Harry Potter and the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus

Chapter 8:      The New Keeper

GINNY WEASLEY FURROWED HER BROWS SKEPTICALLY, distractedly nibbling her cold toast. 

ARE YOU TIRED OF BEING A WALLFLOWER? 

Well...

Tired of going unnoticed by that someone special?  

Hmmph.  Yes.

Ever dreamed of being an exotic, passion- and poetry-inspiring rose, rather than a mere dandelion?

Of course.  What do you think?

What do you want out of life?  Wealth?  Power?  Popularity?  Adventure?  Romance?

No.  No.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.

WELL, NOW YOU CAN HAVE IT ALL!  BE THE YOU YOU WANT TO BE!  BE THE YOU YOU DESERVE TO BE!   JUST FOLLOW THIS SIMPLE PLAN AND I GUARANTEE YOU WILL NEVER HAVE TO SPEND ANOTHER LONELY SATURDAY NIGHT IN FRONT OF THE CAULDRON AGAIN...

Her eyes darkened over the introduction of Dame Francesca Nadaworth´s Tapping the Inner Goddess: The Smart Witch´s Guide to Makeover Magic and Wooing the Wayward Wizard.  The tattered, faded back cover of the slim, dog-eared paperback featured a slender witch with a cascade of near-metallic strawberry blonde tresses.  Her coral lips flashed a blinding smile and blue eyes flirted from beneath long, dark lashes.  The witch´s arms crossed knowingly over her ample bosom and Ginny idly wondered if Dame Francesca was in some way related to Gilderoy Lockhart.

Passion- and poetry-inspiring rose, indeed!  Honestly, what a load of tosh!  Hmmph.  What on earth had possessed her mother to spend good galleons on this book?  She was positively scandalised that her mother had actually pressed it into her hand at King´s Cross Station ("It helped me snare your father," hissed Mrs. Weasley, with a conspiratorial wink).  Ginny could only stare as the train pulled away, dumbstruck at the implications.  Did her mother think she needed help?  What made her think that after fourteen years of budding mediocrity, her daughter could be prompted into blossoming into a butterfly with the help of Witch Weekly´s Makeover Matron?

But there was some part of Ginny that hoped that Dame Francesca´s advice really did work...  Never spend another lonely Saturday night?  Tired of being a wallflower?  (She considered whether dodging Neville´s two left feet on the dance floor counted, and decided it didn´t.)  Tired of going unnoticed by Harr-

Ginny´s eyes flew up almost guiltily and looked round, as if her thoughts had been broadcast throughout the Great Hall.  Golden sunlight streamed in from the enchanted ceiling, scantily draped with a few cirrus clouds.  At this time of the morning, the Hall was as quiet as a cathedral, save for the occasional clinking of golden cutlery.  In addition to the few early risers among the students, only a meagre handful of professors had taken their places at the staff table.  Professor Sinistra and Madam Hooch hunched over, side by side, picking drowsily at their plates.  Professor Flitwick drained the last of his coffee from a tall, bulbous tankard and turned to them, chirping in excited, caffeine-induced bursts, only to be rewarded with blank stares and impatient grimaces.  Disconcerted, the tiny wizard hopped off his chair and toddled off in a huff past the Headmaster.  Dumbledore raised his head from his eggcup, turned and looked directly toward-did he just... wink at me? 

She smiled back, shifting a little uncomfortably in her seat.  Ginny, like everyone else, had heard the rumours about the Headmaster´s uncanny extra-sensory perception about people at Hogwarts, but, at the moment, she really didn´t want a demonstration of the extent of his telepathic powers.  She immediately dropped her gaze to the table of contents and reluctantly read on.

Introduction
Taking Stock of Yourself
Building Basics: What the Wise Witch Knows to Cast Away
You Don´t Need a Niffler to Find the Shiny New You
Let That Wizard Find YOU: Are you looking for love in all the wrong places?
First Date Magic and Other Courtship Etiquette for the Modern Witch, etc.

