Subplot

4 - Ginny

The first few lessons Professor Varlerta gave her trainees Neville and Ginny were mostly about the things she told them to do at the audition session: She asked them to hum certain melodies to their wands until the wands responded and asked them to spend time on Coaxing objects without using any other sound than just words. Ginny found both things fairly manageable; after four days, her wand hummed back at her every time, and she had already managed once to make a chair topple over just by persuading it to. She was still in doubt whether Neville had been a good choice for Professor Varlerta, though: His wand showed lively responses to his humming, but more often than not answered with strange tunes entirely of its own. His attempts at Coaxing so far had had no effects whatsoever, not even on a feather. Neville seemed a little depressed. Ginny wondered whether he had maybe hoped to excel at something only to be disappointed once more.

Hiding from Neville that she was doing a lot better than him was a bit of a task for Ginny, but otherwise she was happy in Varlerta's soundproof building. She liked how it muffled the world outside, how it sounded and how it smelled, liked all the exotic devices that hung from the walls and did not mind that you had to watch were you walked as many things were lying around on the floor as well. She also liked the two squashy couches standing on the side, the box-like devices which displayed shimmering beads of light on their armatures, as well as the small poster hanging on the wall, displaying a Muggle photograph of a rock band of four people at a gig, one of them Varlerta. The teacher had shown the two of them around, had explained to them the various uses of the strange machines that lined the wall and had demonstrated her magical electric guitar and various other instruments for them. Electricity seemed to be an important thing to her. She had explained that the strange, shiny tiling on the building's roof were solar cells, a Muggle way of turning sunshine into Muggle energy, enchanted so they would function even in the magic-soaked atmosphere of Hogwarts. Ginny knew her father would be intrigued by this, even though probably forced to arrest Varlerta as the whole building was filled with things that looked suspiciously like Muggle artefacts which were illegally altered by means of magic - not to mention Varlerta's flying motorbike. When she hinted at this, her teacher had laughed:

"This British bureaucracy has brought forward some of the most annoying laws I have ever come across. - No, don't frown at me, Ginny, I don't mean to insult your father's work. I'm all for protecting Muggles from magical influence. It's just that I've lived among Muggles for the better part of the last fifteen years, and never have any of my belongings caused any harm to any of them. My stuff is usually equipped with rather effective Anti-Muggle security. If you plugged that amplifier -" she laid her hand on a large strange box she seemed to have a special affection for "into a normal Muggle socket without magically activating the MEI, it would be just that - a very fine amplifier and nothing more."

"What's an Emmy Eye?" Ginny had asked.

"An M-E-I, a magic-electronic interface, this little silver box here on the side. They are illegal here, too, and I admit they can be abused to harm Muggles, but I have actually got a special permit from the Ministry to use them for my research, as I could never do without them. I brought quite a few of them from New York, some of them really top quality. They are amazing," Professor Varlerta said with pride in her voice.

The day after the duel between Varlerta and Snape - she had heard rumours of it in the Gryffindor tower, and like others she had noticed that while Snape had come to class with singed eyebrows, Professor Varlerta was favouring her right shoulder a bit - the teacher said she wanted her two trainees to try something new.

"As you will work with audio magic, I expect you two to choose your personal way of sound production. This will either be a musical instrument or your voice. This is why I would like you to start working on different instruments today. I've dug out every instrument I own so you can try them. There are a few guitars, lutes and the like, some drums and percussion stuff, a double bass, some native flutes and recorders, but no violin, piano, and no wind or brass instruments, I'm afraid. We might have to go to a Muggle music shop one day so you can try out some more.

"The first thing to find out is what kind of instrument you like, or if you'd prefer to work with your own voice. Then we'll have to see if the instrument of your choice is the right one for you to work magic on. By the way, I strongly advise you not to make the same mistake as I by choosing an instrument that limits your mobility. I know you are eyeing the drum set, Ginny, but as far as working magic is concerned, I'd call it downright useless because it is too large."

Ginny sighed with disappointment. She heard Neville ask: "Er.. why does your instrument limit your mobility, Professor Varlerta? A guitar is not that large."

