A/N: This is a crossover between the works of Spider Robinson and JK Rowling. Rowling is the better known of the two, as the author of the Harry Potter books. In context, this story takes place near the end of Goblet of Fire, the fourth book of the series.

Most of this story takes place at Callahan's Saloon, which is the creation of Spider Robinson. The characters in this story are based on the first book of the series, Callahan's Crosstime Saloon. As is usual in all of these stories, the narrator is a patron by the name of Jake Stonebender.

I hope you enjoy reading this story. Happy Holidays.

A CHRISTMAS AT CALLAHAN'S

By HiBob

Let me tell you about Callahan's Saloon. There's no neon lights on the outside. Only a hand painted sign lit by a floodlight. Inside isn't what you'd expect either. The lights aren't turned down. Mike Callahan thinks there's something wrong with people who like to drink in the dark.

Every drink here is a dollar. You drink your drink, you walk up to the chalk line, and you make your toast. Then you throw your glass into the fireplace, which takes up most of one wall. If you don't want to make a toast, you can get a fifty-cent refund from the help-yourself basket at the end of the bar. I don't think I've ever seen Mike refill that basket.

Callahan's breeds trust. People seem to find the place whenever they need to. And they leave, too, when they find they don't need to drink anymore. Everybody at Callahan's knows how to listen, and a lot of times that's all someone needs. All types of people walk in here with all types of problems. It's that kind of place.

That night, however, was the night the kid walked in.

I was sitting at the bar in my high back chair. (Mike doesn't like bar stools, he thinks a man should be comfortable when he drinks.) I was nursing a scotch when Mike said just the right thing to cheer me up. "Merry Christmas, Jake."

"Merry Christmas, Mike," I said in return, as a smile crossed my lips. I looked over to Noah Gonzalez, who was just coming in. He smiled in greeting, and I raised my glass to him. I know Noah had a good day at work. When your job is with the Suffolk County Bomb Squad, making it to quitting time is always a good day.

"It's starting to snow," Noah told us. "We may be stuck here if we don't leave right now."

"Drinks are free if we get snowed in," I said. "Right, Mike."

Mike looked at me and grinned. "Oh, were you serious?" he dead panned.

Noah waved hello to Fast Eddie and Rachel, who were siting together at the piano. Eddie loves the blues and Rachel has a fair voice, so they were trying their luck at playing holiday tunes as though they were torch songs. At times I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Mike served Noah a beer and told him dinner would be in about an hour. Noah sat down and we began to talk about nothing in particular. Mike joined in with a piece of trivia every now and then, and we settled down to a comfortable Christmas Eve.

Then the door opened. We weren't expecting anyone else. Most of the regulars have their families to be with, but you never know. Some snow blows in along with this kid, and all of us immediately take notice. I found out later that he was fourteen, almost fifteen. He had raven black hair, the same color my own kid had, and grimy glasses that needed cleaning really bad. What stopped us was the way he was dressed. My first thought was that the kid escaped from a monastery.

No one laughed though, because of the way the kid looked. He may have been wearing a robe like a monk, but he looked lost.

"Excuse me," the kid said in what my wife would have called a cute English accent.

"It's a dollar a drink, Kid," Mike told him, "and I don't make change."

The kid stared at him as though he had lost his train of thought. "I don't want a drink."

Mike smiled warmly and said, "Then you must be in the wrong place. Where are you trying to get to, son?"

The kid responded eagerly to Mike's tone. Mike Callahan had that touch. Nine times out of ten he could say the right thing just the right way and a person would change their whole attitude. It's very useful when someone's drunk and feeling mean. Just in case, he has a crowbar and a shotgun behind the bar.

"I'm trying to get back to school, but I don't know what happened," the kid said, then asked, "Where am I?"

Mike said evenly, "Callahan's Saloon, Route 25A, Suffolk County, Long Island, New York State, The United States, tell me when to stop, North America, Earth . . ."

"I'm sorry, stop please, sorry," the kid said.

"You said you were sorry twice," Mike said with a twinkle in his eye.

