Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

The day after started with as much promise as a nightmare come true. On the evening before, being excluded from the Squad had been a bad dream; today it grew to reality.

No, said Ron at breakfast, he wasn't excluded, he was only suspended from flight service.

"That's comforting," snorted Harry. "In this case, I can be Keeper of the Broomsticks. Wait, just let me get my kit, then I can start polishing them."

Ron didn't answer, which was for the better as long as Harry felt like hitting the next happy face. Ron didn't ask him for help in the office either.

When Hermione heard the news, she wanted to know every detail. It was Ron who had to explain; Harry found himself dangerously close to the point of shouting, "Because I know too much about Goblins," through the hall.

Hermione asked him what Dumbledore had in mind for their Christmas vacation, whether Harry had to stay at Hogwarts. Then she said that Harry would at least be rid of the Dursleys.

Harry suppressed another remark. The catastrophe wasn't Hermione's fault; the day would hardly grow better with her being mad at him, too.

The other Gryffindor Squad members came to console him, actually with some success. When they asked what they could do for him, he found the strength to say, "Do me a favour and don't pity me. If there's something worse than this mess, it's listening to Fred and George playing polite."

They laughed. Fred said, "Harry, we'll ask Mum to adopt you. We're better off with you than with our own brother."

Even Harry could manage a smile.

George said, "Know what, Harry? We'll catch a Dementor for you, just so you can take it out."

The laughter of the others was a little shaky.

Katie and Alicia came over. Katie said, "Harry, can you imagine? Angelina turned us down when we asked her to join our team. And guess why?"

Harry looked at Angelina, whose face was a little darker than usual. Why wouldn't she - of course!

"Must have to do with your long-standing prejudice against blacks," he said to Katie, grinning wryly.

"True," replied Katie, "but that wasn't enough."

"After all those years, she's got bored of you?"

"It's amazing, Harry, how well you understand Angelina's feelings." Katie smiled archly. "But even that wasn't enough. You've got one guess left. Hint - stay with B."

"'B' ... hmm," faked Harry, "what else with B?" He widened his eyes in pretend astonishment. "It couldn't be Bob, could it?"

"Bingo!" shouted Alicia. "And now guess who's joined us instead. It's not far away from 'B'."

B ... C - this time, Harry's astonishment wasn't faked. He glanced over to the Ravenclaw table, then back at Alicia.

"Cho? But - "

"Got it in one!" Alicia smiled proudly. "We're the only girls' team in the Squad."

Watching Harry's face, which had lost the joy and again showed all his misery, she put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll take care of her, Harry."

* * *

Classes did little to improve Harry's mood. The only scene that caught his attention was in Potions, a double with Slytherins and Gryffindors together. They were working on sleeping draughts.

Now that they'd mastered the basic recipe, which was pretty simple, Snape was trying to teach them the proper scaling for the various levels of sleeplessness or pain, and for various periods of sleep.

The students behaved attentively and obediently to a degree that was unprecedented in Potions. They watched Snape with a look in their eyes that made him finally stop.

"What's wrong with me?" Snape touched his head. "Did I grow a third ear?"

A Slytherin answered, "No, Professor. You look normal."

"But you don't," replied Snape. "I feel as if I could say, 'Jump out of the window,' and you would - even deep down in this dungeon."

Hesitantly, the same student confessed that they'd heard about him and Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and how -

"I feel flattered," Snape answered without changing his expression, then pointed to the writing at the blackboard. "You must know, I drink a gallon of this each day. That should bring your respect back to normal."

It earned him smiles even from the Gryffindors. Needless to say, nobody believed him.

"All right, then," sighed Snape, "I'll give you a serious statement, because I don't think that I could stand this kind of attention for long."

Faces looked guilty but still full of admiration.

"With Voldemort out there," Snape pointed over his shoulder, "every wizard who stands against him is at risk. If I'm special then it's only because he wants me now, for reasons from the past rather than in the future."

Snape's fingers patted the desk. "But I'm here, at Hogwarts; that makes me safer than anyone outside. Once I made a wrong decision, and later I made the right decision - in contrast to poor Karkaroff." His face tightened for an instant. "Anyway, I'm in good company, in more than one sense."

Snape's glance passed over Harry. Before more heads could turn, the teacher finished, "And now let's get back to healthier matters, if you please."

After lunch, the two Hufflepuff Beaters came to Harry. They wanted to thank him for his part in their rescue.

He tried to wave them off.

"But it's our mistake that you ... you know, the Squad - "

"Don't be silly," replied Harry sharply. "That's nonsense, and you know it."

They looked unhappy. It was enervating, more so because what they said exactly mirrored his feelings.

"Listen," he sighed, "yesterday evening I was thinking just the same. I thought, those bloody Hufflepuffs, and your ears should have rung. I could have kicked you from here to Hogsmeade. But that's only because I looked for someone to blame." He managed a smile. "Honestly - I would have been caught in the same trap."

