Harry Potter's Christmas Angel

"Harry Potter's Christmas Angel"
Chapter Two
"Stuck In Pottersville"

"C'mon, Harry, wake up! There's a good lad!"

Harry felt something cold and wet being slapped across his cheeks. He opened his eyes. He was sitting upright against the outside wall of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Room, underneath the pin-striped awning. His vision was slightly blurry, but he could just make out a large, dark face about two feet in front of him.

"Where are my glasses?" Harry gasped.

"Here they are, old man. Sorry. 'Fraid I busted 'em."

The stranger handed Harry his glasses. Harry brought them up to his eyes and peered at them. Both lenses were cracked.

"Oh, that's okay," he stammered. "I can fix them."

He pulled his wand out of his pocket, pointed it at his glasses, and said, "Oculus Reparo." Instantly, the cracks in the lenses disappeared. Harry put his glasses on and looked at the stranger who had revived him.

The young man crouching beside him was about twenty years old. His skin was very black, and he had long, shoulder-length dreadlocks. At first, Harry thought it was Lee Jordan, Fred and George Weasley's friend, who had graduated from Hogwarts the previous year. But it was not. This young man's skin was much darker than Lee's, and his face was thinner. His body was slimmer, and, judging by the way his knees stuck out in front of him when he crouched, he was much taller than Lee.

He smiled at Harry. His teeth were white and very large, and there was an impish gleam in his dark brown eyes. Harry thought he resembled a younger version of the reggae singer Bob Marley.

A small crowd of witches and wizards had gathered on the sidewalk. They were staring down at Harry as he sat against the wall. The young man with the dreadlocks turned to them, his forearms still resting on his long thighs. "I think he's all right, folks. You can go about your last-minute shopping. Merry Christmas!"

The crowd of wizards broke up and moved away. The young man with the dreadlocks took hold of Harry's arm and helped him to his feet. Harry stood up, dizzily. His vision was still slightly blurry, and his cheeks were wet and cold. The young man had slapped a handful of snow across his face to revive him.

"That was quite a hit you took," said the young man. When he straightened up to his full height, his head almost touched the underside of the pin-striped awning. His voice was a deep baritone, with a crisp English accent. "Lucky you landed in a nice soft place."

He pointed to the snow bank on the edge of the sidewalk, where Harry had fallen. There was a perfect, almost cartoon-like impression of Harry's head, face (complete with glasses), arms, hands, and upper torso embedded in the snow.

Harry felt his chest and shoulders. The front of his cloak and the knees of his jeans were very damp. His shoulders hurt and his head was aching.

"You might be a bit sore for a few days," said the young man. "But I daresay, that'll wear off."

"What hit me?" Harry groaned, rubbing the top of his head.

"I'm afraid I did. Sorry, old chap. I came down a bit too fast, you see. I bounced off the awning, and...well, there you were."

The young man with the dreadlocks was dressed in a long, rainbow-striped coat that was opened to reveal a red, blue, and purple tie-dyed sweater underneath. He wore orange chinos and a pair of neon-green tennis shoes. On his hands were electric-blue woolen gloves with the fingertips cut off. It was the weirdest collection of garments that Harry had ever seen anyone wearing, with the exception of Dobby the House-Elf.

"What were you doing up on the awning?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I wasn't up on the awning." The young man reached up and pinched a section of canvas on the underside of the pin-striped awning. "I just bounced off it when I came down. I meant to land on it, you see. But this fabric is stretched rather tight. It was almost like hitting a trampoline. I came down too fast, bounced off the awning, and you just happened to be walking by underneath it at the time. Thanks!"

"Thanks for what?"

"Cushioning my fall!"

The young man suddenly clapped his long arm around Harry's shoulder and started to lead him vigorously down the street. "Now, come on,. I'm sure we've got a lot of places to go today. You know, it's funny! They told me that as soon as I came down, I'd bump into someone I knew. I didn't think they meant I'd literally bump into them!"

Harry extracted himself from the young man's incredibly-strong grip. "Whoa! Wait a second here!"

The young man stopped on the sidewalk. "Is something wrong?"

Harry stared at him, breathing hard. "Look, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but...are you an optical illusion, or am I seeing things?"

"Sorry?"

"Who are you? And how do you know my name?"

"Are you kidding? With that scar on your forehead..."

"Yeah, I know, but...you'd said you knew me. I don't remember ever meeting you before. I think I'd remember it if I had."

"Well, you were probably too drunk to remember," said the young man. "Don't worry. I'm sure it'll come to you eventually."

Harry gave his head a hard shake, trying to clear it. He nodded back towards Madam Puddifoot's Tea Room. "You said you landed on that awning? Landed from where? What were you doing? Skydiving without a parachute?"

The young man stood with his hands in his coat pockets and seemed to consider this question with some amusement for a few seconds. He smiled as if he liked the description. "You know, I've never thought of it that way before. But, yes! In a sense, that's exactly what I was doing. I came down from Heaven, you see?"

Harry blinked. "From...where?"

"From Heaven. You know? Heaven? The Pearly Gates? The Sweet Hereafter? The Last Roundup? The Great Cattle Ranch in the Sky? The Nirvana Mañana?"

"Oh, good God," Harry groaned.

"Nope," said the young man, grinning. "Just one of His many loyal servants."

Harry looked at him. "So you came down from Heaven? I guess that would make you...an angel?"

"Yes, I guess it would."

"Right. So what's your name, Mr. Angel?"

The young man stepped forward, and grabbed Harry's hand in a strong grip. He bent his elbow, and turned his wrist inward.

"You can just call me Clarence. Pleased to meet you...again."

"Clarence," Harry repeated. "Of course! What else could it be?" He looked the young man over. "Well, Clarence, you look like the kind of angel that I'd get."

"Oh, good! You've seen the movie. That'll save us some time. I won't have to explain as much to you."

