Entry tags:

harry/draco, nc-17, worldcup

FIC: Harry's Pockets
Title: Harry's Pockets
Author: joanwilder aka RaeWhit
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word count: 29,300
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Clowns are downright creepy, Harry's always thought, so when he and Luna hire one to work in their Party Props shop, he prepares for the worst.

Author's/Artist's Note: Written for the 2009 hd_worldcup (Team AU) for the prompt, 'Well, you've just let the kneazle out of the bag.' Many thanks to jadzialove, beta and friend extraordinaire.

Harry's Pockets

"Please, Harry?" Luna asked again, with a slight up-tilt in her tone that usually made Harry grumble and give in.

This time, he stood his ground. "No," he said firmly.

"Just the one?" she pleaded, adding a note of insistence to her soft, understated timbre. When Harry only shook his head, she frowned. "Why not?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe because I don't want to have to Obliviate a group of children?"

Luna smiled slowly, then punched Harry's shoulder. "You wouldn't, I promise. I know what you're thinking, but that was an innocent mistake, and I didn't do any—"

"You were about to pull a Niffler out of that hat instead of a rabbit—I saw it, you remember?" He affectionately flicked her cheek with a finger. "No magic tricks for you."

The jangle of the bell above the door made them both look to the front of the shop.

"All right, no tricks for me. You're the magician," Luna sighed good-naturedly. "I'm off to the counter; call if you need me."

Harry worked quickly, setting up his table for that day's session: magician's wand, black top hat, a deck of cards and a few fake coins. The chairs on the other side of the table were already in place—although they averaged only a dozen children, Harry always optimistically set up more in the Magic Corner.

Of course, it was Muggle magic, but Harry didn't mind. His intention was to pull in neighborhood children and give them an after-school activity; it didn't hurt, either, that Harry loved children and enjoyed entertaining and teaching them. It was good for the shop as well, turning parents into potential patrons.

Just before four, Harry slipped into the back room and pulled on one of his old Gryffindor robes. It fit, of course; even at twenty-eight, Harry was still slight, although a bit taller. Studying his reflection in the mirror, he licked his hand and tried in vain to tame one piece of hair that refused to lie flat. With a sigh, he turned and stepped back out into the shop.

No children yet, but Luna was off with a customer in one of the aisles. Harry took his time to survey his kingdom with a smile. The sun was hitting the front windows, lighting up all the colorful products within like a rainbow.

There were rows upon rows of everything a person planning a party could want or imagine: plates, napkins and tablecloths, colorful hats and costumes, rotating racks of greeting cards and balloons, brightly painted bins of toys, noisemakers and favors. In one corner stood a huge helium tank, flanked by a slotted wall holding hundreds of balloons just waiting to be filled. Crepe-paper and glittered streamers hung from the ceiling, along with garish piñatas that twisted slowly on their wires. And of course, the most recent addition at the far end of the shop, Harry's Magic Corner, where he worked with the children on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons.

It was the shop of Harry's dreams; he and Luna had opened it five years ago, and he enjoyed every single minute he spent there.

The sound of the bell and chattering of childish voices pulled him from his reverie. It was time. With a wave for Luna, Harry set off for the Corner to greet his small audience of wannabe magicians.

***

They were closing at seven that night, and Harry knew Luna was lingering for a reason. And he knew the reason, but had been hoping she'd at least give him the weekend….

"So…have you decided?" she asked as she leant on the counter.

Harry looked up from tallying the till. "I'm still not sure… Why do we need one anyway? I think we're doing fine. And…you know what I said, about the creepiness factor," he added blandly.

She stood and stared at him. "So, it's because you have a problem with clowns. Not because it's a bad idea?" When he made a face, she added, "Children love clowns, especially in a small group like we have. Have I ever steered us wrong?" she chided him gently.

Smiling wanly, Harry shook his head. "No, you haven't, and that's the only reason I'm even considering…oh all right, I'll go with you and see. But," he warned as he held up his hand, "I get the final say in this, Luna. I've got good instincts about children too, remember. Don't want to bring in a…" He rolled his eyes. "…clown and do damage. Look at Callie—I've not managed to make her smile once yet."

"Trust me, Harry. I really do think he'd be a hit; he can teach them all sorts of things, do magic tricks too, and best of all, make them laugh. Children don't laugh enough these days," she opined. "With a clown, Callie will come around, you'll see."

"Yeah, we'll see," he muttered. "So, where is this clown school?"

***

It was true that Harry enjoyed the time he spent in his shop; it was also true that the time in between—the evenings and Sundays—were lonely for the most part. He had friends, and Luna, of course, but all of them had someone special. Ron and Hermione were married, with children, George as well, Luna had Fred, and Neville lived abroad with Gabrielle Delacour. Harry'd had relationships too, but none that had lasted. The most recent one wasn't quite over, but Harry glumly assumed that it was as good as.

The one small bright spot in all of this loneliness was his twice a month Saturday afternoon meeting with an old friend in Victoria Park. The shop closed at two, and by two-thirty Harry was on his way, making his regular stop at the nearby Starbucks for their standing drink order.

Carrying his takeaway tray, he rounded the corner and spotted the first Auror at the south entrance to the park. As Harry passed him, he said amiably, "Hullo, Chilton," and was greeted with the customary, "Mr. Potter."

He strolled leisurely, nodding to the second Auror stationed at the start of the circular pathway. Pushing further in, he admired the foliage and flowers, now in full bloom. As he rounded the next corner, he saw the Minster of Magic ensconced on his regular bench, the third Auror seated beside him. As he saw Harry approaching, the Auror stood and discreetly walked to sit on the other side of the circle.

"Severus," Harry said as he sat, then handed over one of the cups.

"Harry," the Minster said as he took the cup and removed the lid.