"No, I don't think so," said the other.

"Yes, I would." Harry aimed with his leg. "Now get lost before I really kick you."

They strolled away, looking happier than before.

Harry lips curled. Hufflepuffs weren't his thing, especially not today. The two of them reminded him of Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Harry?" It was Cho. "I've been watching your thankful visitors. Do you think you could make them feel any better?"

"Yeah, probably." He grimaced.

Cho laughed. They walked away from the others.

"Let me ask you a stupid question," she said. "How you're doing?"

Watching his face, she didn't wait for a reply. "Okay, that's answer enough."

Harry steadied himself. "Katie and Alicia told me about your teaming with them."

"Yes." Cho grinned. "An unexpected opportunity. They asked me, and I gladly accepted. I'm sure they'll be great teammates ... the best I could get." This was added after another look in Harry's face.

Harry nodded and sighed.

"It's also good to improve the bad relations between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

"What??" Harry looked perplexed.

"Yes, didn't you know? Gryffindors can visit Slytherin, but Ravenclaw? No - they don't even find their way to our table. Now I've found a reason to come over to yours."

He blushed.

Cho touched his arm. "I see, it's the wrong time for jokes. And the wrong ... Anyway, at least there's one thing that's better: you're safe here."

Harry's head jerked up. "Safe, safe - for my own safety, it would - " He stopped, barely avoiding the mistake.

"It would what?" Cho watched him.

"Nothing ... I was just thinking nonsense."

"Yeah, quite a habit of yours."

After a pause, Cho said, "I was wondering where Dumbledore got the information from."

Harry tried to keep his face steady, but failed.

Cho, seeing it, nodded. "I knew it."

He tried to save the situation. "Knew what?"

"Never mind."

Only she couldn't resist herself. "Something didn't fit. It's nothing new that you ... And suddenly Dumbledore can't take the risk any longer? After he's sent you against ..."

Her voice calmed down. "If I ever get bored of flying, Harry, I'll come and squeeze you for a little information. Then Dumbledore will have to keep me inside, too." Her smile was sad. "But don't hold your breath waiting for it. See you."

* * *

The afternoon didn't leave the slightest trace in Harry's memory. He pondered what Cho had said, fighting the temptation to go and tell her. Thinking of how Dumbledore would look at him, after having trusted him so much, was the first thing that felt worse than the status quo.

After all the adventures, and after all the occasions on which Dumbledore - openly or secretly - had encouraged him to do something, it was a totally new experience to be trusted to not do something. He longed to talk with Sirius. Not that Sirius would tell him any details - actually he didn't want to know. He just needed someone to talk with openly.

What felt worse? To be suspended from the Squad service, or to be suspended for reasons that couldn't be joked at, neither by Ron nor himself, nor the twins? The question seemed quite hypothetical, considering how impossible it was to change either.

During supper, the new Squad organization and the planned training were still the subject of conversation - that of the others, not Harry's. Without patrols to check, Ron wasn't late, nor did he show his usual hurry while eating.

The twins' choice for their third teammate had been Lee, of course. They entertained the table with the promise that their team would - after a quick test under Viktor's eyes - be counted as trainers, rather than trainees.

"Hey, Harry," called Fred, "you could train them, too."

The remark made Harry's stomach hurt.

George, watching him, turned to his brother. "Fred, you've got it wrong. What Harry meant this morning was that it would be okay to stab him; he didn't say you could turn the knife in the wound."

Fred did a good imitation of dismay and guilt. "Sorry, Harry, my mistake - you know, the habit of air troops toward ground staff."

"Yes, Fred," said George, "that's much better."

Harry couldn't muster a good reply. Ron looked worried, listening to apparent cruelties, but the twins were right, the sooner he got used to it the better.

After the meal, Bob came over to the Gryffindor table.

As soon as they saw him, Katie and Alicia started complaining about insidious Slytherins leading naive Chaser girls the wrong track, and how they had always known this warming-up between the houses would do no good.

This said, they grouped themselves around a beaming Angelina, as if to protect her against him.

"Be warned," said Bob in a good imitation of a still-familiar drawl. "Slytherins aren't nice if something stands in their way."

"Ha," shouted Alicia, "you dare! Nothing can stop us from saving that poor girl."

Bob held his hands out like claws. "Not even tickling?"

With shrieks, they jumped aside.

Harry watched the scene with more jealousy than amusement. Bob had it all, and he, Harry, had been the one to open the doors.

After a while, Bob looked at him, then came over to his place. "Hi, Harry. Hurts like hell, doesn't it?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Even if not, I'm the one to know, remember? It may take a while. In my case, at least it earned me a Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One." Bob's voice was matter-of-fact, lacking pity.

Harry tried a joke. "I may look bad, but I won't fall as deep as that."

