Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

Harry spent the rest of the Saturday evening thinking hard, and long. Several issues were waiting to be dealt with very, very carefully.

Would Cho be mad at him? Probably not; she hadn't sounded like that. But certainly he'd have to apologize, and for that, he'd have to go over to her, she wouldn't come to him.

The Squad exams would start after lunch. What was he going to say? Well, that shouldn't be the difficult part, not really - what was he going to say without being caught in another fit of the giggles?

Then he knew. The house-elves would save him.

This settled, he started to think about his vision of joining the Squad again.

What could he do?

Lupin's lessons came to his mind. Zen ... Ways and Goals. Use the force that threatens you for your own good. There wasn't anything around to threaten him; that was exactly the problem.

Then he saw what it meant in his situation. He had to stay in touch with the Squad; each remark, every scene had to be welcomed as an inspiration, rather than a depressing thought. So he'd do it.

Look for the weak spot ... Where was the weak spot? Answer: nowhere, as he was bound by a promise to Dumbledore, bound still tighter by a Goblin Request. How could he use the request for his goal? The only method he could imagine was a letter saying, Dear Goblins, please reveal yourself, so I'm free. It would be the highlight in that book about famous requests.

Sleep refused to come until after midnight. He dreamed odd scenes, not remembering a detail next morning.

---

Now he was late even for a Sunday breakfast. Hurrying downstairs, he reached the Gryffindor table, where he found Hermione and Ron talking.

"Morning, Harry," said Hermione, "I just told Ron about my conversation with Fleur."

"Did I miff a lot of detaish?" Harry asked, with food in his mouth.

"No," said Ron, "it was more like that, 'We talked. Period. Fleur's going to buy me a ball dress. Full stop." He turned to Hermione. "Did I forget anything?"

Hermione smiled apologetically. "No, your report's accurate." To Harry, she added, "You're right, she's not the grudging type. Sure, we had a talk, and it was more than forgive and forget, but ... She has a way of saying something without you getting mad, in contrast to some other people I know." Hermione was pointing with her eyes.

Ron looked around. "Where? Show me!"

Hermione held both hands upward, thumb touching thumb, to make a square with her hands. "Need a mirror?"

"That's our Hermione all right," said Ron to Harry, "one talk with a good old enemy, and she's going to lecture us - "

"I'm not!" protested Hermione, flushing. "But that reminds me - Fleur suggested you two might think about a ball outfit, too. It would be one clean sweep for her."

"Hmm ..."

Harry found that a good idea. The critical point was Ron - more precisely, Ron's money. Harry didn't know whether the twins had followed the advice he'd given them together with the prize from the Triwizard Tournament. Glancing over, he saw Ron biting his lips.

"Yeah, sounds good," said Ron hesitantly.

Seeing Harry watching him anxiously, he added, grinning, "My credit line's good for that, no problem. I've been thinking about something else ..."

Harry waited.

"Your partner?" asked Hermione.

"Actually, yes," confessed Ron. "A decent robe solves the last technical problem - "

"Right," prompted Hermione, "so you can go and ask her."

Assuming he'd missed another conversation between Ron and Hermione, Harry said, "Ask who?"

Ron's face told Harry that he hadn't missed any such conversation, although now his question hardly left another choice. And with some relief, his eyes on the table, Ron murmured, "Padma."

That said, he exhaled deeply, waiting for their reactions.

Hermione was first. "Why her?"

"Well ... she's good-looking, isn't she?" Ron paused. "You know, it's just for the ball, not like, er ..."

Hermione smiled knowingly. "Things happen during balls."

Harry had been watching Ron's face. "Why else?" he asked.

Ron seemed grateful for the question. "I want to make good," he said, "you know, for last year. For her, as well as for myself. When I remember that evening ..." He shuddered. "This time I want to make it right. I can dance, I'll have a new set of robes - she could do worse." He looked at them challengingly.

Hermione looked sceptical. "What if she says no?"