"Don't bet on it." Harry said. He suddenly had a very strong desire to be somwhere else. "Look, I am not in the mood for this. So if you don't mind, I'll just say goodbye right now, okay? Goobye! And next time, watch where you're landing."

He turned and started walking down the street again. His head was throbbing, and every part of his body ached. When he looked back, he saw the young man named Clarence walking a few steps behind him.

Harry walked faster, trying to leave his pursuer behind. But it suddenly seemed as if iron weights had been attached to his arms and legs. He had been walking for hours even before Clarence had flattened him under the awning. Now, he seemed to be moving in slow motion. With his long legs, Clarence didn't even have to increase his pace to keep up with Harry.

Finally, Harry stopped and whirled around. "What are you doing?"

"I'm following you," Clarence replied, as if it should be obvious.

"Why?"

"Because they told me to."

"They told you to? Who told you to?"

Clarence answered by pointing up into the sky. "Y'see, they told me up in Heaven that as soon as I got to Earth, I'd run into someone that I'd met when I was here before. And he would be my guide for the day. When I came down off the awning, I landed on you. So I guess you're it."

"I'm...what?"

"My guide. I'm just supposed to follow you around all day. At least, that's what they told me in Heaven."

"But...if you're my Guiding Angel, then shouldn't you be guiding me?"

"I'm not a Guiding Angel, Harry," said Clarence. "I'm just an angel. Where we go today is entirely up to you."

"Oh, that's just great!" Harry exclaimed. "You mean to tell me that I don't even rate a Guiding Angel? Boy, that makes me feel really blessed in the sight of Heaven!"

Clarence smiled. "Sorry. It wasn't my decision to make. Came down from Upper Management, y'know."

"I don't have time for this," Harry insisted. "I've got better things to do today than serve as a tour guide for a street-corner screwball!"

"Better things? Like what?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply...but he couldn't think of any excuse to get himself away from this idiot. "I don't know! I'll find something better to do! Now, goodbye! I really have to go! Really!"

He started down the street again. Behind him, Clarence looked up at the sky. "I told you he wasn't going to like it!"

Harry paused and looked back at him. "Who were you talking to?"

Clarence pointed up at the sky again.

"Right," said Harry. He started walking once more. "Well...just tell them that they can find somebody else to be your guide for the day."

"Harry..." Clarence called after him.

"I don't want to hear it!" Harry shouted, over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Mr. Angel!"

"Harry, wait a minute."

"No!" Harry turned around, so that he was walking backwards. "I'm not going to spend the day dealing with somebody else's insanity! I've got plenty of my own to deal with, thank you!"

"Harry, will you look where you're going!"

CRASH! BANG!

Harry fell backwards over a group of trash cans that had been set out on the sidewalk. He landed hard on the pavement. Fortunately, most of the cans were empty, so he did not suddenly find himself covered in garbage.

Where did these cans come from?

Harry thought, dazed. They weren't here a minute ago!

The witches and wizards passing by on the sidewalk looked down at Harry with expressions ranging from amusement to curiosity to disgust. Clarence appeared, standing over him.

"You're really not having a very good day today, are you?" He reached down, took Harry's hand, and helped him to his feet, lifting him as easily as if he were picking up an empty suitcase. Harry leaned unsteadily against the wall of a nearby shop.

"Listen," said Clarence, "I know this bothers you, but I've got my orders."

"I don't give a damn about your orders," Harry growled. He tried to push past Clarence, but the young man with the dreadlocks put his arm up against the shop wall, stopping him.

"I know you don't," Clarence said. "But I'm an angel, and I can't refuse orders from Heaven. I'm supposed to stick with you for the rest of the day."

Harry had had enough. He yanked out his wand and pointed it directly in Clarence's face.

"Look, if you don't go away and leave me alone, I swear I'm going to -- !"

And then he froze.

In that moment, he had seen something in Clarence's face that instantly drove all the anger and hostility out of him. It passed from him in a sudden and dizzying wave, as if someone had pulled a plug inside him, allowing all the fury to drain out of his mind.

What he had seen in Clarence's face was something familiar! It was, Harry thought, as if he had almost recognized Clarence. In that instant, Harry was sure -- dead certain, beyond any doubt -- that he had met Clarence somewhere before. But for the life of him, he couldn't think where!

Clarence hadn't even blinked when Harry had pointed his wand at him. He seemed to have expected Harry to do this. He stood passively, a gentle look on his face, as if he were waiting for Harry to make up his mind about what to do next.

Harry lowered his wand, staring bewildered at the young man who claimed to be an angel.

"Who are you?"

Clarence removed his arm from the wall. "I told you, Harry. I'm an..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But who are you really? You're not a Death Eater, I know that. If you were, you'd've finished me off when I was lying unconscious back there under the awning." Harry looked at Clarence sharply. "Did Dumbledore send you?"

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I can't go anywhere outside of Hogwarts these days without Dumbledore sending someone out to tail me! Are you one of his people? Did he send you here to be my bodyguard?"

"I assure you, he didn't," Clarence answered. "Harry...everything that I've told you so far is the truth. I am an angel, and I did come from Heaven."

Suddenly, Harry felt very tired. His body hurt so much that he almost wished he could lay down on the sidewalk and go to sleep.

He looked at Clarence. This young man was probably just a run-of-the-mill street lunatic who thought he was an angel. He was annoying, but Harry couldn't sense any real evil or malice in him. And now he was asking Harry to be his "guide" for the day. But even that wasn't the strangest thing about all this.

The strangest thing, Harry realized -- the weirdest, most inexplicable, most unbelievable thing about all this -- was that he was actually going to agree to it! He couldn't explain it, but some part of himself -- some part that wasn't hurting, that was still thinking clearly -- told him that this was what he was supposed to do today. And that in itself made absolutely no sense at all!

All the same, it was going to happen! He, Harry Potter, was actually going to be the "guide" for this strange young man with the coat of many colors.

This is ridiculous,

Harry thought. Am I losing my marbles? I'm not actually going to DO this, am I?