Bob smiled. "It's always a matter of perspective. Harry - today, you hate it. Tomorrow" - he paused for dramatic effect - "you'll really hate it."

"That's awfully good to know."

"No, it's not." Bob slapped his shoulder. "It's only true."

Harry took his parchments and went to the library. He would work on the last Giants paper.

The total break between Giants and wizards, which was the first cut according to Hermione's structure, showed parallels to his own situation. The wizards had isolated the Giants completely, claiming it was for their own good. The Giants didn't need the wizards in any ways, so the new rules failed to establish a real disadvantage. The reasons, however, and the verdicts against trespassing wizard areas were considered the worst insult. Wizards protecting Giants - ridiculous. In a way, the recent events gave proof that the opposite view was more realistic.

The work made unexpectedly good progress. For the first time after yesterday's meeting, Harry's mind was free of those horrible black clouds. He didn't think about the Squad for a second, or so it seemed. Except that, after reading about the years of separation, suddenly he was sure of one thing.

He wouldn't accept that state.

He had no idea how, or when, he just had this conviction: he would find a way back into the Squad, without breaking his promise to Dumbledore.

* * *

Saturday morning brought the next severe test of Harry's nerves. Viktor had scheduled Squad training for as long as the daylight lasted, plus a little more.

During breakfast, Squad members at all tables chatted excitedly about the exercises ahead. It would be a lot of fun, playing victims and rescuers, bandits and patrols, and it would take them back onto their broomsticks. Patrol exams were planned for the next day; afterwards, the modified patrol service would start again - with nine triple teams.

Nourishing an ill-humoured mood, Harry sat at the table watching. The more he watched and listened, the more his meanness grew, yet he wasn't able to go away.

Ron had all the time in the world, with the ease of someone who can watch other people working on something he'd done already, or will do but not before the day after tomorrow.

Hermione also kept idling around. It didn't improve things that Harry felt pretty sure she stayed only to act as a buffer between him and the others, or to sacrifice herself by receiving his angry remarks.

"Stop pitying me," he muttered.

"I don't," she said, her expression not changing at all.

"Hey, Fred," shouted Harry, "please do me a favour - tell me something bad, so I can give you a good one on your nose."

"Sorry, Harry," came the reply without hesitation, "no time. Some people have to do Squad training."

The Squad members were leaving.

In the uproar, Harry failed to notice the owl until it appeared right in front of him. A beautiful animal it was, at least as large as Hedwig, with a shimmering capsule on its left foot. There was no question that the owl post was for him.

"A letter? From whom?"

Watched by Ron and Hermione, Harry took the capsule. The owl spread its wings and left without waiting for a snack.

Harry tried to guess the sender. Sirius was the only one that came to mind, except that he couldn't connect Sirius with the majestic owl. It had somehow looked official.

For a terrible instant, Harry expected a letter from the Ministry of Magic about his unlawful magic in Privet Drive. Then he remembered how many weeks had passed since then.

There was one way to find out more. He opened the letter.

Harry didn't understand a thing. The letter was emblazoned with the Gringotts' emblem, but a location wasn't specified. As he remembered from Ron's droning about organizational techniques, this would indicate that the letter originated from the Gringotts' headquarters.

As if he knew where Gringotts had its headquarters. He read the letter again.

"What is it?" It was Ron's question.

"From Gringotts," replied Harry. "I'm still trying to figure out what they're talking about."

"From your bank?" asked Hermione.

It struck Harry like a blow. Of course - the Goblins! Whatever it meant, that was their 'Thank you' for his report.

---

Registering that the others had watched the dramatic change in his expression, Harry tried to play dumb. "Someone's paid me something, except I don't know what for."

Glancing at his friends, he saw that they were ready to believe the first part of his explanation, but not more.

"Oh yeah," snorted Ron, "the trouble of the rich and famous ... Why doesn't that happen to me? I wouldn't care where it comes from."

"I know," announced Hermione. "Sirius has robbed a bank, then transferred the money to you. Now they want to know how come the sums are identical."

For a fleeting instant, Harry's face had looked scared to death at Hermione's first words. Glancing at her, Harry could see that she'd noticed.

"Whatever it is," said Ron, "I wouldn't look so unhappy if I were richer than before. You might contact Bill if you think there's something fishy."

Ron sounded exactly as Harry had felt only a few minutes ago.

"It wouldn't be jinxed, would it?" asked Hermione.

Her question hinted at the last time when Harry had received an expensive gift - his Firebolt - without knowing the spender. It was further an unsuccessful attempt to save the atmosphere, which at once held a false note.

Harry wouldn't show the letter around, the others didn't ask. Ron was in a hurry all of a sudden. Hermione still looked thoughtful. After reminding Harry that McGonagall was Hogwarts' financial affairs manager, she left him alone.