"Well... Unfortunately my instrument is electric, and after I got into rock music, I found that an acoustic could never do the same for me. Now I have to worry about amplification, electricity and the like all the time. It's a pain, I tell you. I do have a shaman drum that I like to play, too, which is not that large and works fine magic without amplification, but it's about the only other instrument I can relate to besides my special treasure."

Ginny noticed that while all other instruments in the room had been assembled on the tables of the large room that was used for musical experiments and displayed for their use, Varlerta's own guitar and the largest of her shaman drums stood in the adjoining room which had a show window to the main room. She had admired both instruments before: The electric guitar had a black finish and was inlayed with a beautiful if strange design of mother-of-pearl: a wreath formed by rose branches and a snake winding through them. "I was into Heavy Metal when I had it made," Varlerta had explained to them apologetically when she had first showed it to them. The shaman drum was about a foot and a half in diameter and had a thin wooden frame decorated with beads of bone; its skin was painted in red and black, showing images of people, birds and strange-looking horse-like animals. While she would have liked a go at these two, she understood why the teacher allowed them to try out all her other instruments but not them.

"I have to prepare some classes," Varlerta told them, "so you'll find me next door at my desk if you need me. Just experiment with all the instruments. I trust you will neither destroy anything nor try out any machines you do not know how to work." Ginny and Neville nodded, and a moment later they were alone with heaps of musical instruments.

While Neville just stood there in the middle of the room, hands behind his back, Ginny took up one of the guitars, plucked the strings gently, then pressed them down with her left hand and tried to find a tune. After a while she put it aside and tried the same on a lute. She then went on to the flutes and recorders which refused to emit any pleasing kind of sound when she blew them. She thought the double bass was too large to fit Varlerta's mobility standards, but played a few notes on it nevertheless. While she was at it she might as well play on the drum set just for a little bit, she decided. Neville, who so far had only been shaking the odd percussion instrument, eyed her as if slightly afraid of her when she sat down on the stool behind the set.

Crash said the cymbal and boom said the bass drum. Ginny tried to recall the basic rhythm Varlerta had shown her two days ago. She struggled to get her hands and her right foot to do different things at the same time. Through the loud noise, she heard Neville play something or other on the instruments lying around. After a while, she got the groove going. Rather pleased with herself, she played until her hands started to ache.

When she stopped playing she saw Neville scrutinise a battered old recorder. Suddenly she realised she was no nearer to finding the magical instrument of her choice than in the beginning, as the drum set was not considered adequate. Displeased, she looked around. As she lacked any better idea she placed the stool in front of the drum set, sat down and put a large African drum between her knees. Varlerta, she remembered, had called it a Djembé and had tilted its foot away from the floor when she played it. Ginny did the same and struck the skin with her hands, finding she could vary the sound by striking it in different places and in different manners. True, a Djembé was no drum set, but she knew straight away she'd prefer it to a guitar or flute. While she played on she developed a little groove of her own. Suddenly an eerie little tune joined in with her. It seemed to entwine with her rhythm, soar above it for a moment, then dwindle back into the confinement of the groove. Neville must be standing behind me, playing something flutelike, she realised. Her hands started to heat up with playing, but she did not mind. She just wanted it to go on and on. Somewhere to the left of her a third sound arose, first softly, then droning with their music. It must be that great gong that picks up the vibration, she thought to herself. When she looked in its general direction, her wand caught her eye. She had left it lying on a table, but now it was hovering about an inch from its surface, looking as if it was about to do a little dance. We're doing magic here, she realised, and a warm feeling of joy flooded her stomach.

Suddenly Neville stopped playing. Ginny let her rhythm fade out and looked around. Professor Varlerta stood in the doorway, a wide grin on her face. "That's really cool, kids," she said. "I think you found what you were looking for."

