Harry Potter's Christmas Angel

"Harry Potter's Christmas Angel"
Chapter Four
"Annunciation"

Harry stared in complete shock at the angel who had called himself Clarence. His companion's appearance had not changed. He looked exactly the same as he had for the last few hours, ever since Harry had met him outside the tea room. He was still a young black man with long dreadlocks, wearing rainbow-colored clothes.

But it was Cedric Diggory! It was! And the strangest thing of all was that Harry could not understand why he hadn't recognized Cedric until now!

Of COURSE it's him!

Harry told himself. You IDIOT! How could you not recognize Cedric when he was standing right in front of you?

Clarence -- Cedric -- didn't seem to notice Harry's surprise. He smiled at the old woman who touched his face. "Hello, Aunt Sarah."

"Oh, Cedric." Mrs. Granville stepped forward and put her arms around Cedric's neck. She leaned her forehead against Cedric's shoulder, and he held her close in a reassuring manner. "Oh, my boy. You don't know what we've been through."

"I do know," Cedric said, calmly. "Believe me, I do. But it's going to be all right now. Things are going to get better. I promise."

"We've missed you so much," said Mrs. Granville, looking at him. "Amos and Evelyn and I...we were just devastated when you left us."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you. It just happened. I've missed you too. I'm sorry I caused you all such pain."

Cedric and Mrs. Granville held each other closely again. Harry looked away, feeling guilt and sadness well up inside him once more.

I was the one who caused them that pain,

he thought. It was my fault. My fault.

After a moment, Cedric said, "It's time to go now, Aunt Sarah."

Mrs. Granville looked down the slope to where her mortal body still lay on the riverbank. White snowflakes floated down and landed on the old woman's pale face, and on her red coat. The dusting of snowflakes seemed to give her body a strange kind of luminescence in the fading afternoon light. It glowed with a kind of reverence, Harry thought, as if the body were surrounded by lit candles at a wake.

The people on the riverbank stood solemnly around the body, as if they were keeping watch over it. The wizard Healer was going through Mrs. Granville's purse, probably searching for some sort of identification that would give her name and address. The plump, yellow-haired witch who had gone to fetch the Healer was blowing her nose with a handkerchief. Her husband, the wizard with the graying beard, stood beside her, holding a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders.

"What will happen to my body?" Mrs. Granville asked.

"The people here will take care of it," Cedric answered. "Dad will come up from Ottery St. Catchpole in a few days. He'll make sure that your body is buried in the Hogsmeade Cemetery, right next to Uncle Albert, like you always wanted."

He pointed to the mother of the little girl that Mrs. Granville had saved. She was still holding her child in her arms as she looked down at Mrs. Granville's body. Tears streamed down the mother's face.

"That woman," said Cedric, "her name is Mrs. Grimes. She'll handle all the funeral arrangements. She'll bring her children to your funeral, and she'll deliver a eulogy. She'll tell everyone how you saved her daughter's life."

"And the child?" asked Mrs. Granville.

"She'll always remember you. She'll try to emulate you in her life by helping others. As she grows up, she'll feel your presence now and then, like a shadow giving her small pushes in the right directions. You'll be her guardian angel."

Held tight in her mother's arms, the little girl looked up the riverbank through the falling snow. She was not crying now. Harry had a feeling that, among the people who stood on the bank, only the little girl could see Clarence and Mrs. Granville standing together at the top of the slope.

Mrs. Granville raised her hand and waved to the child. The little girl raised her small hand and waved back. Her mother, still weeping over Mrs. Granville's body, did not notice the wave.

"Aunt Sarah," Cedric whispered. "We must go."

Mrs. Granville turned away with a small sigh. "Where are we going?"

"Home." Cedric offered the old woman his arm. She took it, and he led her off through the woods. Harry followed.

* * *

They left Bailey Park and followed a snow-covered road that led up into the hills overlooking Hogsmeade. Mrs. Granville clung tightly to Cedric's arm. Harry trailed after them, keeping a short distance behind.

"You know, it's funny." Mrs. Granville fingered her red scarf as she spoke. "I mean...not that I'm complaining, you understand. I'm very glad to see you, Cedric. But...I would have thought that if anyone would have come for me on this day, it would have been Albert. We were married for fifty-four years, after all."