They began as they always did, trading news of their respective worlds. Harry did keep up with wizarding current events, mostly because Luna force-fed him the Prophet every morning, but Snape filled in between the lines, injecting a humor and sarcasm that Harry'd come to appreciate about the man. Harry, in turn, told him anecdotes about customers, funny little snippets about the children who frequented the shop, and their progress with the Magic Corner.

Eventually, they got down to more personal matters.

"How are Teddy and Tonks?" Harry finally asked.

"Teddy has decided that since his step-father is the Minister, he should receive a special dispensation that would allow him to attend Hogwarts at age ten."

Harry snorted into his tea. "Precocious little guy. So, what'd you tell him?"

Snape turned halfway on the bench to face Harry. "I told him that since he'll be having a baby brother at Christmas, his mother will need him at home for the next year."

His eyes wide, Harry reached over and clapped the Minister on the shoulder. "A baby? Severus, that's super!" he laughed, enjoying the man's discomfiture. "I thought Tonks looked a bit sickly at Teddy's birthday."

Rolling his eyes, Snape confided, "That's been sorted out. Nymphadora is as stubborn as they come. How Lupin put up with her, I'll never know," he said with outright fondness. "I've finally convinced her that an anti-nausea potion each morning will not harm either one of them." He sighed, then smiled faintly. "But I am pleased. I never thought," he paused as he eyed Harry, "we'd have one of our own. Given our schedules…and Teddy keeps us busy."

"Well, congrats to both of you—you'll tell her I said so?" Harry asked earnestly. When Snape nodded, Harry settled back against the bench.

They were both silent for a moment, until Harry said, "This means you're having sex."

Snape made a harrumphing noise, looking sideways at Harry. "It would appear so."

"Why is everyone having sex but me?" he asked mournfully.

"Still no word from Aiden, then?"

Harry shook his head. "No, nothing." He stood to his feet. "Well, I must be off. I have to see a man about a clown," he said with a faint smile.

"Is that a punch line?" Snape asked, frowning slightly as he looked up.

"No, I'll give you that next time. See you, Severus." With a wave of his hand, he took off down the pathway.

***

Harry and Luna stood against the wall and watched the clowns in the class. Some were practicing on a low balance beam, teetering comically as they stepped. Others were performing for a group of children seated in a makeshift grandstand. The clowns were garishly dressed in bright colors—baggy pants, smock-like shirts hanging out, ridiculous shoes that tripped them when they walked. Their colorful faces were wreathed in smiles and grimaces as they pranked one another; the children laughed and clapped as several of the clowns chased each other with slapsticks and oversized rubber chickens.

In a corner on the far side of the small arena, a handful of clowns were gathered around an instructor. Harry watched as they mimicked his exaggerated motions; it was then that he realized that these were professionals learning an art form, a far cry from where he'd imagined clowns came from.

As he watched the performance end, and the children gather around the group of clowns, Harry had to reluctantly agree that Luna just might be on to something. At least here, they didn't seem scary at all.

The group began to break up as the clowns waved goodbye and headed for the exit.

"There he is, Harry. The one I told you about," Luna said as she pointed to the figure coming their way from across the amphitheater.

Harry watched warily as the clown approached. "Why does he look so different from the rest of them?" he asked softly. "I think I like the other ones better."

"He's a whiteface. In clown society, that's the boss clown. I guess you'd call him the straight guy in the act."

"I'm not sure we want the straight guy."

"He's an instructor, Harry. And he's the one who's agreed to help out. Give him a chance," she scolded. "You've not even met him yet."

The clown stopped a dozen steps away and stood still for a moment, then tucked his head to his chest and did a graceful forward somersault. He landed on his tiptoes, perfectly balanced, in front of the two of them. Lifting an arm out to his side, he wrapped the other around his waist, then swept into an awkward bow. When he stood again, he let his hands drop to his side, then stared, unsmiling, at the two of them.

Harry took a moment to look him over from head to toe.

The face and neck were entirely covered by white paint, his eyebrows and mouth outlined exaggeratedly with thick black lines, the only color on his face the bulbous red rubber nose and two identical trails of little hearts that dripped from the edges of his eyes, down onto his cheeks. He wore a black skullcap, out of which sprouted straight red glossy hair at the sides, draping over his red-painted, slightly grotesque ears. A ruffled white collar circled his neck and shoulders, repeated at his cuffs and ankles, tightly cinched. His costume was a darker shade of red, all of one piece, with baggy legs and arms. The only other colors in his ensemble were the bright yellows, blues and greens of the literally dozens of pockets sewn at odd angles everywhere. Some were clearly flat and empty, while others bulged as if they'd been stuffed. Finishing at his feet, Harry spied two impossibly large, yellow patent leather shoes, pointed out to the sides.

Luna said, "Harry, this is Pockets."

The clown's face remained motionless, as if frozen.

"Yeah, I imagine so," Harry murmured with a slight frown. When the clown still made no move, Harry narrowed his eyes. "All right. This is what I meant. Look at him. He's not funny, he's creepy," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. "And intimidating…and again, not funny."

"Well, you've just let the kneazle out of the bag. He can hear you, Harry."

Finally the clown did move. At least with his lips: he smiled.

"Can't you talk?" Harry asked, becoming impatient.

The clown lifted his hand and squeaked a small, red rubber bulb horn in Harry's face. He pointed first at himself, then at his pockets.

"Yeah, I get it," Harry said. "Your name is Pockets."

Nodding vigorously, the clown tapped his forehead.

"He says you're smart," Luna told Harry. "And he can talk, but not with words. Isn't that right, Pockets?"

"See, the problem is," Harry began, "if you don't talk, I don't know how the kids are gonna react. I mean, how will you even begin to—"

The clown reached deep into one of his pockets and pulled out three red rubber balls. As Harry watched, his mouth hanging open, the clown began to juggle, throwing them expertly and high into the air, even managing to spin around in between catching them. With a sudden move, he pocketed two of them, then leant forward and fastened the last one on Luna's nose. It was then that Harry noticed they weren't balls at all, but rubber clown noses. When Luna seemed startled, the clown squeezed her nose once, producing a definite squeaking noise.