"Then I'm going to look for someone else," replied Ron. "Then at least I've tried and I can say, all right, I spilled the milk, but I offered to wipe it up."

Hermione pointed to the Ravenclaw table. "Then go and ask her. Ask her for the colour of her dress, so Fleur can match yours."

Ron looked horrified. "Now? Here?"

"That reminds me," said Harry, having finished eating, "that I have to talk with someone, too."

Followed by Ron's alarmed look, he walked over to the Ravenclaw table. His plan offered one big advantage: the first approach into this frightening territory would last less than a minute, and for the best reasons - if it worked, that was.

---

He saw Cho sitting there, Almyra at her side. Of course. Cho watched his approach, her expression expectant. Now Almyra watching him, too, something like a nervous tic around her lips ...

"Morning, Cho. Morning, Almyra." He focused on Cho. "Please wait for me, I'll be back in a minute."

He started toward the kitchen.

"Harry!" Cho's voice made him turn.

She still looked stern, in sharp contrast to Almyra, whose hand was pressed to a twitching mouth. "Make it two," said Cho. "I have to bribe someone."

He nodded and headed for the kitchen. God bless the house-elves, they already knew what he wanted. God bless them again, they looked pleased when he asked for another.

Returning upstairs, he found Cho waiting for him, away from the Ravenclaw table, which was great. Almyra stood a few feet away, which wasn't quite as great.

"Here - a sign of my apology." He held out the parcels, one in each hand.

"You're lucky, Harry Potter. I'd like to run you through a Chinese pardon ritual, except that Almyra most certainly would roll on the floor." Cho took the parcels and handed them over to Almyra, who - eyes already watering - quickly hurried away.

Harry felt better.

Cho turned to him. "Okay, young man. Say, 'I won't do it again'!"

"I won't do it again."

"'I feel deep regret and bitter shame'."

"I feel deep regret and - and bitter shame." If this was going to last much longer, he'd burst out again.

"Good. That's been the short version." Cho looked appreciating. "So you can muster some discipline."

Harry steadied his voice before speaking again. "How was it with the other girls?"

"Oh, them," said Cho with a depreciating wave of her hand. "Well, they found the scene had reminded them of something. Then I said I liked their noses better the way they were, and we agreed that Sunday is such a lovely day, so ..." Her voice trailed off.

Harry looked at those small hands. "Did you mean it?"

"They had no intention of finding out. They remembered too well." It came with a fierce satisfaction.

"That's the way you stopped them before?" He longed to hear more about this new facet of Cho's character, although it didn't surprise him much.

"You want to hear that story?" She stared at him provocatively. "Okay. Trade!"

"What do you want to know?" And that a minute after he'd handed out all that cake - well, okay, he'd used it to make up for yesterday. "Shall I introduce you to the source of those cakes?"

"What for?" Cho looked genuinely astonished. "I get it, isn't that enough? No, I know something better. I'll tell you the story, and then I have an ob on you."

Harry nodded. "Agreed."

It took her by surprise. "Where did you learn what an ob is?"

"In the lessons with Lupin," he explained. "Zen, the art of the warrior. Honour, obligation - the burden that weighs more than anything else." Lately, he was learning more about it than he'd wanted to know.

Cho seemed impressed. "You talked about that just so?"

"Yes ... no," Harry corrected himself, "it was after - after the Patronus training was over."

"Oh." Cho paused. "Well, before the ob comes the other way around, let me tell you the story. It was my first year at Hogwarts, and I was pretty small."

"Really?" He grinned.

Sharp fingers pecked him right below the ribs. "That small, yes. Not only that, I still had - er, baby fat." Cho hastened to continue. "Then one day, I walked in the traditional style Chinese girls are supposed to walk - mincing, you know?"

She wasn't ready to show.

"And then that girl said it. Next thing was, her nose was bleeding like hell." Cho looked grim. "It wasn't all fat, surprised her a lot. Anyway, then I had her fist in the eye, and then I was at her throat - "

"Wow," said Harry in admiration. "And then?"