Harry read the letter a third time, extracting not more than a confirmation of his suspicion.

Stupid of him not to realize in the first place that this had to be a Goblin letter; it might have saved them the embarrassing situation. He couldn't remember having heard about a Privilege, no matter which category. What was a Trusted Order? Those Goblins had it with trust all the time, small wonder for people running the largest bank on earth. He had to find out more.

Ron's advice, thought Harry, was better than Ron knew himself. Bill would be aware of the Goblins' role in the play; Harry could discuss every detail with him.

When was Bill next expected at Hogwarts?

Dumbledore might know, Ron might know ... Fleur might know! The thought of talking again with Ron, right now, wasn't promising; on the other hand, if eventually he was going talk with Bill without Ron knowing, things would get worse. Harry started for Ron's office.

He found Ron sitting at his desk and writing. Ron was alone - that was to say, Myrtle could be seen nowhere.

"Ron?"

Ron looked up. Seeing Harry, his eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

"What you said about asking Bill, I think that's what I should do."

Ron's expression lost its hostility. "So it's really about some unknown money?"

"The letter is from Gringotts," explained Harry, forgetting to mention that it didn't come from his own branch, "and I don't know whether I'm richer now or just more privileged. That's why I'd like to talk with Bill."

"Sorry," said Ron, "I didn't believe it downstairs, at the table. Somehow you ... Never mind."

Ron didn't ask whether he could see the letter. Harry knew why: his friend was afraid, or embarrassed, to read the exact size of Harry's fortune. As wrong as the reasons were, Harry felt grateful for them.

He asked, "Do you know when Bill's next expected here?"

"Again? Why should he?" Ron frowned.

So Bill hadn't informed his brother that he would be at Hogwarts more often. Great - just another grease-pot Harry had found and hit blindfolded. Just in time, he had an idea.

"Why? Because of Fleur - if there's no other reason." Harry grinned. For once, his flush didn't look unnatural.

"Fleur??"

"Didn't you ..." Then he remembered: Ron hadn't been at lunch with them. He told him what he'd witnessed.

"Look there ..." said Ron with a definite lack of pleasure. "Then go and ask Fleur. Nobody tells me anything, but she might tell you."

Harry chuckled. "Ron, some things happen even outside your office."

"I'd never have guessed." But Ron seemed mollified.

---

Asking Fleur about Bill was a little beyond the scope which felt like safe ground to Harry. However, any embarrassement was exclusively on his side, not hers, he was certain about that. He went to her office and knocked.

"Come in."

He opened the door. "Hi, Fleur."

"'arry!" Fleur's eyes widened with pleasure, then changed to sympathy. "I 'eard about the Squad. Poor you, all the training outside, and all you can do is visit me." Her smile grew warmer. "Is it about some last dance lesson? You know, the ball's due three weeks from now."

"Only three weeks? I wasn't aware."

"And there was a time when you couldn't think about anything else. What's on your mind, 'arry?"

"I'm trying to find out ..." He cleared his throat. "I wonder when Bill will be at Hogwarts again. I ... er, I thought you might know." He didn't know what to expect.

Next second, Fleur's genuine laughter filled the room. "What's this? Our shy little 'arry, with the big eyes for other people's love affairs?"

Harry flushed. "At least I didn't listen."

Beaming, Fleur came around the desk, grabbed Harry's shoulders, and put her cheek at his. "I know. Even if you did, I wouldn't care."

Leaning back, she asked, "So you think Bill's right for me?"

Harry grinned. "That visit last year - I watched you both."

"Yes, of course ... Lately, I see you only as a dancer 'oo is afraid of his first evening with a pretty girl with black 'air and green eyes. Sometimes I forget what a sharp 'unter you are."

Then she asked, "And Ron?"

Harry noticed how Fleur wasn't bothering to ask whether Ron knew. "Well - he didn't look entirely amazed."

Fleur giggled. "What a surprise. Brothers!"

Getting more serious, she said, "Bill wasn't specific about his whereabouts, said 'e couldn't be." She beamed again. "The next time I know for sure is the ball. He's my partner."

About to leave, Harry was stopped by Fleur. "'arry, if you know more, you'll tell me, yes?"

He nodded.

Three weeks until the Christmas Ball ... Harry dismissed thoughts of dancing with Cho and concentrated on the Goblins' letter. Could he wait three weeks for Bill?

Maybe so, but he simply didn't know enough. Then he realized that when asking Bill about Goblin business while Fleur was waiting somewhere, he'd be as welcome as a dragon in the girls' toilet - or the boys', for that matter. Better to ask someone right now, McGonagall or Dumbledore.

McGonagall's office was next. His hand already outstretched for knocking, Harry stopped. Could he talk with McGonagall about Goblins? He didn't know.

The door opened, and the witch stood in front of him. "Mr Potter - did you want to see me?"

