Harry Potter's Christmas Angel

"Harry Potter's Christmas Angel"
Chapter Five
"Ascension"

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

He found himself in a small, cramped room that resembled a disorganized museum. The shelves along the walls on both sides of the room were crammed with magical antiques. In between the shelves stood a number of glass display cases stuffed with old trinkets, collectibles, and odd knick-knacks. In the center of the room was a holiday display of three small Christmas trees hung with magical ornaments, surrounded by pedestals exhibiting Christmas curios. Along the back wall of the shop was a long wooden counter, with an ancient cash register sitting on it. An open door behind the counter led into the back of the shop. A large sign on the front of the counter read: "WE DO NOT BUY OR SELL DARK ARTS ANTIQUES OF ANY KIND."

A portly wizard dressed in purple robes stood behind the counter. Harry guessed that this was Mr. Oddbody. The proprietor of the antique store had a shock of white hair, a chubby red face, and wire-rimmed spectacles on the end of his thin nose. He was chatting with a customer, a tall, prim-looking wizard with a black moustache, who wore a gray suit and held a tightly-rolled umbrella under his arm.

Harry looked around the shop, bewildered. The proprietor and the wizard in the gray flannel suit were the only two people in the antique store. There was no sign of Lily Potter anywhere.

"Can I help you, young man?" Mr. Oddbody asked, smiling.

"Er...yes," Harry stammered. "Was there a...did you see a red-haired woman come in here within the past few minutes?"

"A red-haired woman?" Mr. Oddbody thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I haven't seen anyone like that today. At least, no one with red hair has come into the shop since I opened this morning."

"Oka-ay," Harry said. He glanced around the shop again. Could Cedric have been mistaken? He wasn't kidding with me, was he? Angels don't lie...do they?

The shopkeeper was looking at Harry with his brow wrinked. "I say, young fellow, are you all right? Would you like me to call a Healer for you?"

"A Healer?" Harry asked, confused. "Uhh...no. Why?"

"Your lip is cut," said Mr. Oddbody, touching his mouth with a forefinger. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. He felt his swollen lower lip. "No. No, I'm fine. I took a fall in the woods today, and I bumped my mouth on a log. But it's fine, really."

Mr. Oddbody looked as if he half-believed Harry.

"Um, if you don't mind," Harry said, "I'll just look around the store for a few minutes. I promise not to touch anything."

"Well...all right," said Mr. Oddbody, skeptically. He pulled out a small gold pocket watch on a chain and looked at it. "But don't be long, please. I'm closing in ten minutes." He went back to chatting with the man in the gray suit.

Harry turned and looked out the storefront window at the sidewalk outside, where he had last seen Cedric, boarding the Knight Bus.

Maybe he got the timing wrong

. Maybe he meant to say that my mother WOULD be in this shop after I got here? Of course, what am I really expecting here? That my long-dead mother is suddenly going to open the door and walk into this shop, right out of the blue?

For a few moments, he watched the storefront window. Several people passed by on the lamplit sidewalk outside, but no one came into the shop.

Harry looked around the room once more. I'm missing something here. Cedric wouldn't have lied. My mother is here somewhere. I can feel it. I just have to look in the right place.

He began to walk around the store, carefully examining the contents of the shelves and the display cases. There was a shelf full of strange magical devices, the kind of instruments that Harry had often seen in Professor Dumbledore's office. Another shelf was stacked with old crystal balls, telescopes, lunascopes, sextants, brass scales, pewter cauldrons, and turntables of empty crystal phials, the kind used to store potion ingredients. There was a glass case filled with amulets, jewelry, medallions, cufflinks, old coins, watches, pocket knives, ashtrays, cigarette cases, smoking pipes with elaborately-carved bowls, and small magical devices such as Put-Outers and Remembralls.

Harry strolled around the Christmas display in the center of the room. On the other side of the shop, he found a shelf filled with tableware: China plates, teapots, soup tureens, a gravy boat, salt and pepper shakers, cream pitchers, and butter dishes. There was a rack of old wizard robes and cloaks, and next to it, a tall clock like the one that the Weasley family had in their house, with hands that pointed to descriptions of where a person might be at a certain time of day. The descriptions on the clock face included the usual "home," "work," and "traveling," but also "Mars," Graceland," "Where No Man Has Gone Before," and "Aaaaaaaaaaugh!!"

On a nearby display case, a large black bird, a raven, sat motionless. At first, Harry thought that the bird might have been stuffed and mounted. But as he approached it, the raven suddenly sprang to life, whirling on Harry and crying at him. "Krawwwk! Krawwwk!"

