Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

At supper, the news about Snape as Viktor and Harry's trainer brought Hermione's chewing to a sudden halt. She had no experience yet with a Snape apologizing for years of insults.

Before she was able to speak, though, Ron's fork hit the table. "Oh dammit," he muttered. "I can't stand it."

"Listen," said Harry, "Snape wouldn't have been my own choice, but - "

"No - I mean all this busy-boiling!"

"With Viktor and Snape? Why does it bother you?"

Ron was shouting. "It doesn't bother me, that's exactly the point!"

He lowered his voice, as other students were looking up. "I'm outside," he groaned. "I'm excluded."

It dawned on Harry even before Ron continued, "Look - you're doing the Flying Squad. The twins are doing the Flying Squad. Viktor's doing the Flying Squad. In your spare time, you two are practising the Imperius Curse - no, the opposite, whatever."

Ron looked at Hermione. "You, in your spare time between seven O.W.L.s, are keeping the spirits of our Squad leader up. In the meantime - "

"What's that supposed to mean? Keeping his spirits up?" Hermione was glaring.

Ron waved her off. "Nothing in particular. You and Viktor, you're together. Harry and Cho are together. You have a purpose ... and I?"

He turned to Harry. "Remember that question in Trelawney's class? Well, I'm still looking for the answer."

"Which question?" asked Hermione.

They explained it to her.

"Did the answer tell you anything?"

Ron shook his head.

"Small wonder," she said. "Divination!" The word was spat out.

"Yeah, okay," conceded Ron, "it was a try. Do you know something better?"

"Yes I do." Looking triumphant, Hermione added, "It's called Brainstorming."

"Sounds even worse than I Ching," Ron's face expressed more suspicion than hope. "What is it?"

"Wait and see."

Hermione wasn't ready to tell them any more until after supper, taking her time to relish in the defeat of Divination, even though she was the only one so far who believed it.

"Come to the library," she announced finally.

They followed.

In the library, Hermione sat down, arranged some parchments around her, ink and quill ready. "Brainstorming," she declared, "is a technique of management science."

It was the magic word for Ron, attracting his full attention.

"You have a problem. You collect ideas how to solve it. Then you discuss them and select the best one ... Basically, that's all."

The shining in Ron's eyes faded. "And I thought you'd come up with some Muggle trick. That - it's what everybody with a problem does."

"Really?" Hermione seemed in her element. "We'll see." She took the quill. "Ron, what's your problem?"

"I want to have a g ..." He giggled, but the next moment became serious. "I want to have a function in the fight against the Dark Forces."

Hermione wrote it down. "Okay. Now. Ron, what are you good at?"

"Stupid remarks." It came like a shot.

Astonished, Harry and Ron watched Hermione writing it down.

"Stop it," said Ron, "I was just joking."

Hermione didn't smile. "No, you weren't - it's true."

"But - "

"That's what brainstorming means," she interrupted him, "taking seriously what pops into people's minds first. So - what else?"

"Chess," said Harry.

'Chess,' wrote Hermione. Then she looked up. "So what's the essence of chess?"

"Moving figures," said Ron after a second. Grinning, he added, "even if they complain."

With fascination, he watched Hermione writing down his description.

"What else?"

"Hmm ... nothing." Ron looked embarrassed.

"Wrong," said Hermione. She wrote some lines.

Ron tried to read them. "What are you writing?"

Hermione read aloud. "Quick temper. Quick mind. Detects his own mistakes. Can apologize. Can be diplomatic."

"Oh." Ron flushed. "That's very kind of you."

Hermione looked mischievous. "Never mind. That's just brainstorming."

"Fearless," said Harry, catching the idea. "Takes risks." After a moment, he added, "Reliable."

Ron was pink.

Hermione kept writing. Finished, she looked up. "More?"

Two heads shaking.

"So then - Ron, what are your interests?"

"Quidditch. Chess."

After some seconds he added, "Dancing." A longer pause. "This management stuff."

About to shake his head, Ron stopped. "Stellar constellations."

At Hermiones look, he explained, "Stars, organized in patterns, listed in catalogues."

She wrote it down. "Okay. Now, what functions do we need?" Hermione sat waiting, her quill ready.

The answers came quick, Ron's first. "Charlie needs help with the dragons."

"Viktor needs help in the office," said Harry.

"Hagrid needs help with the Giants," said Ron.

"Fleur needs help with office work," said Harry.

They waited until Hermione had written all of it. None of them found anything else.

"Then," said Hermione. She scanned the parchment. "Let's see - what do we have?"

Her finger moved along the lines. "A fearless - wisecrack - wants to move figures even if they complain ... Well, there are enough figures - dragons, Giants, Squad-hoppers, normal students."

She looked up, in time to see Harry's eyes widening. "What - "

"Bloody baron," whispered Harry, "of course ..."

He looked at Ron. "Can't you see it? The Ching oracle!"

Ron was dumbfounded.

Hermione made a face at the word oracle, except Harry wasn't going to stop now.