"He must be really sorry, " I chimed in. The kid looked at me, and I held out my hand, telling him my name.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jake," he answered slowly, "My name's Harry."

"Do you know where you are?" I asked.

"I've heard of New York, but . . . I don't know how I arrived here."

"I got here by car myself." I gave him my best smile.

"I was . . ." Harry started to say. "I couldn't find him."

"Who, son?" Mike asked.

The kid looked at us with far away eyes. "Cedric. I promised to take him back."

"Where did you lose him?" I asked slowly.

Harry's eyes began to tear. "He's dead. I was holding on to him when I left the cemetery, but

I was alone when . . ."

Rachel was there in a heartbeat. After all the boys she raised, she knew exactly what to do. She knelt, making him look down at her, and put her hand on his cheek in a way she had probably done thousands of times.

"Michael," she said, "we need something to drink. The boy's freezing. Hot cider will be fine." Mike filled a mug and handed it over without question. That's one of Mike's strong points. If you know what you're doing in a crisis, and you tell him to do something, he does it without even asking why.

Harry was forced to drink the entire mug before Rachel would let him continue. He did so, gratefully. It warmed him up and calmed him down but he never lost that drifting look. I was curious about what he would say. This was not your normal kid. Your normal kid doesn't show up in a bar saying he lost a dead friend.

"Where should I begin?" Harry asked.

"The beginning is always a good place," Mike said good-naturedly.

Rachel rolled her eyes and gave him a look of mock anger, but it worked. Harry actually smiled, and relaxed a little bit. He paused in thought after we were done laughing, and then looked up as though he was making an announcement.

"I'm a wizard," he said earnestly. "I suppose I should begin there." He reached into a pocket of his robe and pulled out nothing. "I've lost it. My wand. I was hoping to prove it to you."

"You don't have to prove anything, Harry," I told him. "If you tell us it's true, we'll believe you."

"He's right," Noah added. "I've heard enough whoppers to know a tall tale when I hear one, and I've told a few myself. If you tell us the truth, we will believe you." He paused, then asked, "Were you born a wizard or is it something you can learn?"

"Both," Harry said with a real smile. "I was born with the ability to do magic, but I'm going to school to learn how."

"The school you're trying to get back to?" Mike asked.

"Yes, Sir."

"I like the name you gave me, but kid, call me Mike. Only call me Sir if you want to walk out of my bar instead of me throwing you out. Understand."

Harry laughed with us this time, and it was a good thing to hear. He caught himself, and began to look ashamed, but he stopped and gave all of us a warm smile. It was the type of smile that says "I know that all of you are friends."

"Could I ask a question?" Harry said suddenly. "Why do you have a Christmas tree?"

"Because tomorrow is Christmas?" I asked.

"The snow . . ." Harry said as he began to think furiously. "You're telling the truth? Yes."

"What is it, Harry?" Rachel asked as she put a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing," Harry said sadly, "It was May 24 when I . . . when Cedric died. Now it's December 24. They probably think I'm dead as well."

"We'll call them . . ."

"They don't have phones. Electricity doesn't work properly around magic."

"Harry," I interrupted, "I need to ask you. What year did this happen? You may not have jumped seven months."

"You're right, Jake. Thank you for thinking of that. It was 1995. Is this still the same year?"

My face told Harry the answer was no, but it also told him that the truth was going to be hard to take. "Harry, it's 1974."

He looked at me with mixed emotions. I knew what he was thinking, and said it. "Cedric hasn't died yet. He probably hasn't even been born yet."

"Then I have a chance to save him," Harry said hopefully.

"But not for twenty-one years," Mike interrupted. "Since you don't know how you got here, you don't know how to get back except the slow way, one day at a time."

"I could change a lot of things in twenty-one years, Mike."

"No, you won't," Fast Eddie said from the piano. "You can't because you didn't."

"But it hasn't happened yet," Harry argued.

"It happened to you," Fast Eddie replied as he continued to play the holiday blues. "You can't change your own past."

