Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

Harry stared at a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet, received from Lupin, who'd brought it back from his trip to London. The article about the events in the Riddle house, which surrounded a picture of a burned-down ruin, filled the front page.

Not available for comments? Harry hadn't been asked; but then, he would have left it to Dumbledore anyway. The horrible days were over, Lupin was back and had, in his own words, "paid an eye for a Golden Patronus, which is not the worst deal you can think of."

So Harry's mind was free for other things, for example, the ball at Beauxbatons ten days from now, the visit to a castle eleven days from now, playing Go as much as possible, some O.W.L.s in a few months, counting in order of his personal priorities.

No, Cho wasn't missing in that list. She was an integral part of each entry, except maybe O.W.L.s.

A visit to a castle, playing the hero for a girl of ten - Harry was determined not to disappoint her, and to have fun himself. But when he tried to imagine how that day would be, his daydreaming was stopped cold by a terrible thought: he didn't speak French.

What could he do in little more than a week?

At the very least, he should be able to say 'Yes' and 'No' and 'Thank you' in French. He remembered Drilencu, who'd mastered English in an amazingly short period of time. But asking him? The thought felt less appealing than asking somebody else.

So Harry visited somebody else.

---

"Learning French?" Fleur beamed. "C'est une idée merveilleuse!"

"Come again?"

"I said that's a wonderful idea, 'arry."

"Well, yes, except there's not that much time. But remember how Drilencu learned English so quickly? Do you know how it's done?"

"Yes, in a crash course, but that's awfully expensive. I could translate for you with Gabrielle."

"Thanks, but - you know, I'd like to appear as a true hero ..."

It sounded ridiculous; nonetheless, Fleur looked very pleased. Nothing was too exaggerated for her little sister.

Harry asked, "But the courses, how far can you go within a week? And what does it cost?"

"It's something like a lesson around the clock, day and night," explained Fleur, "so after one week, you certainly could do some conversation." She reached into her desk for some parchments. "Let me check the prices - one week, that's ... Oh-la-la!"

"How much is that?"

Fleur giggled, then said apologetically, "Sixty Galleons. Really, 'arry, that's too much."

Sixty ... A lot indeed, but on the other hand ... "I haven't spent a Sickle for myself this year. No visit to Hogsmeade. No shopping in Diagon Alley ..."

True, he'd only spent a slim million or two for a few Steel Wings, but it hadn't been his own money.

Having come to his decision, Harry asked Fleur, "Can you order it?"

"Mais oui - I mean, yes." Fleur had a strange look. "I can 'ave the trainer team ready tomorrow, if you're sure."

"Trainer team?"

"Yes. What did you think?" Fleur's eyes were sparkling. "They are no wizards, 'arry - some magical creatures, very nice, it'll be a surprise. And they'll be the show of 'ogwarts."

Two weeks earlier, a remark like that would have been enough to send him running, but no longer. Being the talk of the school for some language was old stuff to him.

He nodded. "Okay, have them come."

This left the question of how to transfer the money from his vault to Fleur. As he learned, he had to send a letter with the sum and the recipient's name to Gringotts, and expect a hefty fee for international money transfer: about five more Galleons.

Well, he thought, if the Goblins charged such fees all the time in their business, no wonder they could afford a few million for Requests.

He wrote the account note and walked up to the Owlery: something to do for Hedwig.

His owl seemed more than ready to enjoy a flight through the early spring night, and greeted him warmly enough, although Hedwig seemed to look past him as if somebody else had come in as well. Even more, his refusal to give her a jump start was rewarded by a disappointed glance before she spread her wings - very ostentatively - and disappeared into the sky.

* * *

As Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, he looked up at Lupin - who could be seen, meal after meal, at the teachers' table - and thought of yet another project.

As much as Lupin would benefit from a few days of recovery, as well as second helpings to put some meat on his bones, Harry knew that the main reason for Lupin not leaving Hogwarts was something else: Dementors attacks had stopped quite suddenly after three had come to a fatal end.

Lupin being at Hogwarts offered Harry the chance to ask him for a regular - or irregular - training in advanced techniques of wizard combat, and he knew already what he would like to train, provided he could muster the courage to ask, and provided Lupin would agree: the Killing Curse.

Thinking about such training made Harry feel rather uneasy, especially when trying to imagine an affordable training object that was more significant than a house-fly ... But then, considering his goal, there was no denying that he'd have to learn it.

Still, this project had to wait until the Beauxbatons ball was over - more precisely, until his French training was completed.

A crash course around the clock? Harry felt a thrill of excitement when he entered Fleur's office the next day, not knowing what to expect.

Fleur's face was shining, like a kid's at Christmas. "Look," she said, "this is your trainer team!"

Harry stared, speechless.

Two tiny creatures were sitting on Fleur's desk, almost like miniature versions of two young women, very feminine indeed, but smaller than Harry's wand was long ... Fairies!

The first of them stood up, which didn't make her much taller. "Good afternoon, Mr Potter, nice to meet you. My name is Muriel."

Now Harry felt like at Christmas, too, because her voice sounded pretty much like a little silver bell.

The second fairy stood up. "Bonjour, Monsieur Pottère - très enchanté. Moi, c'est Céline."

Harry gawked.

The first fairy - Muriel - smiled and chirped, "She will repeat everything I will say in French."

He nodded - just in time before the other said. "Moi je répétais tous ce qu'elle dira en Francais."

Fleur clapped her hands and laughed joyously.

The two fairies rose into the air, floated to Harry's shoulders, and sat down, one at each side. They were feathery light.

Harry felt his head swimming. If he'd known, truly known, what it meant to go through a crash course - in public - he would have run. Now it was too late.

---

Fleur handed him a box - no, a suitcase, except it was also miniature, though large compared to the fairies on his shoulders. She said, "This is their luggage, 'arry - if you would carry it to a good place, maybe some space in your wardrobe?"

"Yeah ... sure ..."

The silver bell at his left ear chimed, "Mais naturellement."

He twitched, then glanced at Fleur. "Thank you. See you later."

The echo didn't let him wait. "Merci beaucoup. A bientôt."

Fleur waved, beaming. "A bientôt, mon ami."

His right-ear bell said, "See you later, my friend."

Walking along the corridor, that ridiculously small suitcase in his hand, Harry heard Muriel say, "Thank you for taking our luggage, Mr Potter." A second later, Céline at his left ear said, "Merci pour prendre notre bagage, Monsieur Pottère."

"You're welcome - er, call me Harry, please."

The silvery echo said, "Pas du tout. Appelez-moi 'arry, s'il vous plaît."

Only then came the answer: "Certainly, Harry," and its own echo, "Bien sûr, 'arry."

A moment later, Muriel said, "This is a corridor," and Céline repeated, "C'est un couloir."

Harry could see how it worked, and had a feeling that even if he forgot all the French he was going to learn, the word for corridor would stick in his memory forever. Then a thought struck him.

"How am I going to learn how it's written?"

For once, his words weren't repeated in his left, his French ear. Instead, a small arm came around his vision and held something like a glassy film close to his eye, with the effect that the word seemed projected in the air.

"Ah ... okay."

"Eh bien," said Céline on his left shoulder. Next moment, the words were projected across the entrance to the staircase leading to his dormitory.

Walking up the staircase, Harry passed Neville and said, "Hi," without stopping.

A whisper in his ear. "Salut."

Neville smiled, then stopped, his eyes getting big. Passing him, Harry saw Neville shaking his head and trying to open his eyes even wider, as if looking through mist.

Not daring to turn, Harry could hear Neville hesitantly move forward, obviously considering himself the victim of some optical illusion.

"Can't he see you?"