"Er - yes, Professor McGonagall."

"Please sit down; I'll be back in a minute."

Seated, Harry looked around. He knew this office only from short conversations, most of them dealing with unpleasant things like detentions, whether given or promised. The desk was cluttered with parchments; glancing at them, he saw the Goblins' emblem more than once.

---

McGonagall was back, and sat down. "What can I do for you, Mr Potter?"

Harry showed the folded parchment. "This morning I got a letter from Gringotts, and I'm trying to find someone who can explain it to me."

He waited for the natural question whether she could see it.

"Gringotts, Mr Potter?" McGonagall's expression was wondering. "Or Goblins?"

"Isn't it the same?"

His impoliteness didn't lift an eyebrow.

"No, Mr Potter, it's not, as you should be well aware." She smiled. "If you want to know whether you can talk with me about Goblins, the answer is yes. By the way, your qualification as a spy is still very limited, althought that's more of a compliment than a criticism."

Her hand came up. "May I see that letter?"

He watched her reading, then saw her eyes widen. When she'd finished, the witch started reading again. Finally she looked up, something like awe in her face.

"Congratulations, Harry."

Did she really look embarrassed?

"I hope you don't mind me calling you Harry."

"Not at all, Professor McGonagall." Something in the letter had to be extraordinary.

"Call me Prof, Harry - I think Mr Drilencu had a good idea."

Harry stared. "Yes - er, Prof." Then, recovering from the shock, he asked, "Congratulations for what, Prof?"

"Harry, do you know about Goblin Requests?"

"No."

McGonagall's eyes scanned the letter again. "I think we should go through the letter step by step. It's a beauty - I wouldn't have thought that I'd see something like that here in this office." She looked at Harry. "Do you know what a Trusted Order is?"

"No."

"A Trusted Order means that the executioner, in this case a Modragh Moroney, isn't authorized to tell you where it comes from. But he - and for him you might as well say Gringotts - guarantees by every measure one might think of that the client is serious and trustworthy. Business people would call it bona fide. It would be a tremendous loss of face if such an order would imply the slightest dubious aspect."

McGonagall pointed to the emblem. "Normally, Goblins accept a Trusted Order only from other Goblins."

"I think I've seen him," said Harry. "Or them ... You know, we met."

McGonagall watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I know. The price of confidence - and this," her finger touched the letter, "is the reward, and more."

"Is the request the reward, Prof?"

"A reward - and an obligation."

McGonagall thought for a moment. "A Goblin Request means that you can request something from them. Simply speaking, you have one wish free."

"What can I wish?"

"Something within their reach to fulfill - money, for example." She looked sympathetic. "A counter example would be your wish to fly with the Squad."

Harry nodded; the thought had already crossed his mind. "Why so - so complicated? Couldn't they just send some money?"

The witch smiled. "Yes, they could, only that would be an entirely different reward. A Goblin Request is not specified like a cheque. It's your own decision what to ask for, and that's quite a challenge. Harry, they challenge you to ask for the right thing, nothing too big, certainly nothing too small. They challenge you also for the right purpose - "

"Please, Prof, can you give me an example?"

The enthusiasm grew in McGonagall's voice. "Assume you asked for a thousand Galleons. They would pay, and they would be deeply insulted, because it's too small."

Harry gasped. "Too small?"

"Yes, since this is the Privileged category - we'll come to that." McGonagall gestured as if to calm his impatience. "Assume you would ask for a million Galleons. They would pay, and they would be quite embarrassed because it's too big."

"Embarrassed? You mean angry."

"Not angry - embarrassed, from your own failure of personal honour. If you ask for that, you must be greedy."

"Then something in-between?" asked Harry.

"Yes and no ... These examples only show the aspect of size, or quantity. Still more important is the aspect of purpose. If you asked for plain money, whatever sum, they'd be disappointed."

"Because it's unspecific?"

"You're on track, Harry." McGonagall beamed. "Assume you'd ask for the means required to make you an Auror. You don't specify the sum, you specify the purpose. In the end, it may be little more than thousand Galleons, or even more than a million, but it just doesn't matter. And - it's not you who decides whether something is required or not. You see, you return the challenge."

"Wow." Harry inhaled.

"In addition, the Request establishes a bond. They trust that you trust that they trust that ..." McGonagall's finger painted a criss-cross pattern in the air, then she looked at Harry. "Not by coincidence, I'd say."

"No," sighed Harry, "not at all."

So he got paid, although he wasn't that good a spy, according to McGonagall. Paid to sit here and learn about clever Goblin tricks, while the others practised Squad tactics.

Without the slightest idea what to ask for, Harry decided to aim as high as possible. How high was high? How privileged was he?

"Categories," he said. "What is Privileged, Prof?"

"Let me tell you what I know about the categories. The lowest is Personal. That would be something like a generous gift - for example, a four-week vacation trip to any luxury resort in the world. At this level, the purpose can indeed be personal luxury."