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In the evening Ginny sat on Hermione's four-poster bed in the seclusion of the girls' dormitory, talking boys. That is, Ginny begged and begged until Hermione agreed to tell her some details about her visit to Bulgaria; Ginny had no boys to talk about. True, she still had a crush on Harry Potter, so what else was new? There was really no point in even telling Hermione. As much as she liked the older girl, there was always the danger that she might let something slip to her friend, maybe accidentally, maybe in a well-meaning attempt to fix them up, and what good would that do? Somewhere in her heart Ginny knew she had given up when Hermione had told her she suspected Harry liked that Ravenclaw Seeker.

Ginny could not help envying Hermione just a little. Here she was, a Prefect, the best student of the school, smart and successful, friends with Harry Potter, and on top of that, who was in love with her? An admired, internationally famous Quidditch star. Ginny thought nobody could ask anything more of life. She imagined Victor and Hermione on holiday, somewhere out in the mountains (were there mountains in Bulgaria?), riding on sleek shiny broomsticks until they found a sunny meadow sprinkled with rosy little flowers where cute woolly lambs grazed in peaceful silence. There they would have a picnic, lie down among the flowers, gaze at clouds assuming the shapes of hearts and roses, and then they would sink into each other's arms and - kiss. (Or what else would they do? Her mother had been suspiciously vague on these things when Ginny had last asked her, and recently Ginny had been far too embarrassed to talk about such matters with her. Most of her knowledge had come from the jokes two of her year mates liked to tell when they all lay in their four-posters, but Ginny suspected there was yet much more to know about love and such.)

Ginny now expected to hear the story of Hermione's successful ascent to everlasting happiness, but was gravely disappointed. She realised that there was more to her friend's reluctance to talk about her holidays than just the wish to keep the juicy details to herself. Something within the scene on the sunny meadow seemed to have gone amiss.

"See, Ginny," Hermione finally told her, "I can't tell you exactly what went wrong except telling you that I realised I don't really love him. I certainly enjoyed it a lot when he showed me and everybody he cared so much for me. At any rate I was flattered. I also like him a lot, I even had a crush on him. But when I went to visit him and saw it meant so much more to him than to me, I realised I wasn't doing the right thing, so I told him. I hated to hurt him and wish I hadn't gone to Bulgaria in the first place, but I knew it was going to get much worse if I didn't tell him."

Ginny wasn't sure she understood. "But you said you had a crush on him."

"Yes, but that's not the same thing as love. - See, Ginny, it would have been nice to walk around Hogwarts with him, hold hands and everything, show the whole school I made such a glamorous conquest, but that wasn't what this was all about. Krum is eighteen, you know, he's pretty much an adult, and I - I realised that I'm not ready for that kind of commitment yet."

"Did he ask you to ...?" Once more Ginny's voice assumed that squeaky sound she hated so much and was trying to avoid. Hermione blushed.

"To sleep with me, you mean? No, he was all gentleman-like about it. Said he'd wait for me, he'd never rush me, give me as much time as I needed. At first I thought it would be alright then. But later I started to wonder what would happen if I made him wait for me all this time, if I wrote him perfumed letters and everything, and then got cold feet about it in the end. Then I'd really hurt him, wouldn't I? You see, I like Krum a lot for now, but I don't love him enough to make plans for the future yet. I had to tell him something of that, because I thought it wouldn't be fair otherwise. And having a crush on somebody is not the same as being sure you really love him, you know."

Ginny had never seen things this way before. Suddenly she wondered if she really loved Harry. She'd always believed he was the greatest boy in the world and would do everything for him, even though she had never thought in detail about what everything would be. Wasn't that the same as really loving somebody? She'd also believed if he - or maybe some other boy whose greatness was unquestionable, for example Victor Krum - chose her as his girlfriend, she would stop being the clumsy little Miss Tag-along she'd been all her life for her brothers and their friends. She'd proved she was someone in her own rights then. Of course Prefect Hermione, who could afford to give up even such a great thing as the love of Victor Krum for a minor thing like a doubting heart, had always been someone in her own rights anyway.