"Not very well," replied Muriel. "While working, we change into a semi-transparent state. It's simpler for the client and his environment."

"That's a clever trick," he said, to be rewarded with the echo, "C'est un truc raffiné."

The dormitory was empty - luckily, because Harry had to clarify some things with the fairies.

For starters, where they would like to have their luggage? As it turned out, a small table near his four-poster suited them better than the dark place in his wardrobe.

Then they agreed that he'd go to the bathroom alone. Apart from that, they would sit on his shoulders, semi-transparent unless he asked them to show themselves. In addition, they established a few commands so he could control the flow of French.

To stop the stream of bi-langual descriptions of the things around, he had to say "Wait" and simultaneously cover his left eye with a hand. To stop the French translations entirely, for example in classes, he had to say "Stop", also with the hand over his left eye.

Muriel informed him that the most efficient phases would be those with Harry seated comfortably, half-asleep, tranced by a decent amount of fairy dust. She also warned him that his dreams in the nights to come would be long, vivid, and filled with French conversations from dusk till dawn.

It astonished him. "What about you? Won't you ever sleep?"

"Not much," was the answer. "But that's no problem; fairies have a different day rhythm anyway."

After a last question about their nourishment, and upon learning they had sufficient supply of nectar in their suitcase, Harry felt ready to go downstairs and have his first supper with two fairies on his shoulders. He prepared himself mentally, then said, "Let's go."

"Allons-y."

He walked down, learning, "That's a staircase." ... "C'est un escalier."

---

Neither Ron nor Hermione had arrived yet. Harry sat down, to hear that this was still a table even in French, although pronounced differently. Glancing over, he saw Fleur smile and wave.

Hermione came along and sat down opposite him. "Hello - " She blinked, then blinked again. "Is there something around your head? It looks like an invisible scarf ... no, it's something else - "

"Yes, what you see are two fairies; they teach me French - just a second."

He told them to show up for a moment, then said, "Hermione, meet Muriel, on my right shoulder ... and Céline, on my left shoulder."

Hermione gasped. "Very impressive ... I read about this technique, full-time teaching and trance teaching. There's no faster way of learning."

"How's your French, Hermione?"

"Un peu - just enough to order a meal in a restaurant." Hermione looked expectant. "Maybe we can speak some French during the next days ... Just to refresh it a bit."

"Sure - why not?" After listening to the echo, he said, "Mais oui - pourquoi pas?"

Hermione's face showed surprise and approval. "Good, Harry. Your accent is excellent for a beginner, as far as I can judge."

"Yes, it is." ... "Oui, c'est vrai."

Feeling pleased, Harry shrugged. "Maybe it's because of my Parseltongue, although I'm the only one around who doesn't know how it sounds."

Someting happened as Céline translated; the change in the silvery voice was unmistakable. "Peut-être c'est a cause de mon Parseltongue ... 'arry, est-il vrai? Vous savez Parseltongue?"

"Huh - come again?"

Hermione's look was full of consternation. "I said - but you - " She stopped, waved off by him.

Next instant, the confusion was complete. In his right ear, he heard, "Céline asked whether it's true that you can - " before the voice in his left ear chirped, "Excusez-moi, 'arry - ma faute ... Impardonnable ..."

"It's okay," he murmured, "calm down - I know, Parseltongue always gets a reaction, so why should it be different with fairies?"

Hermione had a strange look on her face.

Before Harry had a chance to explain, Ron arrived at the table. He sat down next to Harry, filled his dish, and started to eat, obviously too hungry to notice details as vague as semi-transparent fairies on Harry's shoulders.

While eating, Harry listened to descriptions. A dish was an assiette, a knife was a couteau, a fork a fourchette, a cup a gobelet or a verre depending on the material, and so forth.

Ron still didn't notice; what he noticed instead were the glances Hermione was shooting toward Harry. After a while, he asked, "What's up, Hermione? Did Harry grow a second nose?"

"Are you blind?"

"Not as far as I know." Ron glanced at Harry, then blinked. "Although I have to admit that there's something weird. Harry - what is this?"

"These are my French trainers - actually fairies." Harry asked Muriel and Céline to show themselves for a moment, then said, "Ron - that's Céline on my left shoulder, and Muriel on my right."

"Oh - hello, nice to meet you."

Looking relieved, Ron bent closer and whispered, "You know, Harry, for a moment - well, it looked as if you had developed a halo. I'm awfully glad there's a natural explanation."

For a second, Harry was able to stay serious, then his composure was washed off by a helpless giggle in both ears - highly addictive they were, fairy giggles.

It wasn't helpful either when Hermione, who hadn't heard Ron's remark, looked very suspicious and asked, "What's this? Are they telling you French jokes?"

Glancing over to the Ravenclaw table, Harry could see that Cho had watched the outburst of laughter. Surely enough, after the meal, when the other students left, she came over, followed by Almyra.

---

Preparing for the encounter, Harry had a quick consultation with his teachers, because he needed a French phrase that was still missing in his small repertoire.

Cho examined him. She didn't blink, knowing him too well to think of an optical illusion even for a second. "What's around your head, Harry?"

Grinning, he said, "Mesdemoiselles, je vous présente - Muriel et Céline." It was the signal for the two fairies to show themselves.

Almyra's eyes went wide. After a moment, she said admiringly, "Magnifique - trés professionel. Bonsoir, Muriel, Céline - moi je suis Almyra."

Watching Cho, Harry learned two things very quickly.

First, Cho knew French, to some degree, at least; obviously she'd understood what Almyra had said. Second, Cho didn't like the idea of two young women, no matter what kind, sitting on Harry's shoulders, their miniature but remarkable legs dangling at his collarbones.

More to the point, she looked downright furious.

Astonished, Harry asked, "Hey, what's wrong? They're my French teachers."

"French teachers, ha! All I can see are two women, whispering in your ears all the time. I thought that was supposed to be my job!"

Almyra glanced at Cho, disbelieving for an instant, then showing all signs of suppressed laughter. Nonetheless, she had the good sense not to interfere at this critical moment.

Still smiling, Harry said, "Please, Cho - don't you think that's a bit ridiculous?"

It was definitely the worst he could have said. There wasn't really smoke curling up from Cho's head, she didn't actually jump in the air to express her rage and fury, but the differences were negligible. No, it wasn't ridiculous, he was told, not the least bit ... Not at all, quite the contrary - how dare he, and he better wipe that smirk off his face before -

Just then, Fleur met the group. "'arry," she said, "comment ca va?"

"Er - well, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Cho isn't happy with the idea - maybe you could explain it to her."

Fleur turned toward Cho and understood her mood instantly - a task of limited complexity at this moment. She took Cho by the shoulders, moved her a step aside, and whispered something in her ear.

Cho shook her head, then stood still, listening to another whisper Harry couldn't understand. Then she calmed down visibly, nodded, and walked away.

Stunned, Harry looked at Almyra. "Say, can you explain to me what's going on here?"

"Cho's got a hot temper, Harry, that shouldn't be entirely new to you." Almyra tried to look serious, not quite successfully so.

"Yes, but ... Why did she go away?"

"Oh, that ..." Almyra's grin deepened. "She can be mad at herself as much as at anybody else - that's what makes it so entertaining, after all. I'd say, right now she's very embarrassed - to put it mildly. You must know, Harry - Cho doesn't like to be mad at herself in public."

* * *

Following the fairies' suggestion, Harry decided to spend the first evening with them in a learning trance. It was time for some French basics, elementary grammar, fundamental differences between English and French - like that weird distinction between the personal you - tu - and the formal one, vous.