"You said you're supposed to follow me around all day," he said, slowly. "Follow me where?"

"Anywhere," said Clarence, with a shrug.

"And what are we supposed to do while you're following me around?"

"Anything. Anything at all! As I said before, where we go and what we do today is entirely up to you, Harry."

Harry reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "All right...look. I'm going to go down to the Three Broomsticks and have a drink. I'm sore as hell since you used me for a human landing pad. You want to come along with me...fine! Do what you want to do! I'm too tired to argue anymore!"

"There you go," Clarence said, smiling. "Now, you see? That wasn't so hard."

"I must be going bloody bonkers!" Harry muttered, as they started down the street once more. He looked sideways at his new companion. "That's a strange outfit you're wearing. Kind of unusual attire for an angel, isn't it?

Clarence pulled at the lapels of his rainbow-striped coat. "What, this? Hah, this is nothing! You should see what the Cherubim and the Seraphim are wearing this year."

* * *

The Three Broomsticks was crowded with its usual mid-afternoon crowd of Christmas Eve shoppers, rowdy warlocks, cackling hags, and Hogwarts staff members. As Harry walked in, he nodded to Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey, who were sitting at a table enjoying a Christmas toast together.

"I haven't been here in a while," Clarence commented, looking around the room. "Still looks the same as I remember it."

"You don't have any money, do you?" Harry asked him.

"Oh, no. No, we don't use money in Heaven."

Harry nodded, as if he'd expected as much. "Comes in pretty handy down here, mate. Well, don't worry. This drink's on me."

They eased their way through the crowd to an empty table next to the fireplace. Harry sat down, pulling off his cloak and laying it over the back of his chair. Clarence, however, kept his long coat on. He seemed to be quite unaffected by the heat of the smoky room.

Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady of the Three Broomsticks, came over to the table, ready to take their order. She was dressed in a red velvet dress trimmed with white fur, and her cheeks were flushed. She had the look, Harry thought, of someone who was truly enjoying her day.

"Well, well! Mister Potter!" she said merrily. She looked at Harry's companion. "And you! Your name's Clarence, right?"

Clarence smiled. "Good to see you again, Madam Rosmerta."

Harry looked at the landlady. He pointed to Clarence. "You know him?"

"Well, he's been in here a few times before," said Rosmerta. "So what'll it be today, gentlemen?"

"Uh, just a hot butterbeer for me, please," Harry told her. He turned to Clarence. "And what'll you have?"

"You know what I'd really love?" said Clarence. "Some mulled wine. Heavy on the cinnamon, and light on the cloves." He kissed Madam Rosmerta's hand in a charming manner. "Off with you, my lady, and lively now."

"One mulled wine and one hot butterbeer coming up!" Madam Rosmerta moved off through the crowd, heading for the bar.

"Should an angel really be drinking wine?" Harry asked. "I mean...wouldn't they frown on that up in Heaven?"

"I said I was an angel, Harry," Clarence replied. "Not a saint."

"Right." Harry glanced around the tavern, then leaned in close to Clarence. "Listen, it might be a good idea if you didn't talk about being an angel in here."

"Why? Don't people believe in angels here?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Then why should they be surprised when they see one?"

"Okay, it was just a suggestion." With a sigh, Harry sat back in his chair. "I don't suppose there's any way you could prove to me that you're an angel?"

"How should I do that?" asked Clarence.

"Maybe you could perform a miracle?"

Clarence looked at the wizards and witches seated at the surrounding tables. "What kind of miracle could I perform in here that would convince you that I'm an angel? Should I levitate myself in midair? Vanish in a puff of smoke? Turn water into wine? We're sitting in a tavern full of miracle workers. Any of them could probably do the same. You could probably perform as many miracles as I could, Harry."

"Right. Sorry," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "It was a dumb idea."

"I guess you'll just have to decide for yourself if you believe I'm an angel."

"I believe that you believe that you're an angel."

"But you think there's room for doubt."

"I think you're out of your mind," Harry said frankly. He rubbed his temples. "Or maybe I'm the one who's crazy. I don't know, maybe I'm finally having that big mental breakdown that everybody's always expecting me to have."

Clarence took another look around the room. "How could you tell in a place like this?"

Madam Rosmerta returned with their drinks. She set a tankard of butterbeer and a brass goblet of mulled wine on the table. "There you go, boys. Enjoy!"

"Ta, Rosmerta," Clarence said, raising his goblet to her. The tavern keeper returned to the bar.

Harry lifted his tankard and took a long drink. The butterbeer was hot and sweet, and he felt the warmth of it seep through his body clear down to his toes, reviving him. All the aches he felt in his head and shoulders seemed to slowly evaporate.

As he set his tankard down, he glanced at the bar. Madam Rosmerta had just collected several Galleons from three elderly wizards, and was putting the money in the cash register. The bells on the register rang out with a loud "Ch-ching!"

Harry looked at Clarence. He pointed at the sound of the bells. "Was that--?"

Clarence shook his head. "No."

"Really?"

"Pure Hollywood."

"You mean, every time a bell rings, another angel doesn't get his wings?"

"Wings have gone out of style, Harry," said Clarence. "Angels don't use wings. Not anymore."

"What do you mean, they've 'gone out of style?'"

"Well, it's like this. Back in the early days...way, way back, when the world was young...every time God sent one of His angels down to Earth on a mission, He gave them wings. He wanted to make sure that people would know that the angels were not human, that they had come from Heaven, you see? So He gave them these big, fluffy wings so that people on Earth would sit up and pay attention when the angels delivered His messages. Then later on, God decided that it would be better if His angels could move around on Earth among His people without attracting attention. So He left the wings off the later models."

Harry shrugged. "Makes sense to me. So you're not here to earn your wings. Are you here to show me what the world would have been like if I'd never been born?"

"I don't think you need me to tell you that, Harry," Clarence said, thoughtfully. "I think you can figure that one out for yourself."

"Yes, I suppose I can," Harry said.