Ginny huffed derisively through a mouthful of toast.  If her mother hadn´t forced the book upon her at the last minute, she would never even be remotely tempted to open it, let alone flip through it.  And now that she had, Ginny realised that having anyone catch her with Dame Francesca would be only slightly less mortifying than being nabbed with her quill in Tom Riddle´s diary. 

Besides, Ginny already had a firm opinion of herself.  She was fourteen and... not unattractive.  A little flat, maybe, but... well, you can´t have everything, can you?  And while she wouldn´t exactly characterise herself as a great wit, she was occasionally surprised by her own sense of humour (though Ron often called it sarcastic).  She was pretty self-confident...  Okay, somewhat self-confident... Well, at least she didn´t have (many) self-image issues... er... most of the time.  Most of the time when she wasn´t anywhere near an attractive boy.  Particularly, particularly around one particular boy.  A boy who she believed ought to like her for who she was.  There was no reason at all for her to change herself! 

Her nose had just begun to rise in contempt when her eye fell upon the middle chapter:

Nudging the Recalcitrant Suitor: Lovetraps that Work

Ginny shook her head.  Unbelievable.  It was unnatural, somehow contrary to the laws of nature, for a witch in this day and age even to attempt any of the-she searched for the phrase-underhanded tactics Dame Francesca was peddling.  The very idea of entrapment?  Contemptible.  Demeaning. Utterly offensi-  

Ginny´s face grew hot and her pulse proved once again it could go from zero to a hundred in less than ten seconds.  Dumbledore would probably have been proud had he known that at that moment, Virginia Weasley was demonstrating her own peculiar brand of extrasensory perception: her uncanny ability to detect the precise moment when a boy with distinctive, untamed black hair-He Who Need Not Be Named-entered through the great oak doors.  Ron was at his side, of course, yawning indecorously as they paused to greet one of the Ravenclaw Prefects... (Ginny craned her neck, immediately wishing she hadn´t.)  Ah.  Cho Chang.  The dark-haired girl flushed prettily, eyeing Harry through half-lidded, almond-shaped eyes.  Harry lowered his head, whispering something, and rested a hand on the girl´s arm.  Ginny´s heart sank.  She sighed, face drooping despondently over her plate.

Hopeless.  Of course.

Beside the Eggs Florentine, Dame Francesca winked incessantly.  Ginny stared at the gaudy witch for a long moment.  Then at Harry...  Then down at her lap in shame.  No, she couldn´t.  It was too ridiculous.  Wasn´t it? 

She tugged thoughtfully at her copper-coloured curls.  Finally, her glare met Dame Francesca´s self-confident smirk.

Mmmph.  The glare was fading fast.

Come, now!  Shiny New You?  Passion and Poetry-Inspiring Rose?

Well ...

Not just any lovetraps.  Lovetraps ... that work.

Ginny stared at the phrase, wrestling with her ethics.  Later, she could chalk it up to poor timing that Harry chose that very moment to stop and chat with Colin Creevey, just a few feet away.  Running a hand absently through his hair.  ... Sigh. 

Through sheer force of will, she dragged her gaze away.  Now, where was she? 

Right.  Well, she thought, chancing a quick sideways glance at Harry, mum certainly did seem like a satisfied customer...  In the light of the supporting evidence, it would be, not only unfair, but downright irresponsible of her not to give Dame Francesca a shot.  What did she have to lose?  If Harry failed to notice her after all this, she would simply revert to being as unremarkable and invisible as she had always been.  The mere thought would have depressed Ginny if her mind hadn´t already bubbled ahead with renewed optimism.    Really, she thought, now eagerly gnawing her lip, all I have to do is-

"Wha-what´s that?"  Ron yawned, plonking down his books beside her.