After a short visit to his dormitory, where Muriel and Céline got some items out of their suitcase, he went to the lesson room. Here it was certainly less comfortable than in Gryffindor Tower, but he had no intention of sitting in public, tranced by fairy dust, the subject of other students' comments as he murmured French declinations or phrases.

He sat down, as leisurely as possible considering the chairs in the room.

Muriel said, "We are going to trance you now, Harry."

At the first moment, he tensed, not quite sure whether this form of trancing would have the desired effect, then he relaxed. For an instant, something glittery hung in his vision, making him wonder where fairies got this dust, and how Dobby had been able to provide quantities as large as had been required for the dust bombs. He imagined a mine deep in some magic mountain, run by dwarfs, using Hinkypunks to light their way in tunnels and paths, then every individual thought faded.

It felt like dreaming open-eyed. He still could see the opposite wall, although filmy writing appeared in his vision every other moment. As in a real dream, he wasn't master of his own mind, and could only follow without a will of his own. There wasn't much of a plot in this dream; still, he didn't feel bored - somehow it reminded him of his first days at Hogwarts.

For a while, he could hear English and French, then the amount of English became smaller and smaller, fading to nothing, leaving only French. Still some time later, he was no longer sure this was French: it sounded too familiar, although every now and then words came up he didn't know, had never heard before. Then another voice explained to him what it meant, using the same language, and sometimes little pictures appeared as though drawn all over the wall across the table.

Hours later, he was awakened by a sharp smell under his nose. After a few seconds, the smell was gone.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Très, très bien. Vous apprenez si rapidement, c'est un miracle."

He nodded, too tired to feel pleasure about his fast learning, or surprise that he'd understood. "Quel heure est-il?"

It was past midnight.

He stood up, yawning. "Temps de - " He stopped, wondering how he could have lost the word for sleep, only then realizing he'd spoken French.

"Dormir ... et rêver," the voice said.

He nodded again. If he waited a moment longer, he would fall asleep here rather than in his bed.

Coming into his dormitory, he found the others asleep. He left the fairies on the table with their luggage and went into the bathroom to undress and to prepare for the night.

Climbing into his four-poster, he asked, "Can you control my dreams?"

"No, of course not. We don't interfere with your real dreams, we use only the lighter phases of your sleep to induce dream-like scenes in which you will listen to French, and speak French."

"Okay," he said, "pick something nice."

Seconds later, he was asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Harry became aware that he could think in French. It was still a small world, and this way of thinking quickly encountered borders and limits, but it was exciting, and the borders were driven farther away with every minute.

At breakfast, he spoke French with Hermione, which annoyed Ron considerably.

After breakfast, he talked with Fleur - the first time in her native language. She had to slow down a bit, and she used words still foreign to him, but all considered, it really worked!

The training didn't stop during classes. He learned magic terminology, learned also that this language had a tendency to rattle quite a lot of words where a single syllable was all you needed in English. A wand was a baguette magique - funny how something as essential as that hadn't found a shorter term.

Drilencu recognized the fairies immediately - small surprise, as he'd used the same technique for English. The other teachers didn't notice, or if so, they didn't ask. Harry was unsure whether this was a special Potter bonus or just the teachers' way of avoiding a trap that might turn out a students' joke.

After lunch, he was scheduled for a patrol flight with Cho. When he informed Muriel and Céline, asking what to do with them, he learned a new aspect of the fairy world.

"We've been waiting for it," said Muriel, and Céline added, "Voler avec cette vitesse, c'est magnifique! Nous ne savons pas voler plus vite qu'un papillon."

He had to ask for papillon, learning that butterfly speed was the best they could manage by themselves. When he asked whether they would be able to hold to him, or if the wind would hurt them, they just laughed.

That left only the question how Cho would react. He walked over to the Ravenclaw table. "Hi. Ready for the patrol?"

Cho eyed him suspiciously. "A quad patrol? Me and you three?"

"Er - yes, so to speak."

"Hmm." She looked grim. "I'm flying head - don't get lost."

So she did - pushing the Steel Wing from the first moment, far beyond regular patrol speed, balancing out by cutting arcs, driving loops without slowing down, thundering through the Giants' camp, whooshing past Hogsmeade, blazing over the plain toward the dragons' nests, finally braking there as hard as she could.

No sooner had Harry stopped, barely keeping his distance, when Cho was up again, pushing to maximum speed.

They reached the castle buildings. Harry watched Cho dive down, toward the spot where the entrance to the storage room was growing bigger and bigger. For a second, it looked as if she would crash through the door at undiminished speed, then Cho braked at full force, showing how precisely she had calculated the delay. Her Steel Wing came to a halt less than two yards from the door.

Harry's manoeuver was more conventional. He touched down, dismounted, and walked into the room with his Steel Wing.

Cho stood there, looking expressionless. "Everybody back home?"

Slightly angry, he replied, "Yes - nobody got lost, if that's your question."

"Not bad." Something like grudging respect came through in her voice. "Actually - better than I'd expected." She walked off, not waiting for him.

Well, at least it was an improvement from the day before.

"How was it for you?" he asked the two fairies.

The two bells in his ears sounded a bit breathless. "Ohh - it was wonderful. When will we do it again?" was Muriel's answer, and Céline added, "Moi j'aime bien vitesse, c'est comme ..." To Harry's dismay, the rest of her statement drowned in a giggle.

* * *

During the next days, his second-language world continued to grow in size and depth. Technically, of course, this had to be counted as his third language, but in contrast to Parseltongue, he was aware that his thinking and speaking took place using French.

Table conversations with Hermione were no longer constrained by the initial limits of missing words - well, as long as he wasn't discussing complex Potions recipes with her. In fact, he'd surpassed her skill; Hermione was eager to use him and his fairies as teachers, while he enjoyed tests like that - Hermione asking him how to express certain thoughts in French, and him answering without a correction from Céline, or with only a minor adjustment.

Ron wasn't happy with this development. He complained, "Can't you speak plain English? I don't know why I'm sitting here, aside from getting some food. I might as well be in a foreign country."

"Then it's training for you as well," replied Harry. "Remember, we have an invitation to a foreign country."

Ron's showed an ill-humoured expression. "Yes ... that's why I don't think I'll accept the invitation."

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him with surprise. Harry asked, "Hey, Ron - what's wrong with you?"

"It just doesn't fit." Ron blushed a bit. "Fleur said I'm invited with or without my ball partner, and that's my first problem. If I come with her - "

Hermione interrupted him. "Who is it? Padma?"

"Yeah, who else?"

Listening to Ron's voice, Padma had to be the last resort of the desperate ball-goer, rather than a good-looking girl with nice manners.

"She's okay," said Ron, "except that I just don't see any reason to include her in the invitation. But then I'll be sitting there, not knowing what to do or what to say. I'm the only one who doesn't speak French. You're better off without me."

Fleur had invited Harry and Cho, Hermione and Viktor, Ron, and Almyra - the latter two with or without partner. Almyra's partner was Charlie, who had declined immediately because he was scheduled as dragon guard on the Sunday after the ball, so Almyra had accepted the invitation alone.

Viktor's French was at least as good as Hermione's; for Bulgarians, French seemed more common than English. Therefore, Harry and Ron had been the only ones without that skill, and Harry had found a way to close the gap during the last days before the event.

Harry examined his friend's face. "Say, Ron - basically, would you like to come?"

"What a - " Ron stopped himself. "Yes, of course. How often do you get an invitation to a French castle, and from Fleur's family?"

Harry nodded. "That's what I thought. So it would be stupid not to come. You know, about my crash course - the main reason for me was to be prepared for Gabrielle, because when you look at it from the other side, she's the only one who doesn't speak English."

Ron's expression lightened.