"Come here, Jimmy," said Mr. Oddbody. The raven took off and flew to the counter, landing on the cash register. The shopkeeper and the wizard in the gray suit were discussing the price of a lacquered snuff box.

Harry looked inside the display case. It was crammed with collectibles and magical oddities. There was a school lunchbox with moving images of the Tornadoes Quidditch team; a jumble of Quidditch cards with moving pictures of the players; and several model figures of Quidditch players, the kind of figures that Ron Weasley had once collected. There were back issues of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, a few of the Wizard cards that normally came with Chocolate Frogs, a Wizard chess set, and a Gobstones set. There was even a ship encased in a glass bottle, a model of the old tea clipper Cutty Sark, with tall masts and white sails that billowed and rippled inside the bottle, as if they were being blown by a sea breeze.

Keep looking,

Harry told himself. She's here somewhere. Just keep looking.

"Now, you said you were also looking for a silver cauldron ladle?" said Mr. Oddbody to the wizard in the gray suit.

"Yes, I thought it might make a nice gift for my wife," the wizard replied, in a deep English voice.

"Well, I have several on display over here." Mr. Oddbody came around the front of the counter and walked to a glass case, next to the Christmas display. The wizard in the gray suit followed, his rolled umbrella still tucked under his arm.

Harry examined a shelf full of imported items: German beer tankards, Russian tea sets, Egyptian cat statues, an Arabian hookah, Chinese dishes, and African masks. There was an enormous blue vase with moving images of Japanese cranes flying past a pagoda, and an oil lamp that looked as if a genie might pop out of it if you rubbed it. Another shelf held a display of tacky ornamental plates of the kind that Dolores Umbridge had collected, each decorated with a large moving image of a cute little animal-kittens playing with balls of string, lambs leaping across a grassy meadow, etc.

Another shelf held a collection of books-old household spell books, wizard cookbooks, and a copy of Magical Me by Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry chuckled as he noticed that the book had originally been offered, used, for seven Galleons, but had been marked down to three Galleons, then to eleven Sickles, and was now being offered for five Knuts.

But he still couldn't find anything in this shop that had any kind of connection to Lily Potter.

Keep looking

, Harry thought. What did Cedric say? "Look with your heart, not with your mind."

On the opposite side of the room, Mr. Oddbody pointed to the display case. "I believe the ladle on the left was made by LaSalle's in Belgium. As you can see, it's of very fine quality."

The wizard in the gray suit bent over to take a closer look at the cauldron ladle. "Oh, yes. May I see it, please?"

Harry looked at a shelf marked "Muggle Oddities," which featured items that Arthur Weasley would have found interesting. There was an electric coffee grinder, a computer keyboard, a commemorative plate with a non-moving picture of the Beatles, a bust of Elvis, an ashtray with the face of Marilyn Monroe, a burnt-out light bulb, and a power drill which, to Harry's surprise, was from Grunnings, the company where his Uncle Vernon was employed.

As he turned from the shelf, Harry saw the wizard in the gray suit crouching next to the display case. Mr. Oddbody reached inside the case and pulled out the silver cauldron ladle that the wizard had been looking at. The wizard stood up and took a few steps back towards the Christmas display, his rolled umbrella sticking out from under his arm like a unicorn's horn.

There was a large white porcelain figure sitting on a pedestal, next to the display of Christmas trees. Harry saw that the silver tip of the wizard's umbrella was about to knock over the porcelain figure.

"Hey, watch out!"

The tip of the wizard's umbrella hit the porcelain figure and knocked it off the pedestal. Harry jumped forward and dropped to his knees. He shoved his hands under the falling figure, catching it just before it hit the tile floor.

The wizard in the gray suit turned. "Oh, dear! Did I break something?"

"No, it's okay," Harry said, as he got to his feet. "I caught it."

"Oh, goodness!" Mr. Oddbody came around from the other side of the display case, holding the silver cauldron ladle. "Thank you, young man!"

The wizard in the gray suit sheepishly pulled his rolled umbrella out from under his arm, holding it by the curved wooden handle. "I'm terribly sorry! I should be more careful in a place like this."

"Well, no harm done." Mr. Oddbody smiled at Harry. "You've got very quick hands, son. Did you ever think of playing Quidditch? You'd make an excellent Seeker."

"Yeah, people tell me that a lot," Harry said, grinning.

The shopkeeper pointed to the porcelain figure in Harry's hands. "It's a good thing you caught that. I'd've hated to see that angel get broken!"

Angel?

Harry thought.

He looked at the figure he was holding. It was a Christmas angel, the kind of figure that might be placed on top of a Christmas tree. The angel's hands were folded in prayer, and a large pair of white wings stuck out behind its back. It was dressed a beautiful white gown, made of real cloth, that had been sewn onto the porcelain cone that made up the angel's lower body.