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Professor Varlerta had Ginny and Neville practice Coaxing objects with words and with music now. At first, Ginny found that while she was steadily improving her verbal Coaxing, she just couldn't get the hang communicating with objects when playing a drum. Varlerta insisted on her trying not only the African Djembé but also the smaller one of the shaman drums, a painted skin drawn tightly over a thin wooden frame. Ginny liked both drums but did not succeed in moving objects other than her wand; she would have liked to play the larger one that the teacher kept in the adjoining room. Neville, she could not help but notice, had hardly any success with Coaxing whatsoever. He could talk to objects for what seemed like hours, or play the recorder at them for a change, but never persuaded any of them to do his will. Both practiced their skills even outside the hours they spent in Varlerta's building, perhaps neglecting their other schoolwork a bit at times, though Ginny decided that at least they should get excellent marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts - if they got the hang of Coaxing. Yet all their efforts seemed to avail to relatively little. After more than two weeks Ginny was starting to feel a little frustrated: Did the teacher fail to see that they were not getting anywhere?

One day Varlerta caught her looking morosely through the glass pane. "Why don't you try my large drum for a change?" she suddenly said. Ginny turned to look at her teacher, then without a word opened the door and fetched the drum. The second she touched it, she knew she liked it. The drum somehow felt more solid in her hand than its smaller 'sister drum', as Varlerta called it. The little bone beads hanging from its frame gave the faintest jingle; the skin seemed to vibrate under her fingers. This was the one instrument that felt truly magical to her. She took it out into the main room, took a firm stand in a corner and carefully struck the skin with her right hand, trying to get a feel for it. It was entirely different from the Djembé, not so complex in sound, nothing to make her wand dance around in a frenzy, but when she struck the skin, she felt as if the sound it made somehow came out of herself. She slipped into a regular beat with only slight variations in volume. Neville, who had been playing on his recorder by himself in the other corner, stopped to listen and to watch. Ginny played to the little sandbag. With a thump! it landed at her feet. She then addressed a pile of drumsticks lying in front of the drum set with a few sharp slaps. They arranged themselves in a neat circle around the bag. Then Ginny moved a chair to her side. It landed there upright, its cushion perfectly in place, inviting her to sit on it. Slightly slack-jawed, Neville stared at her. With the hollow-sounding notes produced right in the middle of the skin, she Coaxed his recorder out of his hand and gently placed it on the chair, then changed her mind and played it back onto his outstretched palm. This was fun, she decided and half-turned to face the stately-looking bronze gong, wondering if it would move for her. A shiver ran through it when she played to it; it responded with a soft, low note. Varlerta hurried to grasp it with her hand; the other hand she raised, indicating for Ginny to stop.

"Okay, okay, I see your point. You can use it for now," she told her apprentice.

"How did you do that, Ginny?" Neville looked awed. Nobody had ever looked at Ginny that way before. It was a rather pleasing experience.

"I didn't do that, the drum did," she had to admit.

"Don't be overly modest, it won't get you very far in life," Varlerta chided. "It's true that this drum is practically soaked with magic, but that doesn't mean everyone can work it. I think you just did a remarkably good job."

Ginny felt her ears and cheeks heat up. She knew she must look like a beetroot once more.

"I see that I have to get both of you good instruments," Varlerta said. "For you, Ginny, it may prove difficult to find another drum that works as well as this one, but we will certainly think of something. For now just take turns with different drums so you don't rely on your favourite too much. As for your recorder, Neville, I'm far from happy with it. It's not only that it's entirely non-magic, but also that I personally find it rather boring even for a Muggle instrument. We'll go to a Muggle music shop to find you something a little more powerful after you've practiced just a little more."

Ginny frowned. She realised she did not want another good drum, she wanted the one she was presently holding in her hand. However, she couldn't very well say so, so she left it at that for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day was one of those school days that never seemed to end. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall told Ginny off for trying to Coax a guinea pig back into becoming a guinea fowl. "Whatever methods you are learning elsewhere, in my class I require you to use the methods you learn here," she said. Eyes downcast, Ginny watched the undecided object of her magical Coaxing attempts change its front extremities from legs into wings, then back into legs, then try out wings once more and finally settle on fins. Later, History of Magic droned on as usual as Professor Binns bored everyone into a torpor with some kind of bygone struggle between Muggles and wizards. Somewhere in the back of the room a fly was buzzing around in perfect homophony with the deceased Professor's voice. Most students spent their time looking longingly out of the window where a sunny early October day gilded the colourful leaves of the Forbidden Forest. Ginny sighed. She wanted out.