His, thought Harry, was higher.

"Classified is the next. At that level, you could ask them to provide Mr Black with the financial means to make him a respectable citizen, which might include a house, money for a solicitor - just to give you an example."

"And Privileged?"

"Privileged is the highest level - the highest I've heard about," corrected the witch. "It's unlimited in any regard - financially, that is. The purpose is all that counts. Harry, you're expected to ask for a honourable purpose - whether it's cheap or tremendously expensive doesn't matter."

Harry didn't care whether Privileged could be surpassed by some unknown level, unheard-of outside the inner Goblin circles. A nice little weekend bungalow under palm trees, plus a portkey for easy travelling, why not something as simple as that?

Coming awake from his thoughts, he asked, "What about the rest, Prof?"

McGonagall checked the letter. "You can ask for it whenever you want ... You can ask at any Gringotts branch ... You know the reason for the Request - well, the rest is Legalese about documents, copies, etcetera. It simply means that you don't need this letter to claim your request because they know ... No, here's something else - the executioner, Mr Moroney, offers help."

She looked up. "Probably a contribution to your small experience in Goblin games of purpose and challenge."

"Oh yeah - that'll be quite helpful."

McGonagall handed the letter back to him. "Harry, it may take years until you want to ask, or know what to ask for. Please keep the letter in a safe place; it would be quite difficult to explain."

"You bet ... er - sorry, Prof."

The Head of Gryffindor smiled. "No, Mr Potter, I'm not betting against the resources of Gringotts."

* * *

Thinking about a Goblin Request of the higher ranks seemed a good way to forget the Squad, if only for a while. Imagining the next talks with his friends, Harry decided to prepare a good spy story first.

What would a good spy do in his situation?

The idea of asking Snape had a lot of appeal, except that Snape might not know about the Goblins. The letter - he had to hide the letter. Private items didn't get lost at Hogwarts, and he didn't suspect anyone sneaking through his possessions, but it was his own responsibility not to take chances.

He went back to McGonagall and asked her to keep the letter in a proper place. She promised with an expression which told him that she'd hoped for that.

Leaving the office again, suddenly he knew what story might work. Bad spy, was he? Well, he was learning quickly.

Then he scanned the library for literature about Goblins and Goblin Requests. He couldn't find a description as concise as McGonagall's; what he found instead was a collection of famous requests. The author didn't bother to explain the basics; the pamphlet just mentioned the category, what the grantee had asked for, and what it had done to him or her.

With growing unease, Harry learned that the Goblins had nasty ways of answering claims that were dictated by greed or megalomania. Once a wizard had been granted a Personal Request, and he had asked for a life-long pension. It had been paid, until his early and unexpected death a year afterwards. Another wizard, entitled to a Classified one, had asked the Goblins to smooth his way into the Wizard's Council of that time. As honourable as the purpose was, it ranked too demanding by far for that category. The wizard had made it into the council all right, and had even found time to scoff at those who had warned. At his third council meeting, a medieval version of Voldemort had captured the entire council and held them in prison for years.

The most remarkable case was the story of the wizard who had tried to follow the example of a famous Greek philosopher. According to the myth, the philosopher, being granted a free wish from a king, had asked the king to step aside - for better sunbathing.

The wizard, probably the most powerful of his time, was rich, respected, happy - everything. So when granted a Privileged request for his merits at Goblin issues, he'd asked for an interesting afternoon, not giving any further specification to establish the desired challenge.

For several months, nothing happened. Then, one magnificent winter day, he was invited to a Goblin residence, not far away from his beautiful home. Inside the residence, the Goblins guided him to a window that offered a grandiose view of the mountain on which the wizard's castle hung like a bird's nest.

Watching, the wizard saw an eagle at the mountain top, rising in the air. The small movement had stirred some snow, which quickly grew to a monstrous avalanche, carrying snow, trees, stones, everything that came its way.

Frozen in horror, the wizard - husband and father of several children - saw the slide wipe the castle off like a toy.

Hours later, working in the slide track like a maniac to find, if not survivors, then the dead bodies, shouts of astonishment made him turn - to see his family. They'd been lured away from the castle, minutes after he'd left. Interesting afternoon, indeed.

So Harry would ask for more than a visit to Hogsmeade, no question about that. Otherwise, the book didn't help much. Most of the cases dated back centuries; either today's Goblins were less generous or - more likely - the grantees had learned to keep their silence.

---

At lunch, he was listening to the chatter of the Squad members when Ron asked - as expected - if he'd solved the riddle of the mysterious letter.

Harry was prepared with the good spy's first weapon: an answer in spitting distance of the truth.

"Not yet. First I talked with Fleur to find out about Bill. She didn't know. Then I spoke with McGonagall. It's some kind of inheritance, as far as I understand. Anyway, it's still some time until it takes effect."