She slammed the book shut, camouflaging a protesting Dame Francesca with an early edition of the Daily Prophet.  Ginny glanced at her brother´s blotchy, bed-lined face and her eyes darted furtively past him.

"Nothing," she squeaked.  Merlin, she wasn´t even doing a fair job of fibbing, but maybe Ron wouldn´t notice.  He stood for a moment, shaking his head awake, rubbing his eye, still a bit bloodshot over the bruise.  He crawled wearily onto the bench and groped for the milk jug.

"Your face is... um... healing nicely," she said, casually tipping Dame Francesca, the newspaper and the rest of her books into her satchel. 

"Thanks, Gin."  Ron crooked a ginger brow.  "And don´t try to change the subject.  I saw mum hand it to you when we left."  He smirked, satisfied at her obvious outrage, and turned to the clusters of bran flakes leaping like lemmings into his bowl. 

"I don´t know what you´re talking about," she spat defiantly.  Even so, Ginny could feel the traitorous flare flood her face.

"Ginny," said Ron, leaning forward patronisingly, "everyone in the family knows about Dame Francesca.  Mum´s been hiding that book behind all the Lockharts on the kitchen shelf since before you were born."

Ginny could tell by his grin that she looked guilty.  "Apparently," he said, "some of those spells are pretty effective ... if that´s what you were wondering.  That´s what the twins say-"

"What do Fred and George say?" 

Harry had materialised beside them, pushing up his glasses.  He slid easily into the seat beside Ron and smiled at Ginny who felt herself reddening all over again. 

"Actually," said Ron, turning to him with a devilish gleam in his eye, "you might find this interesting, Harry."  Ginny gasped as Ron jabbed Harry playfully with his elbow.  "I was just telling Ginny here-"

Ginny shot Ron a pleading look. 

"-that ..." (he grinned maddeningly) "...um, that George and Fred have got a great new gag.  And a spectacular one it ought to be, as well."

"What?"  Harry swung his glance between Ginny and Ron. 

"That´s all I know, `mate."  Ron shrugged.  "But George said we´d find out in a few weeks."

Ginny hadn´t even realised that she had been holding her breath until it all rushed out in a flood.  The juice goblet quivered in her hand as she glowered surreptitiously at Ron, imagining ten different ways to exact her revenge.  At least eight of them involved large, hairy six-foot tall spiders.  She had only just begun to relish these grim thoughts, when her heart took a sudden leap into her throat.

Harry was peering curiously around Ron into her satchel, one hand reaching toward the Daily Prophet ... and Dame Francesca.  "Hey, Ron, is this yours?  `Mind if I-"

"Please, feel free to avail yourself of my copy, Harry."

Ginny wasn´t the only one startled to find the Headmaster´s celestial-patterned robes before them, as his long arms held out his copy of the daily paper. 

Harry blinked at Dumbledore for a long moment before accepting the paper.  "Thank you, sir.  Are you sure you´re-"

"Quite finished, my boy."  He raised a hand in protest of further thanks.  "I believe you would be doing a great service and sparing us from a bit of a catastrophe."  Ginny´s eyes widened as his twinkling paused briefly on her face.  "Whenever I bring newspapers back to my office, Fawkes naturally sets about shredding them for his bedding.  Creates rather a terrible fire hazard during his molting phases, I can tell you.  I may be an old wizard, but I would rather not return to dust before my time."  With a parting wink at the table, he disappeared from the Hall.

"Awfully decent of him," Ron said admiringly.

"Mmm-hmm."  Harry´s spectacles had already disappeared behind page two.

"Hey, is there anything ... ?"  A worried frown crossed Ron´s brow.  Ginny glimpsed her earlier fears flickering across his face: that the Death Eaters might have struck again, close to home.  But she´d already checked.  Reaching across to his shoulder, she gave him a reassuring smile and shook her head.