Professor Snape seemed to be even more irritable than usual that day, and Ginny knew why exactly. Recently Wheeze Potion Spoiler powder had been the hot thing not only with her year mates. Everybody had it. Sneaking it into somebody else's cauldron had become a fashionable sport. Ginny watched her own cauldron very closely; defending it had become more important than emptying the little sachet she kept in her robe pocket into somebody else's. You never knew what effect the bluish crystalline powder would have on a potion. Sometimes it only exploded, but at most times it affected neither the potion's colour nor consistency but only its magical effect. Ginny had become rather wary of any kind of potion since she had seen Eloise Midgen sporting an assortment of twelve noses spread over her face by an uneven hand. The fate of her year mate Colin Creevey had also been a warning to her: He had been forced to constantly call out in the hallway for almost a week if he did not want to be stepped on: "Excuse me, I'm invisible. Excuse me, I'm invisible. Be careful and don't shove me, I'm invisible." Luckily by now most of him was back in sight. She saw his visible hand fingering his robe pocket just now. Colin should have gotten the Wheeze Prize for himself when he could not be seen, she thought. To increase sales, Fred and George had promised a large assortment of their products as a prize to anyone who managed to Spoil one of the potions Professor Snape was cooking himself in the rear corner of his gloomy dungeon. Ginny watched the teacher tell Colin off rather fiercely, his black brows contracted in anger, his hand moving upwards again and again as if to scratch his scalp, then forcing itself back down again. Ginny took care to remain as inconspicuous as possible and managed not to attract the Potions Master's wrath.

Their training lesson with Varlerta was the last of the day. The late afternoon sun threw a friendly glow on grass and yellowing trees when Ginny and Neville walked out to her building. Dressed in leather pants and a green flannel shirt as she often did when she wasn't in the castle, Varlerta was sitting on the front step outside her door, waiting for them. "It's a lovely day, and like me you've probably been trapped inside all day. Just get out your instruments and then we'll go practice in the forest."

Ginny shot Neville an apprehensive glance when they went inside to fetch recorder and drum. Of course she had never entered the Forbidden Forest in her life. She knew Harry and Ron had, though. The stories they had told her had done little to make her look forward to this outing. Neville did not look overly happy either, but neither of them complained. When they entered the forest a while later - Neville had been obliged to go back for his wand which he had left at the exact location the recorder had been before - both students kept closely to their teacher.

"What's wrong, don't you like the forest?" Varlerta asked them.

Ginny did not like to admit her fears. "Well, it's usually forbidden to students, isn't it? They say it's dangerous."

"Well, I suppose they are right. You shouldn't come here on your own, especially not when it's dark or when you don't know exactly where you're going. - No, sorry, actually you shouldn't come here without a teacher at any rate. When I was a student here, I broke that rule all the time, but for me it wasn't that dangerous. My family has a long tradition of being friends with centaurs, and if they keep watch over you, you are pretty safe in most parts of this forest. Mind you, there are other parts where even today I wouldn't go unless I really saw the need. But today all we'll do is sit down in the sunshine and practice a bit."

Ginny had to admit that the forest was beautiful in its own way. It had assumed the blazing colours of autumn, streamed with sunlight that shone through the scarlet and golden leaves. Bird songs and the odd shrill sound filled the air. At first Ginny seemed to see strange beings behind every tree, but as Varlerta was walking the narrow path briskly and with obvious pleasure, whistling softly to herself, Ginny decided she was probably only imagining things. Maybe the forest with its rustling carpet of fallen leaves, smelling of the proceedings of nature and of humid soil, held mostly fluffy animals rather than hungry monsters. Even Neville seemed to walk with a firmer step after a while. Ginny's mood lifted.