"Three days before the change you moved figures - with me. The change, that was the arrival of the ship. Some days later, Viktor got the job of the Squad leader. But he said he's not a commander. You have to correct the lapses of your father."

Harry's voice became urgent. "Ron, it's not your father - it's Viktor! Your job is to do the organization for him!"

He looked awestruck. "And we had to do a brainstorming to solve the riddle of the hexagram."

Ron was staring in disbelief.

Hermione said flippantly, "I don't like that Ching stuff very much, but I have to admit, that's more or less what crossed my mind." She looked at Ron. "I'd call it coordination; otherwise, I'm with Harry."

"But ..." Ron hesitated. "I can't see myself commanding Viktor and his Squad around." Turning to Hermione, he added, "And I can't believe you support this crazy idea."

Hermione smiled archly. "Ron, Viktor is very disorderly. Actually, that's part of what I like so much."

Ron was speechless. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

After a moment, he said, "Harry, that Ching oracle ... you're just bending it. According to your interpretation, it's me who has to cross the big water, not Viktor. But I don't see any water to cross."

Harry shrugged.

Hermione said, "At the risk of me interpreting an oracle, Ron, I'd say you have to contact Dumbledore one way or another. Maybe that's your mysterious big water."

Ron still had objections; however he agreed to talk with the Headmaster about volunteering for an office job.

"It sounds like asking for a detention," he said thoughtfully, "but you're right. At least I get it from the man at the top."

* * *

Before meeting Snape for the first training session, Harry and Viktor wanted to get themselves prepared by doing an exercise of the type Lupin had recommended, although Harry took care not to talk about Zen.

Viktor had a small office of his own. He invited Harry to the overheated room; cold-weather walks along the lake weren't his cup of tea. To be accurate, tea wasn't his thing either; he preferred coffee and had already established a supply chain to Beauxbatons.

Harry declined an offer of that bitter brew.

Viktor sipped his own, then asked, "Harry, how do you stand the Imperius Cursse?"

"Well ..."

Harry searched for words. "You know, the curse doesn't come like a blow, it's more of a plea. It makes you want to please, to do what it wants." He grimaced. "For me, it never paid off to please. I had to fight even for ..." He broke off. "Maybe that's an explanation."

Viktor frowned. "My life wasn't easy either. But I always had my talent." A smile pursed his lips. "Harry, we're both Seekers. Please, explain it to me in Quidditch words."

Harry looked helpless. "Standing it is much easier than explaining it. Let's see ..."

He thought about his Quidditch matches. Slowly, he asked, "Did you ever catch the Snitch with some bones already broken?"

"Yes," answered Viktor, "more than once."

Harry nodded. "Of course. And you were rewarded with storms of applause."

"Yes." Viktor's eyes seemed to be looking at pictures in his memory.

"Good." Harry made a cutting gesture. "Now imagine this, nobody wants you to catch the Snitch. Nobody expects it from you; the worst that could happen is that you're hit by a Bludger, not to mention a broken bone. They would boo, and yell in anger."

He paused, then his index finger pointed at Viktor. "But you're still the Seeker. Of all the ten thousand people there, you know you must catch it."

Viktor considered Harry's words. Slowly, he asked, "What happens if I catch the Snitch?"

"Right," shouted Harry, "you get the point!" His voice grew hoarse. "They scream at you. They shake their fists. People are leaving in disgust ... your own Beaters are trying to send Bludgers at you. But you hold, you hold for dear life."

Viktor's eyes were shining.

Harry inhaled deeply. "And suddenly - it's over. The pain stops, and you're still holding the Snitch."

* * *

Viktor's first chance of testing the theory came soon. Snape had announced their first training session.

Harry was strongly reminded of his meetings with Lupin, more so when Snape guided them into a dungeon. The air had a foul smell.

"Not a cosy place," said Snape, "but it's simpler for starters."

"Why's that?" asked Harry.

Rather than answering, Snape asked, "Mr Potter, do you trust me?"

"Yes." It came without hesitation.

"You shouldn't." Snape smiled mockingly at Harry's expression. "The Imperius Curse can be stood better, the less you trust who's cursing you."

His wand shot up, pointing at Harry. "IMPERIO!"

Harry's mind was filled with mist. No, something else - mist didn't make the skin burn. Somebody told him to lick the dirty walls. It sounded as if this would ease the burning ... The green slime looked like the proper cure, much better than anything Madam Pomfrey could offer. Harry made a step, then stopped. Who'd said the licking would ease the pain? Nobody - it had been his own stupid idea, to explain the stupid suggestion.

His head jerked up. "I don't think so!"

The pain faded as quickly as it had started. Harry's view was clear again. In front of him stood Snape, smiling.

"Extraordinary, Mr Potter!" Snape's wand was resting idly in his hand. "It wasn't me who broke the spell - though I could count on one hand the number of wizards whose Imperius Curse is stronger than mine."

Harry wondered if he had courage enough to ask Snape for their names.