Ron nodded, the tension fleeing from his face.  He gave her a full-freckled grin, then turned to lean over Harry´s shoulder.  "You sure, there´s nothing interesting?  `PERCY WEASLEY MADE ASSISTANT TEA-MAKING MAGE AT THE MINISTRY´, for example?"  He winked at Ginny. 

 

"Mmm," murmured Harry, balancing a bit of toast between his teeth and quickly scanning through the articles.

"How about a Chudley Cannons victory?  It´s about time they made division finals.  No?"

"Most definitely, no."  Harry grinned, shaking his head.  "Well, they say, no news is good news."  Putting down the paper, he reached for the cereal and the milk jug.  "Nothing unusual, unless you count a fare hike for the Knight Bus, a dip in Zonko´s stock, and poachers in the Forbidden Forest."

"Oh.  Poachers?"  Ron paused, looking disappointed.  "Are you sure there isn´t some juicy tabloid bit in there like: `MALFOY LOSES FAMILY FORTUNE IN ONE HAND OF WIZARDS´ POKER, LEAVING HEIR WITHOUT A SICKLE´?"

Harry chuckled.  "Nope.  Sorry to disappoint."

"Ah, well," sighed Ron dramatically, "we can always dream."

**********

The thick vines and nettles assaulted her as she ran.  Clinging to her rain-soaked robes, they dug uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of her thin arms and ankles.  Despair weighed her down as much as the humid sea air.  But I have to warn her.  With each breath, her lungs crumpled sharply.  The makeshift path spun upwards endlessly and she wondered if she would ever reach the top.  I have to.  The palms of her hands stung as they clawed their way along the grit and sand along staggered rock face.  Step after step she fought past the bristly undergrowth to the top of the cliff.  Where Claire was waiting. 

Only when she thought she could go no further did the earth level beneath her.  The dim light of a clearing filtered through the dark tunnel of brambles and dead branches.  A muffled cry ahead propelled her forward, and from the shelter of the bramble arch, she saw them.  Two silhouettes cleaving together in the push and pull of a violent dance as the rain came down, pelting them from all sides.  A feral growl pierced through the wail of the storm, the chilling sound of naked hunger.  The thrashing of dark and light hair, a pale neck, supple and helpless in the grasp of a long-boned hand.  A flash of lightning and the glimpse of a ferocious smile.  Then, after a long moment, the angelic form crumpling to the ground, the golden tresses matted and muddy, and the slender curve of an arm, jutting out awkwardly from beneath the body as it shuddered its last.

Claire!

Bethany dropped her wand as the... creature straightened, then slowly turned.  She opened her mouth to scream, but a firm hand closed over it.  Another´s powerful grip from behind drew her back into the safety of shadows.  Pinned against the briar, all she knew was the comfort of gentle fingers running through her hair, and the sudden feel of lips against hers, taking in her scream, her sobs, her fear.  Her despair.

"Hush." 

The whispered word lingered in her hair, as his arms, his embrace soothed her trembling.  A light brush of fingertips caressed her damp eyelids and her cheek.  She peered up at her rescuer. 

But the dark man had vanished. 

Once again alone and falling back into blackness, she felt the thread of thorns wrapping about her, tightening, searing into her neck...

Bethany opened her eyes.  Twisting round in the bedclothes, she brought a free hand to her throat.  She was bleeding.  Her eyes gradually focussed on the slate walls of her dungeon chamber, the tangle of blankets pinioning her limbs, and finally, the vertical pupils of glowing, greenish-yellow eyes beside her pillow.

"Lilith!" she hissed.  "Little beast!"

The snow white kitten dodged her mistress´s hand, leaping gracefully to the foot of the canopied bed.  There she settled in amongst the velvet folds of the duvet, luminous in the single ray of morning light from the tiny casement window, licking the charcoal spot on her left leg with an infuriating insouciance.

"That´s one hell of a wake-up call," Bethany muttered drily, gingerly fingering the raw scratches on her neck.  She gave her familiar a scowl to banish a Banshee, but the kitten purred contentedly, nestling at her feet.