The clearing where Varlerta guided them was carpeted with soft green grass, a place that looked as if evil avoided it. The three of them sat down on a mossy old tree trunk. Varlerta took a couple of juggling balls out of her small canvas shoulder bag and threw them for her two apprentices to Coax-Summon by music, preferably before the balls touched the ground. After a while, a few balls started to land at Neville's just as well as at Ginny's feet. None of them commented on this, but Ginny had the impression that they were all enjoying themselves now. For a time Varlerta threw every ball they Coax-Summoned for them to do it again, but then she collected them all and got up.

"This will be your first attempt at Shielding, not against curses but just against these juggling balls. I'll throw them at you, you Coax-Banish them." She walked about ten steps, then turned to face them. "Ready?"

Ginny found that she and even Neville did quite well at this task. Hardly any ball hit them. When a few did, she noticed it did not hurt: Varlerta would not throw the balls very hard and moreover was obviously taking great care to aim neither at their faces nor their instruments. Drumming and fluting away, Ginny and Neville repelled balls into every direction. The flying objects they Shielded themselves against usually changed course in mid-air, landing in Varlerta's outstretched hands to be thrown again. The exercise demanded a great deal of concentration of all three people involved, but Ginny thought it was great fun, and even Neville smiled when Varlerta finally gave up, slightly out of breath.

"You're too good for me already, I'm impressed. You'll easily outrun all your year mates with this trick. It's nice for me to see that my music method helps you improve your skills so quickly. I'll have to find harder tasks for you in the future, though. - Actually I think I'd like to take a tiny bit of a rest now." With these words she sat back down on the tree trunk.

For a few minutes they sat in silence. Ginny rubbed her right palm which stung a bit from playing the drum for such a long time. Neville stared at the juggling balls lying in the grass in front of them, maybe practicing silent Coax-Summoning, albeit with no success whatsoever. Varlerta just sat there, looking into the distance as if she was thinking of something far away. Somewhere behind them Ginny heard a soft noise, like a mistuned horn. She closed her eyes, trying to address the noise in her thoughts. What are you? Will you tell me? she tried to strike contact. Somehow she knew that the thing was approaching them and that it was someone or something she knew from the past. Varlerta seemed to have noticed something as well.

"There's something behind us that does not belong in this forest. Are you talking to it, Ginny?" she asked rather softly.

Ginny nodded and whispered an answer. "It's something I know, but I don't know what it is. May I call it here?"

Varlerta's mouth and brow tightened, but then she got her wand out of her pocket and nodded. "You might as well, so we know what it's all about." She got up from the trunk and turned around in the direction from where the noise had come, and so did Ginny and Neville.

Come here, we'd like to see you, Ginny told the noise in her thoughts. She saw something greenish-blue, maybe turquoise shimmer through the trees. It reminded her of something she had once seen. Then the turquoise thing broke through the trees. Professor Varlerta stared at it for a moment, then whooped with delight.

"Cool! It's an Ensouled car!"

She approached it, wand pocketed, hands outstretched as if to show she was unarmed. "Hi there, drifter. Nice meeting you. Something tells me you and I have work to do together."

Ginny looked at her Dad's old Ford Anglia with a bit of apprehension. It did not look quite the way she had last seen it on that memorable day before she had gotten on the Hogwarts Express for the first time in her life. True, it had been far from new even then, but now it resembled a pile of junk. Its chassis was dented in hundreds of places, the large scratches in the turquoise paint were visible even under a thick layer of dirt, two of its windows as well as a headlight were smashed, and mice seemed to live in the large holes of its seats. Varlerta acted like she did not see those defects. She had waited for the car to halt before her and was now carefully stroking its bonnet, saying:

"If you want to have a real home again, drifter, come with me. I'll feed you the best petrol they sell, and have someone take care of all those rusty bits and smashed glass. They will check your engine, too, if you like. I'll have you painted and upholstered anew, and if you allow I'll have a CD player installed."

The car shivered, but did not respond. It did not flee either, though. Ginny thought it was her duty to say: "Er, Professor Varlerta, actually that's my Dad's old car."