"Well, go on then," said Clarence. "Tell me. What do you think the world would be like now if you'd never been born?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"Well," he said, "I suppose Lord Voldemort would probably have kept on conquering the magic world. He would have taken over everything. He probably would have conquered the Muggle world as well. Maybe Neville Longbottom could have stopped him, but I doubt it."

"Neville Longbottom?" Clarence repeated. "Oh, that's right. Professor Trelawney's prophecy. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.' Neville was born at the end of July in the same year that you were born, right?"

Harry looked at him, startled. "How do you know about that?"

Clarence only smiled. "But you were saying about Lord Voldemort?"

For a few seconds, Harry didn't answer. He didn't know what surprised him more -- that Clarence knew about the prophecy, or that Clarence had no trouble with saying or hearing the name "Voldemort." Not many people in the wizard world could speak that name without choking on it, much less hear the name without cringing.

Who IS this guy?

Harry said to himself. He must be a member of the Order of the Phoenix. They were the only one's who knew about that prophecy. Unless he's really a Death Eater, after all! No, if he were a Death Eater, he wouldn't've said Voldemort's name just now.

What's wrong with me? I don't know this guy from Adam's off ox! And I'm sitting here talking with him about things I haven't told Ron or Hermione? This is crazy! I should just leave! That's what I'll do! I'll stand up and leave, right now!

"Harry?" Clarence waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "You awake?"

"Umm...well," Harry stammered. "I was saying...if I hadn't been born...Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters would probably be ruling the magic world today. They would have killed anyone who stood in their way. A lot of people I know would probably be dead by now."

"But you were born," said Clarence, "and you stopped Voldemort. A lot of people who would have been killed by him are still alive because of you."

"Yeah, I suppose." Harry was silent for a few moments. "But lately, I've been wondering. Did I really stop Voldemort? Or did I just set him back a few years? Voldemort's returned, you see. He's got his body back, and all his followers have come back to him. For a while, some of the Death Eaters were in Azkaban, but they escaped last summer. The Dementors are on Voldemort's side. And now it looks as if the giants are going to serve him as well."

"But people are still fighting back against him. He hasn't won yet, has he?"

"No, Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix are still fighting against the Death Eaters. But their resources are kind of limited. Right now, the members of the Order are spread out all over Europe, trying to take on every threat. And the Ministry of Magic's no help. They're just getting started in the fight. Now that Cornelius Fudge is gone and Amelia Bones is in charge, they've got a lot of catching up to do "

"What about you?"

"Me?" Harry sighed. "Well, I seem to be stuck in Pottersville."

Clarence raised his eyebrows. "Stuck in Pottersville? That's an interesting expression. Where do you get that one?"

Harry laughed, without much humor. "From the movie, of course! It's A Wonderful Life. Don't you remember what the villain's name was in that film?"

"It's been a while since I've seen it. What was his name again?"

"His name was Henry Potter!"

"Why yes, you're right!" exclaimed Clarence. "The mean old millionaire who controlled the town. He was played by Lionel Barrymore."

"The first time I saw that movie at my uncle's house, I didn't like it," Harry went on. "The villain's name was so close to mine, I thought he should be the hero. I mean, we even had the same initials. The first time you see Lionel Barrymore in the movie, he's riding in a horse-drawn carriage with the monogram 'HP' painted on the door."

He took a sip of his butterbeer. "While I was watching the movie, I kept thinking to myself, 'With a name like Henry Potter, he can't be all bad.' But of course he was. Then I thought, 'Well, maybe he'll be like Ebeneezer Scrooge, and turn into a good guy at the end of the movie.' But of course he didn't. I had to see the movie a second time, before I realized that Jimmy Stewart was supposed to be the hero."

"You saw it a second time?" Clarence asked.

"Well, it's kind of hard not to see it a second time. They show it about ten times a year every December on Muggle television. My Uncle Vernon didn't get the movie at all. He told me, 'You see there? Anyone named Potter is a rotten egg!' My cousin Dudley didn't like the movie because it was in black-and-white. He kept saying, 'Where's the color? Where's the bloody color?!'"

Clarence chuckled at this. "But what did you mean when you said that you seem to be stuck in Pottersville?"

"Well, in the movie," Harry explained, "when the angel shows Jimmy Stewart what the world would be like if he'd never been born, he goes back to his old home town, and it's been renamed 'Pottersville.' The whole town's been taken over by Henry Potter. And it's full of bars and dance halls and old boarding houses. It's the place where everything bad happens."

He closed his eyes, painfully. "And that's how I feel right now. I seem to be stuck in Pottersville, the place where all the bad things happen. And I don't know how to get out. I'm like Jimmy Stewart in reverse! Whatever I do seems to have a negative effect. I spare the life of a murderer, and he goes out and commits more murders. I save the life of an innocent man, and later, he dies trying to save me!"

Clarence was silent for a moment. "So what are you going to do about it? How are you going to get yourself out of Pottersville?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I don't know how to do it. The only thing I'm sure of is that jumping off a bridge isn't going to help."

"Well, that's good. I'm relieved to hear you say that."

"Relieved? Why relieved?"

"Because if you did try to jump off a bridge, then I'd probably have to jump off ahead of you, to stop you from doing it. Like the--"

"Right," said Harry. "Like the angel in the movie."

For a few moments, he listened to the crackling of the fire in the fireplace behind him. "So you're not here to earn your wings, or to show me what life would be like if I'd never been born. Why are you here, Clarence?"

"Well," Clarence replied, "I've been sent down on a sort of a retrieval mission. I'm supposed to pick up someone and take them back up to Heaven today."

Harry looked at Clarence, nervously. "Er...it's not me, is it?"

"Hmm." Clarence suddenly reached across the table and clapped the back of his hand against Harry's forehead, as if feeling for a temperature. He picked up Harry's arm and put his thumb against the side of Harry's wrist, as if checking for a pulse. Harry had the feeling that Clarence was fooling with him.