"Uncle Albert wanted to come," said Cedric, with a smile. "You have no idea how much he wanted to be here for you. But...well, it's rather difficult to explain, actually. He had something else he had to do today. He had to stand with 999 million, 999 thousand, 999 other angels on the head of a pin. It's one of those strange duties that they give us from time to time up in Heaven. And once they give it to you, it's very hard to get out of it. It's sort of like jury duty here on earth."

"But, don't worry," he continued. "Uncle Albert's very anxious to see you again. Before I left, he told me, 'Take good care of that old girl, Cedric. And tell her I'll soon be dancing with her again, just like we always used to do at Brixton's Dance Hall every Saturday night.'"

They came to a place where an old split-rail fence ran along the side of the road. On the other side of the fence was a weed-choked clearing that led to the Shrieking Shack. Mrs. Granville stopped and looked over the fence at the crumbling house.

"Oh my goodness," she said, softly. "This is where I grew up. When I was a little girl, my father owned this property. But that house...it's not the one I remember."

Standing behind her, Harry stared at the old building. The sun was sinking below the tops of the gnarled, black trees that stood behind the house. In the fading light, the Shrieking Shack was a sinister silhouette in the middle of a frosted field. The falling snow, landing on the slanted rooftop of the house, seemed to heighten its dismal appearance.

"Why don't we get a little closer," Cedric suggested.

He led Mrs. Granville to a place in the fence where a rail had fallen down. Cedric stepped across the gap, and reached back to help his aunt over the fallen rail. Together, they started across the yard. Harry stepped over the rail and followed.

"There was another house, here," Mrs. Granville said, as they approached the Shrieking Shack. "An old Victorian house. I remember it was a cold, drafty old place...but I still loved it. I grew up playing in this yard, climbing my father's apple trees. They're gone, now."

Harry was surprised to hear all this. He had never thought of the Shrieking Shack as being a home for someone. But then, he reminded himself, Mrs. Granville was describing a house that had existed before the Shrieking Shack. Still, it was strange to think that this place, so lifeless and full of decay, had once been a home to a family, and a place where a child had grown up.

"When I was twenty, the war came," Mrs. Granville continued. "I moved down to London to work in the hospitals there. My father couldn't afford to keep the house any longer, so he sold it...to a Mr. Wainwright, I think. But the man never did anything with the house. He just let it fall to pieces."

She looked up sadly at the boarded windows of the Shrieking Shack. "I came back to see the house once, after the war. It was falling down, infested with termites. I heard some people down in Hogsmeade say they wouldn't live in it as a ghost. When I saw the house, most of the windows were broken. The children in Hogsmeade used to come up here and play a game. They would make a wish, and toss a rock at the house. If they broke a window, they supposedly got their wish."

Mrs. Granville smiled slightly. "I'm ashamed to admit that I picked up a rock and threw it at the old house. I made a wish that people would leave it alone, that they would leave it in peace."

"Did your wish come true?" asked Cedric.

"Yes, because the following summer, the old house blew down in a storm. Only the foundation was left. A few years later, Mr. Wainwright sold the property."

They stopped before the front porch. Mrs. Granville gestured to the dilapidated house. "And whoever bought the land built this horrible thing! I can't understand why anyone would want to build such a terrible house. I've heard that a group of bad ghosts moved into it, and started haunting it. Their shrieks were so loud that people started calling it the Shrieking Shack. But lately, even the ghosts seem to have abandoned it."

Harry smiled, but said nothing. He knew that Professor Dumbledore had bought the property, and had built the Shrieking Shack to provide a refuge for his student, Remus Lupin. Every month, during the full moon, Lupin had come to the shack through a secret tunnel, so he could turn into a werewolf without putting anyone else at Hogwarts in danger. Lupin himself had provided the shrieks that had given the Shrieking Shack its name.

"Every time I've walked past this house, I've felt sad," said Mrs. Granville, "because I remember the house that was here before. I remember it...like it was yesterday."

The old woman stared at the crumbling house. And to Harry's surprise, the Shrieking Shack began to transform.

He watched in wonder as the holes in the walls slowly disappeared, replaced by full, brightly-painted panels of wood. The boarded-up windows changed and became sparkling panes of glass, with brand new shutters on their sides. A Victorian-style alcove with bay windows appeared on one corner of the house, topped by a cone-shaped roof. The broken steps on the front porch were transformed into sturdy wooden planks, and a white rose trellis suddenly appeared on one side of the porch.

Harry looked at Mrs. Granville. She was staring intently at the house. The old woman seemed to shine with a strange kind of magical energy.