"Well, someone separated us. Her face was a little blue at that time." Cho grinned. "Of course, both of us got detention, together, and we talked ..." She looked up. "That's it, basically. None of the other girls ever had the guts to call me - "

"And that girl? Does she still ...?"

"Sometimes ... when nobody's around."

This told Harry what he'd already suspected. "Almyra." It wasn't a question.

Cho nodded. "Yes. Since then, we never had trouble again - with the other girls, I mean. We weren't isolated, but ... You know, teaming with Katie and Alicia, that's something new to me."

He felt her eyes on him, obviously watching his reaction at her mentioning the Squad. However, she didn't need to worry, not with him ready to try his new approach.

"Yesterday, you said something about trouble with speed," he said. "The old problem?"

"Partly, yes. The other two have been flying together for years, they don't need to adjust. And they both use the same model, a Nimbus Two-Thousand, whereas my poor old Comet - "

Harry, overcoming his hesitation, said, "I could lend you the Firebolt."

Cho's eyes glittered for a moment, then she shook her head. "No, I won't take it. But thanks for your offer."

"Why not?"

"Lots of reasons," replied Cho impatiently. "With my Comet, I fall behind. With the Firebolt, I'd run them over. No, you have to keep it, as a ..."

"Symbol?"

She nodded.

"Yes, I know what you mean." He paused. "I'll use it again, some day soon."

Cho looked suspicious. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm going to find a way back into the Squad, that's on my mind."

"Sure," said Cho, "and pigs can fly." She sounded angry.

"Wouldn't know," he replied teasingly, "I feel it safer not to comment on flying animals."

Her grin came and went. "And I feel it safer not to follow that line of discussion."

"Relax," said Harry. "All I'm saying is, I've stopped making faces at hearing the word 'Squad', and I'll come back as soon as possible" - he waved her protest off - "without ignoring any ob, if that's what's worrying you."

"What else?" she muttered. "It wouldn't be some Death Eaters out there - I mean, who cares about them, really ..."

"Right," grinned Harry, "there are more important things. Like, for instance, Fleur's getting me new ball robes. Any suggestions about the colour?"

Cho took her time to follow the change of subject. Eventually she started smiling, and scanned him from top to bottom. "Yes, my brave warrior ... Green."

* * *

While other students still could sit leisurely with an after-lunch cup, the Squad members gathered to head toward the Quidditch stadium, the place where the patrol exams would start. Ron was also involved; his job was that of a starter, secretary, and control agent.

Harry had decided against any attempt to join them, whether on the Quidditch pitch or anywhere else. True, he would use any opportunity to be inspired in his visionary quest, but this grand event struck him as more inspiration than he could stand at once.

Looking around, he saw several teachers rise. Obviously, they were scheduled for playing the 'bad guys'. Dumbledore was one of them, then McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Drilencu - suddenly Harry's eyes widened as he noticed a person he hadn't seen for a while. Lupin was here!

"Good luck," he shouted to the others, then ran through the hall. He felt like a first-year seeing his favourite teacher, didn't care though. Coming closer, he saw sharp lines in the face of Lupin, who sat with slagged shoulders, staring mindlessly at the table.

"Professor Lupin! I didn't see you at first."

Lupin looked up, as though coming back from a long journey, still unaware that he'd found home. "Harry. Hello."

Even his smile couldn't hide the traces of past efforts, or maybe hurtful experiences. Harry's mind automatically checked the time of month, which was close to the new moon, so it couldn't be Lupin's regular problem.

"Are you okay?" It slipped out of Harry's mouth involuntarily; thinking about it, he wouldn't have known what to say.

Lupin made a wry face. "Your question tells me that I don't need to check in the mirror. At least I feel better than I look, thank you for asking."

The worry in Harry's face didn't fade.