Hermione said, "You should tell Fleur that you'll come alone. As Almyra's going alone, too, it's again an even number at the table. I'm sure Fleur'll be grateful to know that."

As if in reply to that, Céline started to talk in Harry's ear.

He listened for a moment, then turned to Ron. "Céline just told me that for reasons of etiquette, she recommends to have a few remarks ready like 'Good day', 'Good-bye', and 'Thank you'. She says that's enough to honour the hosts and that otherwise you can speak English as usual."

Hermione was unable to suppress a remark. "Or maybe not quite as usual."

Ron didn't take offense. "Yeah - I guess I know what you mean, but don't you worry, I can hold my tongue." He glanced at Harry. "And how do I learn these few sentences? Can you teach me?"

With a dismissive look toward Hermione, he added, "I know Hermione would like to do it, but she always mixes in advice nobody asked for."

According to Hermione's expression, Ron's reply had scored better than her own remark.

Harry grinned. "Sure - no problem."

Then a thought crossed his mind. After consulting with Muriel and Céline, he turned to Ron again. "I have a better idea. For one evening session, from supper till bedtime, you can have the fairies. I just checked with them - they agree."

Ron looked uneasy. "No, Harry - I don't want this ... You're the one who ordered them, and paid them - "

"They said it'd be a good idea for me to have a break. Then I can check for myself how it is to speak French without them ready to help me, or to correct me. And the dream lesson will then be mine again."

What Harry didn't report was the other half of the fairies' answer to his question of whether they would mind having another client for a few hours: that his learning speed had gone beyond any mark they'd expected, or guessed, even considering his age and environment. The initial goal - sufficient skill for simple conversation - had been reached, passed, and left far behind; Harry's offer to Ron was no sacrifice at all.

After some more objections, Ron finally agreed to spend the evening in a fairy trance session. He also agreed, quite gratefully so, to let Harry talk to Fleur about him accepting the invitation alone. It would be Harry's first serious test without a bilingual dictionary sitting on his shoulders.

---

When the dishes on the supper table looked empty, Harry let the fairies jump over to Ron's shoulders. After a last glance to his friend, grinning about Ron's weird expression, he walked over to Fleur, then followed her to her office.

Speaking French, he explained that Ron was busy learning some French basics, and that he was here to break the news of Ron's accepting the invitation, but alone.

"He had some trouble," Harry said, "first because he didn't feel like coming with Padma, then because he was the only one who didn't speak French. But I think we've solved these problems."

Fleur seemed amused. "So Ron and Padma, that was just a ball acquaintance?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't ask me what Ron thinks of her. True, if he doesn't want to share the honour with her, it can't be that much ... Anyway, together with Almyra coming alone, it's an even number again."

"It would have been an even number in any case," replied Fleur smiling, "because I've invited someone else, but now I can round up quite nicely by inviting both of them."

"Both of whom?"

"Raoul and Janine, old friends of mine. Raoul and I were in the same class at Beauxbatons, and Janine is Raoul's younger sister." Fleur grinned at Harry. "For a while, our parents thought it might work between Raoul and me, except it was as likely as something between you and 'ermione."

Harry laughed, remembering the time when articles in the Daily Prophet had misled a lot of people, among them Molly Weasley. Then he asked, "Is this just for rounding up, or do you have second thoughts?"

Fleur gave him a teacher's glance. "I know what you mean, 'arry, but only because I've been 'ere at 'ogwarts long enough. Second thoughts - that's an entirely non-French concept: in France, people only have first thoughts, but all the time."

"That answers my question."

As Harry noticed, not only was he able to perform this conversation without ever searching for the proper terms - more, French seemed excellently equipped to discuss such topics.

"There's another question," he said, "for which I'd appreciate your help. It's about host gifts."

"That's fairly simple - remember, French is the language which has provided the word bonbonnière ... 'arry, everybody in our family has a sweet tooth, and British sweets are highly popular, so you simply can't go wrong."

"And cakes?"

Fleur knew that he was thinking of his reliable source, the house-elves. "That would be something nice for my mother," she said, "an idea you might pass to Ron or 'ermione. For you, as Gabrielle's special guest, a collection from 'ogsmeade is definitely the best you can do, and it shouldn't be more."

* * *

Following Fleur's advice, Harry informed Ron and Hermione about the welcome that would expect a cake or two from the Hogwarts house-elves, then started organizing his own present.

As a first step, he convinced Cho that a short touch-down in Hogsmeade during their next patrol, near the entrance of Honeydukes, wouldn't hurt. As it turned out, that was the only difficult part.

When entering the shop and asking for a large-sized sampler, there were only two questions: how much was he ready to spend, and should any of the common types be left out? The answer to the last question was no, the answer to the first enough so that none of the pre-packed boxes was big enough.

He paid in advance and explained he would come and get it the day after tomorrow. Nobody mentioned the fairies on his shoulders; weird customers were the trade in Hogsmeade.

Cho didn't enjoy the idea of another stop in Hogsmeade. However, as this box would be the present from both of them, she had no good argument against it. For the same reason, when Harry came out of the shop with the box in his hands, she wanted to know what he'd paid, feeling an obligation to cover half of it.

"Nothing," he said.

"What do you mean, nothing? They don't give it out for free, do they?"

He had to agree, this was true.

"So how come you didn't pay? Is it still open?"

"Er, no - I paid already when I ordered it."

Cho looked murderous. "And how much was it?"

"Uhm - strange, but I can't remember."

It made her so angry, she stomped her foot. The response from her Steel Wing came immediately - next moment, Cho was up in the air.

Chuckling, Harry mounted his own broomstick and jumped up, following her back to Hogwarts.

No sooner were their Steel Wings stored in the racks, when Cho turned to him and said, "I'm still waiting for an answer, Harry."

He managed to suppress a grin. "I can offer you a deal."

She looked suspicious. "Which is?"

"Well - you know, there's something strange to that place. I can't remember what I paid two days ago, and what's more, I can't even remember what happened when I came out, just before we flew back ... Wouldn't be able to tell anyone."

Cho's expression changed. "Very clever, young Potter. You wouldn't have used that trick two months ago. Okay, it's a deal - make sure your two fairies keep to it."

She walked off.

There was no need to advise the fairies, first because Muriel and Céline didn't talk about their clients, and also because this was their last day. Actually, the patrol flight had been the last event shared together; now it was time to say goodbye.

After signing in with Ron, Harry went to his dormitory to deposit the sweets box and to fetch that cute little suitcase.

"Muriel, Céline - merci beaucoup. Je n'oubliais jamais cette semaine - j'ai appris plus de Francais qu'on aurait attendu. Au revoir."

"It was a pleasure, Harry, we had a lot of fun. Have a good time."

"C'etait une semaine magnifique, la meilleure que je peux rappeler. Merci, 'arry, pour les vols de Steel Wing, et adieu."

They had reached Fleur's office.

Harry deposited the suitcase, waved a last time - funny, he had been together with them for almost every hour of a week but had seen them only for minutes, so he was still unable to tell who was Muriel and who Céline when he left the office.

* * *

The day of the Beauxbatons ball bore little resemblance to that of the Christmas ball. The differences were visible everywhere: in the halls of Hogwarts, which lacked the frenzy as well as the decor, in Harry's mood, which registered the event as another first - counting anew since he and Cho had confessed their love to each other - even in the perspective which placed the ball on the eve of something still more important.

The day began with a late breakfast, going on and on, used for idle speculations about how Beauxbatons might look, and lasting until the older students were forced to leave or to keep their seats for the lunch table, which was frequented only by the younger ones.

Then Harry paid the visit to the library that was overdue by more than a week, receiving the confirmation from Madam Pince that yes, the Ollivander essay was available in the National Library through the special reader service.

