Discimer: I Don't own Harry Potter or Friday the 13th Series

  Snow dusted the pine boughs that bordered Camp Crystal Lake, bright in the gentle morning sun of December 24th, 1989. Under that pristine white mantle, the camp looked almost like a Christmas postcard—tranquil, inviting, and utterly changed from the ruinous state it had been in more than a year ago. Smoke drifted in a thin plume from the newly upgraded chimney of the main cabin, where warmth and quiet activity promised a day unlike any other the small, close-knit family had shared so far.

  A single set of footprints disturbed the otherwise undisturbed snow on the central path: Harry's footprints, narrow and precise, heading toward the courtyard. He wore boots scavenged and mended over the past months, tied snugly around ankles that had once been too thin for any footwear but now filled the boots comfortably. Layered winter clothing—sewn by hand, with painstaking care from repurposed fabrics—protected him from the chill. At nine years old, he was still slight, but there was a new sturdiness to him, a promise that his once-severe malnourishment had all but faded.

  He stepped carefully, mindful of ice patches beneath the thin yer of fresh snow. Though it was early morning, Harry had been awake for hours already, his mind churning with excitement and anticipation—this Christmas would be special, more so than st year's small acknowledgement. He carried a little wooden crate in his arms, which he'd finished the night before. Inside, tied with scraps of ribbon, were the modest gifts he had prepared for Jason and Pame. He'd spent weeks pnning them, weeks collecting supplies. Despite the unique constraints they all lived under, he was determined to bring warmth and holiday spirit to this quiet, hidden pce they called home.

  The courtyard itself was immacute; every path had been cleared of debris in the fall, and the once-ruined cabins stood in perfect condition, their roofs repaired, their walls painted in soft colors reminiscent of the changing seasons. Windows had been repced or meticulously refurbished. Simple wreaths, made from pine branches and local berries, hung on the doors—Harry's handiwork, assisted by Jason. Just to the left, the old concourse office, now fully renovated, rose proudly behind its polished sign. The massive dock that jutted into the frozen expanse of the ke was likewise repaired, its surface safe and secure for those who might one day fish or swim there again—when winter gave way to summer's warmth.

  Harry had paused to survey all this as he often did, marveling at the transformation. Months ago, in the warmth of summer and into the crisp days of autumn, he, Jason, and Pame had poured their hearts into every building. Each pnk hammered, each coat of paint applied, had been another step toward forging a haven—perhaps not for outsiders just yet, but for themselves. Now it stood as a testament to their collective resilience and love. And beneath all that quiet wonder y the blossoming of Harry's suppressed magic, which had grown in leaps and bounds, stretching him from within. He'd grown taller, stronger, his body guided by that surging magical core. Even without understanding it fully, he felt that silent power sustaining him every day.

  Cradling the crate, he moved on, heading toward the spot he and Pame had chosen for their Christmas tree. Jason had promised to chop down a small evergreen for the celebration, just enough to drape with simple decorations and pce the presents beneath. Even st year, they'd marked Christmas in their own modest way, but the camp had still been in a state of near-ruin. There'd been no time, no resources for a true festive atmosphere. Now, with everything they had accomplished, they wished to celebrate a holiday that, for all three of them, symbolized hope, togetherness, and second chances.

  His breath steamed the air as he reached the courtyard center, where a bare patch of ground had been cleared. He set down the crate gently. Then, gncing around with a little smile, he began gathering a few stray branches to prepare the area for the tree. That was when he heard a muffled thump from deeper in the woods, followed by the sound of cracking timber. Harry straightened, heartwarming anticipation welling up—Jason must be finishing the chore of cutting down the tree.

  He walked a few paces beyond the cabins to the forest fringe. Soon enough, Jason emerged, carrying a modest evergreen banced over one broad shoulder. Snow clung in patches to Jason's coat, dusting his hair—hair that no longer looked nk or dead, just slightly thin and a little dull compared to a normal person's, but decidedly more alive than the year before. In fact, almost everything about Jason looked more human, more robust. Where his skin had once held a pallid, almost grayish cast, it now had hints of a warmer tone. His face, almost fully healed from decades of disfigurement, looked merely scarred, nothing like the monstrous countenance that had terrorized so many. At a distance, one might think him a rge, quiet man with a few old injuries, rather than the legendary, unstoppable killer of "Camp Blood" lore. He wore a knit cap that Harry had made, pulled low over his brow. A gentle cloud of fog rose from Jason's mouth with each breath, a visible sign that he was truly breathing rather than existing in some undead stasis.