"He's right," Noah said, "It's like going back in time and stopping yourself from being born. I could do it to you, Harry, because I wouldn't be affected. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded sadly. "He died because of me, and he'll still die regardless of anything I do."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Rachel said, and gave him a hug for all he was worth. "Would you tell us what happened? It could help you deal with Cedric's death."

"How do I start?"

"With a toast," I told him, pointing to his empty glass of cider. I walked him to the chalk line and told him what to do. He looked at the fireplace then raised his glass to throw it in.

"To Death," he shouted, and threw the glass with as much force as he could, smashing it hard. He turned around, and said nothing as he walked back to his chair. Mike gave him another Hot Cider, and Harry told us his tale.

"I was barely a year old when my parents died. Voldemort murdered them. He tried to kill me, but something happened. He almost killed himself, and all I received was this." Harry lifted the hair off his forehead to show us a jagged scar. "Voldemort went into hiding, and I was sent to my only relatives, the Dursleys. They hate magic. They hate me."

I know I wasn't the only one to feel bad as he told us about his Aunt and Uncle It was hard to imagine spending the first ten years of your life growing up in a closet. He brightened when he told us about meeting a man named Hagrid, visiting Diagon Alley and going away to school, and his first real Christmas, but his tale grew darker from there.

"My first year, Voldemort tried to steal a magic stone but I managed to stop him, with the help of my friends. Ron was hurt, but not badly. And I recovered as well. The next year I faced Voldemort again, but in a different form. I stopped him, but I would have died if I hadn't received help from . . ." Harry paused. "I feel as though I'm bragging."

"Naw," Fast Eddie told him, "If you was bragging, you wouldn't keep telling us you had help." Harry gave him an embarrassed smile, and Noah leaned over and grabbed his hand.

"If it helps, I know where the story is going. You're going to tell us about Cedric, and that you didn't have any help."

Harry nodded. "And Cedric died because of me. We were going to share the championship, but the trophy was a portkey. We appeared in the cemetery, and I heard Voldemort shout, 'Kill the spare.' Cedric was nothing to him. I never had a chance to do anything. I barely escaped."

Harry was crying again. Rachel made a sign, and no one did anything. We had to let him stop on his own. It hurt to watch him, but after he told us how Cedric died, I could only feel happy that Harry hadn't died as well. It was funny. Harry didn't explain a lot of things, but he didn't have to. We were being told what we needed to know.

When Harry stopped, I handed him a handkerchief. "Do you feel better?"

"What do you think?" he said.

"You've had more than your share of pain, but you haven't let it beat you yet."

"You don't know what it's like," he said bitterly.

"You're right, Harry. I don't know what it's like. But I do know how painful it can get at times."

"Do you?" The anger was clear in his voice.

"If my boy didn't die, he'd be about your age," I told him. "I had this great idea to save money, so I fixed the brakes on the car, myself. Saved thirty bucks. Took my wife and kid for a ride to celebrate. I was lucky. I was out of the hospital in three months." I looked the kid straight in the eye. "I know how you feel, Harry, but the difference between you and me is that I am responsible for my family dying. You and Cedric just ran into some bad luck."

Harry tried to say something, but Noah stopped him. "I see it all the time, Harry. I work for the bomb squad. Do you know how many kids try to make their own fireworks? They didn't mean for anything to happen, but it did happen, and they did it. You didn't kill Cedric, and you didn't have time to help him. If you want to cry because you lost a friend, go ahead. That's all right. But don't be a martyr."

"What would Cedric have wanted you to do?" Rachel asked suddenly.

"He asked me to take him home," Harry said in barely a whisper.

"And you did," Rachel said with a motherly smile.

"I tried to," Harry told her, "but I ended up here."

"You did," Mike said earnestly. "I had a friend check on you."

None of us were surprised by this, but neither was Harry. "You have a time turner?" he asked.

"Not quite, but I can get a few answers when I need them. Somehow, when you leave here, you'll showed up at your school and Cedric will be with you."

. Harry nodded. "Mike, thank you for finding out. I should apologize, I think, but I don't know what to say. What should I say?"