Luna giggled. "Heeeee!"

Harry put his hand to his own nose, as if to protect it, but the clown was off on another gag. He sneezed loudly, then looked guiltily at Harry and Luna. Reaching into a pocket once again, he pulled out the end of a huge yellow handkerchief…and pulled and pulled and pulled, until there was a pile of fabric at his feet. The clown vacillated between blowing his nose, continuing to pull out the handkerchief, and trying to hide the 'evidence' with his sizeable feet.

"Slightly better," Harry said doubtfully.

The clown's eyes grew wide. He stood directly in front of Harry and shook his head as he tapped his own mouth with his palm. Dropping his hand to his chest, he pounded the area over his heart once, then touched his lips again.

"Pockets says when he speaks from his heart, you'll understand," Luna explained. "See, you understood his sneezing problem, didn't you?" she persisted.

Harry would later realize that it was Luna's determination to persuade him that made him give in. He had to admit that she'd never come up with an idea that hadn't worked. Besides, he really did hate saying no to her.

"You can do magic tricks?" The clown nodded. "And you've worked with children before?" Another nod. "And you won't scare them, and you'll back off if I say?"

This time the clown looked skeptical for a moment, then nodded slowly.

Harry sighed heavily. "All right. I'm willing to try you out for a few weeks…probation. I can pay you twenty pounds per week—that's for Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from four to five. If that works out, we might be able to use you when we do special events—parties and so-forth…if you work out. Is that agreeable?"

The clown smiled widely for the first time in the encounter, dropped into a backward somersault, springing up to land on the tips of his toes, and ended by throwing a handful of confetti from out of nowhere into Harry's face.

Luna clapped gleefully. "See! You won't regret it, Harry."

Watching Pockets wave as he headed for the ring, Harry muttered as he spat out confetti, "I already do."

***

Harry had to remind himself to stop watching the clown, and watch the children watching the clown, that first day. He found himself mesmerized, though, by Pockets' ability to make something funny out of nothing.

After Harry'd introduced him, Pockets had spent the next ten minutes with a repetitive gag that involved him slipping and falling over an invisible blemish on the floor. At first the children had gasped, then watched as the clown picked himself up and made much ado over brushing himself off…only to fall again and again, stopping to rub at the offending spot with tip of his handkerchief. The gasps became twitters…then giggles as Pocket's frustration grew. In the end, there'd been enthusiastic clapping and cries of disappointment when the bit was finished.

During the teaching time, Harry sat at one side of the table with his shell cups and walnuts. Pockets watched soberly, then used the set Harry'd supplied for him to provide another practice station. At first, all the children queued up in Harry's line, then slowly, one by one, a handful of them relocated to Pockets' side.

As always, Callie remained in the back row of chairs, seated on her mother's lap. Harry was ashamed when he realized he was secretly glad she'd not been won over by the clown. But…she watched him intently.

"You did all right, so…you can come back, I guess," Harry said after all the children had left, and he and Luna and Pockets were standing at the counter.

Luna was outraged. "All right? All right?" she asked incredulously, then turned to Pockets. "Don't mind him, Pockets. You were…" She glowered at Harry. "…terrific!"

"Luna, I said he could come back," Harry said begrudgingly, then was pulled up short when the clown grabbed and hugged him, planting fake kisses on both of his cheeks. He pulled out his bicycle horn and honked it twice, spun in a circle, then hooked his fingers proudly, palms out, underneath a set of invisible suspenders as he puffed out his chest.

"Don't hold anything back, do you?" Harry asked sarcastically.

Pockets rolled his eyes dramatically, then shook his head as he pointed to himself.

"He says that's the clown way—they don't hide what they feel," Luna said confidently.

"What, you speak clown now, do you?"

Harry was amused in spite of himself, watching as Pockets patted Luna fondly atop her head. "We'll see you on Wednesday, then."

With another honk of his horn, the clown danced to the door, then bowed himself out backward.

***

Harry watched the clown all that week, increasingly impressed in spite of himself. Each day, Pockets had a set gag routine he performed, then ended by helping Harry with whatever magic trick he'd chosen for that afternoon.

They were sitting around the table, teaching the children a simple sleight of hand trick using pennies, when Harry looked up at the sound of giggling. A little girl had climbed onto Pockets' lap and was delicately fingering the red-button daisy on his chest. Each time she tickled the flower, the clown drew his hands in and hunched his shoulders, then shook with imaginary mirth, which then made the girl laugh. Pockets would finally stop and reach for the pennies in front of him, when the girl would tickle again… Over and over they repeated the process, until the entire table was watching and giggling along with her.

By the middle of the next week, the children were begging Harry to allow Pockets to give them clowning lessons.

"I'll think about it," Harry murmured. "As far as I'm concerned, he's still on probation," he told Luna, once the shop had emptied and they were standing at the counter again.

Pockets looked stricken, the sides of his mouth turning down as his shoulders slumped in mock distress. Pulling out his yellow handkerchief, he blew his nose loudly. Harry suspected he'd honked that irritating nose beneath the yellow scarf. He had to struggle to keep his face straight.

He waited until Pockets had composed himself to nonchalantly add, "We have a party to do next Monday after closing. Want to come along?"

Eyes wide, the clown jumped up and down, miming a circuit on a trampoline, until he suddenly sprang off to the left and landed on the floor with a thud. He was up in a flash to grab Luna by the hands. Harry watched with mild disgust as the two of them did a little jig in place. Pockets caught his eye and came to stand solemnly before him, then rummaged in one of the deep pockets on his leg. Pulling out a bunch of springy yellow daffodils, he handed them to Harry, then planted a kiss on his cheek.