  He spotted Harry, dipped his head in greeting, and spoke in a soft, shy voice. "Got it."

  Harry beamed. "That's perfect, big brother!" The boy hurried over, touching the pine needles gently. "It's just the right size. Thank you."

  Jason carefully set the tree down in the courtyard center. "You're... sure this is good?" he asked. Though he could now speak easily enough, he remained shy about using too many words at once, a habit formed over the months as he adjusted to having a voice and a slowly improving appearance.

  Harry nodded vigorously, stepping around the tree, checking every angle. "Yes! Not too big, not too small. It's gonna be brilliant."

  Jason's normally stoic face softened at Harry's enthusiasm. He reached out and gave Harry's shoulder a gentle pat. "Christmas..." he murmured, gaze flicking up toward the main cabin, where Pame would soon appear.

  "She's probably inside, finishing up," Harry said, gncing that way. "I told her I'd come out and set up a spot for the tree. But, big brother, let's do it together. Then we can surprise Mum when she comes out."

  Jason gave a small nod, his lips curling in the slightest of smiles. "Yes. Good idea."

  They gathered some sturdy boards and built a simple wooden stand for the trunk, fashioning crossbeams so the tree could remain upright. The process was quick; by now, they had repaired so many things around camp that small tasks like this were practically second nature. Harry offered up nails, Jason hammered them with careful strength, and in no time, the trunk was secured. Together, they hoisted the tree upright, shaking loose more snow that scattered in powdery puffs across their boots.

  When the tree stood firmly in pce, Harry retrieved a coil of thin rope from the crate, weaving it gently around the branches to provide extra support. He stepped back, hands on his hips, and gave Jason a confident grin. "There! It's perfect."

  Jason looked uncertain for a moment, then let out a slow breath and said, "Looks... nice."

  Harry's grin broadened. "Come on, let's fetch the decorations."

  They trudged back toward the main cabin. As they neared, the door swung open, revealing Pame standing on the threshold. She wore a simple woolen coat—purchased just this past autumn, for by then, she had gained the ability to venture discreetly into town. A headscarf covered her neatly pinned hair, and from a distance, she appeared entirely mortal. Indeed, she was as corporeal as any living person now, thanks to the steady nourishment of Harry's leaking magic over the past year and a half. Yet her face was exactly the same as Harry remembered from his earliest glimpses: kind, warm, eyes full of maternal devotion.

  She stepped onto the porch, a gentle smile lighting her features. "I see you two have everything under control." Her tone carried a hint of pyful warmth, the same as any proud mother observing her children.

  Harry nodded eagerly. "We just finished setting it up. It's so pretty."

  Jason inclined his head. "Good morning, Momma."

  She made her way down the steps, gncing at the tree with approval. "Beautiful. It'll look even better once we drape what we can across the branches." She gnced at Harry's crate, where the edges of wrapped packages peeked out. She pretended not to notice, though, so as to maintain the element of surprise for ter.

  With delicate steps, she walked closer to Jason, resting a hand on his broad arm. "Cold morning for you to be out chopping trees," she said. "You did very well."

  Jason's shy smile returned. "Not too cold... just a little."

  His voice, once so guttural, so broken, was soft but smooth now. And his eyes—blue as the winter sky—seemed clearer, less haunted. Pame gave his arm a gentle rub before turning her attention to Harry. "Darling, do you need help bringing out the ornaments?"

  Harry nodded. "Yes, please. They're in the mess hall, remember?"

  A warm ugh escaped Pame's lips. "Ah, I forgot you were storing them there. Let me grab them, or we can both do it."

  In unspoken agreement, the three of them crossed the courtyard to the newly refurbished mess hall. No longer a pce of dust and decaying furniture, it boasted polished floors, repainted walls, and rows of sturdy tables that Harry, Jason, and Pame had built or repaired over the summer. It was rge enough to host a full camp's worth of children—an unrealized dream for now, but soon, they hoped to make that dream a reality. One corner had been designated for storage, holding the various holiday items they'd collected or crafted over the past months.

  Cardboard boxes lined the corner, neatly beled in Harry's careful handwriting. He had grown proficient in reading and writing, thanks to Pame's tireless instruction. Next to them, a pstic bin with a snapping lid contained bits of ribbon, old tinsel, small crocheted decorations that Pame had made in her quiet evening hours. Harry lifted the box of crocheted ornaments. "Here we go!"

  Jason stepped forward, picking up a heavier wooden crate that contained some hammered-tin stars and shapes they had fashioned over the months. "I... take this," he said simply.