Mr. Oddbody turned to his customer. "Now, sir. You wanted to take a look at this."

The wizard in the gray suit stepped forward to examine the cauldron ladle. "Yes, yes. Oh, I see. Yes, it is very nice."

Harry replaced the porcelain angel on the display pedestal. Its face, he noticed, was very lifelike. It was framed in a halo of dark red hair, with a light blush painted on its cheeks. The angel smiled, but there was a sadness in her expression as well. A strange blend of happiness and sorrow seemed to shine together at once in her green eyes.

Her eyes are just like mine!

An electric shock ran through Harry's body. He stared at the face of the porcelain angel.

It was his mother's face!

It can't be!

Harry thought. It CAN'T be!

He blinked and looked at the angel again. The red hair. The green eyes. It was definitely his mother's face, exactly as he had seen it so many years ago, reflected in the Mirror of Erised.

How? How on earth...?

Mr. Oddbody had returned to the counter, and was now wrapping the silver cauldron ladle in a long box for the wizard in the gray suit. The wizard paid for his purchase, and picked up his packages. As he walked to the front door, he said to Harry. "Merry Christmas, young fellow."

"Merry Christmas," Harry muttered, without taking his eyes off the angel. The wizard in the gray suit opened the front door and went out.

"I'm about to close up, my friend," said Mr. Oddbody. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes." Harry carefully picked up the porcelain angel again. "I want to buy this."

The shopkeeper looked at Harry, surprised. "You...you actually want to buy that figure?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Is there something wrong?"

Mr. Oddbody shook his head. "Oh, no. No, there's nothing wrong. Bring it over here and I'll ring it up for you."

Harry brought the porcelain angel to the counter. Mr. Oddbody checked the small price tag that hung on a string around the angel's neck. "It's ten Galleons."

Thank God, I've got just enough,

Harry thought, pulling out his wallet.

"Would you like me to put it in a box for you, and wrap it in Christmas paper?" Mr. Oddbody asked, setting the porcelain angel on the counter.

"Er, you could put it in a box, but you don't need to wrap it," Harry said. "Make sure there's plenty of...you know, plenty of paper in the box, so the angel doesn't move around in there."

"Yes, of course." Mr. Oddbody pulled a white cardboard box out from under the counter, and began filling it with crumpled tissue paper.

Harry quickly counted out his money. As he put the last Galleon in his wallet on the counter, he noticed that Mr. Oddbody was staring at the porcelain angel again.

"Um...is there something wrong with this angel?" Harry asked. "You seem so surprised that I want to buy it. Is it damaged or broken, maybe?"

"No, no. It's perfectly fine." Mr. Oddbody smiled. He picked up the angel once more. "To tell the truth, I'm a bit sad to see it go. This porcelain figure has been sitting in my shop for the last twelve years?"

"Twelve years?"

"Yes. As you can see, it's a very fine piece of porcelain work. The face is so lifelike. But it's somewhat unique. I don't think I've ever come across another Christmas tree angel with red hair and green eyes. Have you ever seen a figure like this?"

Harry shook his head.

"It's such a fine piece," Mr. Oddbody continued, looking at the angel. "I'd've thought that somebody would've come along and bought it long before now. But every year, at the start of the Christmas season, I put it out on display with the rest of the Christmas items. And every year when New Year's is over, I take it back to the storage room and leave it there for another year."

The shopkeeper set the angel on the counter again. "It's almost as if it didn't want to be bought. As if it was waiting for just the right person to come along and buy it."

He looked at Harry. "You said earlier that you were looking for a woman with red hair. Was this angel the person that you were looking for?"

Harry sighed. "Would you believe that it was?"

"Well, then...maybe she's been waiting for you."

"I don't suppose you could tell me where you found this angel?"

"I'm sure I can. I keep very detailed accounts of everything I buy and sell here." Mr. Oddbody turned over the price tag that hung around the angel's neck. On the back of the tag was a number: 27-133.

The shopkeeper turned to the raven that stood on top of the cash register. "Jimmy, go in the back and bring me Log Book Number 27."

With a loud "Krawwk! Krawwk!," the raven flapped its wings and flew through the open door behind the counter. Mr. Oddbody nodded after the raven, smiling. "My trusty assistant."

The raven returned a few seconds later, holding a small but thick leather-bound book in its talons. It dropped the book on the counter, and landed on Mr. Oddbody's shoulder. The shopkeeper flipped idly through the yellowed pages of the log book.

"Ah, here we are," he said. "Purchase Number 27-133, a porcelain Christmas angel. I bought it in October, twelve years ago, at a street fair in Diagon Alley. It was sitting on a table with a number of other porcelain pieces." He closed the book. "I'm afraid I have no idea where the people who sold it to me found it."