She's doing this,

Harry realized. This is her memory. She's remaking the house as she knew it.

He looked back at the house. The Shrieking Shack was gone. In its place was the most beautiful Victorian home that Harry had ever seen. Welcoming lights glowed in the windows, and the fresh paint on the walls seemed to shimmer. White smoke puffed from a tall chimney on the roof, suggesting that a warm fire had been lit in the living room fireplace inside.

"That's the house that I remember," said Mrs. Granville.

"Why don't you go in?" Cedric told her. "Take a last look around. Take as much time as you want. I'll be waiting for you out here when you're done."

Mrs. Granville smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. She walked up the porch steps to the front door. Harry noticed that the door was set with a window of stained-glass panels.

The moment Mrs. Granville's hand touched the doorknob, the old woman disappeared. In her place was a small girl, about eight years old. The girl wore a red sweater, a brown skirt, and black leather shoes. Her hair was braided in long, brown pigtails, tied at the ends with red ribbons. Slung over her back was a set of schoolbooks, held together with a brown leather strap. Somehow, Harry understood that this little girl was the child that Mrs. Granville had once been, so many years ago.

"Mummy, I'm home!" the little girl shouted, as she opened the front door. She stepped inside the house and closed the door behind her.

The snow continued to fall, covering the roof of the house in a clean white layer. Occasionally, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of something inside the house, through one of the large bay windows -- a Christmas tree covered with ornaments, a tall, smiling, brown-haired woman in a yellow apron carrying a steaming white tureen with a ladle sticking out of it, a young boy in an old-fashioned formal wizard's robe -- the kind of robe that boys might have worn sixty or seventy years ago if they were taking a girl out to a ball or a dance -- standing awkwardly in the living room.

Harry and Cedric stood in silence outside the house. The shadows gathered around them, as the wind whistled softly in the trees. Behind them, at the bottom of the hill, lights began to appear in the town of Hogsmeade.

Finally, Harry turned to Cedric. "Clarence, huh?"

"Well, I always liked that old Muggle movie," Cedric explained, smiling. "Besides, if I'd told you who I really was, you wouldn't have believed me. You had to look with your heart, not with your mind, before you could recognize me."

"I should've known. That...greeting that you gave me, outside the tea room. That hand clasp, with the turn of the wrist. That's Cho's special greeting."

"Who do you think taught it to her?"

Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain stab through his heart. Once more, the images flashed through his mind. Cedric lying dead in the graveyard. His ghost emerging from Voldemort's wand. The tears in Amos Diggory's eyes. The grief in Evelyn Diggory's face. Cho Chang, crying at the Leaving Feast.

He looked at Cedric again. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything! I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. I'm sorry that I suggested that we take that stupid Triwizard Cup together! I'm sorry that you died, and I didn't -- yes, I know that's stupid, but that's what I feel! I'm sorry that I couldn't stop Voldemort for good when I was a baby! I'm sorry that..."

He stopped and shook his head, helplessly. "I'm just sorry that everything turned out so bad."

The snow floated down and landed in Cedric's hair, peppering his dreadlocks with white flakes. It gave Cedric's head a strange kind of halo effect. And yet in that moment, Harry thought, Cedric looked exactly like the young man that he had been not so long ago, when Harry had seen him walking the halls of Hogwarts with Cho on his arm.

"When are you going to stop beating yourself up over me, Harry?" Cedric asked, quietly. "When are you going to realize that what happened that night was not your fault? You couldn't have known what was going to happen when we took hold of the Triwizard Cup any more than I could have. And once we got to the graveyard, there was nothing you could have done to save me."

"No, that's not true," Harry protested. "I could have stopped the whole thing. You! Sirius! Voldemort coming back! I could have stopped it all. But I didn't! I failed!"

"How did you fail?"

"I let Peter Pettigrew go!" Harry gestured to the Victorian house. "It was right here! At the Shrieking Shack! Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were going to kill him. He deserved to die! He betrayed my parents, and he murdered a bunch of Muggles. But I asked Sirius and Remus to spare his life! And then he escaped from us! And he ran back to Voldemort and he helped his master to regain his body. And he murdered you, Cedric! I let Pettigrew go, and he murdered you with Voldemort's wand!"