The hidden reference to his parents had the desired effect: neither Ron nor Hermione showed any intention of asking more.

Harry made the good spy's second move: leading them to something else. "By the way, Fleur reminded me that the ball's due three weeks from now." He glanced at Ron. "Do you already know who you'll ask?"

Ron's voice sounded less casual than Harry's. "Yes."

Harry waited for more, which didn't come. Still searching for a harmless question, he heard Hermione ask, "Does she know already?"

"Not yet."

Which was enough to kill that subject, too. They ate in silence, each of them following different thoughts. Watching Hermione, Harry wondered what might be on her mind. Sensing his gaze, she looked up.

Before he could look away, she started to speak. "I wonder ..."

"Yes - I saw."

"Huh?"

Realizing the joke a second later, she smiled briefly. "No, I was thinking about my ball robe. You know, I'm not really prepared. Er - trouble is, we're locked here in Hogwarts, so ..."

Harry listened in amazement to Hermione chewing words, a rare moment. Then it dawned on him.

Trying desperately to suppress a grin, he asked, "So you were thinking about another way to get you a robe?"

"Er - yes." Hermione seemed grateful that he'd taken control of the conversation.

"With some help?"

The smile was slightly embarrassed. "Yes."

"For a nice shopping trip to Paris?"

In spite of his obvious teasing, Hermione didn't get upset. "Probably not by myself, but ..."

"Ahh, now I see," said Harry with all the seriousness he could muster. "You're looking for a reliable person - with good taste - who, armed with your measurement and your shopping list, will - "

"Harry, please!"

Hermione looked around, but nobody was listening to them. "If you could ask Fleur ... What do you think, would she ..."

Until now, the air between Hermione and Fleur had been quite cool. It was more a coolness from one side, finding windows closed at the other. Harry wondered if it was just the ball robe that was giving Hermione a motivation to thaw. Maybe Drilencu's lessons had changed her view, maybe something else. He would welcome it, and he wouldn't chomp on this timid tentacle.

He said, "I think she'll be delighted."

"Yes, probably."

Noticing the ambiguity of her words, Hermione added hastily, "I mean, I would be, too." She still looked worried.

"Then what's your problem?" asked Ron. He had followed the last part of the conversation.

"Oh, can't you see it?" Her anger wasn't directed toward Ron. "All the time, I turn away from her. I know what I said about your dance lessons. And all of a sudden, because I need a ball dress, I come crawling. It makes me look mean, and selfish, and spineless ..." She looked horrified.

Ron said, "I know what to do."

For an instant, Harry tensed. Hermione's words had provided more than enough for the most damaging remark.

Hermione glanced at Ron, hope in her eyes.

"Go to her outright. It looks better."

Next second, Harry was howling in laughter. Ron beamed with satisfaction. The other students were looking over and wanted to know. They had to chase them off. Hermione hadn't laughed very long.

"Hermione, don't worry," said Harry, still panting. "Fleur isn't the grudging type ... After all," he added, chuckling, "it can't be more difficult than asking someone to the ball."

At last, Hermione could grin. Now it was Ron's turn to look worried.

* * *

Harry suggested asking Fleur right away, pointing out that a Liaison Officer might have little opportunity for shopping.

Hermione agreed but couldn't be persuaded to do so immediately. "Ask her alone, so she can say no," was her answer. She would wait in the hall.

Harry ran after Fleur, catching her at the door to her office. "I know someone who wants to ask you a favour."

"But yes. 'arry, 'oo is it?"

"It's about a ball dress."

Fleur looked surprised, then smiled. "Matching jet black 'air and green eyes?"

"No - matching brown hair, pretty curly hair actually."

Fleur's smile turned to a malicious grin. "Really? Now that'll be a pleasure." Seeing Harry's expression, she tousled his hair. "Calm down, nobody's getting hurt. Where is she?"

"Down the hall."

Fleur went into her office - to get a tape-measure, as it turned out. Stepping downstairs, Harry prepared for a role as an agent pacifieur, or the British equivalent, depending on what might be needed.

He could have saved it; his dubious skill wasn't needed, with the public part being over within seconds. When they reached the hall, Hermione sat there, looking at them. She came up, hesitantly.

"Salu, 'ermione," said Fleur, waving with the tape. "Shall we go upstairs?"

Hermione nodded, unsuccessfully trying to deliver first thanks, or apologies, or whatever.

Fleur marched ahead, turning once more to Harry. "Don't wait for us," she called, "measuring takes time."

Harry watched them disappear up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower, then went to the library. He would have liked to get some parchments from his own dormitory, however this didn't seem the right time to follow Fleur and Hermione.

He didn't feel like working either. Scanning the library, his eyes fell on a book, Pillowed Persians. The Noble Style of Flying, by a Suliman Dar'wheezing.