"That's okay," said Harry. "Thanks for looking that up for me."

Mr. Oddbody picked up the porcelain angel and stared at its face. "I guess I'll miss her green eyes most of all."

He placed the angel inside the cardboard box, covered it with more tissue paper, and put the white lid on top. As Mr. Oddbody tied the box shut with a length of string, Harry noticed that the shopkeeper was looking at the scar on his forehead.

"Yes, I'm Harry Potter," Harry admitted, calmly.

"Really? Well, it's very nice to meet you. I'd heard that you'd been seen hanging around Hogsmeade from time to time." Mr. Oddbody handed Harry his package and smiled. "Next time you see Professor Dumbledore up at Hogwarts, tell him Joseph Oddbody sends his Christmas greetings."

Harry looked over at the shelf with the display of magical instruments and devices. There were several bare spaces on the shelf, where items that had been recently sold had once sat.

"Dumbledore's one of your regular customers here, isn't he?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Oh, of course," replied Mr. Oddbody. He held out his hand, and Harry shook it. "Well...Merry Christmas, my friend."

"Same to you, sir," said Harry.

He turned and walked to the front door. As he stepped out of the antique shop, the bells above the door jingled loudly over Harry's head. "J-Ching-Ching!"

"Look, Daddy! Teacher says, 'Every time a bell rings, another angel gets his wings.'"

Harry held the box containing the porcelain angel that looked like his mother. He gazed up into the darkness, watching the snow as it fell from the sky.

"Thank you, Clarence," he whispered.

As he started down the lamplit sidewalk, heading for the Hogwarts gates, Harry heard Dobby's house-elf choir singing a final carol at the far end of the street.

"Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon Virgin mother and child..."

* * *

"That's why I need your help."

Professor Snape sat behind his office desk, surrounded by shelves of glass jars full of pickled animals. He stared at Harry as if he hadn't heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

"I need your help, Professor," Harry repeated. He pointed to the book, The Lost Art of Pyromancy, which lay on Snape's desk. It was open to the page containing the formula for the Gealteethe potion.

"This formula is too complex for me to try to make the potion on my own. And the instructions are incomplete. It's going to take a lot of experimenting to try to recreate the exact formula. So...I need a Potions Master to help me with it."

Harry looked at Snape, and waited for the explosion. He was vaguely surprised that Snape had let him get this far. For the past five minutes, the Potions Master had sat silently, listening as Harry had explained his idea to search for the ancient magic of the Green Flame Torch. Any second now, Harry was sure, Snape would jump up from the desk and start screaming at him. He would throw every last bottle on the shelves at Harry, just as he had done so many months ago, when he had expelled Harry from his dungeon office and told him never to come back.

Instead, Snape continued to look at Harry for a very long time, his black eyes revealing no emotion. Finally, he said, in a barely audible voice, "Get out."

Harry stayed where he was, standing in front of Snape's desk.

"What do you want me to say, Professor?" he asked, softly. "Do you want me to say I was wrong to come in here, and put my face in the Pensieve, and look at your memories? All right. I admit it, I was wrong. I was more than wrong, I was stupid and insensitive, and I had no right to do what I did."

He sighed. "You know, it occurred to me a few months ago that when Dumbledore assigned you to give me those lessons, he wasn't just hoping that I'd learn Occlumency. He was also hoping that you and I could learn how to work together. He was trusting us to put aside our past differences. But I betrayed that trust, when I came in here and looked in the Pensieve. I let you down, and I let Professor Dumbledore down. And I know it isn't worth much to you...but I'm sorry."

"And then...after you had thrown me out of your office, I made an even bigger mistake," Harry continued. "I...stayed away from you...because I was afraid of you. I should have come crawling back to you, and apologized to you for what I'd done...right then! I should have begged you -- on my knees, if I had to -- to let me resume my Occlumency lessons."

He looked at the floor sadly. "But I didn't. I let my pride and my fear of you get in the way. I didn't resume my lessons. And when Voldemort attacked me, I was unprepared for it. I fell into his trap, hook, line, and sinker. And Sirius Black paid the price for my arrogance."

Snape continued to stare at Harry, saying nothing.

"What else do you want me to say?" Harry went on. "Do you want me to admit that everything you told me about my father was the truth? That he was a rule breaker and an arrogant show-off? All right...you were right about my father. He was a bully with a cruel streak, and he had no right to do to you what he did that day. And I can understand why you would still hate him after all these years."

"I can't bring my father back from the grave to apologize to you. And I can't undo what he did. I can only apologize on his behalf...for whatever that's worth."

Again, Snape said nothing.