"And Peter Pettigrew could have run anywhere in the world after you spared his life, Harry," Cedric said, deliberately. "No one else knew that he was still alive except you and your friends. He could have gone off into the wilderness and lived as a hermit for the rest of his days, without hurting anyone. Even if he'd never paid for his previous crimes, he still could have lived a better life than the one he had lived before."

"But no...he ran back to Voldemort. He chose to serve the side of evil. That was his choice, Harry, not yours. Even in the graveyard, when Voldemort told him to 'Kill the spare,' Pettigrew still could have refused the order, even if it meant losing his own life. But he chose to obey it. That makes him...and Voldemort...responsible for my murder. And some day, believe me, they will answer for it."

Cedric's dark eyes seemed to bore into Harry. "But you, my friend, are innocent. You had no hand in my death. So, for God's sake, stop blaming yourself simply because you survived and I didn't."

The wind blew against Harry's face, and he realized that his cheeks were wet. He wiped under his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I still feel terrible about what happened," he said, his voice cracking.

"Then grieve for me," said Cedric. "Seek justice for me. Avenge me, if you really must. But, please! Stop punishing yourself for crimes that you didn't commit. Nothing that Voldemort or any of his followers have ever done is in any way your fault. You've got to realize that, Harry."

The angel looked at the sky, and suddenly gave a soft laugh. "You know, it's funny. Voldemort doesn't know what a fool he is. He says he wants to 'conquer death.' And he'd like to do it by not dying. He's afraid of death, you see. He thinks of it as the ultimate end. And for him, it will be the end. Men like Voldemort, they cease to exist once they leave this earth. They let the worst emotions rule their lives -- anger, hatred, greed, avarice. And these emotions eat away at their souls like a virus, so that when they die, there's nothing left of their souls to pass over into the next world."

"Voldemort doesn't realize that in order to conquer death, you first have to conquer life. You have to live a life that's worth living. You must give of your soul as much as you take. Me, I had a short mortal life, but I did wondrous things with it. I grew up. I went to school at Hogwarts. I played Quidditch. I loved my parents. I loved Cho. I made some friends. I participated in the Triwizard Tournament. I didn't try to hurt anyone, or cause misery to anyone for my own benefit. I loved, and was loved. And when my mortal life ended, all the good things that were in me continued to exist. As short as my life was, it was still a significant one."

"It should have been longer," said Harry. "Cedric, you were only seventeen years old! You didn't deserve to die like that. There was so much more that you could have done with your life."

"Perhaps," Cedric said, grimly. "But the life we get is the life we get, Harry. And the fact is that some lives are shorter than others. There isn't anything that you or anyone else in this world can do to change that, no matter how hard you try."

"Why does God allow people like Voldemort to exist?" Harry asked. "Why does He allow evil people to exist in the world?"

"It's called 'free will,' Harry. Every person has it. God doesn't want us to be mindless slaves. He doesn't want us to follow the good path simply because He tells us to follow it. He wants us to choose to follow that path. And most of us do choose it. But in order to truly have that choice, we must also be free to choose the other path as well. And unfortunately, some people do choose to follow the path of evil. And when they do, it's usually the innocent who suffer."

"But if God is so all-powerful, why doesn't He step in and stop the evil-doers from hurting other people?"

"He does stop it, Harry. He stops it every day!"

"He does? How?!"

Cedric shook his head. He seemed almost amused that Harry didn't know the answer to this question.

"He sends people like you, mate!"

Harry felt as if an iron weight had dropped inside his stomach. He stared at Cedric, thunderstruck.

"Don't you get it?" Cedric asked. "People like you are His angels here on Earth. Whenever someone like you stands up against evil...whenever they fight back and refuse to let evil win...that is the moment when God steps in."

When Harry looked back on this conversation, some time later, he would think that there was only one other incident in his life that would compare with it. It was the moment that Hagrid had told him that he, Harry, was a wizard. In both cases, it was as if the final piece of a baffling puzzle had fallen into place, as if a great mystery that had bothered Harry all his life was suddenly explained.

"Yeah, but...we can't stop evil!" Harry exclaimed. "We can only stand by and watch it happen. We can't stop the murderer from committing the murder. We can only send him to prison after he kills someone!"

"No, Harry, that's not how it works at all," Cedric replied. "Didn't you learn anything from that movie, It's A Wonderful Life? That vision that the angel showed Jimmy Stewart -- that wasn't just what the world would have been like if he'd never been born. That was what the world would have been like without him in it! That vision of Pottersville -- the place where all the bad things happen, where the evil men have taken over -- that's what the world would be like without people like you in it, Harry...without the good people, the just people who stand up against evil."