The smile did not leave Varlerta's lips for more than a moment. "Really? How remarkable! Do you think he would like to sell it?"

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It was already dark when Arthur Weasley arrived, but nobody had told Ginny and Neville to go back inside yet, so after Ginny had greeted her father the two apprentices stood around and listened to several teachers discuss the merits of the car or talk to Arthur Weasley.

"I am sure you are right, dear, this car is Ensouled," Professor McGonagall said to Varlerta who stood bowed over the open bonnet, contemplating its contents. "It is a strong piece of magic, too. And you said two second year students did that three years ago?"

"It's not unlikely, as according to Miss Weasley they were the last to fly it. Actually I'm talking about Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter."

"Oh yes, I remember that incident." Professor McGonagall's face assumed a look torn between reproach and curiosity. Snape, who was standing behind her, wore a look of anger without any such ambivalence. Madam Hooch and Professor Sprout were softly discussing something among themselves, while Professor Quibster was busy peeking over Varlerta's shoulder at the engine of the car.

"And you think the two might be Ensoulers?" Professor McGonagall asked the younger teacher.

"That remains to be seen, I'd say," Varlerta responded. "However, it's a good sign that both are good Quidditch and chess players, as Miss Weasley told me."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Actually it's Ronald Weasley who is the great chess player, as far as I heard. Harry Potter is the remarkable Quidditch player. He's a natural when it comes to flying. Ron only recently - Ah, here comes Hagrid with the two of them."

Harry and Ron, dressed in their rather dusty practice robes, were deep in conversation with Hagrid and seemed oblivious to all the gazes turning to them. Hagrid however caught a glance from Professor McGonagall. "Here we go, Professor. Fetched 'em from the Quidditch field." Harry and Ron looked up and at the battered car standing in front of them. "Hi Dad," Ron said in a small voice.

"Hello Boys, how are you? Don't look at me like you are going to be punished because of the car." Mr. Weasley greeted them with an encouraging smile. "This is all bygone and forgotten. It's just that Professor McGonagall has got a few questions for you."

"This car is Ensouled," explained the head of the Gryffindor house. "As you are the last who - er - used it, we would like to know whether you know how this came about, or if the two of you somehow managed to Ensoul this car yourselves."

"What does Ensouling mean, Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked, shrinking a bit under Snape's positively evil stare. The irritated Potions Master was obviously once more tempted to scratch his scalp. His hands could be seen twitching in his robe pockets.

"It is a special skill that is quite rare," the old teacher explained. "Many objects used by witches and wizards have a will of their own, something like a mind. Just think of Quidditch balls, chess figures and other game pieces. They are more than just dead things even though they are not real living beings. Some witches and wizards know how to pour something of their magic and their will into these objects to make them that special. The objects then are shaped by use; maybe you heard that the makers of Quidditch balls not only Ensoul them but also train them for the game."

"Ensoulers are usually very good with Ensouled things, that's why I asked Ginny whether you play Quidditch, chess or maybe Uncontrollable Pool and the like," Professor Varlerta continued. "Ensouling a car is a great work of magic that seems to indicate an exceptional talent to me, not the less so if done without intending to. Ginny told me that Mr. Weasley enchanted the car to make it fly and installed an Invisibility Booster, which of course made it rather pliable for your magic." Ginny noticed that her father winced quietly at her remark but nobody seemed willing to reproach him for anything. "However, he said he did not Ensoul it, and that it never showed it had its own will before you two took off with it."

"I don't know how we should have Ensouled it. I never did anything like that in my life. Did you, Harry?" Ginny noticed that Ron had to look down at his friend. Tall and gangly, her brother surely did not have a Keeper's built.

Harry shook his head. "Nope. I never even knew there was such thing as Ensouling."

"We should try to find out more about this, maybe invite an Ensouler into the castle to test and - if they are talented - train them." Professor McGonagall turned to the two fifth year students again. "Please report to me tomorrow night at seven so I can run some first experiment on you. If one of you is an Ensouler - or even both of you - we should know about it."