That done, he spent the afternoon in a leisurely style of nearly doing nothing, hanging around here and there, giving Ron the opportunity to crush him in a chess match, yet surprising his friend as much as himself when ending the game in a draw.

Only when the time had come to get prepared, Harry started to feel similarities to the last event. There was the slight tension in his stomach, dissipating when he stood under a hot shower.

Ron returned from the Prefects' bathroom, still carrying the smell of a soap more exquisite than what was offered to normal people. Harry remembered Fleur's suggestion of an aftershave, wondering how the French students would handle the issue. He turned to Ron. "Prêt à danser?"

"Comment? ... Eh - oui."

"Bien. Allons-y."

Ron grinned, said, "On y va," then fell back to English. "Harry, it's a great feeling to know how to order a drink in that school. I owe you one."

"Pas de rien - tu es mon homme d'ancre, est-ce-que tu rappèle?"

"Come on, give it a break - what's dancre?"

"Ancre - anchor." Harry looked solemn. "I said you're my anchor man, that's why it's okay."

"Whatever. Let's go."

Harry followed Ron down the stairs, to the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower. They found Charlie already waiting there.

A few minutes later, they heard the girls coming down.

---

This time, Harry knew what to expect. A beaming smile spread over his face when he saw the strongly oriental appearance of her red dress. "It's the first time I can really appreciate how you look," he said. "The last time I was simply overwhelmed."

Cho smiled. "Your compliment feels a little sharp at the edges, but thank you anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Well, it means you knew what I would wear, because it's the same as the last time - which is okay, except that it isn't something a girl likes to be reminded of - especially if her best friend has something new."

Only now Harry became aware that Almyra indeed wore another dress. He couldn't remember what it had been the last time, when she'd found her ball partner at such a short notice, but certainly not this pearly white dress which made her look gorgeous, with her bronze teint and the dark, curly hair.

He whispered, "No matter how new or old, it must be this incredible red. You look so perfectly Chinese, I don't know anything better."

"That's what I wanted to hear. You're improving, Harry."

They walked toward the staircase that led down to the basement where the portkey link to Beauxbatons was waiting for them, Ron and Padma before them.

Harry examined Padma's dress, a light blue, then registered how spectacular the three girls had to appear toward other guests: the same hair colour in three different styles, and the robes ... "You girls will stand out," he said, "especially when staying together. "Blue - white - red - the French colours as well as the British ones. I bet they'll applaude you at arrival."

Ron looked a bit surprised, then asked, "You're certainly right, but - did you practise that with the fairies?"

The others laughed, Padma maybe a bit less genuinely.

Cho bent closer and murmured, "That was nice, but I don't mind if you keep it at a more personal level."

They reached the linking room, which ended in two cabins, one for each direction. A short line of students was waiting to pass through, one person at a time.

Madam Hooch was playing the gatekeeper. One after the other, the students stepped into the right cabin and disappeared. Then it was their turn.

Cho pushed him forward. "Wait for me."

Harry stepped forward and grabbed the handle. There was an instant of disorientation, then the solid wall in front of him was gone, replaced by an opening to another room not unlike the one he'd just passed. The couple he'd seen disappearing seconds earlier was walking up a staircase.

A man, standing at the side, waved at him to make room. Inwardly swearing at his slow reaction, Harry stepped out of the cabin.

A moment later, Cho appeared in the cabin and came out to join him.

Reaching the upper landing of the staircase, Harry had his first view of what seemed to be the Great Hall of Beauxbatons - only to learn soon afterwards that it was one of two side halls, with the real Great Hall in-between.

There was no denying that, in terms of size and space, Beauxbatons outperformed Hogwarts easily. Within the next few minutes, Harry could ascertain that the same was true for the number of students; what had congregated in the three halls seemed enough to populate a medium-sized town.

The three couples had gathered again. Harry turned to Ron.

"You're the organization wise - er, wizard: how do we find our seats?"

"Well - hm ..." Ron glanced around, with the same stupefaction as all the other Hogwarts students, who just realized that their school was a cosy little hut, compared to this huge place.

Then a young woman was coming toward them. She was very attractive and wore a large sticker with the Beauxbatons emblem - two crossed wands emitting stars - on her bosom, which was also quite prominent.

All smile and teeth, she asked, "Can I 'elp you?" It was really English, although with a clear accent.

Harry said, "Oui, mademoiselle - nous cherchons la table numéro huit, les places douze jusqu'à dix-sept."

It seemed nearly impossible, yet the smile still widened. "Excellent - suivez-moi, s'il vous plaît."

About to turn, the young woman's gaze fell on Harry's forehead. The smile faltered; for compensation, her eyes went wide. "Mon dieu - vous êtes 'arry Pottère, n'est-ce pas?"

A sound at his side told Harry what he'd suspected for the last seconds: Cho didn't respond well to this representative of Beauxbatons' service troops. Quickly, he replied, "C'est vrai, mais ne disez pas aucun d'homme, s'il vous plaît. Aujourd'huis je suis incognito - vous comprenez?"

"Naturéllement - pardon, monsieur."

She hurried forward, followed by the group, in which Almyra had trouble keeping serious. Ron, by contrast, looked calm - obviously, and to Harry's great relief, because the short exchange had exceeded his level of understanding.

Table number eight was in the middle hall, not far from a wide stage, and at a short distance to several tables that seemed reserved for teachers and other school personnel. No doubt, Fleur had pulled some strings to provide them with such excellent seats.

The young woman sped off, looking as if - once out of view - her first action would be to chat with the next service maid about whom she'd met.

---

Harry started to examine the surroundings.

The stage spanned the hall's full width. Save for some decorations, it still looked empty. The band was located in front of the stage, on a low podium that spanned half of the width. Actually, band was definitely the wrong term for what looked like a full-grown orchestra. Otherwise, the hall looked very much as expected, with banners hanging as if in mid-air, a ceiling literally out of sight, a dance floor in the middle, and everything just three sizes bigger than what could be found at Hogwarts. The side halls had their own dance floors; large archways connected them with the one in the middle.

Checking the tables, Harry noticed that they weren't separated into Hogwarts tables and Beauxbatons tables: the Hogwarts students were spread all over. Examining the people at the teacher tables, he could see Dumbledore and McGonagall - and there was Hagrid, sitting next to Madame Maxime, looking great, more self-contained than Harry had ever seen him. Was it his working with the Giants or the influence of Madame Maxime? Maybe both - anyway, there was nothing foolish or out of place in Hagrid's appearance.

Scanning further, along many unknown faces, Harry was surprised to see Lupin. The woman to his right - Harry had never seen her before, probably a Beauxbatons teacher - a slim brunette, talking animatedly with Lupin.

Harry felt pleased; the sight of his older friend was unexpected yet much welcome. He turned to Cho.

"So what's your first impression?"

"It's big - and I mean big. I guess their lost-and-found is about the size of our poor little Hogwarts."

"Have you seen anything that looks like a bar? I'd like to fetch some drinks."

Before Cho could respond, the seats opposite the table filled with six other people - three girls and three young men, undoubtedly Beauxbatons students. They had barely settled down when the student opposite Cho's seat started a conversation. He spoke French.

"Good evening. I'm Gérard, and the beautiful young lady at my side is Marie-Christine."

"Nice to meet you. My name's Harry - "

Cho saved him from a desperate search for a reply of similar elegance. With her most charming smile, she said, "And mine's still shorter - Cho."

"So it's true what Fleur promised us: we'll be in the company of the most interesting people from Hogwarts. An excellent start for this splendid evening."