Wiping it off, Harry told him, "Ten pounds for the party. You think you can figure something out?"

Pockets tapped the side of his forehead and nodded.

Harry rolled his eyes, waving dismissively at the clown, then handed Luna a piece of paper. "Got another letter from the land developers today. They've upped the ante."

Luna took the letter and scanned it briefly. "They don't take no for an answer, do they?"

"Well, not the first time, I guess. No matter, I'm not selling. And neither is anyone else."

"Regis is, and Coffret too," she told him as she handed it back to him.

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise, then seemed to realize the clown was listening with interest. "Group of land developers wants to buy this strip of shops—and put up a fitness center. All of us have to sell, though. So that leaves three of us… I'll never sell," he said with quiet conviction.

Harry was slightly shocked when he saw the clown mouth the word, "Good."

***

In the quiet of the night, Harry missed Aiden.

His lover of a year had been gone for six weeks on a book tour. The promise to keep in touch had somehow fallen through, as Harry's emails went unanswered, but Aiden had warned him he'd be busy and not always have access to a computer. This was what Harry told himself and Luna as he tried to account for the silence, but he'd known deep down inside that the end was in sight, even before Aiden had gone. Finding that the man had taken all of his belongings with him only confirmed Harry's suspicions, although most of the time he managed to rationalize that away as well.

They'd been good friends who'd enjoyed each other's company, and filled their lonely nights with satisfying sex. That was what Harry missed the most, if he were honest. Touching another person, holding and being held, rolling over in the middle of the night and realizing he wasn't alone.

For Harry, being alone was the worst part.

He realized that perhaps his standards were a tad low, but he'd spent years alone and didn't much like the feeling. He never sought to bury that feeling in the arms of just anyone, but a warm someone who treated him well and respected his privacy, his need to hide his past…well that was all that Harry believed he could hope for. He thought this a realistic goal, but every once in a while, something in his heart whispered that he deserved better. Harry didn't disagree, but by this time and at his age, he began to wonder if there was someone out there for everyone but himself.

***

"So, you've changed your mind, then?" Snape asked him that following Saturday.

Harry tilted his head to the side as he thought. "Well, most of what I was afraid of hasn't happened, so yeah, I guess I have."

Snape made a noise of commiseration. "I think you were wise to be cautious; the wrong sort of clown might've seen your worst fears realized."

Harry frowned slightly. "Severus, are there wizarding clowns? I seem to remember reading about them, but I can't say I've ever actually seen one."

"Oh, there most certainly are, but they only appear in ritualized events—those at Solstice and Equinox, and," he added darkly, "on Samhain. The latter definitely fall into your creepy category."

"Funny, but I can't put my finger on exactly why I think them creepy. It's not like I've ever been to the circus."

Snape eyed him speculatively for a moment, then took a sip of tea. "Context is important. Children aren't usually afraid of them in circuses or parties… Perhaps in your case…" He shook his head.

"Well, don't stop there," Harry protested. "In my case what?"

Shrugging, Snape answered, "There's a theory that children with an unusual and seemingly unfounded fear of clowns experienced very early episodes of being frightened by facial expressions. Say…of a parent or relative."

"Really?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"Yes, even as an infant. A mother who contorts her face in sorrow or anger, for example, sets up an anxiety in the child that then carries over into childhood and adulthood."

"I'm not sure how that would apply to me…" Harry said doubtfully.

Snape snorted. "Of, for pity's sake, look at Petunia. I'm certain that horse-faced excuse for an aunt didn't spare you her expressions."

Harry's eyes widened. "That could be it, then?"

"So I've read."

"Pockets doesn't seem to scare me, though."

"Because he's funny; and that's the true test of the clown—to be funny. Think of what your clown—Pockets—does: he runs and plays and makes a mess of things. He doesn't mind his manners. He laughs at himself, and cries and throws tantrums. By doing all of that, he shows himself as vulnerable. He exposes himself honestly to get a laugh. That is what people relate to—someone who connects to them by being human. He's telling you, 'We are the same, you and I. Let's laugh at both of us.'"

Harry shot him an amused look. "Severus Snape…defender of clowns."

"A bit of psychoanalysis never hurt anyone," Snape said mildly. "Knowing what makes people tick is a useful skill in my line of work," he added dryly.

"I'd wager it is," Harry answered soberly.

***

The party the following week went off without a hitch. And Pockets had been on his best behavior, impressing Harry by his sensitivity with children who were reluctant to warm up to him. They'd played games, painted faces, done magic tricks and ended with the clown supplying helium balloons from the tank set up in the corner.

The helium canister, Harry discovered on Wednesday, was a source of entertainment in its own right. He rolled his eyes as Luna and Pockets filled their lungs, then raced around the shop, squeaking out high-pitched screams and one-liners. If Harry'd had any doubt that the clown could talk, he was quickly cured of that notion. He watched them, trying to look disapproving, then had to smile at their silly antics. If only for Luna's sake, Harry had to admit that Pockets was a good thing…

On Friday morning, the shop was quiet as Harry worked at the computer while Luna restocked shelves. He'd finished his inventory update, and was curious about something, so he did some searching….

"Luna…" he said as he tapped his pencil on the counter. "Did you know…that clowns in the Soviet Union were the only ones ever allowed to mock the government? Everyone else ended up in a gulag."

Traipsing down the aisle, Luna reached around and swiveled the monitor so she could see what Harry'd been reading. Her face split into a happy smile. "Harry! You're doing clown research. Why?" she asked him, her eyes shining.

"Not doing research…I was just curious about some things," he muttered self-consciously, wrestling to regain control of the monitor.

As Luna bit her lip, Harry added, "Just thought I should know a bit more about them…seeing as I'm handing over two tenners a week to one."

Luna reached out and patted his hand affectionately. "You can admit it, Harry. You like the clown, don't you?"