"This is a time of hope," he told him. "Remember that and say Merry Christmas."

It was a thin smile he gave us, but it was a smile. All of us raised our glasses, and I walked to the chalk line. I downed my scotch, and called out "To Life." Every glass followed mine to a shattering end.

Mike ushered us all to the table for dinner as he set the food out. Harry sat down with the rest of us, and we piled into it like a pack of starving hyenas. I could tell Harry's thoughts were elsewhere, but Noah prodded him first.

"What is it, Harry?" Noah said, and laughed when Harry jumped.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, "I was thinking. My father would be about my age right know. If I go back to school, we'll be in the same year."

"I used to be in the same class with my father," Fast Eddie said casually, "but I graduated."

As we all groaned, he whispered to Harry, "now you know why I play the piano."

"Don't pun-nish the boy," Mike retorted.

"That wasn't no play on words," Fast Eddie replied, "That was the truth. Dad never went past fourth grade, because he was a drunkard. He would never pass the fifth."

Harry looked amazed. "Was that a pun?"

Mike grinned. "You have to understand, Harry. We like to sharpen our wits around here. The pun is an excellent weapon."

Rachel added playfully, "The pun is wittier for the bored."

"Shouldn't you have said," Noah grinned, "the sense is mightier than the word?"

I looked at Harry, and he was groaning with the rest of us. I decided to try my hand. "All of this reminds me of a fairy tale I heard as a kid. There was this young girl in the roost."

"Sounds like a nice chick if you ask me," Fast Eddie remarked.

"Oh, you've heard about Chicken Big?" I asked.

"Don't you mean Chicken Little?" Harry asked, and everyone else groaned in anticipation.

"Sorry, Harry. This is a Tall Tale."

Mike deliberately got up, and got peanuts to throw at me.

"As I was saying, Chicken Big was young for her age, and tall for her height. But she loved Art, especially the French painters. She flew all over the country but she could never find a good French museum. Then she realized she had to go to Paris. She was looking for Louvre in all the wrong places."

We all looked at Harry expectantly to see his reaction, but he didn't even smile. He fixed his glasses on his nose and asked, "Excuse me, Jake. Are puns supposed to be funny?"

He nailed me. I didn't even catch it until he started laughing. By then, I was the only one who hadn't caught on. He who laughs last didn't get the joke.

"Can you do better?" I challenged.

"You could tell the one about Goldilocks and the three Beers," Noah offered, "That girl had a good head on her shoulders, and three more on her Lagers.."

"I've always liked the emotional turmoil of Jack B. Nimble," Rachel quipped. "If he doesn't succeed he's definitely in the hot seat. Do you know any fairy tales?"

"I do know one story," Harry offered. "It was during a period of peace in the last century, when Admiral Nelson encountered the Russian ship, Vespa, and it's captain, Boris Minakov. They agreed to race to the nearest port, some five miles distant, and Nelson found his ship to be between the port and the Russian frigate. He won the race by simply staying in that position. He blocked Minakov."

We groaned, but Noah made an objection. "I'm sorry, Harry, but that wasn't a fairy tale."

"I don't know," Mike countered. "It sounded to me like a feint asea."

We kept up with the puns, through the rest of the meal, and through dessert. Then we changed our pace and got all Christmassy. When Fast Eddie took his seat at the piano, I brought out my guitar. We played a few carols, mixing in some blues. By midnight, I was in the corner teaching Harry to strum a Beatles tune. That was when reality forced itself upon us. It was still snowing, and we had to decide how to spend the night. As Mike also pointed out, we had a minor on the premises.

"Sounds like an either/ore question to me," Noah said.

"Don't pay any mine to what they say," I told Harry, and everyone groaned, again.

"Actually, I'm digging it," Harry said, to a round of cheers.

"You shaft to be careful what you say around here," Mike muttered, out loud.

At Mike's request, I walked over to the door to check the weather. I opened it to find a thin old man standing there, bright red robes and a beard to the waist. For a second, I thought it was the English Santa Claus, Father Christmas.