Before he could find out, Snape said, "I'll show you another aspect."

His wand came up again toward Harry. "IMPERIO!"

Harry felt a slight sizzle in his ears. After seconds, it faded.

"Nothing's happening," he said.

"The immunity effect," confirmed Snape. "It would take an hour or more until I'd achieve nearly as much as the first time - without ever coming that far again. Immunity between two particular wizards doesn't fade entirely."

His gaze fell on Viktor. "Mr Krum, ready for your first turn?"

Viktor cleared his throat. "Yes." He stood motionless, looking at Snape.

"With the Imperius Curse," explained Snape, "there isn't much scaling. I'll try my least strongest, but don't expect too much."

His wand pointed at Viktor. "Imperio."

Viktor didn't move. His eyes had glazed over.

"Sing us a song, Mr Krum."

Viktor opened his mouth and started to sing in a flat, unmodulated voice. Probably it was Bulgarian, but Harry couldn't even decipher a tune.

"Stop singing!"

Viktor closed his mouth.

Snape's wand pointed again. "Recorrigo!"

Viktor's eyes gained focus. "What happened?" he asked.

"You were singing," replied Snape. He examined Viktor's face. "Mr Krum, are you really determined to master blocking the Imperius?"

Viktor nodded, then said, "Yes, I am."

"Are you ready to suffer pain? Real pain?"

"A Quidditch Seeker knows pain," answered Viktor proudly. "Go ahead."

Snape turned to Harry. "Mr Potter, please don't interfere." Next moment, his wand pointed at Viktor. "Crucio!"

Harry gasped. The Cruciatus Curse!

His own body twisted while watching Viktor's body tremble, shake, and collapse, guttural sounds coming from his salivating mouth. Horrified, Harry saw Snape counting.

Then Snape raised his wand. "Exsurdo!"

Moaning, Viktor tried to get up. Hands still on the floor, le looked up at Snape, his eyes burning flames of hate.

"Don't move, Mr Krum!" Snape's voice was cold, piercing. "You rotten piece of mud, that's the right stance when talking with me ... On your knees!"

Viktor's muscles tensed.

"I'll curse you now, and if you're still too stupid to break it, I'll torture you twice that long. Do you believe me?"

At Snape's last words, Viktor snarled. His body came up. One arm outstretched like a claw, the other grabbing for his wand, he moved toward Snape.

"Imperio!!"

Viktor froze; his arms fell to his sides.

"You will repeat my next words, Mr Krum ... Say yes!"

"Yes."

"Bulgaria is a dirty bunch of thieves and murderers."

"Bulgaria is a dirty bunch of thieves and murderers." Viktor's voice was toneless, he spoke without his heavy accent.

"Hermione Granger is a filthy mudblood."

Tremors shook Viktor's body. After a second, he repeated, "Hermione Granger is a filzy muttblood." The accent was back.

"She should have drowned in the lake."

Viktor's fists clenched. "Nrrrg ... She should have dronned in the lake." It was like a cry.

"The Basilisk should have killed her before you met." Viktor hadn't reacted yet when Snape yelled, "Killed! Killed! Killed!"

Viktor's knees buckled, steadied, buckled again. "The Basilisk should have ... have ..." The fists grabbed his ears, the head jerked upward. "Nooooo!"

Shaking from side to side, Viktor groaned. With his arms outstretched like a wrestler, he made a step toward Snape, then stopped. Slowly, the arms came down.

Snape stood, smiling, his palms raised openly toward Viktor. "Congratulations, Mr Krum. There's more power than dark magic."

Viktor nodded and looked around. In a shaky voice, he said, "I must sit." He hunched down on a stool, panting.

A pounding in Harry's chest reminded him that his own body needed air too.

"Enough for today," said Snape. "It was quite a success. Mr Krum, I have homework for you - a fairly nasty one, I have to admit."

Viktor's face came up.

"Remember how it felt? Remember how you broke the spell, and save it."

Viktor nodded.

Snape turned to Harry. "Mr Potter, can we agree on a public version which only mentions bad insults? I'd think that's detail enough."

"Yes, of course," stammered Harry. "Er - thank you, Professor Snape."

Snape waved and left.

After some more minutes, Viktor had regained sufficient strength to follow Harry upstairs.

* * *

Harry and Hermione were sitting at the supper table, waiting for Ron to join them. When their friend arrived, he sat down and started to eat without registering the others who had waited for him. There was a hounded look in his eyes.

Harry examined him, then glanced over to Hermione, who shrugged her shoulders.

He asked, "Ron, what's up? Did you see a ghost?"

"Erm - what? ... No."

After a second, Ron registered the joke, however his smile didn't last. "I have - " He stopped and looked around. "Can we meet in our special room? It's a very private matter."

His gaze passed the twins; for a split second, he looked genuinely frightened.

Harry wondered what could make Ron terrified of his brothers. The Weasleys ... Oh no! His heartbeat faltered. "Bad news?" he asked.

Ron looked uncomprehending.