Finally, Clarence shook his head, grinning. He released Harry's arm. "Nope! It's not you. I hate to tell you this, Harry, but you're still alive. And you seem to be in perfect health, so I doubt you'll pass away before nightfall."

"Okaaaay," said Harry.

"No, the person I'm supposed to pick up today is another angel. They're finishing up their work here on Earth. And after they finish, I'll take them back up to Heaven."

"Well, then...shouldn't we be out looking for them now?"

"There's no need," Clarence assured him. "You see, after their work is finished, they'll seek me out and find me. And they'll recognize me as an angel. And then we'll leave together for Heaven."

"And you're just supposed to stick with me until that happens."

"That's right, Harry. I hope you don't mind being in the company of angels."

"No, I don't," Harry said. "It's a nice change, actually. Lately, all the new people I seem to meet are devils."

"Well, well!" said a familiar voice. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

Harry winced. "Speaking of devils."

Draco Malfoy pulled a chair up to Harry's table, smirking maliciously. He sat down opposite Harry and Clarence. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle pulled up a pair of stools and sat down on either side of Malfoy. All three boys were holding tankards of butterbeer.

"Shouldn't you be in the Hog's Head Pub?" Draco asked Harry. "I understand they welcome your type of riffraff down there."

"I don't remember inviting you to sit down here, Malfoy," Harry said coldly.

"Careful there, Potter," said Draco. "I can still give you detention, you know. I'm still a prefect."

"Yeah, and you're still a git."

Malfoy glanced around the room. "Where's your Mudblood friend, Granger? And the two red-headed Weasels? They're not with you today?"

Harry said nothing. His eyes were starting to burn.

"I see you've picked up a new friend." Malfoy looked at Clarence. "And who might this be?"

"Nice to meet you, Malfoy," Clarence said pleasantly. "My name's Clarence."

"Clarence," Malfoy repeated. "Yes, that's right. I think I've seen you in here before. That's a strange outfit you're wearing. Are those your real clothes, or did you get mugged by a gang of graffiti artists with spray-paint cans?"

Clarence looked at Harry. "Quite the charming conversationalist, isn't he?

"It's one of his most endearing qualities," Harry muttered.

"So tell me, Clarence," said Malfoy. "What sewer pipe did Potter find you crawling around in."

"Oh, I didn't come from a sewer pipe," Clarence answered. "I came down from Heaven."

Malfoy stared at Clarence. "You came from...where?"

Oh, no,

Harry thought.

"From Heaven," said Clarence. "I'm an angel, you see. You know, an angel?"

When Malfoy continued to stare at him, Clarence started to sing. "'Bum bum bum Haaaa--le-lu-jah! Haaaa--le-lu-jah!' That type of angel!"

Crabbe and Goyle turned away from the table, sniggering. Malfoy looked at Harry and burst out laughing. "Been picking up a few charity cases from the Psycho Ward at St. Mungo's, have we, Potter?"

"Don't pay any attention to him," Harry said, nodding wearily to Clarence. "He's just a big guy who never grew up."

Malfoy shook his head, grinning. "You always were a magnet for the lunatic fringe." He traced a finger around the rim of his tankard of butterbeer. "Speaking of St. Mungo's, did you hear the news about Cedric Diggory's mother?"

"I heard it. How did you hear about it, Malfoy?"

"Oh, my family still has a few friends at the hospital."

"Yes, that's right. Your dad used to make quite a few donations there. Tell me, is he still sending money to charity, now that he's a fugitive on the run?"

Malfoy ignored this. "From what I hear, Mrs. Diggory sits in her room in the Closed Ward all day. She doesn't cry. She doesn't speak. She doesn't even move, hardly. She just sits there staring at the blank wall, thinking of her poooooor dead son."

Harry felt his face begin to get hot.

"They can't get anything out of her," Malfoy continued. "Her mind has gone bye-bye, Potter. They don't know if she'll ever snap out of it. She's in a place far, far away, where no one can reach her."

He looked across the table at Harry. "Now, I wonder. Would she be in the Closed Ward right now if you hadn't suggested to Cedric that the two of you should take the Triwizard Cup together?"

Harry yanked out his magic wand and slammed it down on the table. He pivoted the wand under his hand so that the tip pointed at Malfoy, then Crabbe, then Goyle, then back at Malfoy again.

"You've got five seconds to stand up and walk out of this tavern, Malfoy," Harry snarled, "or I swear I'm going to give you the worst Christmas you've ever had!"

"Oh, no, Harry," Clarence said casually. "I don't think you will."

Harry looked at him. Clarence took a sip from his goblet of mulled wine. "I don't think you could give our friend Mr. Malfoy here the 'worst Christmas' he's ever had just by cursing him."

Malfoy was staring curiously at Clarence. Clarence smiled.

"I mean, let's face it, Draco. You've had some pretty bad Christmases, haven't you? Like the time when you were five years old, and you used your father's wand to try to light the family Christmas tree."

Malfoy's gray eyes widened in surprise.

"You set the tree on fire, didn't you?" Clarence continued. "Burned it to ashes. Burned up all the presents underneath the tree as well. Nearly burned the house down. Your parents were furious. They locked you in your room until after New Years. Now, that was a pretty bad Christmas, wasn't it?"

"H-h-how did you know about that?" Malfoy stammered.

"Or how about that time when you were six?" Clarence asked. "You were in the bath tub one night, just before Christmas, and you got soap in your eyes. So you jumped out of the tub and ran downstairs, stark naked, bawling for your Mummy. You ran into the parlor...and right into the middle of your mother's annual Christmas cocktail party! All her guests got a big kick out of seeing you there, didn't they?"

"Who...the hell...are you?" Draco growled.

Sitting beside Malfoy, Crabbe snickered. Malfoy whirled on him. "Shut up!"