  Pame grabbed a small basket of pinecones that had been dipped in leftover paint or carefully sprayed with homemade varnishes. "Let's see if we can make this tree truly festive."

  Together, they carried everything back out into the courtyard. Snow glistened underfoot, and though the morning was cold, a gentle hush in the air gave the scene a serene beauty. The ke beyond was frozen over, reflecting the pale winter sky like a mirror. Distant pines swayed softly in a faint breeze.

  They set their cargo down near the tree. Pame motioned to Harry. "Would you like to begin, my angel?"

  Harry grinned. "Yes!" He rummaged through the crocheted ornaments, picking out a green one shaped like a little bell. He threaded it onto a branch near the top. Jason, being far taller, pced the hammered-tin star near the uppermost bough with careful, measured movements. Pame tied ribbons around the middle branches, stepping back now and then to admire the growing dispy.

  "You know," she said softly, "I've never seen this camp in winter—truly seen it, I mean—until now. The times I was here before... well, it was different, and I wasn't exactly in a state to appreciate the seasons." She paused, thinking of the decades she had spent as a vengeful spirit, fixated on protecting Jason's memory at all costs.

  Jason nodded, a gentle frown crossing his features as he recalled the years of rage and isotion. "It's... peaceful."

  Pame smiled at him tenderly. "Yes, it is."

  Harry pced another ornament. "It's so quiet," he remarked. "Not a single other soul for miles around. Kinda nice." He paused, then gnced up at Pame with curiosity. "Mum, were there ever Christmas events at the camp way back when?"

  She considered. "We never had official winter sessions—this pce was always a summer camp. But I stayed on some winters, working odd jobs around the caretaker's cabin, cooking for visiting staff who prepared the camp for the upcoming summer. Sometimes we'd have a modest tree, or wreaths on the doors. Nothing quite like this, though." Her voice held a nostalgic lilt.

  Harry's gaze swept across the cabins, each more perfect than the st. "It feels like we have the entire world to ourselves."

  Pame gave him a warm look. "We do, in a way. And it's the first time we can truly savor it, after all our hard work."

  They carried on, slowly adorning every bough of the small evergreen until it glimmered with tinsel, ribbons, crocheted shapes, hammered-tin stars, and painted pinecones. The effect was charming, heartfelt, a little mismatched but full of love.

  At st, Harry stepped back and took in the sight. "It's wonderful."

  Jason nodded solemnly, voice barely above a whisper. "Yes. Christmas tree."

  Pame studied the branches, then turned to Harry. "Are we missing anything, dear?"

  Harry bit his lip, thinking. "Oh! The lights. We might not have electric ones, but we made those little paper nterns with tea candles. Should we put them around the base?"

  Jason gave a subtle nod. "Safer... big brother watch." He clearly meant that he'd keep an eye on the small fmes so nothing would catch fire.

  Pame chuckled lightly. "We'll do that after dusk. Let's leave the candles unlit until then. No sense in risking the tree before we even enjoy it."

  They carefully spaced out the tiny paper nterns around the trunk, each anchored in the snow so it wouldn't tip over. Harry retrieved his wooden crate of presents and pced them under the tree, arranging them with utmost care. "They're not big or anything," he said apologetically, noticing how small the packages seemed. "But I, um, I tried my best."

  Pame's eyes misted with tenderness. "Harry, dear, they're perfect."

  Jason stooped to peer at the bright scraps of ribbon. "You... made... gifts?"

  Harry's cheeks warmed. "For you and Mum, yeah." He was about to say more, but then he paused, remembering that he wanted at least some element of surprise. "You'll see tonight or tomorrow morning. Whenever we decide to open them."

  Pame touched his shoulder. "We'll open them tonight at dinner, if you like. Just the three of us. There's no need to wait until morning."

  Harry gave a small grin, part of him thrilled at the idea of a proper Christmas Eve celebration. He'd never had one of those with the Dursleys. Their idea of Christmas had been to let Dudley tear through piles of presents while Harry scrabbled for leftover ribbons to tidy up.

  Jason gnced between them. "I... made something too," he admitted. "For both of you." He pointed awkwardly at the main cabin, indicating that he was storing his gift somewhere within. "Not big."

  Pame smiled wide, tears shining in her eyes. "Jason, that's wonderful. I can't wait to see it."

  Harry practically bounced on his toes. "This is going to be the best Christmas ever!"

  They shared a quiet moment, the three of them gazing at their little tree, each reflecting on how far they had come. The sun climbed higher, glinting off the patches of snow that clung to the eaves of the cabins. A mild breeze carried the faintest scent of pine and ice.