Bethany released a rueful sigh and fell back against the pillows, both relieved and reluctant to let the dream go.  After fifteen years, she could probably recall it with ease, almost frame by frame.  But she was no closer to deciphering it.

Perhaps she no longer cared.

**********

Professor Binns´s History of Magic class had a tendency to drag on interminably, Harry discovered, especially when you were keeping one eye on the clock and periodically checking it against your watch, just to make sure it still worked.  Ron´s snores drifted softly from the next desk.  When the bell finally rang, Harry dutifully nudged Ron back to consciousness, then sprang out the door.  After making a single pit stop at Gryffindor Tower for his Firebolt, he took the main stairs at a trot, doubling his speed as the warm afternoon breeze ruffled his fringe. 

With only six short practices left, the first match of the year was just around the corner.  Against Slytherin, of all houses.  Harry´s stomach tightened at the thought.  Since he´d joined the team as Seeker in his first year, they had yet to lose a single match to Slytherin.  But as he made his way down the steep hill to the pitch, Harry found himself slightly more anxious than he might have been otherwise.  For one thing, they still had to choose a Keeper.  As far as he knew, no try-outs had been announced.  Yesterday´s session comprised a brief series of warm-up exercises and various endurance tests tailored to each player, including shooting practice for the Chasers, batting practice for Beaters and the usual repertoire of dives for Harry.  By contrast, first practices in previous years had been gruelling.  But that was no surprise, as Gryffindor´s previous captain, Oliver Wood, had been nothing short of a tyrant and a zealot.  Oliver had shown no remorse whatsoever about rousing the team at the crack of dawn or urging them out just before sunset, regardless of the weather-the more inclement, the better.   This year, Fred and George, the new co-captains, had promised to start off easy, but pick up the pace quickly over the next week.  Nevertheless, Harry wondered if, with the carefree Weasley twins in charge, there might be a loosening of the reins. 

Not bloody likely.

In the shadow of the bleachers, the rest of the team had already assembled on the pitch, and, judging from the raised voices and emphatic gestures, were engaged in a heated debate.  Even from a distance, it sounded like a small mutiny.

Fred´s uncharacteristically authoritative tone sailed out above the indignant cries of Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

"Well, like it or not, plan on having double practices every day until Friday week.  We´ve got the pitch booked for 5:00 am."

"What? You´re joking!" Alicia Spinnet glared at Fred.  "Five in the morning. Every day?"  Alicia´s wide brown eyes swiveled to George.  "Tell me he´s joking."

But George shook his head and shrugged.  "Slytherin´s got it booked all week at 6:30."

"But they can´t really mean to use it at that time, can they?" ventured Harry, in a tone that he hoped sounded reasonable.   He propped his broomstick alongside the others and turned back to the group thoughtfully.  "I wouldn´t put it past Bole or Malfoy to try and trick us into losing some sleep.  That would give the Slytherins one up on us for the House Cup, wouldn´t it?"

The Chasers joined in with a chorus of concurrences.  But the freckled, iron-faced captains would not be swayed.

Angelina frowned, indignantly passing Fred and George their bats.  "Well, what´s the point of double-practices if we haven´t got a Keeper?" she whinged.  "We still haven´t even had tryouts to replace Wood."

George winked at Fred and gave Angelina a little nod.  "It´s covered."

Four faces turned to him in surprise.

"Covered how?"

George grinned mysteriously.

"Trust us."  Fred beamed at the rest of the team, who looked thoroughly unconvinced.  "Oh, come on.  When have we ever let you down?"

Katie´s mouth opened in reply, but George clapped his hand over it, grinning. 

"Except that time."

The team burst into yet another disgruntled chorus.  But Fred and George remained adamant about the necessity of double practices and silenced them with tones suggesting they would brook no opposition. 