"You should laugh, Vincent Crabbe," said Clarence. "After all, you've had a few bad Christmases yourself. I believe you were five years old when your mother baked her Christmas cookies one day. She took them out of the oven, and set them up on the kitchen counter to cool. Then she went upstairs to take a nap. While she was asleep, you crawled up on the counter and ate 27 of her famous rum balls. When your mother woke up and came back downstairs, you were stinking drunk. It took you three days to shake off the hangover."

Crabbe stared at Clarence in horror.

"And what about you, Gregory Goyle?" asked Clarence. "When you were four years old, your parents took you to a Muggle department store to meet Father Christmas. You were so scared of him that when you sat down on his lap, you wet your pants."

Gregory Goyle stood up and pointed across the table at Clarence. "Hah! That shows what you know! I didn't wet my pants! I threw up on Father Christmas!"

A ringing silence swept through the Three Broomsticks. Every witch and wizard in the tavern had turned to look at Gregory Goyle in shock. Goyle stood frozen, his finger still pointed across the table. His cheeks flushed as he slowly sat down again.

"So you see, Harry," said Clarence, "it would take more than simple curses and hexes to give Malfoy and his friends the worst Christmas they've ever had. A young man like Draco, here -- so full of hatred and jealousy, so steeped in his own self-loathing -- he makes his own misery at Christmas time. You could hardly do any better."

Malfoy's normally pale face had gone very red. "Would you like to step outside, Mr. Angel, and settle this?"

"Would you like to stay inside, Mr. Malfoy," Clarence replied, "and listen to me tell everyone about the time when you were eight, and you opened all the gifts under the Christmas tree three days before Christmas, while your parents were out for the evening."

Everyone at the surrounding tables was listening intently. Malfoy's enraged look changed to one of terror. "N-now, wait a minute!"

"You opened a present that contained a big black garment. You thought it was a new Quidditch robe that your father was giving to you. It turned out to be a sexy black lace negligée that he was giving to your mother." Clarence looked at Harry, and nodded to Malfoy. "But it still fit him pretty well when he tried it on."

"CHECK PLEASE!" Malfoy shouted, holding up his hand and signaling to Madam Rosmerta.

A ripple of laughter passed through the surrounding tables. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stood up from Harry's table and shoved their way through the tavern., their faces crimson. Halfway to the bar, Madam Rosmerta met Malfoy with his check. Malfoy reached into his pocket and shoved a few small coins into Rosmerta's hand. Then he turned and stomped for the door.

Harry chuckled and looked at Clarence. "How did you know all that stuff about Malfoy?"

"Let's just say I have a few friends in the right places as well," said Clarence.

Malfoy and his friends grabbed their cloaks from the wall pegs next to the front door. Harry and Clarence watched as they wrenched the door open and stormed out.

And then it happened.

There was a large bay window in the Three Broomsticks that faced out onto the street. As Harry and Clarence watched, a small old woman wearing a bright red coat and a scarf walked past the bay window on the sidewalk outside...just as Malfoy and his friends came barreling out of the tavern!

"OUT OF THE WAY, YOU OLD BAT!" Malfoy shouted.

Through the window, Harry saw Malfoy shove the old woman down. He heard the woman scream in fright as she fell backwards and disappeared beyond the window's edge. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle stepped over her and kept going.

"Oh, no!" Harry said. He set his tankard down on the table, grabbed his cloak from the back of his chair, and ran to the front door. Clarence stood up and followed him.

Outside the tavern, the old woman in the red coat lay on her back on the sidewalk. A few people nearby looked down at her, but no one move to help her. Malfoy and his friends were nowhere to be seen.

"Ma'am?" Harry asked, kneeling beside the old woman. "Are you all right?"

The old woman was conscious. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking dazed. "Wha -- what happened?"

"Are you in any pain? Can you stand up?"

"I -- yes, I think I can stand."

"Here, let us help you," said Clarence.

Harry and Clarence helped the old woman to her feet. She was small and thin, just a few inches shorter than Harry. Her wrinkled face was almost as white as her hair. Her long red coat was trimmed with black fur.

"Oh, dear," the woman kept saying. "Oh, dear."

"Ma'am, are you hurt?" Harry asked. "Would you like us to call a Healer?"

"No, no!" said the old woman. "No, I'm fine, really."

"Do you feel any pain at all?" Clarence asked.

"No, really, I'm all right." The woman was trembling, but seemed able to stand easily on her feet. She looked back over her shoulder in the direction that Malfoy and his friends had gone. "What on earth got into that young man, I wonder?"

Harry and Clarence looked at each other.

"I'm afraid I did," Clarence said. He smiled guiltily at Harry. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the black lace negligée."

The door of the Three Broomsticks opened, and Madam Rosmerta came running out. "I saw what happened! Is she all right? Did those boys hurt her?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied. "I think she's just a bit shaken up."

Madam Rosmerta looked at the old woman. "Ma'am, why don't you come into the tavern for a drink? It'll make you feel better."

"No, I'm fine," the old woman assured her. "Those boys just startled me."

Harry watched the old woman. Her eyes were focused on the ground. She seemed distracted, as if she were hardly aware that she had just been knocked down.

"Ma'am, are you sure you're all right? Are you in any trouble? Is there anything we can do to help you?"

She looked at him, then. Her eyes were liquid blue. There was a sadness in her face, Harry saw, some kind of deep-rooted sorrow that he couldn't quite measure.

"No, I'm all right, really," the old woman said again. "I'd better go. Thank you for helping me up."

She turned and walked away, unsteadily. Harry watched her as she crossed the street and kept going, passing the Owl Post Office.

"I saw what happened," said Madam Rosmerta. "I was busy serving a tray of drinks at Table Eight. Thank you, boys, for coming out here to help her."

"I can't believe Malfoy did that!" Harry growled.

"Well, I did send him off with a bee in his bonnet," said Clarence.

"Yeah, but still! He had no reason to walk out here and knock down an old lady!"

Madam Rosmerta nodded, angrily. "Harry's right! From now on, Malfoy and his friends are banned from the Three Broomsticks. He don't come in my place no more."