  "Let's go inside for now," Pame said gently. "We'll have lunch soon, and maybe afterward we can gather more firewood for tonight's celebration. It's Christmas Eve, after all."

  Jason nodded, lifting the empty crates. Harry scooped up stray bits of ribbon. Together, they headed back across the courtyard toward the main cabin, the new heart of Camp Crystal Lake.

  Inside, warmth enveloped them the moment they crossed the threshold. A wood-burning stove glowed softly near one wall, another sign of their diligence in making this pce truly livable. The walls had been adorned with a few sketches Harry had drawn—a mix of camp ndscapes, scenes of the ke in summer, and even a picture of Pame and Jason smiling. The furniture was handmade but sturdy, polished to a shine that caught the fire's light. Curtains on the windows blocked the chill outside, giving the interior a cozy, intimate feel.

  Pame hung her coat on a peg. "I'll fix something for lunch—maybe a stew. Would you two like that?"

  Harry's stomach gave a soft rumble at the thought of hot food. "Yes, please," he said, gncing at Jason to see if he agreed.

  Jason set down the crates and nodded. "Sounds good. I... can help," he offered.

  Pame smiled. "I'd love your help. Harry, would you mind stirring the fire in the living area? It's looking a bit low."

  "Sure thing," Harry said. He crossed to the hearth, grabbed the poker, and stirred the embers until orange sparks danced upward. He added a couple more logs to ensure the cabin stayed warm. When he looked back, he saw Jason and Pame moving into the small kitchen space, opening cupboards, checking jars of preserves and dried meat. The sight tugged at his heart—seeing them so at peace, carrying out ordinary tasks. He was certain no other family in the world matched them in uniqueness, yet here they were, living as any normal household might.

  He stepped around the living area, idly straightening a cushion on the sofa. A wave of nostalgia flickered inside him. Sometimes, he remembered the stark gloom of his cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys' house, how he'd shivered in the cold with no bnket. Now he had a sturdy bed with ample bnkets in a cabin warmed by a fire that never ran out, thanks to Jason's tireless wood-chopping. He touched the sofa's arm, marveling at the difference a single year could make.

  From the kitchen, he heard the soft murmur of conversation—Pame's voice guiding Jason about which herbs to add. Jason speaking up, hesitating but determined. The winter wind rattled the windows gently, as though reminding them they were in the depths of the season. Yet inside, everything felt shielded by the glow of a newfound family.

  Half an hour ter, the aroma of stew filled the cabin, making Harry's mouth water. Pame pced three bowls on the main table, and they settled down together. Spoons clinked lightly, steam rose in curling wisps, and the hush of contentment wrapped around them.

  "This is wonderful," Harry said after a few mouthfuls. "Thank you, Mum. And you too, Jason."

  Jason shrugged modestly. "Only added... thyme," he said quietly. But there was pride in his tone.

  Pame's eyes sparkled. "You did more than that, dear." She looked at Harry. "I picked up some vegetables in town yesterday—I haven't told you about that yet, have I? I managed to visit a bigger store a few miles farther out than normal. They had a holiday sale, so I managed to buy flour, sugar, and even a bit of chocote for us to try."

  Harry's face lit up. "Chocote? That's... oh, that's amazing! Did no one suspect anything?"

  She shook her head. "No, no one recognized me. I've become quite adept at blending in, and it helps that I'm truly solid now." A brief shadow of memory passed over her features. "Years ago, if I'd tried to step into a store, it would've... well, it wasn't possible. Even a year ago, I couldn't hold a full conversation without risking fading. But now, I can walk among them as if everything is normal."

  Jason paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Momma... safe?"

  Pame reached across the table to gently squeeze his wrist. "I'm safe, dear. They don't know me, don't remember. A few of the older folks from this area might recall my name if they heard it, but they'd hardly expect to find me alive and well." She exhaled. "Still, I'm cautious. I go by my maiden name, never mention the camp. I do small transactions and leave."

  Harry nodded, relieved. "I'm so gd. And... that chocote, can we use it tonight?"

  Pame smiled. "Of course. I thought we might try making hot chocote after dinner—if I can figure out the recipe. It's been years, but I do recall how to whip up a simple version."

  Harry grinned, heart fluttering with excitement. He didn't remember ever having homemade hot chocote before. At the Dursleys', anything sweet was rationed out—if he got anything at all. "That would be perfect for Christmas Eve."