"Don't you see? You can't stop every act of evil from happening. But when you stand up for what is right, you prevent more evil than you'll ever know. You can't always stop a murderer from committing a murder. But when you catch the murderer and send them to prison, that's a dozen more murders that they'll never commit! It's not a perfect system, I know. But it's the best that you can do in an imperfect world such as this. And it works far better than most people realize."

"You said it yourself, Harry!" said Cedric. "There are many people who are alive today because you stopped Voldemort when you were a baby. Think how many more lives you could save if you could stop Voldemort a second time!"

Stop him a second time?

Harry thought. How am I supposed to do that?

He sighed. "I don't know how to do it. All I've got are...fragments. Pieces of ancient magic. I don't know if any of it will work or not."

"Follow the fragments, Harry," Cedric said. "See where they lead. If they take you to what you need, keep looking. If you reach a dead end, go back. Try a new direction. If one form of magic doesn't work, try another. But never stop looking."

"Seek and ye shall find, my friend. Ask for help, and you shall receive it. Knock on doors, and they will be opened to you. It may be hard for you to knock on some of those doors, Harry. It may take every ounce of courage, and trust...and pride that you possess. But still, you must do it. If you truly wish to save those that you love from a world ruled by one such as Voldemort, then you owe it to them."

Harry knew exactly what Cedric was referring to. After a moment, he closed his eyes and nodded.

"Will I do it?" he asked. "Will I stop Voldemort a second time? Will I be able to defeat him, to kill him, as the prophecy says?"

"I honestly don't know," Cedric answered. "Contrary to popular belief, we angels can't see the future. We don't know what will happen -- tomorrow, next week, next year -- any more than you mortals do. But I know this much, Harry: You will never defeat Voldemort unless you start to believe that you can do it! You've got to have faith...in yourself, if nothing else."

"If you assume from the start that you can't win, that Voldemort is just too powerful, then you've already lost. But you saw today what you can do with just a small amount of the faith that lies within you, Harry. If you keep using that faith, there's no end to what you can do with it. If anyone on this earth can find a way to defeat Voldemort...it's you, my friend."

For a time, Harry and Cedric stood in silence again. Rosy red lights and soft blue and yellow colors glowed from the windows of the old Victorian house. Harry heard occasional sounds coming from inside -- the laughter of a family gathered around the dining room table, the same family singing a Christmas carol as someone played the piano in the parlor, a garbled voice (which, Harry thought, might have been Winston Churchill on the wireless) saying, "Give us the tools, and we will finish the job."

Through the living room window, Harry saw a ghostly image of a young woman, about twenty years old, dressed in a World War II-era nurse's uniform. As soon as he saw the young woman, he knew that it was Mrs. Granville as she had been many years ago.

"She's your aunt?" Harry asked.

"Great aunt, actually, on my mother's side." Cedric shrugged. "When I was growing up, she was as much a part of my family as my mother and father. She never had any children, so I guess I was like the grandson she never had."

"You told me at the Three Broomsticks that you were here to pick up a fellow angel and take them back to Heaven."

Cedric watched the young woman in the nurse's uniform who stood in the window. "She is an angel, Harry. Throughout her life, she's always been there for people who needed her. When the Blitz started, she went to London to serve as a nurse in the St. Mungo's Volunteer Brigade. Their job was to go out into the neighborhoods that had been hit by the bombs, to search for survivors and treat the wounded. They pulled wizards and Muggles out of the rubble, and cured them with their healing powers. If they were Muggles, they put Memory Charms on them so they would forget that they had been healed by magic. My aunt saved a great many lives during the war. And when it was over, she was the head nurse in the St. Mungo's children's wing for forty years. Oh, yes...she's an angel, if ever there was one."

Harry nodded towards the house. "What's she seeing in there now? Old memories?"

"Yes, she's looking back on the best days of her life. She's remembering all the people she knew, and the joy and love that they shared when they were together. It's a great thing to look back on a life that was filled with so many happy times."

Harry looked away from the window. He suddenly felt a new wave of blackness sweep through him.

"Yeah," he muttered. "It must be wonderful."

"Now, what's wrong?" Cedric asked.

"Maybe I'm just being selfish..." Harry began. He looked at his friend. "Is this to be my life, Cedric? Will I always be stuck in this...never-ending war with Voldemort, and people like him? Am I ever going to know any peace? Or will I just have to keep fighting for the rest of my life?"