"What else should I admit?" Harry asked. "Do you want me to admit that I'm like my father? Well, yes. I suppose in many ways, I am. I'm arrogant, and sometimes I break rules when it suits me." He shrugged. "What did you expect, Professor? Who else would I be like in this world, except my father?"

He leaned forward and put his hands on the edge of Snape's desk. "But as much as I may be like my father, the fact remains that I am not him!"

"I may have his arrogance, but I do not have his cruelty. You saw it yourself, Professor. In our very first Occlumency lesson, you entered my mind and you saw my memory of the day that my aunt's bulldog chased me up a tree, with everyone laughing at me. I know what it's like to be ridiculed and humiliated because everyone thinks you're different. I would never do to you, or anyone else, what my father did to you."

Snape still said nothing.

"And you have got to stop judging me by my father's mistakes," Harry told him. "You've been doing it from the first day I walked into your classroom, and it's got to end. We've both of us got to put the past behind us, and move on." He pointed the book on the table. "Especially if we're going to work together on this."

Snape stared at him evenly, for a long moment.

"Good speech, Potter." The Potions Master shook his head. "I'm not buying it."

Harry looked at the edge of the desk. He was surprised to find that he didn't feel frustrated, or even angry with Snape. Instead, he felt strangely calm. Well, I knew it wasn't going to be easy to convince him.

He tapped the book on Snape's desk again. "You know, I could have very easily forced you to work on this formula, or tricked you into doing it for me."

"Really?" Snape leaned forward in a sarcastic manner, as if he were intrigued by Harry's statement. "How?"

"I could have taken this book to Dumbledore," Harry answered. "I think he'd agree that the Gealteethe potion is something worth investigating. He'd probably have brought the book to you, and asked you to take up the job of recreating the formula. He might not have even told you that I was the one who found it."

He left the obvious unsaid...that if Snape remained stubborn, and refused to work with Harry out of sheer spite, then he, Harry, could still take the book to Dumbledore, who could then force Snape to work with him.

"So why didn't you take the book to Dumbledore?" Snape asked curiously.

"Because I didn't want to deceive you," Harry replied. "I wanted you to make your own choice to work on this potion with me. I figure that, as my professor and as the Potions Master of this school, you deserve that respect from me."

Once again, Snape said nothing. But the sarcastic look had left his face.

Harry straightened up and moved toward the door of Snape's office. "Read the book, Professor. If you can find any legitimate reason not to do this...anything that seems bogus of false...then come to me and tell me, and I'll drop the whole matter."

He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Snape. "But if you can't come up with a valid reason why we shouldn't try to recreate the Gealteethe potion, then you owe it to Professor Dumbledore to help me with this. For whatever reason he trusts you...you owe it to him."

"You want to try to find the Green Flame Torch?" Snape asked, in complete disbelief. "A form of magic that has been lost for almost a millennium? And you expect me to join you on this wild goose chase?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "You know, there's an old riddle about lost things that's not really a riddle. 'Why is it, whenever you lose something, you always find it again in the last place you look?' Answer: 'Because you stop looking for it after you find it.'"

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Snape growled.

"It means that people look for lost things every day, Professor. Cures for diseases. New galaxies in outer space. Artifacts from ancient civilizations that have been buried in the ground for thousands of years. And they find these things...because they take the time to look for them. The Green Flame Torch existed once, so it could exist again. We just have to start looking for it."

Once more, Snape looked at him, not speaking.

"Do it for any reason that suits you," Harry said. "Do it because if we re-discover the formula, you can have all the credit for it. I don't want any. Do it because if we fail, you can tell everyone what an idiot I was to think that we could find the Green Flame Torch again. Whatever reason you can think of is fine with me. But one way or another, I will have your help on this, Professor. That's all I have to say."

Harry turned and left the office. But just as he started down the hall, he remembered something, and came back. "Oh, there is one more thing."

"What is it?" Snape asked.

"I just wanted to say...Merry Christmas."

* * *

"He said he'd be here," said Ron Weasley, as he put another ornament on the tree. "He said he had to go do something first...but he said he'd be here soon."

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks had made the shabby interior of the Shrieking Shack look somewhat more festive, if not entirely inhabitable. They had cleaned the dust off the walls and floor of the room where Sirius Black had lived when he had stalked Peter Pettigrew during Harry's third year at Hogwarts. A cheery fire had been lit in the fireplace, and strings of silver tinsel had been draped across the mantle. A small table next to the fireplace held a lamp, a tray of holiday cookies, a cutting board with sliced cheese and salami, bottles of butterbeer, empty glasses, and a pitcher of eggnog.