  They finished their lunch in a comfortable hush. Outside, snow began to drift again, the fkes swirling past the windows in zy eddies. When they were done, Jason and Pame cleared the bowls, while Harry offered to wash the dishes in a basin of heated water. He scrubbed them carefully, humming a soft tune—a made-up melody he found himself singing around Christmas.

  As the afternoon stretched on, they divided tasks. Pame took inventory of the few more decorations they could pce indoors, along with potential ingredients for the evening meal. She intended to make a simple but special dinner, with fresh bread courtesy of the flour she'd managed to buy. Harry, always eager to help, volunteered to shape the dough. Over the months, he had become quite the cook himself, but on Christmas Eve, he wanted Pame to guide the process—there was something comforting about letting her take the lead.

  Jason, meanwhile, donned a coat and stepped outside to gather extra firewood. The cold didn't seem to bother him much, though he still moved slowly and methodically. Harry watched him through the window, noticing how tall and steady Jason looked as he split the logs with a single blow of the axe. Each thwack echoed across the snowy clearing. Despite Jason's quiet nature, he exuded a calm confidence that Harry found deeply reassuring.

  By mid-afternoon, the scents of baking bread, simmering broth, and faintly spiced apples (a rare treat Pame was attempting) merged in the main cabin, infusing the air with cozy promise. Harry peeked under the cloth draped over the dough, checking how it rose. "Looks good," he reported. "I think it needs a bit more time."

  Pame agreed, tapping her chin. "Yes, another hour or so, then we can bake it."

  Harry repced the cloth gently, and his mind drifted to the presents waiting beneath the tree outside. A smile curved his lips—he couldn't help but anticipate how Jason would react to what he'd crafted. His gift to Jason was a hand-stitched pillow, embroidered (rather clumsily) with the image of a hockey mask and a small heart beneath it. It had taken him ages to learn embroidery from Pame, and even longer to perfect the mask shape so it looked right. To most people, such an image might seem odd or unsettling, but to Jason—who had lived behind that mask for so long—it felt symbolic, a nod to his identity, lovingly softened by a heart beneath it. For Pame, he had fashioned a small locket from bits of thin metal hammered into shape, with a tiny sketch of Jason and Harry inside. He suspected she would keep it close forever, if only to feel her two sons near her heart.

  He felt a little jab of nerves. Would they like them? He hoped so. They were modest gifts, but the best he could produce with the resources at hand.

  A gentle knock on the doorframe pulled him from his thoughts—Jason stood there, arms den with fresh logs. Snow clung to his shoulders. "Where... put?" he asked simply.

  "Right by the firepce, big brother," Harry said. "We'll need them tonight."

  Jason nodded, crossing the room in a few long strides. He stacked the logs with care, then dusted snow off his jacket before turning to Harry. "We do more... decorations?"

  Harry shrugged, gncing at the small pile Pame had set aside. "There's a couple of things we can hang over the windows, I guess."

  "Good," Jason murmured, stepping to help with that. He slid a small stool under the first window and carefully pinned up a garnd of dried leaves and berries. Harry handed him another garnd for the second window. They worked in a comfortable hush. By the time they finished, the living area felt infused with a subtle holiday charm—rustic, perhaps, but no less heartfelt than any store-bought decorations might achieve.

  Pame bustled back into the living area, wiping her hands on a towel. "We'll have a simple dinner tonight, then we can open presents. Jason, do you want to bring your gift out for Harry now, or do you want to wait until we do them all together?"

  Jason froze, seemingly embarrassed. "Later. We... open together."

  "Of course," she said gently, then turned to Harry. "Could you go check if the water in the kettle is boiling? I want to brew some tea for us before dinner."

  He nodded, going to the stove area, peeking under the lid. Steam rose thickly. "It's ready!" he called back. He remembered an old tea tin that was half-filled with dried mint leaves, so he took it down and scooped some into the waiting teapot, letting the boiling water pour over them. A fragrant cloud of mint rose, warming the air.

  Night fell early in winter, and by four-thirty, dusk had already cast long shadows across the snowy camp. Harry and Jason stepped outside, bracing against the chill, to admire their Christmas tree in the muted twilight. The tin ornaments glinted dully, ribbons fluttered in a gentle breeze, and the crocheted shapes looked whimsical under the deepening sky. The small paper nterns at the base remained unlit, waiting for a darker hour.

  Pame soon joined them, a ntern in her hand. "How about we light them now? It's Christmas Eve. Let's see how our tree looks in the dark."