"Something from your family?"

"No, why - oh, no, everything's fine." Ron tried a laugh; it came out rather croaky. "Nobody's hurt. Relax."

He couldn't follow his own advice.

Unable to extract the slightest hint from Ron, Harry and Hermione continued their conversation about O.W.L.s. Ron didn't even listen, his eyes rarely ever focused on the dish in front of him.

Hermione told Harry that she had changed her plans from Potions to Charms, still without a specific theme.

Harry, for the first time, mentioned his idea of an O.W.L. about Transportation.

It took Hermione by surprise. "Didn't you say Flying's one of your topics?"

"Yes," admitted Harry, "but as a special issue ... That's not against the rules, is it?"

"No, although you might find it more difficult than expected. See, for Flying, you can easily round up with a brief overview about other techniques of transportation. And then" - Hermione held her palm upward - "what's left for the other? They'd grill you no end."

Harry's mouth felt dry. "What a mess ... Then I'd better find another topic."

Hermione looked wondering. "Why not choose the obvious?"

"What's obvious?" Harry frowned. "There's Flying, and there's the Patronus. I mean, I don't have your goals, but - you know, two O.W.L.s is a little thin."

"Nobody can see the obvious, that's another thesis of the management science." Hermione grinned. "Harry, how often have you been exposed to Unforgivable Curses?"

"Dunno, didn't count them." Next second, Harry's eyes widened. "You mean ..."

Hermione laughed at his look. "Right. It's not another self-runner, yet easy prey."

Harry tried to work out the idea. "Wouldn't it be counted as Defence against the Dark Arts? Then I'd have two in that subject. This - "

"Use a trick."

Both Harry and Hermione spun around.

Ron had awakened. "Provided you can talk about it," he said, "you could call it Unforgivable Curses, under the Special Condition of Sibling Wands. Then you'd declare it as Charms, and nobody would object."

Hermione waited anxiously for Harry's reaction to this sensitive issue, but found no reason to worry because Harry called in delight, "Ron, you're a genius!"

Ron looked pleased, for the first time since arriving to the meal.

Hermione drew a pouty face and made her voice shrill. "You unthankful creature. It was my idea!"

"True," agreed Harry. "So you're the scientific genius who has the ideas, and Ron's the coordinating genius who makes them work."

Hermione beamed at his description. Checking Ron's face, however, Harry noticed that the hounded look was back.

* * *

He reached the room of their dance lessons, lately used also for project milestones, to find Ron already waiting. It took some more minutes before Hermione arrived, giving Harry time for speculating about the reason for his friend's worry.

When Hermione sat down at the table, a voice from the corner said, "This isn't a dance lesson, is it?"

Ron jumped almost in the air, yelping. He wheeled around.

"Myrtle! ... For heaven's sake, you terrified me like hell!"

Harry couldn't help giggling, joined by Hermione.

Myrtle said pleadingly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Myrtle, please." Ron looked desperate. "This is a private conversation."

"I'll tell nobody." In a mix of defiance and threat, she added, "I have as much right to be here as you - more, actually. By the way, I could watch you anywhere, only I was honest enough to show myself."

They looked at her in perplexion.

Harry found his voice first. "Myrtle, what happened to you? You never spoke that way!"

Myrtle's face turned silver, the ghostly equivalent of a deep blush. "You're my only friends," she said in a miserable voice.

At least toward Harry, she had hit the right spot. He looked questioningly at Hermione, who nodded, then at his friend. "Ron?"

Ron grimaced. "All right, then." Turning toward the corner, he said angrily, "But come over here where I can see you. I'm a little jumpy today."

Beaming like a halo, Myrtle glided to the table.

Ron's face was gloomy. "If you tell someone else, I'll - " He stopped, looking confused.

Myrtle raised her hand. "I swear by my own grave."

When the laughter had faded, she added, "And I'll warn you if Peeves comes sneaking around."

"Okay, Ron," said Hermione, "there's no safer place in Hogwarts right now. Spit it out."

Ron was kneading his hands. "I spoke with Dumbledore."

They had to explain to Myrtle about Ron's request.

"What did he say?" asked Hermione impatiently. "Must be a very bad job he's offering."

"Er - no," said Ron hesitantly, "basically it's just what we had in mind. Lots of paperwork ... But he said something about a magnificent performance years ago. You know, my chess match." Ron informed them that he had told Dumbledore about their brainstorming session.

"Sounds good," said Harry. "Where's the problem?"

"Well, um - there's a condition." It wasn't Ron's habit to spoon-feed them with words.

Harry tried a joke. "You have to be polite."

Ron managed a smile. "No ... Yeah, certainly, but that's not what he said."

"You have to wear a uniform." It was Hermione's guess.

"Worse."

Seeing their blank looks, Ron explained, "Dumbledore said my function would be that of an assistant - of whom in particular isn't quite clear yet. Maybe of Viktor, maybe of Dumbledore himself. But what I'd need in any case is some formal rank. And the only solution he saw was to give me ... to make me ..."