"But we've got Quidditch practice tomorrow night again," Harry reminded her. "In fact we should be going back there right now. Angelina will be fuming as it is. You know we are playing Hufflepuff next week."

Professor McGonagall, who, as Ginny knew, would always see reason where Quidditch was concerned, nodded. "After Quidditch practice tomorrow night then, in my office. And you'd better still be awake then."

Harry and Ron nodded and then quickly headed back off to the Quidditch patch, probably right back to their former conversation about complicated broomstick movements.

"Mr. Weasley, would you consider selling me this car?" Varlerta addressed Ginny's father rather baldly. Ginny could see him swallow, then shake his head.

"Keep it, please, it's only a piece of junk. It was never a great car to begin with, and now - well, it doesn't look like it's worth repairing. If you think it can be useful to you, you are welcome to keep it, but I fear it will not live up to your expectations."

Varlerta was not convinced. "It's Ensouled and could be made highly useful, especially if it has a friendly disposition. I believe the damage you mentioned is only an external matter." She assessed the car once more, patted its bonnet and ran a finger along a broken rear-view mirror. "What about four hundred Galleons, two hundred more if the car proves to be an able and willing means of transportation?"

Ginny could not believe her ears. That was quite a fortune, even though she had no idea how much people usually paid for cars, much less for Ensouled cars. Her father seemed to think it was a lot of money as well. He even seemed a bit offended; his eyebrows contracted towards the bridge of his nose, wrinkling his very high forehead. Ginny knew he was touchy about taking money from anyone in any circumstances. Bill had told her once that his colleagues at the Ministry joked he would not take a sandwich from anybody for fear it might be either a bribe or an act of charity.

"Excuse me, Professor Varlerta, but this is quite ridiculous," he said. "This car is old. If I am not mistaken, Muggles would just throw it away. You are probably right when you say it is Ensouled, but that was none of my doing. Why should I take your money?"

Professor Varlerta just laughed. "Stubborn, aren't we, Mr. Weasley? Well, I assure you I can afford to pay for this car, and I'm not planning to rob or cheat you either. I'd love to own it, and I could not very well use it - and maybe damage it - if I did not own it. As for the price, put an ad into the Daily Prophet and see if I don't have to raise my bid. Of cause, you could also be kind to me and give it to me for the price I just suggested." When Arthur Weasley shook his head, she lowered her voice and approached Ginny's father to whisper something in his ear. Ginny, who had a very accurate hearing, picked up the words nevertheless but wished she hadn't as they embarrassed her.

"If you don't want the money for yourself, take it for your children. I hear a couple of redheads talk about new broomsticks rather frequently, and some birdie told me your daughter just might like to own a drum set."

"But you are doing so much for my children already," was his whispered reply.

She smiled enigmatically. "Are you sure it's not your children doing a lot for me, Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur Weasley fidgeted, complained and tried to bargain her down on the price, but ended up walking off to his portkey with a heavy bag of gold, though not without bidding Ginny properly goodbye and giving her a fair portion of good fatherly advice. When Professor McGonagall realised that Neville and Ginny were still out there, she reprimanded them slightly and insisted they return to Gryffindor tower right away. Ginny sighed. She would have liked to stay outside in the clear, starry autumn night a bit to see what Varlerta would do with the car. Most teachers were now walking back in direction of the castle. As Ginny stood there waiting for Neville, who had misplaced his wand somewhere in the grass and was now searching for it in the darkness, she overheard how Snape, scratching his scalp, told Varlerta to enjoy herself with her purchase with a decidedly ironic undertone. In reply she said:

"I know it's none of my business, but whatever you are doing to your hair is not good for it. Is it perhaps possible that you have been washing it a tiny bit too often lately?"

"Well, what do you suggest I do instead with it, Ms Varlerta?" Snape thundered at her, seeming to grow a foot or two in height. As Neville appeared to have found his wand, Ginny tugged at his sleeve with insistence. Somehow it did not seem a good idea to be present when the Potions Master exploded.

"Maybe a potion might help?" Professor Varlerta answered him pleasantly.