Lupin watched him. "Obviously you don't believe me, Harry, although it's more true than not. Before you start spreading rumours of my ill state, let's have some tea in my office. We can talk there."

Harry hadn't known that he'd hoped for something like that, certainly the best way of killing time on this particular Sunday. He followed Lupin into his office, where the teacher went through the unceremonial motions of preparing two steaming mugs with the help of tea bags, water, and his wand.

Sitting down, Lupin faced Harry. "So you were suspended from the Flying Squad, owing to the unacceptable risk of your exposure to Death Eaters."

"Yes."

"Which tells me a lot - enough to know that we can't discuss the issue any further. I have to keep my innocent mind - if you can follow me, Harry."

Harry tried to smile, but failed. "Yes, Professor Lupin."

"Vice versa it looks better. I can tell you about my work outside ... up to a point, that is." Lupin grinned. "For second choice, it's not too bad."

As he explained, Lupin was operating as a combination of travelling teacher and emergency service, using his skill in the art of fighting Dementors. The Dark Forces, so Harry was told, had started spreading fright and terror by means of threat, intimidation, and misinformation, sending out wizards, Dementors, Giants - whatever looked suitable.

As obvious as their purpose was - undermining the public morale - the method was more successful than Harry liked to hear. Nobody had been hurt yet; still, the Dark Forces could extend their pressure at any moment. It was the classical technique, hollowing out the victim's resistance before striking seriously.

Lupin's job as a teacher and trainer - surprise, surprise - had to do with the Patronus spell. That knowledge was hardly widespread; wizards and wizard families, determined to withstand human opponents, could quickly lose their courage when finding themselves confronted with the nerve-racking coldness of Dementors.

In addition, and more often than Lupin really could afford, he was summoned to attacks in process, scenes with family houses under siege of the enemy, for a night or even a full weekend.

Lupin remained careful with his words and scarce with details, yet the general picture he drew looked bad enough.

Harry clenched his fists, imagining Lupin in some deserted street, a single house surrounded by hooded figures. "I wish I could join you," he said.

---

While talking, Lupin's face had smoothed a bit. At Harry's remark, the creases sprung up more sharply than before. "For heaven's sake, no!"

"Why not? On the train - "

Lupin interrupted him. "Harry - on the train, that was like an open field battle. For something like that, I wouldn't hesitate to call for your help." More slowly, he continued, "But you're not prepared for the work I'm doing. Simply but truthfully - you're too young."

Seeing Harry's face, Lupin explained, "Look, you can remember a list of events that's certainly quite remarkable for your age, Harry - for any age, actually, but you were always thrown right into the action. Waiting for hours, days, not knowing whether something will happen, or what - that's a different challenge."

With a short laugh, Lupin added, "If there's any proof needed, look at yourself, at how you're coping with your suspension!"

"But - " Harry stopped himself. It wasn't the Squad alone, it had a lot to do with the Squad members, with one member, to be specific. That argument didn't exactly look like something he wanted to discuss with Lupin.

The effect was that the teacher misunderstood his silence. "You mean your Patronus is better than mine, right?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Lupin.

Again confusing Harry's reluctance with politeness, Lupin grinned. "If you don't say yes, I'll do it for you. Yes, Harry, no denying that. But" - Lupin's expression grew challenging - "did you really think it would stay like that forever?"

The words pushed Harry's own thoughts aside. Excitement was spreading over face. "Have you ... did you - "

"Not yet," admitted Lupin, then held his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "But I'm not far away."

"Oh, super, that's great - wow!" Harry beamed.

"I'm glad you're not jealous," said Lupin smiling, "because I need your help."

"Yes, sure - of course, Professor Lupin."

"By the way, Harry, you shouldn't call me that way. It's not true, and" - Lupin examined his nails - "it doesn't reflect our relationship properly, aside from the question of who's teaching whom." He smiled again. "I wouldn't mind something more personal, but for the time being, I think my new colleague has found us a solution." He looked at Harry. "It's still wrong, but so what."