"Ron, what??"

"... a Prefect!" shouted Ron. "I'll have to wear a badge!"

After a second of stunned silence, Harry and Hermione were shaking with howling laughter.

Myrtle didn't join them, unable to see anything ridiculous.

"I knew it, I knew it," groaned Ron, "that's just what I expected. Imagine Fred and George seeing my badge!"

Wiping tears from his eyes, Harry said, "Take it easy, Ron. Don't worry - we'll find a solution."

"It's only the first time," assured Hermione. "Once they know, the teasing will stop quickly."

Ron wasn't convinced. "They'll never stop. Remember how they hunted Percy all the time? Pompous Percy, they called him, and the name stuck. I don't dare to think what they'll call me. Righteous Ron or - "

He was interrupted by another burst of laughter.

"See what I mean?"

"Ron," said Hermione after calming down, "you're not Percy. You don't look ridiculous, with or without a badge."

"Wait and see," muttered Ron. "Look at yourself! Even at the thought of it, you can't stop laughing."

At least, he had relaxed enough to look satisfied at the reaction to his joke.

"I have an idea," said Myrtle.

They turned to her in surprise.

"You know - er, I've been teased in life and death, but I had lots of time to think about revenge." She silvered again. "I never dared to do it for myself, but I could do it for you."

"And what would that be?" asked Ron carefully.

"Oh, us ghosts have ways." Myrtle giggled. "When I developed my ideas, I had mostly girls in mind ... While for the twins, I'd know some more ways."

She giggled again. "I'd feel too embarrassed to tell you, but I can promise that they won't try it more than twice or so."

Hermione also started to giggle.

Harry felt enthralled. "A gh ... a girl body-guard. Ron, that's unique!"

Myrtle was beaming.

After a few seconds, Ron nodded. "Yes, that might work." With malice in his eyes, he added, "You're right, Myrtle, they won't like their own medicine much."

He promised to contact Dumbledore first thing tomorrow.

They said good night to a Myrtle who appeared happier than ever, inspired by her new purpose.

Entering Gryffindor Tower, they reached the point where they had to split for their dormitories.

"Hey, Ron," said Hermione, grinning, "I always thought Myrtle had a crush on Harry. I never realized it was you."

Chuckling, Harry climbed the staircase to their own dormitories, recalling his encounters with Myrtle, in particular those of the previous year, how they had met in the lake, and before that in the Prefect's bathroom where he had to dive into the water and -

His foot stopped in mid-air; an instant later, he was almost knocked over by Ron.

"Hey, Harry, watch your step!"

"Ron, I have it." Harry beamed in admiration.

"Fine. Keep it, but move." Ron didn't like to be blocked on the narrow staircase.

"No, look. The big water ... remember, you have to cross the big water? It's just a metaphor; what it means is you have to reach new horizons. Getting a badge and being Prefect, that's your new horizon!" Harry was gesticulating in excitement.

Ron pushed him upward. "You're mental ... Time to sleep."

Still, the push felt more like a pat on the shoulder.

* * *

After classes next day, Harry and Viktor were scheduled for another training with Snape. The dungeon was the same as before, "to stir the memory," as Snape put it.

Today it would be Harry's task to curse Viktor, and Harry felt certain that Viktor would break his own limited power in the Imperius Curse.

He cursed Viktor a first time, made him sing. Disappointed with both the singing and the obedience, he stopped.

"C'mon, you lousy Seeker," he shouted and cursed him again.

This time, Viktor had to frog-hop through the dungeon, doing so thoroughly and with amazing speed. Frustrated, Harry stopped him again.

"Mr Krum," asked Snape, "what made you break my curse?"

Without even thinking, Viktor answered, "The thought of what you said was unbearable."

"And how did you do it?"

"I ..." Viktor paused. "I decided to die before I'd let it happen."

"Hmm ..." Snape was absent-mindedly scratching his neck.

Viktor asked, "Would it help if you cruciated me again?" He didn't look happy yet quite determined.

"No, no," replied Snape, "that was an extreme measure to trigger your first successful break. Even then, it wasn't enough - doing it now would be a cruelty without purpose."

The teacher sighed. "Mr Krum, our problem is that your tolerance against pain and humiliation is too high."

"Pain, yes," replied Viktor, "humiliation, no." His voice was casual. "I cannot be humiliated."

Snape's eyes narrowed a little, then he smiled. "Agreed, Mr Krum. Anyway, do you accept my diagnosis in general?"

"Yes, I know what you mean." Viktor shrugged. "Do you want to change it?"

"Let's see," said Snape. He raised his wand toward Viktor and said in an even voice, "Imperio."

Viktor stood waiting.

"Mr Krum, go and kill Harry!"

For a split second, Viktor appeared to Harry like Draco Malfoy, thinner and smaller but the same distorted face - except Viktor's outstretched claws held no wand. On reflex, Harry drew his own wand, about to raise it for the counter curse when Viktor's arms fell down and he turned to Snape.

