into the fire which is devastating to little Harry, and he gave out a whimper under his breath, and headed to his room, the cupboard under the stairs.

Little did he know, there was another way of sending the letter besides going by mundane mail. If you throw it into the fire, the ashes are sent to the North Pole, and the magic will make it whole and complete as it was, as it's normal to do in the Wizarding World. Harry will not be sad soon enough. For it's merely a week before Christmas, Harry's wish will be known.