While mastering the language without any difficulty, Harry became aware that there was still a way to go before he'd be within a calling distance of Gérard's well-honed table manners. Within seconds, this guy had uncoupled Harry from his conversation with Cho, still without excluding the girl at his side. It was done masterfully, Harry had to admit, while watching Cho, who seemed to enjoy it.

Gérard enlarged his audience for a moment. "I think we need something to drink - do you agree to champagne?" Without waiting for an answer, he reached for a silvery ball on the table and pressed it on the top.

When a waiter appeared moments later, Harry realized: what he'd considered a part of the table decoration was a signaling system to order drinks, probably also food.

---

Gérard raised his glass. "Here's to this evening and to the wonderful people here."

It was Harry's first champagne, and it tasted delicious. He sipped some more, feeling simply good, listening to this amiable French student, who continued sending fireworks of wit and charm toward Cho.

The girl at his side, Marie-Christine, asked Harry, "Have you been to Beauxbatons before?"

"No, today's the first time. Fleur suggested it more than once, but somehow ... And there was always the language barrier."

"What barrier?" Marie-Christine looked bewildered. "Your French's excellent; you could pass for a student from Paris any time."

"Maybe, but that's all pretty new. A week ago, I wouldn't have known how to talk."

She examined his face. "You're joking, right?"

"No, really - it was a crash course; I had the help of two fairies. Their names were Muriel and Céline." Listening to his own words, Harry felt surprise about himself, talking so lightly with a girl he'd never seen before. Maybe it had to do with the champagne - excellent stuff, really.

"Then you must be a natural with languages," said Marie-Christine. "How many of them do you speak, in addition to English and French?"

"None - aside from Parseltongue, that is."

Her expression made him realize what he'd just said. But even so, all he could see was curiosity, none of the disgust he'd encountered at Hogwarts. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to be impolite."

Marie-Christine smiled. "Not at all ... So it seems all the stories are true - about you, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know, but I'll bet they're greatly exaggerated." Marie-Christine's style of conversation reminded him of Almyra; there was definitely something familiar in her directness.

She asked, "Where did you meet Fleur?"

"Last year, in the Triwizard Tournament." Harry grinned. "At first we didn't get along so well - naturally, because I was an unplanned intruder. That changed after the story with her sister Gabrielle."

Marie-Christine nodded. "No, I don't think the stories are exaggerated."

Then a man in a glittery costume entered the stage and started to welcome the guests, in particular those from Hogwarts.

Harry had expected Madame Maxime do the formal parts, but learned from Marie-Christine that the conférencier would be the guide through the evening.

The man promised a lot of music, and fun, and some entertaining presentations, then the orchestra started to play, and the Beauxbatons ball was opened.

Feeling light-headed, Harry turned to Cho. "Ma princesse Chinoise, voulez-vous danser?"

She beamed at him. "Je vous en pris."

With satisfaction, he recognized an appreciative smile from opposite the table before they walked to the parquet.

It took him a few steps, then he was back in the motion, actually better than ever before - a bit of champagne seemed to help there as well. The music fit perfectly, Cho in his arms felt wonderful; she smiled at him, he smiled back. This ball would be simply magnificent.

After the first dance, Cho said, "Harry - you're a celebrity here."

"What makes you think so?"

"Can't you see? People are looking at us."

He laughed. "Nonsense - they're looking at you, no question 'bout that. That Gérard's the best example."

Cho showed a wicked smile. "Jealous, Harry?"

"No, why? He's very charming - he really has style; I don't mind learning a bit."

She sighed. "And I wouldn't mind a bit of jealousy from your side - although I have no reason to complain, you're adapting awfully quickly. That girl's the best example."

"Marie-Christine?"

"Who else?"

"She reminds me of Al - her way of talking. And that" - he bent down and kissed Cho lightly - "reminds me of you."

He'd found the right answer. "We should come here more often," said Cho softly, "although you might want to slow down with the champagne, Harry - just keep that level."

They danced again. The orchestra only had instrumentalists but no singer. Harry didn't miss it, as the music was so well suited, played for dancing and nothing else. The sound was omnipresent without drowning the conversation on the dance floor - Harry had the feeling that Beauxbatons employed some Muggle technology for the purpose.

---

After a third dance, the floor emptied, and Harry returned with Cho to their table, wondering about the early break.

Then the conférencier was back and announced a juggler, instantly making room for the artist.

A man appeared on the stage, dressed in a tight garment of black with some stripes of silver, juggling three balls until he'd reached the stage centre. Then an assistant appeared, a young woman, dressed still tighter and more scantily, who passed him a fourth ball, then a fifth. After a demonstration of perfect coordination, the artist reduced the number down to zero by passing the balls sideways to his assistant, rather than sending them up again.

The second gag was done with bats, this time only three. The artist kept wandering from side to side, turning, moving his legs through the whirling circle of spinning bats.

His third and last gag was clownery and also a masterpiece of stage magic. Resting against a stand like a bar customer, the artist threw a first ball up. At peak point, the ball slowed down and started to fall as if in slow motion. The artist sipped from a glass, took a drag from a cigarette, and threw the next ball. When the first one reached the bottom point, he pushed it carelessly, sending it up again. Then he inserted a third ball in the game, even a fourth, playing the lazy barfly who was equally busy to drink, smoke, and send slow balls up into the air.

Moments later, as though getting aware of the time, he emptied the glass, stubbed the cigarette, and disappeared behind a curtain.

The balls, left alone, sped up to normal and fell down.

Next moment, the artist returned and bowed, accepting roaring applause.

Smiling at Cho, Gérard asked, "How did you like Le Jongleur Magique?"

"The lazy balls were very nice. The other stuff was okay - I'm used to it from Hong Kong, there you can see it up and down the streets."

Harry watched how Gérard was digesting Cho's specialty, the blow out of nowhere, noticing in Gérard's face the visible signs of some mental readjustment. If he wasn't seriously mistaken, an opinion had just switched from light-weight to a higher class. The thought made him grin.

Gérard seemed to have a good antenna. He turned to Harry. "How was it for you?"

"I've never seen a juggler before. For me, it was quite impressive."

"Never before?" Gérard looked astonished. "I can't believe entertainment in England is that limited."

The smile didn't leave Harry's face. "Probably not; it's more a personal lack of experience. My social life has been somewhat limited."

The music started again.

Gérard was up, bowed to Cho, and guided her to the dance floor.

When Harry looked at Marie-Christine, he received a smile and a nod before he could say a word. They went to the floor.

After a moment of dancing, Marie-Christine said, "I hope you don't mind Gérard's talking. Sometimes he's a bit arrogant ... most of the time, to be honest."

Harry laughed. "No, not at all. I like him - he's genuine, he has style; it's very informative watching him."

It made her laugh, too. "Your partner, Cho, has cut him quite nicely."

"Yes, that's her trademark. People tend to underestimate her, but only once."

"I had the feeling." A moment later, Marie-Christine said, "I watched you two dance. Then I knew why you didn't get upset about Gérard courting her."

Slightly surprised, Harry asked, "Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe not for everyone."

---

He wondered how it felt for Marie-Christine, watching her partner focusing his efforts toward another girl, and why she seemed not to care. Then, following a similarity he'd recognized before, he asked, "Are you in research?"

He could feel her surprise. "How did you know?"

"Something you have in common with Almyra - she's the girl in the white dress next to Cho. I'm a case in a study of hers."

"About what?"

"You might ask her for the exact title - it's something long and complicated, but in a nutshell it's about my Parseltongue."

Marie-Christine nodded. "Just what I thought. I'd have no problem envying her - although it surprises me a bit that you accepted it."

"Well ..." Harry smiled. "Almyra is Cho's friend."

"I see." Marie-Christine sighed theatrically. "It's always the same: as a researcher, you need luck as well as the right connections."