"No, I won't do that." Viktor's gaze cleared and, realizing what had happened, a smile appeared in his face.

"Okay, Mr Potter," called Snape, "your turn."

Harry looked at Viktor, his wand came up. "You bloody, stupid cripple, defend yourself! Imperio!"

Viktor stood, still smiling.

"Say ... say 'Hermione is an unsufferable know-it-all'."

"Hermione is an unsufferable know-it-all." As flat as his voice was, Viktor copied exactly Harry's intonation.

"Dammit," muttered Harry. He aimed his wand. "Recorrigo!"

Viktor exhaled, looking undisturbed.

Snape's lips twisted. "Mr Potter, I could tell you four reasons why this attempt didn't work."

"Four?" Harry couldn't think of more than two.

"Yes, although some of them might exclude each other." Snape tried to keep serious. "One, Mr Krum trusts you too much. Two, Mr Krum didn't believe you were serious. Three, it was too close to the truth. Four, you're gaining expertise in the Imperius Curse."

Listening to Snape's explanation, Harry had to grin, while the last guess sobered him up. "Oh ... I hadn't planned that."

He tried to think of something terrible enough to make Viktor recoil. Any insult would bounce off like water from a duck. Snape was better suited to the task, he was an experienced spy. Spying ... interrogations ... He had an idea.

"Viktor!" He aimed. "Imperio!"

Viktor stood waiting.

"Viktor, you know that Snape was a Death Eater?"

Viktor kept motionless.

Snape's calm voice behind Harry said, "He's waiting for commands ... You have to express your question as a command."

"Viktor, if you know that Snape was a Death Eater, say yes."

"Yes."

"He still is. Keep that in mind. ... Say 'I'll remember that'."

"I'll remember that."

"Viktor, if you had help escaping from Durmstrang, say yes."

"Yes."

"If someone's left behind as a reliable contact, say yes."

A slight tremble crossed Viktor's body. "Yes."

"Tell Snape the name and address!"

Viktor opened his mouth, but no words came out. He turned to Harry, disbelief in his eyes, then back to Snape. "Var ..." He turned again. "No, Harry." He shook his head, stopped.

His eyes widened, his right fist came up as if holding a Snitch. Triumph was spreading across his face. "Got it!"

"Well, well, well." Snape looked satisfied. "Very good, Mr Krum. We're still on shaky ground, but a real enemy might find it hard to control you."

He turned to Harry. "Mr Potter, you're very inventive. What I find most remarkable is how you've profited from a trainer who wasn't your first choice."

Harry flushed. "Er - yes, Professor Snape ... Still getting used to it."

The training session was over; Viktor's immunity would hold for a while.

* * *

Once again, Harry and Hermione were waiting at the supper table for Ron, who was late. This time, however, the food was late, too.

Ron arrived, panting, and dropped to his seat. "I talked with Dumbledore. It's settled - I start tomorrow." He looked around. "Where's our food? Hey, Hermione, did you finally manage to make the house-elves strike?"

"So you were hired for wise-cracks?"

Reminding Hermione of her initial misjudgment at the house-elves' view of things was a short-cut to the next row with her. Luckily, Dumbledore's voice made both of them drop their angry stare and turn around.

"Sorry to be late," the Headmaster said, "and sorry to keep you from a well-earned supper for some more minutes. I have two announcements for you. The first one has to do with a change of teachers."

He turned to his side. "Professor Lupin, who has held Defence against the Dark Arts as a temporary substitute, will pass it over as of tomorrow. He'll use his free time for other purposes in the pursuit of our targets, mostly outside Hogwarts."

Harry's face saddened. The dreaded day had come, Lupin would be off like Sirius Black. The improved relations with Snape didn't feel like a replacement. At least, one secret less that had to be kept from slipping his tongue.

Dumbledore's words came back into focus.

"... new colleague, who has mastered our language from blank to brilliant in no time, thanks to the help of our good samaritan, Madam Pomfrey." Dumbledore looked at the teacher from Durmstrang. "I'm very pleased to present our new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher - Professor Kristof Drilencu."

Drilencu was a remarkable figure. He looked small until someone else stood at his side, then it became clear he was just extremely broad-shouldered. A long moustache extended to both sides of his face, turning upward and inward in a semi-circle. His short black hair had a strand of silver from back to front, as if that spot had never recovered from a burning spell.

The new teacher bowed to the polite applause.

"Thank you ... When looking at the list of my predecessors in this position, I must admit they were quite extraordinary - each of them in his own style."

Laughter came from the older students, while Drilencu's new colleagues tried to look serious.

"So I hope you're still with me when I declare my own intention, which is to be truly unspectacular ... Thank you again for your confidence." Drilencu sat down.

The applause, this time significantly stronger, gave the teachers an opportunity to straighten their faces. Harry watched Snape's reaction, recalling their conversation.

The Potions teacher mastered the scene gracefully. When his gaze drifted off his new colleague, it seemed to meet Harry's for a short moment. Snape's head tilted slightly, making Harry wonder if this had been a silent remark to him.