Grumbling mostly to themselves, the Chasers grudgingly took to their stations high above the pitch.  Not wanting to get involved in a political skirmish, Harry nodded at the twins and kicked off, manoeuvering his broom past the girls, soaring steadily up to his post. 

Ah.  Peace.  From that height, the dusky mauve of the firmament met its twin on the Lake before draping behind the lush green mantle of the hills.  Harry could see well over the glimmer of the castle´s many turrets, down to the slim, shady path from the school gates, snaking past the lonely railroad station to the edge of Hogsmeade, where the light dappled the trees and cast an amber glow along the shops on the main thoroughfare.  In the middle distance, thin wisps of smoke rose from the peak of Hagrid´s hut like lazy Ashwinders.  From the shadows of the school, sped a small figure in the distance, zooming low toward the pitch.  Was it... the Snitch?  Freeing his steering hand for a moment, he shielded his eyes against the glaring sunset.  That was no Snitch.  It looked an awful lot like a thin girl with blonde hair. 

And she could fly. 

Despite the dangers of skimming so close to the ground, she easily skirted the bushes and outcroppings of rock on the terrain, even veering close to them, as if tempting fate.  A few feet below, Katie Bell flagged Harry with her arms, gave an exaggerated shrug and pointed at the girl.  By this time, she had alighted and was shaking hands with Fred and George.  Harry shrugged back.  He didn´t know who she was either, but he was becoming impatient to get on with the practice.  The wind currents had picked up around him and he alternated breathing on each hand to prevent it from freezing on the handle of his Firebolt.  The team watched as George-or Fred (it was hard to tell from that height)-waved his wand across his throat.  The Weasley co-captain´s voice shot up clearly above the pitch.

"Everyone, this is Eveline de Mordaunt, our new Keeper.  She´s just transferred from Beauxbatons where she was Keeper for their winning team three years running.  Evie," he said, pointing, "our Chasers, Angelina, Alicia and Katie. And high up yonder is our Seeker, Harry Potter."  The new Keeper´s gaze met Harry´s for a long moment and even at that distance, Harry felt a disconcerting flutter in the pit of his stomach.  George/Fred turned back to the team.  "You can all make your introductions later.  Let´s get practice going before we lose the sun."

Soon the twins and Eveline had remounted their brooms, circling the stadium along with the others.  The French girl grinned disarmingly as she looped Harry and dipped back toward her post by the hoops, a cape of gold hair billowing in her wake.  If Harry had stopped to think about it, he´d have noticed that his palms, no longer numb, were actually starting to sweat.  Now he briefly recalled glimpsing her in the Hall at meals that week, sitting with Ginny and a few other fourth years.  Funny how he´d never noticed how pretty she was.  Well, not so much pretty, actually.  Not like Cho.  But, although her features were plain, there was that glint of mischief in her eyes and that crook of a smile.  I wonder if Ginny wouldn´t mind introdu-

"Oof!"  Something hard belted him in the ribs, nearly wrenching him off his broom.  He hadn´t seen the Bludger coming.

"Eyes open, Harry!" chided George, sweeping his bat round from under him to thwack the ball towards the ground.  "If you can´t spot one of those, how can you possibly see the Snitch?"

Harry flushed a deeper crimson.  "Right.  Sorry." 

In his embarrassment, he avoided looking down at the Quidditch hoops, already feeling the weight of the new Keeper´s stare. Really impressive, he thought, mentally kicking himself, a bloody brilliant start, that was. 

The French girl proved to be less easily distracted, he noticed.  With good reason.  The Chasers had certainly set out to put Eveline through her paces, shot after shot after shot.  They tried curves, underspin, topspin, every formation from Breslin to Zograf.  And she blocked every one.

Harry forced himself to occupy his mind with the twins´ new stratagems, shouted in tandem at the start of each play.   When he finally focused, he managed to locate and catch the elusive gold, silver-winged Snitch eight times.  Touching down with the others at last, Harry at least felt somewhat redeemed.