They went into the second dance.

When it ended, Marie-Christine asked, "Your reply to Gérard, about your social life - was it a joke to stop him?"

"No, it was the truth. Why do you ask?"

"Then how come you learned to dance like that? Another pair of fairies, maybe the week before?"

Harry laughed. "No - not fairies but Fleur, and not the week before but the months before the Christmas ball."

"Just so - to balance out a lack of experience?" Seeing his expression, she added, "Sorry - it's a bad habit, asking people all kinds of questions."

Harry felt disarmed. "It wasn't just so but for a purpose, but otherwise your description was correct."

The music had started again.

While dancing, Marie-Christine said, "I guess I have an idea what purpose that was."

Enjoying this unrestrained style, Harry said, "Talking about balancing out, let me ask you a question, just in-between."

Marie-Christine smiled. "One."

"What's the topic of your research?"

"The Dark Forces - Voldemort in particular."

Somehow, Harry managed not to misstep. "Oh. That explains it."

Sounding apologetic, Marie-Christine said, "I thought you'd guessed already, after I was asking you all those questions."

"No, I didn't ... Although it's certainly not by accident that we're sitting across from each other, right?"

Marie-Christine blushed a bit. "Do you feel set up?"

"No - as long as you don't start interviewing me about my encounters with him."

"I promise - although it's hard not to do it."

Harry thought a moment. "Talk with Almyra. If she votes for you, which will make sure it doesn't conflict with her own study, we'll meet somewhere, and I'll stand a real interview. And now let's just dance."

Marie-Christine beamed. "Thank you, 'arry. I'll do that."

As expected, the dance floor cleared again after the dance. The conférencier announced a singer who seemed quite famous, considering the reaction of the audience. However, listening to his song, Harry felt no lack of experience at never having heard him before. He also realized, if the pattern continued, he would finish his dance duties long past midnight before even having a second chance with Cho.

Remembering her warning about the champagne, he asked Marie-Christine what other drink she could recommend.

Before she could answer, Gérard said, "You should try pastis, 'arry - that's the proper drink for a long evening."

"Sounds interesting." He looked at Marie-Christine. "So what's your recommendation?"

Her glance told him she didn't care being cut short but thanked him anyway. Aloud, she said, "Try it - it's not everybody's taste."

Using the silver ball, Harry called the waiter and ordered a pastis, and more champagne for Cho, who seemed not inclined to follow her own advice.

The pastis arrived: a high glass with a bit of a greenish fluid, plus a carafe with water, obviously tap water. When he filled the glass with water, the mixture turned milky-yellow.

Harry sipped, surprised by the strong taste from the little amount that wasn't water. It tasted good, refreshing - just the right stuff in the heat. With so much water, he felt safe.

---

Then he danced with Almyra. When he told her about Marie-Christine as a potential fellow researcher, Almyra seemed very interested. Then he asked her when, or where, she'd learned her obviously good French.

"It's a neighbourhood issue," he was told. "Jamaica is under English influence, but the next-door neighbour - in Voudoun terms - is Haiti, which is under French influence."

After another break, unremarkable because it was the same singer again, Harry danced with Padma, recognizing a giddiness in her movements, as well as a faint slur in her speech that could be traced back to some glasses of champagne. He felt glad having switched to pastis, and was reliefed when the dance was over.

The conférencier entered the stage again.

Waiting for the next announcement, hoping it wasn't the singer again, Harry was startled when he heard the guy talk about "our friends from Hogwarts," some of whom he was going to present now. Then he called Dumbledore to the stage and introduced him as the Headmaster of this "ancient school with its long-standing traditions," further as the "central figure in the fight against the Dark Forces."

That was followed by some statements from Dumbledore, spoken in a slightly old-fashioned French with a not so slight accent.

The applause kept to a moderate level, except for some islands of Hogwarts students, who added considerably more noise.

Watching the row of faces across the table, Marie-Christine said, "He seems to be very popular, your Dumble d'Or."

Harry nodded, and Ron called, "The greatest wizard ever." His face was heated, thanks to the delicious champagne.

Now the conférencier was talking about more friends, and about two extraordinary people who'd found a way to gather them. Still unsure what exactly that meant, Harry heard him calling for Madame Maxime and Hagrid.

Of course - the Giants.

Smiling broadly, he watched Hagrid standing there, answering questions that originated from the conférencier but were translated by Fleur, who also translated his answers.

Watching Madame Maxime and Hagrid, Gérard said with a grin, "What a charming couple! It's not exactly the beauty and the beast, but only because the beauty's somehow questionable."

Harry's head snapped around; the smile had left his face completely. "Hagrid's my oldest friend, Gérard, so please, watch your tongue."

Gérard laughed. "Pardon, 'arry - I didn't know. True, it's not his fault that there's an ugly Giant somewhere in the family."

Cho's voice was a cold hissing. "One of those ugly Giants has mended my arm after an accident. His name's Lleyrin the Fist, and he's not only their chief but also a friend of ours. So, Gérard, because this champagne is just too good to throw it into your face, I think you'll take that back."

Without hesitation, Gérard held his arms up, smiling. "My dear Cho, I deeply regret to have insulted you or your friends - I seem to hit every grease-pot within reach, and beyond. Sorry, it's a specialty of mine."

Harry felt Cho at his side relax.

Some other faces also looked easier than a second before - knowing that Cho's promises were all but hollow, even the unspoken ones.

The conférencier had dismissed the two huge figures and now told his audience there were still more protectors of Hogwarts, very unusual ones, difficult to handle because they were dragons, and one of the admirable dragon guards would now come to him, and his name would be "Charlie Weasley!"

Accompanied by laughter and applause, Charlie walked to the stage, was greeted by the conférencier, and had to answer questions, translated and re-translated by Fleur.

The conférencier asked how Charlie managed not to be burned.

"Well," said Charlie, "it's just a matter of politeness - you step aside when they snort."

He'd hit the right string with his audience, which responded with laughter and applause through the interview. At the last question, how a wizard came to work with dragons, Charlie replied, "It's like in that old joke - it was pure luck."

Watching, Harry saw some people - including almost all teachers - rolling in laughter while others, like him, didn't know that joke. Obviously, the conférencier had understood but made no intention to tell. It was maddening.

---

Before he had an opportunity to ask for the punch line, his attention was caught again.

The conférencier talked about true heroes, about someone who only recently had escaped from the claws of Voldemort, someone who'd developed a mastery in the fight against Dementors and - still better - someone who was here this evening ...

"Lupin!" called Harry, a split second before the conférencier did the same.

With shining eyes, Harry watched Lupin entering the stage, listened to his answers, which came in good French, not surprisingly so with his name. A moment later, though, Harry froze.

"... true that I have mastered the most successful form of cursing Dementors, I'm not the only one, and what's more, I'm not the first one. The true master of the Golden Patronus is a student who fought with me in the Hogwarts Express accident: his name is Harry Potter."

Lupin was staring in Harry's direction, smiling and waving.

Now the conférencier was waving, too, while voices in the hall were shouting Harry's name. Cho was pushing him, saying, "Go, Harry."

He stood up, cursing inwardly, the dizziness in his head deepening, his gaze fixed at two smiling faces on the stage, Lupin and Fleur.

When he reached them, Lupin said grinning, "Hello, Harry - your turn," and marched off the stage, back to his seat.

The conférencier moved a magiphone in front of him. "'arry Potter - the famous boy who defeated Voldemort!"

"Er - yes, that's me ... Good evening." The light was blinding in his face, he couldn't recognize faces, only hear applause.

"'arry - is it true you are the hero of the Golden Patronus?"