Harry cleared his throat. "Yes, Prof."

"By the way, if it wouldn't be too close to eavesdropping, I'd like to talk more about Drilencu. As unexpected as his arrival was, he's quite a success for Hogwarts. Looks as if a long-standing problem's solved for a while."

Lupin didn't expect an answer from Harry, who felt grateful for that. Yes, Drilencu was impressive, what with his background, and appearance, and his topic. Still, wasn't it his fault that Lupin had been sent off?

"Anyway, let's come back to our own business." Lupin's eyes met Harry's. "What I need, Harry, is every tiny bit of detail you can tell me about your Patronus spell." He counted on his fingers. "Scene - thought - emotion - feelings." His hand went up. "Somewhere in there is the key, I can feel it!"

Harry collected his thoughts, then started to talk. He recalled the battle scene at the train - the first time - and also the only time - that he'd intentionally conjured up a Golden Patronus - with Lupin, who now was listening with his eyes closed, as part of the scene as much as part of the emotions Harry had felt.

"... when the arc that held Voldemort at bay was there in my memory, I added my parents to the picture. Then I remembered what they'd said, that they would help me escape. Hearing that, I said the spell ... and then I opened my eyes, and there it was."

Lupin remained silent, eyes still closed.

Harry checked his mind whether there was something to add, but found only repetitions of what he'd expressed, or wanted to.

Lupin's eyes came open. "Thank you, Harry. I need to think this over, and then I'll try to map it to my own approach."

Harry nodded.

Lupin hesitated. "You know, I'm well aware of me taking more from you than I'm ready to give myself. My own memory - please let me keep it private still for a while."

Harry hadn't been aware. He started to shake his head, or to nod, then knew what to say. "You mean that's an ob?"

"Yes, of course."

"That's fine with me," answered Harry. "Then I have one ob to hold and another one to wait for."

Lupin nodded. His expression told Harry that his teacher had misinterpreted him once more. But then again, maybe Harry's counting was wrong. Either way, Harry could - at the very least - narrow down his guesses about Lupin's memory to something in the context of his werewolf transitions. Considering Lupin's age, there had to be quite a number; still, Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that it had taken place at Hogwarts and had involved not only Snape but also his own father.

* * *

Squad and teachers returned late for lunch. As Harry learned from the stories at the Gryffindor table, the patrol exams had involved considerably more than some formal test.

The teachers, with Dumbledore in first place, had found tricky ways, so much so that the teams under examination quickly forgot about the simulated nature of the scene.

Stunning down port and starboard wing on the ground, with the tail watching, had been among the simplest cases. In the test of the girls' team, Alicia had watched how the supposed victim, waiting until Katie turned to wave her down, cursed her with what looked like the Cruciatus Curse. If not for Cho's intervention, she would have dived down to the scene. Only later she'd learned that the victim, Snape, had used a simple but efficient tickling charm.

The twins had touched down to examine the scene, first Fred the port wing, then George the starboard wing. When turning to rejoin Lee, their tail, the sky was empty. Dumbledore himself had been the attacker in the air, not trusting anyone else to curse Lee efficiently without risking his fall to the ground. First he'd used invisibility spells for himself, then for Lee too.

Other teams encountered other scenarios. Angelina's team detected a glittery item on the ground. When Bob touched first ground and then the thing, he disappeared. A portkey, of course - back to the Quidditch pitch.

While listening, Harry tried to imagine how he would have reacted. Katie's story in particular gave him a bad moment. Thinking about himself in the air, watching Cho on the ground, shaking and twisting under a curse, he realized that running for help - or flying, in this case - wasn't his strongest virtue.

Lupin's remark floated in his mind, about him being too young, too vehement, unable to wait patiently.

None of the stories gave him anything worth a hard thinking in the search for his vision. All teams had passed their exams. Ron's office held the new duty roster, now with four patrols per day. The pre-breakfast and the after-supper patrol had been cancelled, at least until daylight lasted long enough for either.