Hermione's voice took his attention. "... much of surprise."

"Er - what?" Harry shook his head. "No - I knew about."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Oh ... You didn't bother to tell us."

Before Harry could answer, Dumbledore continued.

"The second item of news has to do with our growing team of non-teaching combattants. One of our number has volunteered for the unthankful job of an organization assistant - to be performed on top of his duties as a student of Hogwarts."

Dumbledore looked to their table. "Mr Ron Weasley, please come to me."

Ron started to walk, pale changing to pink.

Harry and Hermione applauded enthusiastically, while other faces at the Gryffindor table looked baffled first, then started to join the applause.

Ron had reached the teacher's table.

"This position," explained Dumbledore, "requires, as much as it deserves, the status of Prefect." He winked. "Getting an assistant was the hard part, making him Prefect is a matter of a few seconds." His voice rose. "Ron Weasley, I appoint you Prefect of Hogwarts!"

His hand seized Ron's and shook it. From Harry's perspective, Ron's stance seemed pretty much that of Viktor during his first attempts in the Imperius training.

"The badge for our new Prefect is ready," called the Headmaster through the noise, "and there's just one person who should assign it ... I'm talking about another member of the Weasley family, most commonly known as Charlie the Dragon Guard."

Charlie appeared in the door, then stepped quickly to his spellbound brother. Grinning broadly, he fixed the badge on Ron's chest and finally shook his hand.

Ron made a step as if walking back to his seat, but Charlie grabbed him. Harry saw him whisper something in his brother's ear that made Ron jerk.

Dumbledore spoke again. "As new as our assistant is in his job, he has already found assistance for himself. It will help him in more ways than meet the eye."

Dumbledore was obviously having fun with his own words. "This is a true example how all forces of Hogwarts join together. A long-standing resident of our school takes on new responsibilities. I present - Miss Myrtle Scammage!"

Moaning Myrtle appeared in the air, close to Dumbledore. For a moment, she seemed to vanish again, then steadied herself, although even from Harry's seat the wall behind her shape still shimmered through.

After the first stunned silence, the hall echoed from the shouts and hoorays. Myrtle joined the two Weasleys, then all three of them came toward the Gryffindor table.

"Move over," shouted Harry. "Make room for our two guests!"

The other students obeyed good-naturedly.

The three had reached the table. They sat down, Ron flanked by Charlie at his left and Myrtle at his right. The burning cheeks in Ron's face offered a vivid contrast to Myrtle's equivalent in silver, a beaming smile on the ghost girl's unlovely face.

Right then, the food appeared together with the drinks. Everybody started to fill plates and cups - except for Myrtle, who let her eyes wander around.

Ron looked at his dish, responding only with nods to the congratulations from Harry and Hermione. He looked tense, as if waiting for something more.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Ron, our little brother," shouted George, and Fred seconded, "has got himself a job and a girlfriend at once!"

Ron twisted, turning dark.

Myrtle's head snapped around. "Watch your language," she hissed at Fred, "or you'll be sorry!"

Fred held his palms upward. "No offense ... We're proud of Ron, ready to sing his praise." He filled his cup with pumpkin juice and raised it.

"To the PAMPAR - the Perfect Assistant Manager Prefect Alias Ron!"

He started to drink. Next second, his mouth spilled dark fluid over the table. "Ouch - dammit, what's that??"

"Hot coffee," came the prompt answer. Myrtle's voice was threatening. "Just a fair warning. I don't want to think of what'll be next."

Eyes turned to the cup, still in Fred's hand, from which a faint cloud of steam twirled upward.

"Ron," called George angrily, "get that assistant of yours under control. There's something called freedom of speech! ... Ulgh."

A hot potato had jumped from a bowl and had sped into George's mouth, too large to be chewed. He was desperately trying to tear it off with his hands, watched by a fierce-looking Myrtle.

Ron's eyes were glistening. "Lost your freedom of speech?"

Laughter waved up. As much as the twins were liked, there was nobody among the older students who hadn't suffered from similar treatment at some time or another.

Fred and George made attempts to cool their burned palates, their suspicious glances switching between Myrtle and the cups of juice they used for this purpose. The glare in their eyes left little doubt of the remarks they'd like to give, except a look into Myrtle's face and the burning in their mouths made them think better of it.

Myrtle ascended. "Thank you for your hospitality. I have to leave." Toward the twins, she added, "I'm off, but not away," and disappeared, accompanied by goodbye's.

Harry chuckled. "Hey Ron, that's settled. What do you think?"

Ron didn't answer, still watching the twins.

Charlie turned to them, grinning. "I never saw anyone shutting up those two so quickly. That's the second highlight of the evening."

It was the signal for other students to contribute in repayment with their own remarks, and with offers as generous as throwing juice into the twins' faces in sync with their next wisecracks.

Fred and George tried to put a good face on it, without being too convincing. After a while, Fred said grumpily, "Okay, okay, you've had your fun."