Harry looked at her. "How much do I owe you for our drinks, Rosmerta?"

The tavern keeper seemed to compose herself. After a moment, she smiled warmly at him. "Forget it. It's on the house. Merry Christmas, you two."

She turned and went back inside through the front door. Harry leaned against the wall of the tavern. "Now do you see what I mean?"

"What, you're going to blame yourself for this?" asked Clarence. "I was the one who ticked Malfoy off!"

"Yeah, but this is what I was talking about! Every time you try to fight back, the bad guy turns around and does something you don't expect. And innocent people get hurt -- like that old woman!"

Leaning against the wall, Harry looked down and noticed something lying on the sidewalk next to his feet. It was a red scarf. He reached down and picked it up.

"Was she wearing this when Malfoy pushed her down?"

Clarence looked at the scarf. "Yes, I think she had that around her neck. It must have fallen off when she fell down."

Harry looked down the street in the direction that the old woman had gone. She was nowhere to be seen. He looked at the scarf. It was made of red velvet, hand-stitched, with black fringe on both ends. On one edge of the scarf, the words "To my beloved Sarah" were embroidered in gold thread.

There was something was wrong with her. I could see it in her face. And it didn't have anything to do with Malfoy and his friends knocking her down.

"Come on," Harry said. "Maybe we can catch up with her."

* * *

Harry and Clarence searched the streets of Hogsmeade together, stopping in every shop. But no one in any of the places they stopped had seen an old lady in a red coat. They asked at Zonko's Joke Shop, Gladrags Wizardwear, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, and Honeydukes. They looked in the Apothecary, but the druggist, Mr. Gower, was too busy yelling at his delivery boy for failing to deliver an order to talk to them.

Harry even decided to check the Hog's Head Pub, although he doubted that the old woman would have any reason to go there. The only person in the tavern was a cherry-faced old man in shabby wizard's robes, who burst out the door of the pub in front of Harry and Clarence, and staggered drunkenly down the street singing, "Myyyyy Wild Irish Rose."

"Where could she have gone?" Harry grumbled, as they turned the corner onto Mercy Street. "I didn't think it would be this hard to find her. She wasn't moving that fast when she left us at the Three Broomsticks."

"If you don't mind my asking, Harry," said Clarence, "why are you so intent on giving this scarf back to the old lady yourself?"

Harry stopped walking and looked at the scarf in his hands. He showed it to Clarence. "Look at this inscription. 'To my beloved Sarah.' Somebody gave her this scarf. Maybe her husband. Look how worn it is. It's obviously something that was very important to her."

"Yes, but what I mean is, you could've just left it at the Three Broomsticks. She'd probably have come back for it eventually."

"I don't know," Harry said irritably. "I just...there was something wrong with her. She seemed...sad, somehow. And it wasn't because Malfoy and his friends shoved her down. I -- "

He stopped suddenly. "Maybe that's why I'm doing this! Maybe I'm just pissed at Malfoy for knocking her over! I mean, why do people like him always seem to get away with stuff like that? What kind of world is this where Malfoy can just walk all over other people and nobody gives a damn? And it's not just that! There were a dozen people standing outside the tavern, and nobody tried to help the old lady! She was lying on the sidewalk, and everybody just stood there, for God's sake! What the hell is the matter with people? Doesn't anybody care anymore? You're the angel, Clarence! You tell me!"

Clarence only looked at him, sympathetically. "You really are in nine kinds of pain, aren't you, my friend?"

Harry took a deep breath. He put his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck. Looking up, he saw the gray clouds, still thickening in the sky above the street.

Oh, bloody hell! Isn't it ever going to snow today?

he thought.

A strange sound suddenly reached his ears. A group of high-pitched voices was singing nearby. It sounded to Harry like the first-year choir on helium.

"Deck us all with Boston Charlie
Walla Walla, Wash. and Kalamazoo!
Nora's freezing on the trolley
Swaller dollar cauliflower, Alle-garoo!

"What the--?" Harry looked down the street, and was surprised to see a chorus of about twenty house-elves, standing together on a raised platform on the sidewalk. The elves all wore tea towel uniforms stamped with the Hogwarts crest and tied like a toga. Their arms and legs were bare, but none of them seemed to be bothered by the cold weather. The leader of the house-elf choir stood on a soap box in front of the platform, directing the singers with a small baton. He was dressed differently from the others, in an orange-and-purple sweater, a pair of yellow children's slacks, and two mismatched boots, one bright red, the other lime green. On his head was a zebra-striped stocking cap with a tassel on the end.

"It can't be," said Harry.

As he and Clarence walked up to the house-elf choir, the lead elf rapped on the music stand in front of him with his baton. "Hold! Hold a minute, mates! You is forgettin' the harmony again!"

"Dobby?" Harry exclaimed.

The house-elf turned. Immediately, he grabbed Harry's hand in a crushing grip.

"Harry Potter, sir! So good to see you again! Merry Christmas!" He looked at Harry's companion. "And Mr. Clarence! Merry Christmas to you, too, sir!"

"Hello, Dobby!" Clarence shook hands with the house-elf. He didn't even wince at Dobby's firm handshake.

"Dobby," Harry said surprised, "you and Clarence know each other?"

"Of course, sir," Dobby answered. "Mr. Clarence and me, we has the same tailor! Ziggy Brummel's of Peacockle Lane, Mayfair."

Harry looked back and forth between the house-elf and the young man in rainbow-colored clothes who claimed to be an angel. He nodded, grinning.

"Right, I should've known. So, Dobby, what are you and your friends doing out here on the street corner, giving a concert?"

"Oh, we is collecting donations, sir!" Dobby pointed to a large brass kettle, mounted on a stand next to the choir platform. A sign hung on the kettle said, "Give."

"Donations?" Harry asked. "I thought house-elves didn't have any use for money." As far as he knew, Dobby was still the only house-elf at Hogwarts who accepted any kind of payment for his work there.