* * *

The Gryffindors were in Astronomy, together with the Hufflepuffs, of course without those who, like Hermione, had selected another course. Professor Sinistra had guided them to the spector room; now she used the huge sphere to present constellations. From the right distance, which meant leaving the two bottom rows free, the convex shape provided a surprisingly good approximation of the real sky. For sure, sitting in the semi-darkness of a cosy, well-heated spector room was far better than freezing to stone at night under the real stars. And you had a desk for your parchment.

Harry watched the sphere, on which a projection of Orion was slowly turning. For him like for many others, Orion rated as the most beautiful constellation in the northern hemisphere. According to the myth, Orion, the great hunter, had been blinded by the gods but then, led by a small boy to the farthest east, had regained his eyesight from a sun ray. In one version, he was stung deadly by a scorpion; in another, he'd been put into the sky because he'd tried to pursue the Pleiades, daughters of Atlas.

Fleur had called Harry a hunter. Well, blinded by the gods - this was pretty close to Harry's feeling about the suspension from the Squad. Then where was the small boy to lead him to the farthest east? Orion had courted some woman, that's why he'd been blinded. Another one who might have seen too much - like himself, Harry thought. Except he wasn't ... well, you could drive an analogy too far, couldn't you?

Sinistra was talking about the stars that formed the body shape, the belt, and the sword. Alpha Orionis, the left shoulder, was also called Betelgeuse, a red giant, said the teacher. It reminded Harry of the coming visit to Lleyrin the Fist, and of the required preparation by collecting a list of questions he wanted to ask.

Ron, also red but normal-sized, sat listening with more fascination than Harry could muster. Ron still could get excited at all those numbers, so many light years here, so many there. The red giant was two hundred and seventy light years away, some stars in Orion's belt more than a thousand.

Quite a distance, thought Harry. Orion had to walk to the farthest east. He himself would use a broomstick, so the small boy would need another broomstick. That would mean he had to slow down, his Firebolt was the only one - not counting Viktor's, of course.

What if the small boy was a small girl? No, a girl of small shape ... couldn't follow either, with that Comet of hers -

"Professor," said Ron.

The witch stopped her sermon. Since she knew about Ron's decision to do an O.W.L. in Astronomy, Ron could have asked her the time of day, and she would have shown some delight.

"Yes, Mr Weasley?"

"I wonder whether I got something right. If that red giant had blown up more than hundred years ago, it still takes another hundred years until we would know?"

"Right - although red giants do not blow up."

"Yeah, okay." Ron was interested in something else. "Now, if I would fly at light speed toward that star, I would know sooner, right?"

Before the teacher could answer, Ron added, "And the total speed would be higher than light speed. Is that true?"

"You can't fly at light speed," replied Sinistra, "nothing that consists of matter can do that. But let's say you'd fly at half of light speed, that's still enough for your argument." She beamed. "Excellent question, Mr Weasley, although the answer is no."

"Why?" asked Ron, surprised. "That doesn't fit."

"Light speed is always the same," said Sinistra. "No matter how fast you fly, light doesn't approach you faster than before. Your own time changes to balance out the difference."

"Huh?" Ron was baffled.

Harry wasn't; he'd lost track a sentence earlier.

"Mr Weasley, this issue puts us right into advanced physics. If you want, we can discuss it outside classes ..."

Harry's mind stuck at something the witch had said, applied to his own problem. Always the same speed ... Nobody can fly that fast ... Nobody could follow his Firebolt, Viktor had said. That's why the small girl couldn't lead him to the farthest east - not a girl, a boy, anyway, a small figure ... like a Goblin.

Harry's mind was whirling; suddenly he couldn't wait for the end of the class.

---

When he reached the library with his parchments, the idea was slowly gaining shape. He couldn't see an immediate chance to regain his eyesight, meaning Squad service, but remembering Lupin's lessons had been the break-through.