Harry grumbled, "Well, I don't know if I'd go so far—"

But the damage had been done. Picking up her basket, Luna turned and skipped toward the back of the shop, sing-songing as she went, "Harry likes the clow-on, Harry likes the clow-on!"

Pursing his lips as he watched her, Harry had to confess that he might…possibly…like…

Pockets had taken to arriving early on Magic Corner days, sometimes by as much as an hour. He busied himself back in the Corner; Harry could hear him clunking around, practicing whatever it was that clowns practiced. He'd wander the shop, examining the wares, and often stood at the counter and watched Harry or Luna work. Harry ended by talking to him, now and then, telling him how he and Luna had been friends at school, and through their shared love for children and parties, had decided to open the shop. He and Pockets managed a rudimentary form of communication, he supposed—short on adverbs and adjectives, but chock full of nouns and…action verbs. And just the day before last, the clown had surprised Harry by slipping into the back room and making them both a cup of tea.

Today Pockets was in one of the aisles, irritating Harry by rotating the squeaky greeting card rack, when the bell over the door made Harry look up.

"Hermione! Ron!" he exclaimed, watching them as they made their way to the counter. "What're you two up to?" he asked as he cleared the space in front of him.

"Hullo, Harry," Ron said as he shook his hand. "We were in the neighborhood, looking for a trike for Rose."

Hermione leant over the counter to kiss Harry on the cheek. "Where's Luna?" she asked.

"Out for the post, should be back soon," he said with a smile. "How's the family? Ginny must be due any day now?"

Ron made a face. "Big as a house, actually. Oliver's on holiday for the next three weeks—hopefully something'll happen soon."

They'd been chatting easily for a few minutes, sharing their news, when Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the squeaking sound, then did a double-take. Looking back to Harry, she leant in closer and murmured, "Is that a clown?"

"Yeah, it is. I hired him on for a while—Luna's idea, actually, but he seems to be working out." At Ron's blank look, he added, "For the children's hour." He looked toward the aisle and caught Pockets squinting at them, so waved him over.

The clown slowly made his way to the front of the shop as the three of them watched, then casually leant against the end of the counter a few feet away.

"This is Ron and Hermione, friends of mine from school. And this is Pockets, my…clown." Harry sighed audibly when the clown only stared at them.

"Harry…." Hermione said uncertainly, still eyeing Pockets. "He seems a bit…scary."

"Nah, the kids love him…well, most of them do," he said as he waved a hand, frowning at the straight-faced clown. "He sort of…grows on you," he said a bit defensively when he saw the look of disbelief on Ron's face.

"Doesn't he talk?" Ron asked, still eyeing Pockets suspiciously.

"No," Harry said. "But I can understand him."

The clown made a series of hand gestures, including one that involved cupping his arse, then ended by standing up straight, facing Ron. Harry saw the hand slip into the pocket, and a split second later, a steady stream of water squirted from the flower on his chest, making Ron jump back in surprise.

"Hey!" he protested, wiping at his shirt. "That was rude!" Hermione giggled, so Pockets reached over and patted her cheek affectionately.

Harry laughed then too. Nodding at Ron, he said, "He says you're a berk who needs a laughing enema, and that Hermione's a sweetheart."

Hermione beamed at the clown, as Ron muttered, "How you got all that from what he just did…"

With an elegant bow for Hermione, and a tongue stuck out at Ron, Pockets wandered away to the back of the shop.

A short time later, the two of them left, promising to get together soon. The moment the bell at the door signaled they'd gone, Pockets returned. He and Harry studied each other soberly. When the clown cupped his arse again and nodded, Harry understood.

"Well, that's what you meant, wasn't it? I think I got what you said right."

Pockets nodded.

"Well, they're my friends, from way back, and Ron's not a berk; he's got a great sense of humor." When the clown raised a dubious eyebrow, Harry told him, "He's just one of those people who're not fond of clowns, I guess. You've probably met a lot of those."

The clown nodded, then slipped his hand into a pocket. Harry braced himself, but Pockets pulled out several packages of balloons he'd taken from the shelves, and placed them on the counter.

Harry ignored them for a moment as he stared at the clown. "I wish you'd talk," he said impulsively. "Underneath…all of that, I suspect there's a fairly interesting person. I'd wager you have quite a bit to say… How old are you anyway?" he asked, suddenly filled with all the questions he'd wanted to ask the clown for weeks.

Pockets wagged a forbidding finger at him in a definite 'no-no' gesture, then pointed to the balloons.

"Oh. You want to buy these, then?" When the clown nodded, Harry did the sum in his head, then told him, "Two quid."

He watched in amazement as the clown began to empty his pockets out onto the counter: scarves, clown noses, a seltzer bottle, and several small bags of confetti that Harry eyed warily. "Guess that's why they call you Pockets, huh?"

Pockets tapped his temple, then pointed at Harry.

"You think I'm smart, eh? Brown-noser," he scoffed as he took the fiver.

The clown feigned shock, his thick black eyebrows arching almost up under the skullcap. Crossing his eyes to look down at his red nose, he gingerly squeaked it, then shook his head.

"You know what I meant," Harry scolded mildly as he handed him his change.

The clown gave him a rare smile, then nodded.

"So…" Harry persisted, "I'm just curious about you…"

Pockets pointed at his chest in question, raising his eyebrows again, then looked behind himself.

"Not Pockets, you. The person you are without…the suit," Harry said softly. "Do you have a family…a father and mother?"

Pockets shrugged and looked at his yellow shoes.

"Wife?"

Now the clown looked up, making a face that Harry was glad the children had never seen. Then he shook his head vehemently.

"So, no wife. How about…clown friends?"

Making a show of counting to three on his fingers, the clown nodded, then brightened as he pointed to Harry and then the shop door.