  Jason crouched at the base, carefully striking a match. One by one, they lit the tea candles in the little paper nterns. Warm, flickering glows sprang to life, casting dancing shadows on the lower branches. Combined with the faint reflection of moonlight overhead, the sight transformed the modest evergreen into something magical. Harry's face glowed with wonder; this was the first time he'd truly felt a sense of holiday magic. The presence of the Dursleys was long behind him, and for once, he could just exist in the simplicity of a joyful moment with the people he loved.

  They lingered outside for a while, breath pluming in soft clouds, content to share the quiet hush of a winter evening. Snow continued its gentle fall, dusting their shoulders. Eventually, Pame shivered slightly—whether from cold or emotion, Harry couldn't tell—and suggested they head in for dinner.

  Warm light greeted them when they returned to the cabin. The bread had finished baking, and its golden-brown crust made Harry's mouth water. Pame had also made a simple vegetable soup. They gathered around the small wooden table, savoring every spoonful, every bite, exchanging occasional gnces ced with holiday anticipation. Outside, the paper nterns twinkled at the base of their tree like distant stars.

  When the bowls were empty and the bread nearly finished, Pame stood. "Harry, Jason," she said gently, "why don't you two settle by the firepce? I'll clear these dishes, then we can open our gifts."

  Harry jumped up, barely containing his excitement. "Yes, Mum!" He motioned for Jason to follow him to the living area, and the tall man obliged, though a hint of anxiousness flickered in his gaze. Settling on the sofa, Harry stoked the fire, coaxing fresh fmes from the embers. Jason sat at the far end, looking more at ease than ever in the gentle mplight.

  A few moments ter, Pame joined them, wiping her hands on a cloth. She'd let her hair down a bit, the ends brushing her shoulders. In the mplight, she looked every bit the living, breathing mother that Harry had always dreamed of. She seated herself beside Jason, a warm smile lighting her face. "Shall we do it in the courtyard by the tree, or here?" she asked. "It's freezing out there, but it would be scenic."

  Harry considered, gncing at Jason. "It is quite cold. Maybe we could just bring the presents in here?"

  Jason nodded in agreement. "Yes... too cold."

  Pame ughed softly. "Then let's go gather them. I'll fetch my coat." She left for a moment, returning bundled against the cold. Jason slipped on his jacket. Harry did the same, and the three of them ventured back outside with a small wooden box. Snow creaked under their boots. Flickering candlelight revealed the presents beneath the tree, some small lumps tied with ribbon, others in simple wrappings. Jason reached for the gifts with surprising gentleness, while Pame picked up a couple that might be for her or Harry. Harry grabbed the others, hugging them to his chest. Then, half-hurrying through the chilly air, they returned to the warmth of the cabin.

  Inside, they set the gifts in a small circle near the firepce. Harry was practically bouncing. "Who goes first?"

  Pame chuckled, gncing at Jason. "Why don't we let your brother open his from you first, hmm?"

  Jason's face colored slightly, but he nodded, picking up the small gift Harry had pced in front of him. The shape was roughly rectangur, soft to the touch. He carefully tugged at the wrapped cloth. With slow, deliberate movements, he revealed the embroidered pillow, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the stitched hockey mask and the little heart. He touched the fabric gently, as though afraid it might vanish.

  Harry rubbed his hands together, heart pounding. "I, um, made it for you, big brother. I'm not the best at embroidery, but Mum showed me how. That's... well, it's meant to be your mask, and... you know, the heart is because... I love you." His voice trembled a bit on the st words.

  A long moment passed. Jason ran a broad thumb over the stitching. "I... love it," he finally murmured. His voice, though quiet, carried deep emotion. "Thank you."

  Relief washed over Harry's face, and he let out a small ugh. "You're welcome! You can put it on your bed or wherever."

  Jason nodded solemnly. "I will."

  Pame's eyes glistened, touched by the moment. "That's beautiful, Harry. Truly." She turned to Jason, still smiling. "Jason, do you want to give your gifts next?"

  He hesitated, then dipped his head in agreement. He reached behind him, retrieving two packages that he must have hidden earlier. He handed the smaller one to Pame, the slightly rger one to Harry.

  Harry accepted his with both hands, feeling the weight of something wooden inside. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a small hand-carved box with a hinged lid, sanded smooth so that it shone in the firelight. The top bore a clumsily etched image of the camp's refurbished sign, and beneath it, in hesitant letters, was carved "Harry's Treasures."

  A swell of emotion choked Harry's throat. "Jason..." he breathed. "You made this for me?"

  Jason gave a nod, eyes flicking between the box and Harry. "Thought... you draw... have sketches. Maybe keep them safe... in box."