"Oh, most of us doesn't, sir," said Dobby. "But we knows that people has a use for it sometimes. That's why all the donations we collects today is going to the Children's Wing of St. Mungo's Hospital!"

Clarence smiled. "That's great, Dobby. Very noble of you and your friends."

Dobby suddenly looked disheartened. "Noble, yes, sir. But if you takes a look in our pot, sir, you sees that people hasn't been too generous today."

Harry looked in the brass pot. He saw only a few bronze Knuts and a lonely pair of silver Sickles lying at the bottom. "Oh, gee. That's too bad. What do you think the problem is, Dobby?"

"'Tis the very end of the Christmas rush, sir," Dobby explained. He pointed to the witches and wizards hurrying past them on the sidewalk. "People is runnin' around, y'see, tryin' to get their last-minute shopping done. They ain't got time to tarry, much less to stop and put a Galleon in the tin. 'Course most of 'em has been givin' an' givin' to charities for weeks now, and they is just about all gived out."

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a Galleon. "Well, for what it's worth, Dobby, I'd be glad to make a donation."

"Uh, just a second, Harry," said Clarence. "Before you do that, let me make a little contribution of my own. You know, Dobby, an angel's touch can work miracles, especially when it comes to charity."

Dobby's bat-like ears perked up. "Oh, yes, sir! Would you, Mr. Clarence, sir?"

"My pleasure!" Clarence held his gloved hands over the brass pot. He waggled his fingers, as if casting a spell. "For every Galleon that someone drops into this pot, let someone else drop in another, until it is full. For charity's sake, I ask this!"

He turned to the house-elf. "Now, Dobby, we need the right carol to put people into the giving spirit. They need to feel festive and joyous so they can truly express their generosity. If you would allow me..."

Dobby held out his conductor's baton to Clarence. "Oh, of course, Mr. Clarence, sir! Be my guest!"

Clarence took the baton and turned to the house-elf choir. "My friends, I'm sure you all remember the Christmas song that Auntie Mame taught you?"

The house-elves looked at each other questioningly for a moment. Then their faces lit up and their ears perked with recognition.

"Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Clarence, sir!"

they shouted in unison.

"Very good, then," said Clarence. "Harry, you be ready to drop that Galleon in when I give you the signal."

Dobby produced a small harmonica from his coat pocket and blew on it in the key of G. Clarence waved his baton, and the house-elves began to sing vigorously:

"Roll out the holly!
Put up the tree before my...spirit falls again!
Hang up the stockings!
I may be rushing things but...deck the halls again
Noooooooooooooow!"

"Two, three!" shouted Clarence

"For we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute!
Carols in the moonlight!
Candles on the spinnet!

Yes we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute..."

It was one of the strangest sights that Harry had ever seen in Hogsmeade, a house-elf choir being led by a self-proclaimed "angel" in rainbow-colored clothes. Clarence waved his baton with great passion, grinning broadly. The house-elves sang with all their might, their high-pitched voices carrying harmoniously down the street through the cold December air.

As the choir continued to sing, Clarence nodded to Harry, who stepped forward and dropped his Galleon into the brass kettle. Before his coin even hit the bottom, another passer-by had dropped a Galleon into the pot. Harry watched in amazement as every witch and wizard who passed by the house-elf choir on the sidewalk reached into their pockets and tossed a Galleon into the kettle. Some of the givers seemed hardly aware that they were giving at all. One distracted wizard tried to drop in a Galleon and missed the edge of the kettle completely. To Harry's surprise, the Galleon struck the pavement, bounced three feet in the air, and landed inside the kettle. The wizard who had dropped the Galleon walked away, not noticing anything. The house-elf choir kept singing.

"Yes we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute
Need a little Christmas NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!"

By the time the song finished, the kettle was one-quarter full of Galleons. Witches and wizards were still dropping coins into the kettle as they walked by. Harry was sure that it would be full of coins in a very short time.

"You see, Dobby?" said Clarence. "It just takes the right song -- and a bit of angel magic -- to put people in a giving mood!"

Dobby's eyes leaked tears of joy. "Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Clarence, sir!"

A sudden thought struck Harry. He looked at the red scarf he was holding.

"Dobby, you didn't by any chance see a small old woman pass this way?" he asked. "She was wearing a red coat. She dropped this scarf outside the Three Broomsticks, and...well, Clarence and I are trying to return it to her."

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter, sir! We saw her! She passed by here about ten minutes before you and Mr. Clarence showed up! Looked rather sad, she did!"

"That's great, Dobby!" Harry said. "Er...I mean...we've been looking for her everywhere. Did you happen to see which way she went?"

Dobby turned to his house-elf choir. "Tell 'im, boys!"

All the members of the house-elf choir pointed at once down the street, towards a pair of stone pillars that marked the entrance to Bailey Park. The house-elves began to sing again:

"Oh, she went that way, that way, that way, THAT WAY!
Straight to the park!
Yes, she went that way, that way, that way, THAT WAY!
Just for a lark!

[Here, the house-elves pointed randomly around the street.]
She didn't go this way, this way, this way, THIS WAY!
[They pointed back to the Bailey Park entrance.]
No, she went THAT WAY!
Merry Christmas, Harry Potter!
Have a Merry Christmas Daaaaaaaaaaay!

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said laughing, as the house-elves finished their chorus. "Thank you all!"

Clarence handed Dobby his baton again. "Now, Dobby, you and your friends keep singing until that kettle is full."

"Oh, we will, sir, we will!" Dobby promised. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Clarence. Goodbye, Harry Potter, sir!"

As Harry and Clarence started down the street, Dobby rapped on his music stand with his baton once more. "All right, boys! Let's take it from the top!"

The house-elves began to sing again:

Duck us all in bowls of barley,
Ninky dinky dink an' polly voo!
Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Double-bubble, toyland trouble! View Halloo!

"Don't worry," Clarence said to Harry, as they walked towards the Bailey Park entrance. "They'll get it right, eventually."