"Oh, Luna and me. Yeah, I guess we are. So…what do you do when…you're not clowning? With your time off?"

Pockets tapped the books piled on the counter, then pointed to Harry's small CD player. Finally, he pillowed his hands together and laid his head on them, then made the motions of shoveling food into his mouth.

Harry asked slyly, "What, no girlfriend?"

Pockets shook his head with his tongue hanging out.

"Don't you get lonely…you know, for a bit of female companionship?"

Pulling a bag of skinny-sized balloons from a pocket, the clown took one out, then glanced furtively around the shop. Harry watched, transfixed, as Pockets effortlessly blew the bright pink balloon halfway up. With an outright grin for Harry this time, the clown held the balloon at his crotch and made wanking motions around it, jutting his hips lewdly back and forth.

Harry guffawed. "Well, that's one solution." He sobered, then sighed. "I know exactly what you mean. Don't let the kids see you doing that, though." Harry stood up straighter as he realized… "Hey! You can do balloons? The funny hats and animals?"

Pockets looked downright insulted, then nodded as he rolled his eyes.

"You've been holding out on us," Harry murmured, but Pockets only shook his head.

When the bell jangled again, Harry nodded at the clown. "Luna's back with the post."

"Hullo, Pockets," Luna said with a bright smile as she handed Harry the post. "Nothing much," she said as Harry began to sort through it. "Oh. There's another letter from Aegis." She shrugged at Pockets. "The people who want to buy the shop."

The clown grimaced and made a cutting motion at his throat.

"They don't give up, do they?" Harry muttered, still leafing through the envelopes.

Luna hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, "Nothing from Aiden."

Harry looked up guiltily, then when he saw both Luna and Pockets studying him sympathetically, he shrugged resignedly and told them, "There won't be. He emailed me yesterday. He's not coming back."

"Oh. Harry, I'm sorry," Luna said as she reached over the counter to hug him.

Harry let her for a moment, then pushed her away. "No surprise, really. I was hoping…but things just didn't work out. Not a very good match, I guess."

"Aiden was Harry's boyfriend," Luna told the clown, who was watching Harry. At Luna's words, Pockets placed his hand over his heart and nodded at Harry.

"Thanks, Pockets, I appreciate that."

"Well, it's hard when you couldn't be honest with him about…certain things…" Luna trailed off at the look on Harry's face.

"Luna…" he warned, not missing that the clown was frowning perplexedly.

***

That night, Harry lay on his side in the bed, watching the moonlight filter in through the curtains to make shapes on his wall. So…Aiden was history, one of only a handful of men that Harry'd let into his life. Things always seemed to start off well, but as time went by, it was almost as if the men he chose lost interest. He had some regrets this time, and as he'd told them that day, he was hardly surprised. But with the reality came the cold weight of solitude, heavier than ever.

He smiled as he thought of the clown and his outrageous pink balloon. Sighing, Harry rolled to his back and slipped his boxers down. Pockets was right—sometimes all that was left for a man to do was to take himself in hand.

***

"So…" Harry said to Luna, eyeing the clown standing at the end of the counter, "…next week is the hospital visit. I figured we'd do the usual—your cupcakes, some magic tricks, we have the pressies in the back…."

Luna followed his line of sight. "What about him? Should we take him?" she asked softly.

"I'm not sure. We have to be careful. Remember that clown study…kids in hospitals don’t like them."

Luna made a tsking sound. "No, kids in hospitals don't like clown-themed décor. Not the same thing, Harry."

Their conversation was cut short as the door to the shop opened; two men in suits entered and stood for a moment as they looked around the interior.

Luna stepped toward them. "Can I help you?"

The larger of the two men looked her up and down in a way that made Harry immediately dislike him. The other man walked off in the opposite direction, taking a leisurely tour of the shop.

"I'm looking for the owner," the man said, looking down at a paper in his hand. "Mr. Potter."

"I'm Mr. Potter," Harry said, standing from his stool behind the counter.

Taking two long steps, the man held out his hand. "I'm Laurence Morgan, Aegis Development Corporation."

Harry shook his hand briefly, then sat again. "Ah yes, we've got your letters, and your generous…offers," he added with a trace of sarcasm.

The man looked dismissively at Luna, then squinted suspiciously at Pockets, who was inching his way along the counter toward them. "Perhaps we should talk in private?"

Harry smiled wryly as he shook his head. "This is my staff. Anything you have to say, they should hear as well."

Morgan's face hardened slightly. "Very well. You should know, Mr. Potter, that we've secured three of the five properties now, and believe we'll soon come to agreement with your neighbor."

"Lewis must've caved," Harry told Luna conversationally, then looked back to the man. "Well, that leaves Julian and myself." He leant forward over the counter. "And I'll tell you now—you can stop wasting your time, because hell will freeze over before either of us sell," he finished in a low, intense voice.

The man stared at him for a moment. "Everyone has their price, I've found. So what will it be, Mr. Potter? I've no doubt that you'll eventually come around. Aegis is very motivated to get on with this project, and waiting for hell to freeze over, as you say, isn't remotely on our agenda." He lowered his voice. "What will it take to convince you to leave? There are other…methods besides monetary incentives. You might want to keep that in mind."

Harry blinked twice, then gestured toward the door. "Get out, and take your friend with you," he menaced, only vaguely aware that the clown was standing beside the man.

Morgan tried to backpedal. "Mr. Potter, we're all reasonable men." He held out his hands palms up. "There's no reason for this process to become unpleas—"

He was cut short by the sound of Pockets' horn blaring in his ear. Jumping, he made a grab for the clown, who was quicker off the mark. Poking him in the chest with his horn, Pockets took another step forward, and for the first time, Harry appreciated just how tall the clown was.

Morgan scowled at the clown. "Back off—touch me again and I'll—"

Pockets moved like lightening, using both hands to push the man toward the door.