Cedric pursed his lips, and seemed to think about this for a few moments.

"I don't know, Harry," he said at last. "As I said, we angels can't see the future. I don't know if you'll ever find the peace that you seek so desperately."

"I can tell you this. There are some people that come to this world who take on the burdens of others. They fight back against the evils of the world. They stand up for those who can't stand up for themselves. These people -- these crusaders -- are often the ones who make a difference. Thanks to them, hundreds, sometimes millions of people can live their lives as they should be able live them, without pain or sorrow. There's no telling how much suffering these crusaders prevent just by being on this earth."

The angel sighed. "But these crusaders very rarely find the peace and happiness that they bring to others. Often, the more they seek happiness, the less they find it. Sometimes, it's better if they don't even try to seek it. Sometimes, the best they can do is to spend their lives making sure that others will have the peace and happiness that they can never know."

Harry looked at the ground, sadly. "The truth hurts."

"Yes." Cedric smiled slightly. "But a very wise man once said, 'Ye shall know the truth, and when ye know it...the truth shall set you free.'"

Once more, Harry and Cedric without speaking for a time, watching the glowing lights from the windows of the old house, and the puffing white smoke from the chimney.

"Uhh, I guess I should ask," Harry said, "is there any message you'd like me to give to Cho?"

Cedric shook his head. "Don't worry about Cho. She's going to be fine. She's healing now. You helped her a great deal last year, with Dumbledore's Army. You helped her a lot more than you know."

Harry smiled. "Even if I couldn't replace you in her heart?"

"It's like she said, Harry. She will love again, eventually. She'll find someone who can make her happy, as I would have done. And when she does, then I'll come to her. I'll appear to her in a dream, a few nights before her wedding day. Oh, don't worry. She'll know it's me. I'll dance with her in her dream, as we did at the Yule Ball. I'll tell her that she has my blessing, and that she should build a life of love and happiness with her new husband. If she does that, I'll tell her, she will honor my memory."

"What about your mother, Cedric?" Harry asked. "Is there anything I can do to help her?"

"Don't worry about my Mum," Cedric replied. He nodded towards the house. "Aunt Sarah and I have one more stop to make after we leave here. We're going to pay a visit to the Closed Ward at St. Mungo's. I'll appear in my mother's dreams tonight. I'll tell her that I'm all right, and that she mustn't let the pain she feels overwhelm her love for me. Aunt Sarah will work one last bit of her healing magic...and then we'll go. And Mum will wake up on Christmas morning feeling a lot better."

Harry grinned. He could imagine Cho walking into the Closed Ward on the day after Christmas, and finding Mrs. Diggory awake and smiling, and glowing like a candle flame. "Are you sure that'll be enough, Cedric? Are you sure your Mum will get better?"

"She'll have to. Timothy is going to need her soon."

"Who's Timothy?"

"My little brother."

"I didn't know you had a little brother."

"I don't. Well...not yet. But he'll be along soon."

Harry stared at his friend. He smiled. "But I thought you said angels couldn't see the future."

"Well, normally we can't," said Cedric. He watched the falling snow as it tumbled from the sky. "But every now and then, we catch sight of a snowflake. We watch it as it floats down, and we can see where it will land."

The front door of the old house opened, and Mrs. Granville stepped out onto the porch. She was an old woman with white hair again, dressed in the same red coat as before. But still, Harry thought, she looked slightly different now, perhaps a bit younger. Many of the wrinkles had gone from her face, and her blue eyes were sparkling with merriment.

"I'm ready now, Cedric. Shall we go?"

"Yes, we should be going," Cedric replied. "We have one more place to visit tonight."

"I know," said Mrs. Granville, as she came down the front steps. "St. Mungo's. Won't Evelyn be surprised to see us?"

Cedric offered Mrs. Granville his arm once more. She took it, and together they walked back down the old path, away from the house. Harry followed.

They reached the entrance to the property. As they opened the crumbling front gate and walked through, Harry kept his attention focused on Cedric, walking in front of him. He did not look back at the house. Somehow he knew that as soon as they left the property, the old Victorian house would transform itself back into the Shrieking Shack.

Just for this moment, Harry decided, he wanted to remember the old Victorian house for what it had once been -- a house full of love and happiness.

* * *

"I know I'm going to hate myself for asking this," Harry said, as they strolled down the hill into the streets of Hogsmeade once more.