This raised protests from the other students, claiming their rights to use the opportunity.

George looked at Ron. "You know, Myrtle can't be always around you ..."

His voice died while his widening eyes stayed transfixed on a cup which hung mid-air over the table, right in front of him.

After a moment, he leaned slowly back, hands flat on the table. Still looking at the cup, he said, "All right, Myrtle, I give up. There are matches you just can't win."

* * *

Ron's job took all his spare time, if there ever had been any beside his O.W.L. obligations. The Flying Squad turned out to be the centre of his responsibilites, with the effect that he arrived late to the meals, only to leave early.

The Squad desk moved from Madam Hooch's office into another room, which became Ron's office, as well as that of Myrtle.

In contrast to Ron, Myrtle had lots of time, used it to play receptionist as much as she could. Unfortunately, owing to her nature, her capabilities were more limited than both of them would have liked. Soon after their start, Ron arrived at the breakfast table and muttered, "What a nuisance. My wrist's hurting like hell. If only Myrtle could write."

Hermione looked astonished. "What? ... I can't believe she didn't learn it."

"Oh - of course can she write," replied Ron. "Trouble is, her writing disappears quickly and only reappears around midnight. That's not very helpful, is it?"

In spite of his short-measured leisure time, he looked happier than ever since term had started. While always complaining about "the bloody mess" he'd found, Ron spent long hours "establishing a proper framework". He had borrowed some books about management and organization from Hermione. When she said, "Ron, that's slavery. Tell Dumbledore to cut it down," he replied, "Why, he didn't set a time rule. That's me."

Not long after his appointment, Fred and George came over to his place. Fred said, "Ron, we have to talk with you and Myrtle. The state as it's now is unbearable - for us, it feels like suffocating!"

Ron smiled wickedly. "What do you suggest?"

George showed a good imitation of despair. "A joke every now and then must be allowed. What world is this in which you can't even tease your younger brother?"

"Okay," laughed Ron, "but listen, the badge wasn't my idea. In fact, I almost declined because of it. If you think I'd never got it the regular way, you're right. But I have it, I'm going to earn it, and I'm going to be proud of it. So, if that's clear, I've got no objections left."

"You mean," asked Fred carefully, "you wouldn't be mad about remarks that would mention - say, ghostly girlfriends?"

"Me - no." Ron looked malicious. "Of course, I can't speak for Myrtle."

The twins left, discussing the new situation. Somehow, it seemed worse than before. A total censorship was a simple thing, so to speak, but watching their choice of words for every remark? For them, it felt like betrayal, it was as if they would have to be aware that, after they'd said something, someone would slap their faces.

Ron watched them leave, then turned to his friends, grinning. "No need to tell them how easy it's going with Myrtle ... That job has done wonders to her mood."

"That's pretty strange," said Hermione, raising her eyebrows. "I wouldn't know anyone for whom the effect is anywhere close to that." She looked at Harry. "Would you?"

"What an absurd question," said Harry and presented a face of disbelief to the watching Ron. "I know only ordinary people who feel most satisfied with easy living ... Well, yes, an O.W.L. or two, when it's unavoidable ... maybe even three, come to think of it ... four at the most - "

"You're right," Hermione interrupted the counting, "it's really an absurd question. But while on the subject, Ron, your office job looks to me as if you'd put your O.W.L.s at risk."

"Oh - didn't I tell you?" Ron grinned sardonically. "I spoke with Dumbledore about this reorganization I'm working on. He told me it would definitely be counted as an O.W.L."

He waited a second to let the news hit, then added, "It's true, Hermione - people tend to forget the obvious."

Harry's grin suddenly felt as if it had frozen on his face. He still waited a moment, only what he had expected didn't come - Ron didn't say anything about dropping one of his other four O.W.L.s. Which meant, he was aiming at five!

Anger stirred in Harry, although he couldn't decide whether he was angry at himself for being envious, at Ron for being so ambitious, or at himself again for being unable to think of more than four. It was unfair of Ron, all the time they'd been sailing far behind Hermione but side by side, and now his friend was making him fall behind. It had to be the badge, that bloody piece of metal changed every member as soon as it stuck to a chest.

The scene with Ron in front of the Mirror of Erised came back to Harry's mind, how Ron had seen himself as Quidditch captain, Prefect, Head Boy, plus all kinds of cups in his hands. And now he was sitting there, giggling like a fool. Well, Quidditch captain was definitely out of reach, and the other goals ... with astonishment, Harry realized the only title missing was Head Boy; Gryffindor currently held both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup.

What could he position against that? Being famous, having a scar and a powerful enemy? That was old news. Winner of the Triwizard Tournament? Didn't count - for many reasons, and besides, he'd been helped all along. Only living wizard with a Golden Patronus? There was no proof, had anyone ever challenged Dumbledore to conjure up a Patronus?

Eventually, Harry knew - he was angry with himself for being mad at Ron, only it was no help that he knew why. The bad feeling didn't fade.