A determined man walks the steps he can foresee ... What he could foresee was a Squad in which nobody could follow him, that had been the official justification for his suspension. He knew some small guys who waited for him to challenge them. So be it.

He sketched a first draft. Then he took the book about famous requests and scanned it for help. None. He started a second version, during which he had to take a break for supper.

Ron was talking about light speed, but dropped the issue due to lack of audience.

Hermione was talking about Fleur waiting for Ron and Harry to get measured.

"Okay," said Harry absent-mindedly, with the effect that after supper, first the two of them had to go to Fleur's office.

He was twitchy, until Fleur groaned, "My God, 'arry - do I have to stun you?"

Leaving the office, he remembered Cho's request for the colour. So he had to go back once more.

Fleur didn't like the idea and started a discussion. They agreed on a very dark green that would provide a metallic shimmer. Harry would have agreed to fluorescent stripes, as long as it could be called green and he could return to the library.

Eventually, he was back.

The next version looked better. He wished he had the letter at hand; that guy Moroney had found some pompous words. Didn't matter, it only had to be challenging, after all, so nobody would confuse him with Pompous Percy.

The fourth version seemed good enough to be checked by McGonagall. Harry had no intention of sending the letter without her approval - the game he played was a bit out of his league.

Checking the time, he swore loud enough to stir Madam Pince, the Librarian, because it was too late to ask McGonagall today. So he sat down and examined the letter by himself.

Having completed the fifth version, he couldn't find anything more to improve.

* * *

The next day, Harry felt like he was driving at light speed, or maybe half of it, whatever, because time slowed down. He had to wait until afternoon before he could contact McGonagall.

Hermione wanted to know what they'd ordered, and why hadn't he come back to Gryffindor Tower to tell her all about it. Hearing of his and Fleur's compromise, she showed consternation, then expressed sounds of protest.

When Ron hinted she might discuss it with Fleur directly, her face changed to resignation.

For payback, Ron was confronted with Hermione's interest in Padma's reaction. All she could squeeze out was that yes, Padma had agreed. When Hermione didn't look satisfied with this short communiqué, Ron offered a deal. He would report what Padma had said, and what he'd said, right after Hermione's detailed description of her talk with Fleur.

Hermione decided to make do with what she had.

Probably the teachers also had said something in classes, only Harry couldn't remember. What he remembered were some glances of Parvati Patil in Ron's direction, and in his own. So Padma had talked with her sister.

Somehow, Harry had the feeling Parvati wouldn't object a second try with him. No thanks; been there ...

Time went back to normal: classes were over.

He walked to McGonagall's office, knocked, and entered. Holding up the parchment, he said, "I've prepared a letter. Prof, could you please check it? I don't want to do it wrong."

McGonagall opened it to read what Harry had written.

At the bottom of the parchment a neat list could be found, starting with the name of Viktor Krum and followed by the twenty-eight names of the four ex-teams of Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, with Harry's name at the end of the list.

He watched McGonagall reading. Her expression didn't tell him anything; from what he could see, she might as well have been grading a Transfiguration essay. At least his letter passed a first test: she read it twice.

Then she looked at him. "Mr Potter - er, Harry, you know that the Request is a key that could open any gate in the future?"

"Yes, Prof." Harry felt like a kid reminded not to waste all his pocket money on sweets. "I think I'm trying to open a gate in the present."

McGonagall laughed. "No doubt about that. What I need to know is, are you sure that you want to spend the Request now, for what you wrote here? And you won't feel regret later, no matter how it turns out?"

"I'm absolutely sure that I want to do it. About the future - how should I know what I'll feel then? All I can say is, I'll never complain about my own decision."

McGonagall had to grin first and then frown. "Hmm ..."

"Prof, do you think it's expensive enough? I've found a book about famous Requests ..." The story of that wizard and his mountain castle surely had left its mark in Harry's memory.