  Harry's eyes grew hot with tears. He never expected something so thoughtful. "That's perfect. I can keep my drawings, my pencils... thank you." He set the box down carefully, then leaned forward to give Jason a quick hug, ignoring how awkward it might be. Jason, though shy, responded by patting Harry's shoulder reassuringly.

  At the same time, Pame was unwrapping her own gift. In her hands, she found a folded length of cloth, a simple but lovely shawl crocheted in a soft, pale blue yarn. Jason had evidently worked on it for months—Harry had caught glimpses of him fiddling with yarn in the evenings, though he never suspected it was for Pame.

  Pame pressed the shawl to her cheek, tears standing in her eyes. "Oh, Jason," she whispered. "It's beautiful. You did this all by yourself?"

  A slow nod. "Learned... from book," he expined simply.

  She looked at him as though he'd hung the moon. "I love it," she said, draping it around her shoulders. It complemented the gentle color of her sweater perfectly. Then, moved by the generosity of her once-lost son, she leaned over and kissed his temple, something she hadn't done in a living capacity for decades. "Thank you, sweet boy."

  Jason seemed at a loss for words, but the slight rexation in his posture told them he was happy.

  "Now, Mum, it's your turn," Harry said, barely able to contain his excitement. He handed her the small locket box he'd made, carefully wrapped in paper scrounged from an old staff ledger.

  She took it, unwrapped it, and let out a soft gasp when she saw the hammered metal. Her fingers ran over the rough edges, noticing how it was shaped into a crude heart. Gently, she pried it open, finding within the tiny sketches of Jason and Harry that Harry had miniaturized and carefully glued inside.

  "Harry..." she murmured, voice trembling. "This... oh, my dear child, this is precious. It's perfect." She turned tear-filled eyes on him. "Thank you so much."

  Harry gulped, trying not to cry. "I thought you might like something to keep us close, you know... physically, or... well, you can wear it, or just hold onto it."

  Pame set it against her chest, her hand trembling. "I will never take it off," she promised softly. "You... you have no idea what this means to me."

  Jason watched, his expression unguarded for once, touched by the loving exchange.

  Pame sniffed, blinking away tears. "Alright," she said, clearing her throat. "That leaves my gifts for you two." She reached behind the chair, pulling out two wrapped parcels. One was a bit rger and ftter, the other heavier. She handed the ft one to Harry and the heavier one to Jason.

  Harry carefully unwrapped his, revealing a neat sheaf of drawing papers tied together, along with a small wooden case containing charcoal pencils, colored chalks, and even some inks. He gasped. "Where... where did you get these?"

  Pame smiled through her tears. "The art supply store in town. It's small, but they had these. I thought... well, I know how much you love to draw. Now you won't be limited to scraps or homemade charcoals."

  Harry cradled the set. "This is amazing. Thank you, Mum!" He set it aside to fling his arms around her, burying his face in her sweater. She let out a soft ugh, hugging him back.

  Jason opened his gift next. He found a thick woolen coat, more modern than anything he'd worn before, with sturdy lining and a hood. It was dark green, almost camoufge-like, and sized specifically for his rge frame. Jason ran his hands over the fabric in awe. "Momma... real coat."

  She nodded, smiling gently. "Yes, dear. A real coat. The old one you have is always patched up, and I can't bear to see you cold out there when you chop wood or take care of the camp. Now you can keep warm." She paused, voice trembling. "I... I'm so proud of how far you've come. Both of you."

  Jason touched the coat reverently. "Thank you," he said softly, gncing at Harry. "And you... for letting me... be your brother."

  Harry's eyes filled with tears again. "Always, big brother."

  Pame's tears spilled over too, though her smile never faded. She pulled them both close, her arms draping around their shoulders. In that circle of love, they sat for several long moments, letting the crackling fire and flickering mplight envelop them. Snow fell softly outside, and the chill of winter seemed a world away from the warmth they shared.

  Eventually, Pame cleared her throat, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Alright, my angels," she said shakily, "this Christmas Eve is already perfect, but we're not finished yet. I do believe there's some hot chocote to be made?"

  Harry lit up, nodding eagerly, while Jason tilted his head in curiosity. "Hot... chocote?"

  Pame ughed softly. "Yes, dear. A sweet drink. Let me show you how."

  They spent the next hour in the kitchen area, Pame carefully melting the small block of chocote she had purchased, mixing in milk, sugar, and a pinch of salt. Harry stirred it slowly over low heat, inhaling the intoxicating aroma. Jason hovered near, fascinated by the process. When the mixture began to bubble, Pame poured it into mugs, topping each with a small swirl of whipped cream she had managed by shaking cream in a lidded jar with sugar.