A tall green Christmas tree had been set up in one corner of the room. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny didn't know how Lupin and Tonks had gotten the tree into the house and up the crumbling stairs without having every last needle fall off the branches. A box of old ornaments lay next to the tree. After dropping and breaking several ornaments while trying to put them on the tree with her fumbling fingers, Tonks had given up. She was now levitating ornaments from the box and hanging them on the tree using her wand.

Lupin had been very concerned when Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had told him about Harry Potter's depression over the past week, and about his outburst in the Gryffindor Common Room that afternoon.

"How did Harry seem to you when he got back from Hogsmeade?" Lupin asked Ron.

"Well, that's just it," Ron replied. "He seemed okay. I mean...he seemed better than he was when he left. He wasn't angry anymore. And he didn't seem as sad as he's been lately. He seemed...well, a little more cheerful."

Ron's tone, however, suggested that he was still worried about Harry. Lupin looked at him. "But...?"

"But...well...he came back from Hogsmeade with his lip busted. He looked as if he'd been in a fight, and got a punch in the mouth."

"Did he say what happened?" asked Ginny.

"He said he was running through some woods, and he tripped and bumped his mouth on a log."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "He tripped in the woods and fell on a log? Does he really expect us to believe that story?"

"I think something happened to him down in Hogsmeade," said Ron. "But he wouldn't tell me about it."

"But you said he wasn't angry when he got back." Lupin shrugged. "Well, at least that's something."

Outside the cracked window, the snow was still falling. Shadows crept over the walls of the old room. Tonks, whose hair was colored half-green, half-red in honor of Christmas, told the story of how Mad-Eye Moody had turned down an invitation to attend tonight's party.

"So then he says to me, 'Tonks, you can't be serious! Do you know that in the past thirty years, seven people in Britain have died from allergic reactions after drinking eggnog? And a full dozen folks have been killed by falling mistletoe!'"

Ron held out a box to Hermione. "Here, try one of these. I picked them up at Honeydukes last week. They're called Crunchy Frogs."

Hermione looked at the box, skeptically. "Crunchy Frogs?"

"Yeah. They're Chocolate Frogs, but with crispy rice in them."

"Ahh, I see." Hermione took a wrapped candy from the box. "Crunchy Frogs."

"What did you think they were?"

"Never mind. Trust me, Ron. You don't want to know."

Footsteps sounded in the hall outside the room. The door opened, and Harry walked in. He was carrying a white cardboard box, tied up with string.

"Merry Christmas everyone," he said softly. "Sorry I'm a little late."

Lupin smiled warmly. "Come on in."

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks. She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek.

As he walked into the room, Harry noticed that both Hermione and Ginny gave a sigh of relief, as if they were glad to see he had returned in one piece.

"How's your lip?" Ron asked.

"It's fine," Harry answered. He set his box down on the mattress of the dusty four-poster bed, and turned to his friends. "Listen, I'm sorry I blew up at everyone this afternoon. I didn't mean to take out my anger on you guys."

"It's okay," said Ginny. She came to Harry and embraced him.

"Yeah, we're sort of getting used to it," Ron added. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

Ginny touched the cut on Harry's lip. "Is this okay?"

Harry nodded. "I put some murtlap essence on it. It'll be gone in a few hours."

"Why were you late, Harry?" asked Lupin.

"I had to go see Professor Snape."

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

"Snape?" Ron asked. "Why'd you go to see him on Christmas Eve?"

Harry shrugged. "I just had to drop off a Christmas present for him. A little extra potions work I've been doing."

This seemed to satisfy everyone. Ginny and Ron went back to helping Tonks decorate the Christmas tree. Hermione looked at Harry, meaningfully.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to her, in a voice so quiet that only she could hear.

Hermione said nothing. She put her arms around Harry and hugged him.

At the table, Lupin was pouring eggnog into small round glasses. "Now that everyone is here, I thought we might have that toast I mentioned. Tonks, do you think you could hold a glass of eggnog without dropping it long enough to pay tribute to your cousin?"

"Sure I can," Tonks said, indignantly. "I'm insulted that you would ask that, Remus!" But the moment Lupin handed her a glass of eggnog, she fumbled with it, and had to hold it with both hands.

Lupin passed out the rest of the glasses. Harry and his friends stood in a circle next to the old four-poster bed. Lupin raised his glass.

"To an absent friend, a dear comrade, and a brave soldier," he said softly. "To Padfoot."

"To Padfoot," the others repeated.

Harry drank his glass. For a time, nobody spoke. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Harry found himself wishing very much that Sirius could have been in this room with them tonight.

They feel your love for them every single day, every time you think of them.

"I didn't notice this before," Hermione said, breaking the silence. "Does this belong to anyone?"