"For asking what?" asked Cedric.

"Well...earlier you said that the Number Two Question that people ask angels when they meet them is, 'What is Heaven like?' Just out of curiosity...what's the Number One Question?"

Cedric laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"Okay. The Number One Question that mortals ask angels when they meet them is, 'Does God really hate rock-and-roll music?'"

Harry blinked. "Oh, come on!"

"No, I swear! That's the most frequently asked question."

"So does God hate rock-and-roll music?"

"Of course not! He loves it!" Cedric shrugged. "Well...not the heavy stuff. Just a little Bob Dylan once in a while."

"I knew I was going to hate myself for asking," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

The old street lamps were lit in Hogsmeade, giving an eerie glow to the ever-falling snow. The earlier crowds of last-minute Christmas shoppers had thinned out. Only a handful of people remained, rushing through the streets with their arms laden with packages, heading home to their Christmas Eve dinners.

"I'm going to miss this old town, ever so much," said Mrs. Granville. "Will I ever come back here?"

"Oh, many times," Cedric told her. "Of course, no one here will be able to see you or hear you. But they'll feel your presence sometimes. You'll be like a Ghost of Christmas Past, hovering in the doorways, looking out at them through the knockers. You'll be the invisible hand that taps on their shoulder and makes them remember to look both ways before crossing the street. Or you'll be the voice in their ear that reminds them to bring home a bouquet of flowers for the wife, or a toy for their child's birthday. Oh, yes...you'll come back here many times, Aunt Sarah."

They stopped in front of the Three Broomsticks. Mrs. Granville looked around at the place where she had been knocked down earlier. "Well, here we are. Back where we started."

Cedric turned to Harry. "I have one more favor to ask of you, my friend."

"Anything," Harry said. "Just name it."

"It'll require your wand." Cedric nodded towards the Three Broomsticks. "Perhaps you should..."

"Right! I'll be right back!"

Harry opened the door of the tavern and walked in. The room was deserted of customers now, full of empty tables and chairs. Madam Rosmerta was wiping off the bar with a large white rag. She looked up as Harry came in.

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "Harry, what happened to your lip?"

"What?" Harry touched his lower lip. It had stopped bleeding, but he was surprised to discover that it had swelled up a bit since he had left the riverbank. "Oh, it's okay, Rosmerta. I was running through some woods today, and I fell and hit my mouth on a log."

"Would you like some ice?" Madam Rosmerta asked, as she came around the counter. "Or some murtlap essence? I think I have a bottle somewhere."

"No, it's all right. I'll have Madam Pomfrey look at it when I get back to Hogwarts. Listen, did you find my wand?"

The tavern keeper smiled. From the pocket of her apron, she pulled out Harry's wand. "I saw it lying on the table after you left. I figured you'd be back for it."

"Thank you." Harry told her, as he took his wand back.

Madam Rosmerta looked out the window to where Mrs. Granville was waiting with Cedric. "Oh, I see you found the old lady, again. Is she all right?"

"Yes, she'll be fine," said Harry. "Merry Christmas, Rosmerta."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

When Harry came back out onto the sidewalk, a tall, beefy cop -- one of the Hogsmeade police -- was standing on the curb, talking to Cedric. The policeman was dressed in a blue robe that resembled the uniform of a typical London bobby. He wore a shiny badge on his chest, polished brass buttons all down his front, and a thick leather belt with a huge buckle around his waist. On his head was a bullet-shaped policeman's derby. He was twirling a very thick magic wand with his fingers, the way a Muggle bobby might twirl his police baton.

The policeman scowled suspiciously at Cedric, his bushy brown moustache twitching under his nose. "What're ya doin' standin' around out here on th' sidewalk like this, young man? Don'tcha realize yer blockin' people's way?"

"It's all right, Bert," Cedric assured him, pleasantly. "We won't be long."

The policeman's black eyes narrowed. "Here now! How d'ya know my name? What're ya some kinda mind reader?"

Cedric pointed to the policeman's chest. "It's on your nametag."

The policeman looked down at the brass tag on his uniform, with the name "Bert" engraved on it. He looked away, sheepishly. "Oh...right."

Cedric turned to Harry. "Got your wand? Good."

"What do you need me to do?" Harry asked.

"Just stick it out like this." Cedric held out his arm, as if he were trying to thumb a ride.