By the time the Quaffle and Snitch were returned and the Bludgers safely harnessed, the clouds had taken on hints of burgundy against a violet sky.  The castle slipped noticeably into shadow except for the glistening crowns of the western towers.  Ahead, the team had already begun the uphill trudge to the school.  Angelina, Katie and Alicia each offered a friendly hand to the new girl, before sprinting to collar Fred and George.  Harry caught fragments of the renewed debate on double-practices.  Eveline dropped behind, stooping to relace a shoe, her fair hair draped across one shoulder.  She righted herself and Harry followed her gaze to the towers.  She was only a few inches shorter than Harry, but she may as well have been an Amazon, for all the intimidation sweeping over him in waves at that moment. 

At the sound of his footsteps on the turf, Eveline turned to face him.  In her brown eyes, shone faint flecks of green or possibly turquoise.  Harry swallowed with difficulty, growing more and more self-conscious as she looked him up and down curiously.  In alarm, he worried for a moment that his practice robes were on backwards.  Paralysed and incapable of coherent speech, Harry did the only thing he could manage.  He smiled. 

"´Allo." She nodded. "You are `Arry, yes?"  Her voice was low and her manner, sophisticated and self-confident.  A hint of a smile played about her lips.

Harry, the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century, Triwizard Champion and the Boy Who Survived Voldemort Three Times, was at that moment feeling quite out of his league.  He was terrified.  And justifiably so.  If he opened his mouth he might say the first insipid thing that came to his head.  And there seemed to be plenty of them to choose from at the moment. 

She raised her slender brows as if to repeat the question and Harry regained enough composure to respond with a weak nod.

"Eveline."  She held out her hand.  "Enchantée."

Harry took it, feeling the damning flush creeping across his face. He had to say something.

"You... fly very well," was the best he could muster.  After all, it was difficult to talk, what with all those butterflies, slugs, rampaging hippogriffs flying around in his stomach.  Besides, it was true.  No wonder the twins hadn´t bothered to hold tryouts  She flew like a pro.

"Sank you."  Her eyes glittered with amusement.  "And zey tell me zat you are ze fastest flyer and ze best Seeker `Ogwarts `as `ad in one `undred years."

"Well, I don´t know about that..." Harry blushed still further.

"Ben, oui," she insisted.  "I believe zat you know a friend of mine, Fleur Delacour.  She was in my `ouse at Beauxbatons.  After ze Triwizard Tournament, she spoke of nothing but `Arry Pottair."

Harry grinned, despite himself.  "Really?"  He thought of Ron and how his friend had spent the better part of last year pining after the Beauxbatons Triwizard champion, much to Hermione´s chagrin.  "Fleur.  How is she?  And her sister Gabrielle?"

Something flickered across Eveline´s face that he couldn´t fathom.  "Zey are well, I sink.  Zis zommer, zey both left Beauxbatons for... family reasons and are now somewhere in Belgique."  As he held the gate open for her, she smiled, sweeping forward into the tunnel.  "Really, I must send zem an owl." 

Coming up to the suit of armour marking the entrance to the changing rooms, Harry tapped its shoulder and said, "Rub a dub dub."  With a metallic clang, it stepped aside and bowed with a flourish, one arm handing them each a towel before indicating the corridor within.

Eveline´s laugh was soft and rich.  "I sink I weel never be able to remember all zees-`ow do you say, mots de passe... zees passworts.  But zey are very funny."

They had come to the separate doors to the girls´ and boys´ locker rooms.  Drifts of steam slowly rolled into the corridor.  Harry hesitated for a moment, glancing shyly at the French girl.  "So, I guess... I´ll see you at dinner, then?"

Eveline´s eyes flashed mischievously as she glanced at him over her shoulder.  "Per´aps," she said.  And with that, she vanished into the changing rooms, leaving Harry to contend with the tingling in his stomach.