"I can do it, yes - otherwise it's nonsense. Professor Lupin is my teacher; I learned everything from him." Angrily, Harry added, "He said it just to get off the stage."

Laughter; the applause roared.

"'arry - I've been told you're also an expert on a broomstick - the youngest Quidditch Seeker in hundred years, and the current champion of Hogwarts."

"For Quidditch, that makes me one in a team of seven. But right now I'm just a member of our Flying Squad - one of twenty-eight, plus our Squad leader Viktor Krum - and Ron Weasley, who's doing the office work. So if that's the reason why I'm standing here, I think the others should come up, too."

Whatever he said, the people in the hall were applauding like crazy.

The conférencier turned. "That's a wonderful idea - I ask all people of the Hogwarts Flying Squad to join us!"

A moment later, the first people appeared in Harry's view, coming through the curtain of light, grinning at him, looking self-conscious, finally easing up when the stage filled with the others.

Viktor was caught by the conférencier; now the duty was on him to answer questions. Then the Squad had to arrange themselves in team formations, of course with Harry, Cho, Katie, and Alicia in the middle. Flashes were hitting their faces while Cho, smiling to the audience, hissed to him, "Clever trick, Harry."

Then it was over; they could walk back to their seats.

While Gérard kept busy explaining to Cho how extravagant it was to waste such an exquisite body on broomsticks in general and Quidditch in particular, Harry felt Marie-Christine glance at him. No doubt, she was dying to ask him a million questions about Golden Patronuses, but he wasn't in the mood to answer them, and was grateful for the bubbles of charm which pearled toward Cho, not leaving much of a trace.

---

The music didn't start again. Instead, the waiters appeared with dishes.

Something to eat - a wonderful idea, although it wasn't much, measured with respect to more dances that would follow. Harry emptied his pastis, let a glass with only water follow, and ordered another one.

While eating tiny pieces, they had the opportunity to learn more about Beauxbatons.

The school was organized in régiments, ten actually, which tended to ally in pairs, resulting in five alliances and in rivalries and competitions very much like the four houses of Hogwarts. There were of course Quidditch teams, except nothing could be farther apart from Gérard's interest.

"Really," he said, "I'm not built for hard work - isn't that obvious?"

Marie-Christine explained, "He's one of those people who excel effortlessly, without ever stressing themselves." Seeing the question in the opposite faces, she added, "Don't be misled by Gérard's behaviour - normally you'll find him at the top of the ranks in every class."

"Except Quidditch," corrected Gérard.

"He has a specialty," continued Marie-Christine, "a variation of the Imperius charm: first he'll drive people really mad with his bad manners, then he'll use his trick - and they'll forgive him instantly."

"Very handy," said Cho, "although you might be careful using that toward Harry."

Gérard smiled. "I'm always careful with 'arry - but why here in particular?"

"He's immune to the Imperius ... so I imagine your trick won't work."

Harry saw Marie-Christine's eyes widen.

Gérard said, "Immune to my charm - pardon, 'arry, but I don't need you for that."

Following his glance toward Marie-Christine, who had slightly blushed, and seeing Gérard's eyes, Harry suddenly understood. Poor guy - hopelessly in love with a girl who, at her best, tolerated him.

He said, "Competing against science and hard work - that's really a terrible fate, Gérard."

Marie-Christine was blushing deeper.

Gérard caroled, "Here's the one who understands my misery - no wonder with such a beautiful girl at his side ... 'arry, we have to drink to that."

Harry couldn't help, he had to empty another glass of champagne - even more delicious after the food. Then Cho had to follow. Harry wondered how Gérard could handle those quantities without showing more effect than a sweaty face.

The music started again.

Harry went to dance with Hermione, regretting the wine he'd accepted. At least it didn't hurt his motions, more to the contrary, and Hermione seemed not to notice, or maybe she was suffering similar symptoms.

The next piece of entertainment took place on the dance floor rather than on stage - the Beauxbatons Dance Formation, four couples whose movements seemed to fill the entire rectangle.

Harry wondered aloud why Fleur wasn't one of them. Marie-Christine told him that the formation was restricted to students only; Fleur had been a member until the end of the previous year.

He danced with Cho again - Fleur, the last on his duty list, had been caught by someone else. Spinning in a waltz, he saw his vision blur to a continuous ribbon of colour spots which didn't go all too well with his condition. But Cho didn't fare better.

"Slow down," she said, "before we're going to have an accident."

Luckily, the next music was very slow, and the lights darkened, and it was completely sufficient to hold her close while moving slowly in place, and a very good feeling.

Cho whispered, "Poor Gérard," and Harry murmured, "Lucky me," and she answered, "Lucky us," and the light was so nicely dimmed.

---

Back at their seats, Gérard tried to share another glass with him, but this time Harry insisted on staying with pastis, so he had to respond with that.

Then the conférencier announced, "Ladies Choice," and Harry watched Cho going off, almost tripping.

Before he could see who was her target, one of the other two girls from opposite the table was standing before him. He followed her to the floor.

"Thanks to Gérard, we had little opportunity to talk," she said. "I'm Janine."

In spite of the dizziness in his head, Harry's memory seemed still intact. "Do you have an older brother?"

"I've several brothers, and one of them's older, yes."

"And his name is Raoul?"

Janine smiled. "That's true."

"Then we'll have an opportunity to talk tomorrow ... Except it's already today." Harry suppressed a giggle, wondering why he found his remark so funny.

"Maybe so," replied Janine, "although I wouldn't be surprised if Gabrielle turned out more persistent than Gérard."

That was certainly worth a laugh. Then Harry asked, "Could you talk with Ron, then?"

"A bit ... We had some trouble with the language, and then I had to be careful - imagine Padma realizing there's an invitation, and she's not in."

That was definitely worth more laughing.

They had both trouble holding their step, but steadied again after a moment.

Janine seemed to be a very joyful person, an open face with a lot of freckles, light brown hair with a shimmer of red - Harry found Fleur's choice an excellent match, if only for a day in a French castle.

Back at his seat, he had an urgent desire for some fresh air.

Taking Cho's hand, he fought his way to an exit that opened to a park with trees, paths, and benches. Breathing deeply, he tried to clear his head, sharpen his vision. Unfortunately, it didn't work, and seemed to grow worse than before.

"Less siddown," he said.

"Harry," murmured Cho, "you're in a bad shape ... Trouble is, I'm not better off much."

"Thiss glass with Gérard - I guess that wassa misstake."

"Yes," came her voice, "and the one before and the one after."

"Can't be ... 'twas only pastis - mossly water."

He heard her giggle. "Wait here." Cho walked off.

Waiting? What else, as if he would be able to wander around. Wasn't it difficult enough to sit straight? But then, who said he had to sit straight? Still, might be better ... Resting his arms on the back of the bench, he stabilized. The air was wonderful, if only it would clear a bit ...

Some people came along the path. The small red one had to be Cho.

"Get up, Harry."

"Cer'nly."

He followed inside ... Walking wasn't difficult at all, if someone kept telling him where. There was a staircase - down it went, down ... oops, almost he'd been down quicker than planned, better grabbing the handle ... along a corridor, there was a cabin, like the portkey link, only it wasn't, at least not the one to Hogwarts.

Somebody pushed him inside.

He grabbed the knob, felt no surprise when the wall disappeared, and stepped forward into another room.

There was Fleur.

He said, "Fleur - pity I miss'd dancing with you."

"Never mind, 'arry."

She guided him out of the room, upstairs, further upstairs, there were certainly more stairs than in Hogwarts, which was something, wasn't it? And he still could walk them, remarkable, after all ...

It was his last conscious thought; when the staircase ended and he was guided into a room, Harry's mind no longer bothered to notice anything.