"Like this?" Harry stuck out his wand. "But isn't that what you do when you want to hail the--?"

BANG!

A violently purple, triple-decker bus appeared out of thin air and screeched to a halt by the side of the curb. Harry and the others took a step back, startled.

"Knight Bus," Harry finished, bewildered.

The door of the Knight Bus opened and Stan Shunpike stepped out, dressed in his usual purple conductor's uniform. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport service for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your -- well, if it isn't 'Arry Potter!"

Stan grabbed Harry's arm and shook it with teeth-rattling force. "So good to see you again, 'Arry!" He turned to Harry's companion. "And Mr. Clarence! Nice to see you too! Will you be ridin' again with us tonight?"

"Yes, Stan," Cedric answered, with a grin. He nodded to Mrs. Granville. "Just one stop tonight. My friend and I are going to pay a little Christmas visit to St. Mungo's Hospital."

"St. Mungo's it is!" said Stan. "Shoulda known we'd be seein' you tonight, Mr. Clarence." He looked at Harry. "You shoulda been with us last Christmas Eve! We drove Mr. Clarence here clear round the island, from Portsmouth to Loch Lomond! Musta made firteen stops, droppin' off packages!"

"All right, all right!" Standing on the sidewalk, the Hogwarts policeman waved his thick wand down the street, gesturing for them to get a move on. "Quit loiterin' and load up! Yer bloody bus is blockin' the curb 'ere! Get movin', b'fore I give ya a ticket!"

"Oy, look hoo else is 'ere!" Stan Shunpike exclaimed. He called into the Knight Bus. "Hey, Ernie! It's Bert, the cop!"

Bert stuck his head into the doorway of the Knight Bus, and waved brusquely at the driver, Ernie Prang. "Hello, Ernie."

Ernie Prang waved back. "Ahrrr, Bert!"

"You're not going to take the Knight Bus all the way to Heaven, are you?" Harry asked Cedric.

"Oh, no," Cedric replied. "Just as far as St. Mungo's. There are easier ways to get to Heaven than the Knight Bus, Harry." He turned to Mrs. Granville once more. "Well, shall we go?"

"Yes, it's time," said Mrs. Granville. She stepped to Harry, and took his hands in hers. "Thank you so much, Harry Potter. For saving my life -- and the child's -- at the river. And for helping me to see how much my life was worth, even at the very end of it."

"Thank you, Sarah. If you hadn't run out onto the ice to save the child, I never would have known that I was capable of crossing that river."

Mrs. Granville stood on tiptoes and kissed Harry on the cheek. She stepped back, took a last long look around the streets of Hogsmeade, and walked to the door of the Knight Bus. Stan Shunpike took her arm and helped her up the stairs. "Right this way, miss. We got a seat waiting for you. Easy does it now."

Harry and Cedric looked at each other. Harry held out his hand, and Cedric grasped it in that "special greeting" of his.

"Listen," said Harry, "if you see my parents or Sirius Black on the Other Side, tell them...well, just tell them I love them all."

"Why should I?" Cedric asked.

Harry stared at him, startled.

"They already know, Harry. They feel your love for them every single day, every time you think of them."

"Right," Harry said, smiling. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Would you know me if you did?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes I think I would."

Cedric turned to board the Knight Bus. He took two steps up into the bus, and suddenly stopped. He turned in the doorway and leaned out, looking up the sidewalk one way, then down the other, as if he were expecting another passenger.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Harry," said Cedric," don't ask me how I know this. But your mother is in that shop right there!"

He pointed down the sidewalk to an ancient-looking storefront at the end of the street. Harry glanced at the shop, then looked at Cedric.

"My mother?! Are you serious?!"

"Yes! She's there, Harry! But you've got to hurry if you want to catch her! Go! Just go!"

His mind racing, Harry turned and ran towards the shop. Halfway there, he stopped and looked back at the Knight Bus.

Cedric was still standing in the doorway, his rainbow-colored coat flowing behind him in the wind. His dark face glowed in the light of the street lamps. Snow was still falling into his dreadlocks. He held up his hand and waved goodbye to Harry.

Harry waved back, breathlessly. Then Cedric stepped inside the Knight Bus, and the doors were shut behind him. Harry turned and ran towards the shop again. He heard a loud "BANG!" over his shoulder, and knew that Cedric and the Knight Bus were gone.

The sign on the door of the old shop read "Oddbody's Antiques." Harry opened the door and stepped inside.