In a corner of the room sat a rickety old chair. Across the back of the chair lay a bright red scarf.

Harry stepped forward and picked up the scarf. He read the embroidered inscription on the fringe. To my beloved Sarah.

She was always leaving it in a restaurant, or on a park bench somewhere, he thought, smiling.

"I know who it belongs to," said Harry. "A friend of mine left it here. Don't worry. I'll give it back to her the next time I see her."

Everyone was looking at him strangely again.

"How did this friend of yours get into the Shrieking Shack, Harry?" asked Remus Lupin.

"It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you all about it some other time. But right now, Remus, I need you to take a look at something."

Laying the red scarf down on the four-posted bed, Harry undid the strings on the white cardboard box that he had brought with him. He reached into the tissue paper inside and pulled out the porcelain angel that he had found in Oddbody's Antique Shop. He held it up for Lupin to see.

"Do you recognize this?" Harry asked.

From the expression of shock on Lupin's face, Harry could see that his former teacher did recognize the angel. Lupin came forward, and carefully took the angel from Harry. He stared at it, open-mouthed.

"Where on earth did you find this?"

"In an antiques shop in Hogsmeade," Harry replied. His friends clustered around Lupin to look at the angel. "The store owner said he picked it up at a street fair in Diagon Alley twelve years ago. But he had no idea where the people who sold it to him got it."

He touched the angel in Lupin's hands. "This is my mother, isn't it, Remus? I mean, it's meant to be her? A replica of her?"

"Yes," Lupin said, breathlessly. "Yes, your...your father had this made for Lily the year before you were born, Harry. It was just before Christmas, and your mother had just told him that she was pregnant with you. Your father had this porcelain angel made as a special Christmas gift for her. Here, look."

Lupin lifted up the bottom of the skirt that had been sewn onto the porcelain angel. Just under the skirt, an inscription had been written in blue paint, around the edge of the porcelain cone that formed the angel's lower body.

"To Lily - A Mother-to-be - From James."

"Tonks," said Lupin. "Do you remember this angel? I think your mother brought you over to the Potter house at Christmas time, the year Harry was born, didn't she? I was there. You couldn't have been more than five or six years old."

"Yeah, I remember it," said Tonks. "It was on top of the Christmas tree when we stopped by. I remember James lifted me up on his shoulder so I could look at it."

She put her hand out to touch the angel. Lupin quickly moved it out of her reach. "Tonks, please!"

Tonks jerked her hand back, embarrassed. "Oh! Right! Sorry!"

"But I don't understand," Harry said. "How did this angel survive? I mean, I thought everything in my parents' house was destroyed when...when they were killed."

"Yes," said Lupin. "There wasn't anything left except..."

Lupin stopped, as if he had suddenly remembered something. "Of course...that must have been it. It must have been in there."

"What is it, Remus?" asked Tonks.

"You must forgive me, Harry," Lupin said, smiling. "I think it may be my fault that this angel was lost. You see, it's true that most of the things in your parents' house were destroyed on the night that they died. There wasn't much left after..."

"After Voldemort showed up, and started wrecking the place?" Harry finished, grimly.

Ron and Ginny both inhaled sharply at the mention of Voldemort's name.

"Yes," said Lupin. "But a few things did survive...mostly things that had been tucked away, down in the cellar when...well, you know. When whatever it is that happened between you and Voldemort happened."

"Don't say his name," Ron hissed.

"So anyway," Lupin continued. "About two weeks after your parents died, Professor Dumbledore sent me a few boxes of things that Rubeus Hagrid had found in the rubble of the house. There was a box of James's school books. A box of his Quidditch robes. His Comet 120 broom. And Lily's old school trunk. Dumbledore sent a note with the boxes, asking if there was anything in them that I wanted to keep."

"Now, you must understand, Harry...at the time, I was completely devastated. In the space of a week, I'd lost all of my best friends. James and Lily were dead. Peter Pettigrew had faked his own death, and killed a bunch of Muggles doing it. And he had framed Sirius for his murder. And Sirius had been shipped off to Azkaban. Everyone thought that he had betrayed us. I was going insane! I was thinking to myself, 'How could I have missed it? How could I have not seen that Sirius was the traitor? How could I have let all my friends down so badly?'"

Lupin sighed. "So...when Dumbledore sent me the boxes of things from your parents' house, I'm afraid I didn't keep any of it. I took everything down to Diagon Alley, and sold it to a junk dealer there. He gave me about thirteen Galleons for the whole lot. I'm afraid I took the money, went to the Leaky Cauldron, ordered about a dozen firewhiskies, and drank myself into a stupor."

"You didn't...look through the boxes to see if there was anything you wanted to keep?" Harry asked.