"You'd better leave now, Mr. Morgan. I can't be responsible for what he'll do if you don't," Harry called at the stumbling figure. He and Luna snickered as both men beat a hasty retreat, shouting obscenities at the clown who chased them into the street. Peering through the shop window, they saw Pockets' parting shot: a handful of confetti thrown at their backs.

That afternoon when the children came, Harry watched the clown with renewed interest. Although he'd scolded him that he could take care of himself, he knew that Pockets wasn't fooled; Harry hadn't hidden the gratitude in his eyes, nor his glee that his clown had rained down a wrath of confetti.

God, he hated confetti….

Harry'd taught the children how to use Chinese linking rings as the magic part of their lesson, and now Pockets was doing his wind-down act. He really was a rather large man, Harry noted. His hands were slender but agile, his shoulders broad, and even though his suit hid any musculature that might've been there, Harry guessed that it had to be, considering the clowns acrobatic flexibility.

He also had an endearing and poignant grace about him as he stood there, all eyes on him as he pulled flower after flower from one pocket, then another. With each one, he leant over the group of chairs to bestow it on one of the children. Harry knew that every single child would receive one, as well as Luna…Pockets' biggest fan.

How strange…everyone had got a gift from Pockets that day…even Harry.

But then Harry noticed…there was still one child without a flower—the little redheaded girl seated on her mother's lap in the very last row.

Callie.

Pockets frowned as he patted his pockets. First the ones on his chest, then the numerous others on his sleeves and trouser legs. He stood and made a sad face, his lips turned down as he mournfully studied the little girl, who stared back, her big blue eyes wide.

Suddenly, the clown staggered in place as he held up a finger to the group, signaling for them to wait. As he slowly smiled, Pockets slid his right hand into the side-slot pocket of his trousers. Deeper and deeper his arm went, up to his elbow. There wasn't a sound in the room as he rummaged and poked in the deep recesses, then with a smooth and practiced grand flourish, he produced a bunch of yellow-striped pansies, holding them up proudly for all to see, taking tiny bows toward the group and to Harry and Luna at the side.

Then Pockets did something that boggled Harry's mind: he swayed. First to the left…and then to the right. The entire group of children swayed with him, their hands outstretched, begging for the bunch of posies. He swayed backward then, so far, in fact, that Harry was on the verge of jumping behind him, so sure he was that the clown was about to fall.

But he slowly righted himself, and in that moment, the room became silent again, as Pockets leant forward. No hands were up this time, as it was clear for whom the flowers were intended. Reaching over the first row of children, Pockets swayed forward, almost as if his shoes were glued to the floor…then over the second row…to the third.

In a flash, Harry saw Callie's hands come up at the exact moment that Pockets dropped the bunch of flowers into her lap. She caught them, mid-drop, then brought them up to her nose. The other children clapped wildly as Callie smiled around the pansies. Pockets had straightened and was watching her with a satisfied smile.

And though it was noisy, and her voice small, Harry saw her lips form the words: Thank you, Pockets!

"That, Luna," Harry murmured as the children began to leave, Callie's eyes still shining, "was magic." He watched the clown for a moment longer, then, when he caught his eye, gave a nod of approval. "By the way, I think we should take him on the hospital gig."

***

That Friday afternoon, after the children had gone, the three of them sat down in the back room to discuss the hospital visit on Sunday.

"This isn't like a party," Harry told the clown solemnly. "These kids are sick, some of them dying. We keep everything fairly quiet—they do better with one-on-one activities. Luna takes cupcakes for them to decorate, I do a few magic tricks, and we give them pressies. And talk to them." He paused for a moment, just about to warn Pockets about his usual exuberance, then he stopped.

He realized that he truly didn't have any worries about Pockets' instincts anymore. The clown seemed to intuitively know what was too much…and what was appropriate. Harry thought to himself that they really were a team, each one of them with a gift that would appeal to the children who so desperately needed a distraction, if only for the space of an hour or two.

"Since this is extra, I'll be paying you for the afternoon," he told Pockets.

The clown held up his hand and shook his head. 'No,' he mouthed.

And for a moment, Harry wanted to hug the man…but of course, he contented himself with a smile and a nod of his head.

***

The next day, Saturday, Harry found himself at a loose end in the afternoon. The Minister wouldn't be in Victoria Park to meet him, as he was whisking away his beautiful wife for the weekend to celebrate their seventh wedding anniversary.

Harry sat in the back room of the shop, flipping through the telly channels, thinking morosely to himself, See, everyone has someone…even Severus Snape.

***

They met at the shop on Sunday to gather what they would take to the hospital. Each of them carried a large shopping bag, filled to the brim with supplies.

"You have what you'll need?" Harry asked the clown.

Pockets stared at him, then patted his…pockets.

"Oh. Right, well, we're off, then."

The hospital visit was an event that Luna and Harry did every other month. They set up their things in a dayroom, then the children began to arrive at precisely two o'clock. Some of them walked with a nurse or a parent, some were in wheelchairs, but all of them were eager and grateful.

There was a table set up for Luna and her cupcake decorating, and a semi-circular one where Harry sat to do his magic tricks. As he worked, the children came and went, and as Harry had told the clown, it was all very low-key and non-stressful. Quiet activities that would entertain, but more importantly, soothe and distract. He could hear the low murmur of Luna's voice as she read from a large storybook, while the children iced their cupcakes and decorated them with sprinkles and jimmies.

Harry often found that during these visits he had a lump in his throat as he worked, watching their drawn faces, seeing their sometimes bald heads and painfully bruised arms adorned with intravenous apparatuses, a tube in a nose here, a splint to a limb there. But they didn't ever whinge or complain.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Pockets, who'd stood when the children had first begun to arrive, then had moved quietly off to sit on a tiny chair at the front of the room. Strangely, he made no move to interact with the small patients at all. He'd crossed his legs and rooted in his pockets, then leant down to lay out an array of skinny balloons to one side on the floor.