"That is surprising," the old man said. "I didn't even have a chance to knock. How did you know I was here?"

I looked and saw he was standing in some five inches of snow. I also noticed there were no footprints. As I fumbled for words, I heard Harry call out in a happy voice.

"Professor Dumbledore! How did you find me?"

I stepped aside to let the Professor in and closed the door. Harry was hugging the old man, relief plain on his face. The old man was smiling as though he liked all the attention.

"I should introduce myself," our newest guest said. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts I was told that I would find one of my students here."

I shot a look at Mike, who mouthed the word friends to me. Mike then took the time to make introductions. As a bit of humor, he also introduced Harry.

"Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked. "He does resemble a student named Potter but . . ."

"That's his father," I interrupted. "Harry won't be a student for another twenty years or so."

"You do look younger than I remember, Professor," Harry noted. "I'm sorry for causing such a problem."

"It isn't a problem, my dear boy," Albus said, "but it is unusual." He pulled out his wand and waved it over Harry, mumbling a few words I didn't understand. He put his wand away, and said, "Curious."

"And what would be curious?" Mike asked.

"This boy isn't here."

"I think you lost all of us on that one."

"I will try to explain," Dumbledore said.

"Then I'd better get everyone a fresh round." Mike went behind the bar, and began making drinks for everyone. He gave Harry another Hot Cider, and the same to Albus. I settled on another scotch, hoping it wouldn't be a long story, and worrying how Harry would take it.

"The mind is a fragile thing, but it can also be very powerful," Albus told us. "Sometimes, in the world of magic, our minds can produce an image so strong, that it echoes."

"I'm an echo?" Harry asked.

"He just said that," Noah told him, and we chuckled.

"I get it," I said with a grin, "You aren't really you. You're more like a stray thought."

"And you strayed in here," Noah added with a laugh.

"We're always picking up strays in this place," Fast Eddie said.

"Now don't you go dogging the boy," Rachel said quickly.

"Canine get a word in edgewise," Mike retorted.

"The thought fills me with Terrier," Noah Gonzales added, and we were off.

Twenty minutes, and as many groans later, Mike called the place to attention. "We still have the problem to resolve."

"As amusing as it sounds," Albus continued, "Harry IS nothing more than a stray thought. Except for his being here with you, he would have faded into nothingness already." He looked down at the kid and said, "I'm sorry, Harry. There is nothing I can do."

"That's a load of bull," Rachel said, standing up and walking over to the old wizard. "You can always do something."

"Madame, I have lived for over 130 years, and I have known several cases like this. This isn't Harry. Not really. And he will fade away eventually."

"Listen, Albus," Rachel told him, "I have at least a century on you, even if I don't look it. I've raised and lost twenty-eight kids in my day, and it hurt every time I buried one. That's why I try to avoid kids. I don't want to feel that way again."

"Perhaps we should ask how Harry feels?" Albus offered.

"I don't give a damn how Harry feels," Rachel shouted, "I know how I feel. I don't want him to just fade away. There has to be a way to keep him here."

Fast Eddie was there next to Rachel, holding her as her feelings became too much. "She fell in love with the kid, Perfesser. We all did."

"Seems to me we're going about this the wrong way," Noah said. "We're asking the wrong questions."

"I understand," Albus said with a reassuring smile. "Harry, you've touched these people, and their feelings toward you have kept you whole. You do understand that?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered nervously, then laughed when Mike muttered, "That's where he gets it from."

"The problem is simple to solve," Albus told us. "All you need to do is keep Harry from fading until he can be put in contact with his body at some point after the separation occurred."

"You knew this?" Rachel questioned.

"I did, but part of the problem is that the actual Harry Potter will not be around for . . . did you say twenty . . . years."

Rachel nodded at the thought. "How can we keep him from fading?"

"Magic may help," Albus offered. "I could transfigure this Harry, that is to say the essence that keeps him coherent. If kept in physical contact with someone with strong enough feelings for him, he could survive."

"Could?" I asked.