Flying carpets ... obviously not built for speed, not to mention sharp turns and other manoeuvers to catch a Snitch. Would a flying carpet carry a Giant? ... With a sting, the Squad training came back to Harry's mind.

He tried to think about Goblin Requests. That might be a challenge, asking for help in establishing a flying carpet trade here. He remembered a conversation once overheard between Mr Weasley and Barty Crouch. Carpets were on the index, but an index could be changed. Anyway, he couldn't see himself as a merchant; furthermore, he didn't give a damn about flying carpets, his choice were - what a bloody afternoon.

* * *

The Squad returned just in time for supper. The meal developed almost to a duplicate of the previous one, listening to stories about who'd failed to do what, and how funny he'd looked, only Viktor hadn't been amused, of course.

Hermione seemed more comfortable than at lunch. When Harry asked silently, using just his eyes, she glanced to both sides, indicating that yes, she would talk, but not here.

Ron was late again, not offering any conversation either, maybe in consideration for the delicacy of Squad matters in Harry's presence.

Eventually, the meal came to an end.

"Hey, Harry!" It was Katie. "Come with us. We want to show you what we've learned."

What was that supposed to be? He didn't like the idea, still less did he want to play the child whose toy had been taken away.

Anyway, he wasn't offered a chance. Katie took his hand and pulled him after her, Alicia followed, waving to someone.

They reached a quiet corner. Turning, Harry saw Cho arrive. She looked as unsure as he felt.

"Hi, Cho."

"Hi, Harry."

"How was the training?"

"Stressful ... We had some trouble with the speed, keeping the formation."

Katie interrupted the awkward conversation. "Harry, first we have to teach you the new terminology." She gestured to the other two girls. "Take position!"

Alicia, grinning, placed herself right from Katie.

Cho, looking self-conscious, moved behind them, forming a triangle.

"Now watch," said Katie, "and mind, you see it from across." She spread her left arm. "I'm port wing ... Alicia?"

Alicia spread her right arm. "I'm starboard wing."

"Cho?"

"I'm tail." After a second, Cho spread both hands behind, bending forward.

Her stance reminded him of a duck so strongly that Harry couldn't help giggling. Yet there was a difference: real ducks wouldn't blush.

"Okay," said Katie, "that's the patrol formation ... Now we see something." She pointed in front of her. "Harry, get down."

When he hesitated, she said impatiently, "We need a victim, that's you. Collapse!"

The scene was addictive. Harry grabbed his throat with both hands, said, "Arrrgh," and crumpled down. Resting comfortably with his back to the wall, he let his hands fall down.

Katie looked appreciative. "Very good. Now, port wing is in command, as you may have noticed. Port wing checks first."

Her arm sailing through the air, she bent down, sniffed at him, and shrieked, "Oh my God - it's Harry!"

Alicia, her right arm still in the air, left arm at her stomach, was shaking badly. Cho looked like someone dearly hoping nobody was watching.

Katie stood up. "Watch, Harry, that's the sign for starboard wing to come along." She stretched both arms, then let them slowly fall to her sides.

Alicia moved forward, looked down, giggled, "You're right, it's Harry."

"Tail's not supposed to come near you - us, I mean," explained Katie. "Tail, keep a look out!"

Cho slowly spun around, visibly startled at the sight of some Ravenclaw girls watching the scene from a fair distance.

"Now we have to decide what to do," said Katie. "Our decision is to get professional help."

She grabbed Alicia, who was having trouble keeping her balance. "We jump up and inform tail."

They reached Cho. "Tail, we're going for help. You have to stay. Be careful ... might be some time till we're back."

Katie and Alicia walked away hand in hand, outer arms outstretched. Passing the Ravenclaw audience, they received frenetic applause.

Harry came upright, still chuckling.

Cho reached him. Glancing around, she said, "Let's find another place. I'll hear them soon enough, no need for you hearing it, too."

"So what," said Harry, walking with Cho along the hall. "It was great, just what I needed."

"True - especially me playing tail," muttered Cho, "and the other girls watching, after I'd gotten rid of it."

"Of what?"

Cho glanced at him, then looked away. "Some years ago, they had a nickname for me. It'll be back first thing tomorrow."

"What?"

Cho shook hear head.

"Please - tell me. I won't laugh."

"Yes, you would."

"No, I won't." Harry pleaded, "I won't laugh, I won't tell, and I'll never say it." He held his hands on his mouth.

"You don't know what you're promising," replied Cho, sighing. "Okay then ... Ready?"

He nodded.

"China Duck."

Harry's eyes were glaring, tearing, bulging. His stomach started to tremble and shake, the first bubbles of giggle bursting through the pressing hands. His knees felt like jelly, he turned away, any second now, he would collapse ...

"I knew it. See you tomorrow!"

Cho walked away, her voice more satisfied than angry.