"I opened the lid of your mother's old school trunk and looked in there," Lupin answered. "Lily's wedding dress was lying on top of everything. I had no use for a wedding dress, so I closed the lid, and...well, that was it."

He looked at the porcelain angel he was holding. "But now that I think about it...I remember something about that old trunk, Harry. The year before your parents died, I stopped by their house just after New Years. Lily and James were taking down their Christmas decorations, and putting them away. While I was there, I helped them to carry a few small boxes of Christmas ornaments down to the cellar. And we put those boxes inside Lily's old school trunk. Your parents were using it for storage by then."

"So you think this angel might have been inside my mother's old school trunk when you sold it to the junk dealer in Diagon Alley?" asked Harry.

"I think it must have been," Lupin replied. "I'm sorry, Harry...but at the time, I honestly didn't think I'd ever see you again. You'd been shipped off to live with your Muggle relatives. It never even occurred to me that I should save the things from your parents' house, in case you wanted them later on."

"It's okay, Remus," Harry said. He touched the angel in Lupin's hands. "At least I have this back now."

He looked at the Christmas tree in the corner. "It looks as if you've almost finished decorating the tree. All you need is something to put on top of it."

"Of course," Lupin said. "But...well...there's one more thing you should know about this angel, Harry. It was made by Belchamel's of Bristol. They have a reputation for being the finest wizard porcelain makers in all of England."

"When your mother told James that she was pregnant with you, he was the happiest man on earth. It was just before Christmas when she told him, and he had already placed the order with Belchamel's for this angel. He meant it to be a surprise for her. Well...one day, without her knowing about it, James recorded Lily's voice while she was singing to herself in the kitchen. He took that recording to Belchamel's, and they added a special spell to this angel...a spell that can only be activated when it is placed on top of a Christmas tree."

Lupin moved to the Christmas tree, and placed the angel on top of it, carefully lowering the porcelain cone of the angel's dress onto the top branch. A strange and sweet melody, like a tune from a music box, drifted through the room. Harry watched the angel on top of the tree, his heart beating fast.

And then the porcelain angel came to life. It's head and mouth moved. And a voice came from it.

Harry listened. He recognized the angel's voice. He had heard it before. But never like this.

He had first heard it when the Dementor had attacked him on the Hogwarts Express at the start of his third year. He had heard the voice screaming in terror, begging for mercy, begging for the life of her child.

He had heard the same voice many times that year, at each Patronus lesson that Lupin had given him. Each time the boggart emerged from the box and turned into a Dementor, he had heard the same screaming, the same begging for mercy, as if in a distant dream.

He had heard the voice again in his fifth year, when he had entered the Pensieve in Professor Snape's office, and unwisely spied on Snape's worst memories. That time, the voice had been angry, scolding, yelling at James Potter, telling him to stop tormenting Severus Snape, telling James that she thought he was an arrogant show-off.

But Harry had never heard the voice like this before. A sweet voice, so full of love and joy.

It was his mother's voice. And it sang to him now.

God in Heaven, hear my prayer.
Bless the one for whom I care.
Mother to a child am I.
This I ask You, Lord on high.

Bless my child and keep him well
As the years and fortunes tell.
May he grow up strong and kind
Brave and sound in heart and mind.

In this world, so cruel and heartless
Keep him safe, through storm and darkness.
Bless my child, I ask You now.
Lord of hope and love art thou.

When he feels he's lost his way,
Guide him home, Lord, this I pray.
In his sorrows and distress
Bring him comfort, peace, and rest.

In the days of fire and sword
Be his strength and courage, Lord.
And if I should leave his side
May I in his heart reside.

Let Your strength and love enfold him
As within my arms I hold him.
This I ask You, God above,
Bless my child, the one I love.

When the song ended, Harry found himself on his knees. Tears were streaming down his face. Ron was kneeling on the floor behind him. He had caught Harry under the arms and tried to hold him up when Harry's legs had buckled underneath him. Now, as Harry wept, Ron held his friend in a tight bear hug.

Ginny and Hermione were kneeling on either side of Harry. They were both hugging him, their arms around his neck. Both girls had tears in their eyes. Remus Lupin stood behind Ron, reaching in to put his hand on Harry's shoulder, grasping it tightly. Tonks stood off to one side of the room, wiping her face with her hand.

Harry listened to the silence in the room, to the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, to the sound of the wind howling outside. His tears continued to flow as his mother's song echoed through his mind.

And yet in that very moment, Harry could have sworn that he had never in all his life felt as strong or as powerful as he did now.

He looked up at the angel sitting at the top of the tree. A crooked grin spread over his face.

"My God," he whispered. "She had the most beautiful voice."