"Well, I don't see a problem." McGonagall pointed at the letter. "The main aspect is the purpose, and your purpose is certainly honourable. A Firebolt ... Mr Krum might know the price of a Firebolt, all I know is that for thousand Galleons, the people in Quality Quidditch Supplies wouldn't even check their store."

"That expensive?"

Harry felt relief as far as his Request was concerned, but also a late shock at realizing how much Sirius had spent on his first godfather present.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it's not far away from ten, or even above," said McGonagall. "So, ten times twenty-nine, or twenty-seven, puts us right in the quarter of a million range."

"Wait a second," gasped Harry. "I didn't say for each of them!"

McGonagall grinned. "True, except that the letter is followed by a sweet little list of all those names. Charming. Harry" - she looked up - "are there some merchants in your family?"

Harry shook his head. The question had raised the image of Uncle Vernon; however, he didn't count - couldn't count. So there was no need to worry about a claim too small.

Another thought came up. "What about the challenge, Prof?" Suddenly, the letter strongly resembled a shopping list of that many Firebolts, remarkable only for the expense.

"Challenge?" asked McGonagall, disbelief in her face. "Don't you think that's enough?"

"Well, it's just some broomsticks. I mean, yes, they're expensive, but - "

"Harry, are you trying to tell me it has slipped your quill quite by accident?"

"Huh? Slipped what, Prof?"

McGonagall examined him, then put the letter at the table. "On top of it, there are some broomsticks, yes. But underneath, you challenge them to find you a way back into the Squad, nicely between the lines. That's certainly enough to chew at, even for Goblins!"

Harry seized for the parchment. "Then I have to change it. I didn't intend to tell them they have to reveal the secret - "

"Wait!"

McGonagall held the letter. "You didn't say that. You didn't imply it." She checked again. "No, it's fine, they have to find out if there's a way."

"You think I can send the letter, Prof?"

"Oh yes." She smiled. "They'll love it."

Harry asked for a message capsule, then climbed the tower to the Owlery.

Hedwig greeted him with some pecks. When Harry extracted the capsule, she became very excited. For her, the time at Hogwarts had been boringly uneventful.

Harry fixed the capsule on her leg, then checked it again. "Do it right, Hedwig," he murmured, "we need to make an impression."

The owl's stance and her dismissive glance to the other birds sent a clear message. Few owls matched Hedwig's span, none of them a snowy owl.

Harry watched the powerful wings reach the exit and disappear into the early evening sky. Now all he could do was wait.

* * *

Next morning, Harry felt some expectation during breakfast, until he realized that it would take Hedwig at least two days to deliver the letter and return with an answer - if there was any.

He visited McGonagall again in her office and asked which reaction he should expect.

Her answer wasn't particularly helpful. "Any ... none ..."

He asked for a realistic period after which he might expect some response.

"Mr Potter, they're no owl order shop," came McGonagall's answer. "You've challenged them, and now they're challenging you to sit and wait. So please do it."

He tried.

Next morning, nothing. Where was that Goblin headquarters? Had something caught Hedwig? Agreed, two days might be too short. Still ...

Next morning, nothing. He had to be careful watching the owls arrive; Ron sensed something, but didn't ask him. Hermione caused a lesser problem; her focus on deliveries was more with the Liaison Officer from Beauxbatons.

In the afternoon, Harry suddenly became aware that he was expecting an answer, something nobody had promised. He raced upstairs to the Owlery - no Hedwig.

Next morning, nothing. He checked the Owlery again, starting to feel really nervous. Something had happened to Hedwig. The Death Eaters were intercepting mail from Hogwarts. He was about to contact Dumbledore before he remembered all the owls coming in at breakfast. Still ...

Late that evening, he knew: the letter was lost, lost with Hedwig. He climbed the tower once more, just to make sure.

And there sat Hedwig. A single eye, opened shortly, signaled him to get lost.

Harry felt like rejoicing - Hedwig was alive. Hedwig had done it. Coming down the stairs, his feelings were hardly better than minutes before.

No answer ...