  They carried the steaming mugs back to the living area, settling on the sofa with bnkets around their shoulders. Jason sipped tentatively at first, unused to such sweetness, but soon, a startled delight crossed his features. "Good," he procimed, finishing the mug in a few slow, savored gulps.

  Harry nursed his, sighing in bliss with each sip. The heat, the richness of chocote—it felt like a gift in itself. He leaned his head on Pame's shoulder, eyes half-lidded with contentment. "Best Christmas ever," he murmured again, voice trembling on the verge of tears for the umpteenth time that evening.

  Pame pressed a kiss to his temple. "I'm gd," she whispered. Her gaze traveled to the newly crocheted shawl around her shoulders, to Jason's pillow and box, to the art supplies in the corner. Each item symbolized a triumph, an act of love that would have been unimaginable a year before.

  Time drifted as they chatted quietly, remembering the highlights of the year: how they'd repaired each cabin, how Jason had bravely ventured further into his own speech, how Pame had dared to visit town. Harry recounted small moments that filled his heart with joy—like the day Jason saved a family of ducks from a fox near the keshore, or the time Pame surprised them with honey from a local beekeeper. They ughed over the minor mishaps—like Harry's attempt at acorn flour that nearly turned a loaf of bread into a rock. Even those memories glowed with warmth in hindsight.

  Eventually, weariness crept over them. The day's excitement, the emotional moments, and the cozy warmth of a full belly lured them to rest. Pame took it upon herself to tidy up the mugs, though Harry and Jason offered to help. She shooed them gently away. "You two rex. I'll just wash these, then I'm off to bed as well."

  Harry and Jason lingered near the fire, letting the st coals crackle down into the ashes. "I still can't believe it's Christmas," Harry said softly, curling under the bnket. "Feels... feels like a dream."

  Jason gnced at him. "A good dream," he said simply.

  Harry smiled, nodding. "The best."

  They psed into companionable silence for a few moments. Outside, the wind whistled softly, stirring snow against the cabin walls. Harry looked to Jason. "Big brother, are you happy?"

  Jason took a moment to respond, as though tasting the question's meaning. Then, with quiet certainty, he said, "Yes. Very."

  Harry's grin glowed in the firelight. "Me too," he whispered. "Me too."

  Pame returned from the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on a cloth. She regarded them both with an affectionate tilt of her head. "Ready for bed, my angels?"

  They rose, collecting bnkets and ensuring the fire was banked safely. One by one, they bid each other goodnight, hugging in the dim mplight. Pame pced the locket Harry had given her around her neck, pressing a kiss to its surface before pulling it beneath her sweater. Jason carried his new coat to his own corner of the cabin, though he left it folded carefully for now. Harry carefully cradled the carved box Jason had made, along with his new art supplies, setting them near his bed so he could wake up and see them first thing in the morning.

  "Goodnight, Mum," Harry said softly, hugging her one more time. "Goodnight, big brother."

  Pame returned his hug, stroking his hair. "Sleep well, sweetheart."

  Jason gave a small wave. "Night... Harry... Momma."

  And so the cabin lights dimmed, leaving only the faint glow of embers in the firepce. Harry curled up under his bnkets, heart full, mind adrift with gratitude. Outside, the hush of a white Christmas Eve y over Camp Crystal Lake. The newly fallen snow sparkled under moonlight, the decorated tree standing watch in the courtyard, nterns extinguished but memory lingering. The night sky glowed with stars, as though celebrating the day's warmth despite the frosty air.

  In that quiet, Harry let out a final breath of contentment. He thought back to the person he had been, shivering in a cupboard under the stairs, believing no one would ever love him, let alone be a family to him. Now, here he was—cozy, cared for, and caring in return. He heard the distant creaks of the cabin settling, the soft shift of Jason in his bed, and the muffled hum of Pame humming some lulby. This was home. This was Christmas.

  The next morning would bring another day of tasks, living, loving, preparing for a future when they might open the camp to others. But for now, in this hush, the world shrank to just the three of them—a mother, her once-lost son, and an orphan boy turned beloved younger child. And in that closeness, with the swirling snow outside and the steady glow of love within, Harry drifted into the deepest, most peaceful sleep he had ever known, savoring every quiet minute of a Christmas that had finally brought him the warmth and family he deserved.

  He dreamed of evergreen boughs, tin ornaments rattling in a pyful breeze, and a gentle voice whispering, Merry Christmas, my angel. And that, indeed, was enough to make him believe in miracles.

  AN:

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