Seeming in his own little world, he began to blow up balloons, one by one; his first creation was a gold and brown giraffe, skillfully twisted so that it stood on its own four feet. Setting it in front of him, he started on the next one. Soon, an elephant and then a turtle joined the giraffe on the floor.

By this time, he'd attracted attention, and then over the next two animals, a small audience of children stood in front and watched as he worked. Harry waited for it to happen, and it didn't take long. Finally, a little boy in striped pajamas reached out to tentatively touch the giraffe, and in the next instant, Pockets had smiled and handed it to him, miming an 'it's for you' gesture.

Then he couldn't make them fast enough, and suddenly he'd diversified into balloon hats, which turned out to be even more popular. Harry did his magic tricks now for children sporting balloons on their heads, and he crowed inwardly at how the clown had suddenly seemed to animate the lot of them. Smiling happily, Harry concentrated on the tricks in front of him, gratified when a nurse leant down and murmured at his ear, "The clown was a wonderful idea, Harry."

Yes, the clown had been a wonderful idea, from the very start, Harry had to admit. He realized that Luna was worth her weight in gold, not only because she was his best friend, but because she had this gift for knowing what children wanted and, an even rarer gift, what they needed the most. And now it seemed that Pockets had that same sensitivity. Harry felt suddenly filled with warmth, and strangely humbled.

Their time was up, and the children were saying goodbye as the three of them passed out small gifts for them to take back to their wards. A nurse came and pulled Harry aside for a moment; when he returned, he gave Luna a meaningful look as he told them, "There's a little boy who wanted to come, but couldn't. He's up on the fifth floor, and his mother has asked if the clown could stop by." He saw Pockets' eyes grow large as he nodded. Harry added in a low voice as they headed for the lift, "He's dying, just so you know."

***

As they walked down the fifth-floor hallway, Harry told Pockets, "He's eight, and his name is Mattie. He usually comes to the dayroom, but I guess he's not able to now."

They entered the private room; bright sunlight was streaming in through the curtains, the walls were covered with cards and drawings, and the bed was littered with an assortment of stuffed animals. But the sight of the forlorn little boy in the middle of it made Harry's heart constrict.

Nodding at Mattie's mother, who discreetly removed herself to a chair by the door, Harry approached the bed, only vaguely aware that Pockets had headed for a chair on the far wall, opposite the foot of the bed.

"Hey, Mattie. Missed you today," Harry said softly as he took a chair and angled it so he could see the boy.

Mattie seemed to be eyeing the clown a bit fearfully as he answered, "I can't eat anymore, so my legs won't work."

"Well, mine do, so I thought I'd come up and see you. Pockets, there, wanted to come as well." The clown had already laid out his balloons on the floor and was slowly blowing up a bright blue skinny.

Harry and Mattie watched him for a moment, Harry threading his hand through the bed rails to gently hold the fragile little fingers. "I think he's making you something." When the boy craned his neck to see better, Harry leant over and propped his pillow to help him.

"He's a very sad clown," Mattie observed aloud.

"That's just the way he looks right now," Harry told him. He considered the boy for a moment, then added, "Sometimes people look one way on the outside, but are quite another on the inside." He paused, then squinted at Mattie. "You look very, very brave to me."

Mattie studied him for a moment, then looked at the clown. "You mean…he's happy on the inside?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, he is. It's just part of his clown act sometimes, to look sad. But…it's all right to let people see both the outside and the inside, Mattie."

Seeming to digest this, the boy cast a furtive look toward his mother by the door, then said more softly to Harry, "I’m afraid on the inside."

Squeezing his hand, Harry said, "But brave on the outside."

"If I show I'm afraid, or if I cry, then Mummy is sad and she cries too."

A slight sound at the foot of the bed made Harry look up to see Pockets standing there. "I think…your mum needs to be sad and cry sometimes too, Mattie. She's sad you're sick."

There was a pause as the child eyed the clown. "And I'm dying."

Harry caught Pockets' eyes. "Yes, that too. But…sometimes when you share a feeling, it makes both people feel better." He gently stroked the boy's hand, then angled his head so he could look him in the eyes. "If your mum knew you were hiding being sad and afraid just for her…that would make her feel even sadder."

"Do you really think so?" the child asked doubtfully.

Harry nodded. "Take Pockets here. He's like your mum in a way. When I'm sad, do you know what he likes to do?"

Mattie shook his head, watching as the clown rounded the bed and came to stand at Harry's side. Without any prompting, Pockets patted Harry on the head, then rubbed him soothingly on the back. Taking out the yellow handkerchief, he dabbed at Harry's eyes, then finished by hugging him. Pulling out the two blown-up balloons sticking out of his pockets, he quickly fashioned them into a simple hat. After fixing it on Harry's head, he pulled out a bright red clown nose and fastened it to Harry's nose, squeaking it once when he was finished.

Mattie smiled for the first time since they'd come. "My mummy can't make balloon animals," he said in a whisper.

Pockets looked shocked and shook his head, while Harry smiled and said, "No, I imagine not, but if she knows you're sad, Mattie, she'll want to do all those other things that Pockets did. You just have to tell her how you feel, so you can both feel better, all right?"

The boy nodded, looking curiously at the clown, his eyes growing wider as Pockets blew up more balloons and placed them one by one atop the sheet.

"Now, tell Pockets what animal you'd like him to make."

When they left a few minutes later, Mattie was sitting serenely with his mother, hat on his head and giraffe in hand, with a red clown nose on his face.

Harry and Pockets took the lift down, Harry staying silent, and of course, the clown didn't have a word to say either. Glancing at Pockets, Harry saw the tears leaking out of the sides of his eyes. Reaching an arm around the man's shoulders, Harry gave him an empathetic squeeze and simply said, "I know."

PART TWO