"We are talking about decades. Quite simply, I do not know."

"What do you think, Harry?"

"Jake, Mike, all of you. I don't want to fade away. I learned a lot being here. I don't want to lose any of that." He turned to Albus and asked, "If I make it, and I become part of Harry again, will I, he, remember any of this."

"Experience shows that what has happened here will be a distant memory. You may never recall any of this, even if you are reminded."

"I'll take the chance," Harry said.

"Good luck, Harry," I told him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Rachel outdid me, and grabbed Harry into a bear hug. We all said our goodbyes, and Albus raised his wand.

"Wait a minute," Mike called out, pointing to Harry's empty glass. "You didn't make a toast."

Harry picked up his glass and walked to the chalk line. Without hesitation, he threw it in, shouting, "To Friends." Six glasses followed his into the fireplace. "I'm ready," he said as he turned around.

Albus waved his wand, and Harry was gone. In his place was a plain, worn ring with a green birth stone. Albus waved his wand again, and the ring flew into his hand. "Now you have to decide which of you is to wear this ring."

"Can't you wear it?" Fast Eddie asked.

"I don't know this boy, Harry, except his name and that he will someday be a student at my school. I deliberately refused to learn anything about him, because he is from the future. It would not do for me to take charge of him."

"Then it's up to the four of you," Mike said. "I love that kid as much as the rest of you, maybe more, but I can't guarantee I'll be here in twenty years."

"I'm out," Fast Eddie told us, "I'm older than any of yous, except you, Mary. I have to be honest. I may be layin' flat in twenty years."

"That leaves me out as well," Noah said as his turn came. "My job ain't very good as far as long term plans go. And I hate to pass it up."

"It's your choice, Rachel," I offered. "I know how you feel."

Rachel was crying as she shook her head. "I can't, Jake, unless I have to. I've lost all my boys. I don't want to risk losing another one. If you think you can do it, Please try."

So I took the ring. I slid my old wedding band off, put it on my finger, and put the band back on. "I can do it, Rachel," I told her, "with help."

*

Twenty years and five months passed. Since then, Callahan's closed. I opened up Jake's Place, but that also closed. I also remarried, and I have a new family. We're visiting the British Isles, so I can make a visit to an old friend, Albus Dumbledore, who made it a point to stay in touch with me.

I was sitting in the viewing stands when Harry returned with Cedric. It was hard to watch, knowing what would happen, and I cursed myself for not knowing any way to stop it. I returned the ring to Harry while he was asleep, and then I left. I felt that I was no longer part of Harry's world, but I was wrong.

Albus contacted me two weeks later, and I found myself back at the school, staring at a sad faced kid with feelings of guilt eating at him.

"Good Morning, Harry," I said as I sat down next to him at dinner. His friends (Ron and Hermione) looked at me with curiosity, but said nothing, ans so did almost everyone else.

"Do I know you?"

"Maybe, but I thought you might remember this."

Harry stared at me as I held out my guitar. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he took the instrument from me.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked him.

"I'm not sure," Harry said as he began to lightly strum, "This seems familiar. I can play this. At least one song. I learned it . . . a long time ago." He began to sing. "What would you do if I sang out of tune? / Would you stand up and walk out on me? / Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, /and I'll try not to sing out of key."

I could see that Hermione was amazed and delighted when Harry looked up, smiling. I smiled back and said, "It's yours if you want it."

"I couldn't take Lady MacBeth from you," Harry answered, and looked surprised at what he had said. He peered at me, and his face lit up with recognition. He actually laughed with joy.

"Harry, do you know him?" Hermione asked.

"Ron, Hermione, this is an old friend, Jake Stonebender. He helped me out . . . a long time ago. Jake, this is Ron, and that's Hermione. They've been trying to help me."

I held out my hand to Ron, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Harry told me a lot about both of you."

"He never mentioned you," Hermione said with confusion.

"I'll tell you all about it, I promise," Harry told her, then added to her confusion by looking up and saying, "Merry Christmas, Jake."

"Merry Christmas, Harry."

FINIS