Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

The Great Hall was humming in expectation. The last dishes of the dinner table had disappeared a few seconds earlier, and Dumbledore would begin with his speech very soon. It would be his first public statement after the Battle of Hogwarts.

The teachers' table was full. In addition to all the Hogwarts teachers, as far as they were still alive, Harry saw people not commonly found there: the Goblin who'd talked to him, the unfamiliar face of a young man, and the very familiar face of Sirius.

About to ask Hermione who the young man might be, Harry was prevented from doing so by Dumbledore, who started to speak.

"I find that when I must talk after a lot of food has been devoured, I'm likely to encounter snoring." Smiling, the Headmaster looked around. "Considering what I have to announce and report today, I feel safe from that."

There was no laughter, simply because nobody wanted to waste another second before hearing the news.

"My dear students, my dear colleagues - my dear guests and brothers in arms" - a nod toward the Goblin - "side by side we have fought the Battle of Hogwarts, and together we have won."

Dumbledore's voice burst like a whip. "THE ENEMY IS DEFEATED!"

He was rewarded with roaring applause, shouting, yelling, altogether a deafening tumult of acclaim which took its time before fading slowly.

"As great a victory this is, as small in number our losses are, each death leaves a void. Let us honour those who gave their lives in the fight."

Everybody in the hall rose.

Dumbledore held a parchment before him. "United we stand, in sorrow and reverence for our friends and brothers, colleagues and companions, all the people who died for us:

• "Lasson so Quick.
• "Morcene in Jabs.
• "Bruggis of Starlight."

Those had been the Giants, guessing by the names. For a brief instant, Harry's mind drifted back to the encounter between Giants and Giants.

• "Gurin the Gentle."

This name sounded more like a Goblin; the next names would tell Harry.

• "Charlie Weasley.
• "Llewellyn O'Shea.
• "Rubeus Hagrid.
• "Fendergast Flitwick."

After some silence, Dumbledore continued, "We also think of those among the twenty-four Giants and thirty-seven wizards who paid with their lives for their lack of courage and decision, rather than greed, hate, and evil."

The agreement wasn't unanimous in the hall, but Harry felt sure that nobody in the Squad, nor any of the teachers and students who'd helped in the aftermath of the battle, could hold a different view. Thinking about the numbers, Harry glanced over to the Goblin; his crew had left gruesome traces in the crowd of dark wizards.

---

After a sign from Dumbledore, the audience sat down.

"Hagrid and Professor Flitwick, both of whom didn't leave close relatives behind, will find their resting place at a spot near the Forbidden Forest, not far from Hagrid's hut. The funeral will be performed tomorrow at two o'clock" - Dumbledore's voice became pleading - "and I beg you to limit the number of mourners to those who really want to say goodbye."

This would exclude most of the younger students and some of the older ones, while Harry couldn't think of any teacher missing the event.

"Finally," continued the Headmaster, "we remember four magnificent creatures who had to die for our safety, and who served with their bodies even beyond their death: dragons, for whom our dead guards felt love and commitment, and for whom they certainly found names told to no one else."

Serving beyond death indeed ... When Nagini had received the large chunk of dragon meat, after the interrogations, and had informed Harry she would be off duty for several days, there had been awe in her voice. To the trained ear, a snake's voice was empty of emotion no more than a Goblin's face to the trained eye.

Dumbledore started to smile. "After that sad duty, let's come to more pleasant items. First of all, I wish to express my own thanks, as well as that of the entire wizarding community, to Giants and Goblins, ghosts and guests, humans and house-elves - to everyone who contributed to our common victory."

Dumbledore bowed deeply.

Rising, he continued, "We have witnessed so much spirit, so many acts of courage and bravery, that it's difficult to honour them - in particular as Giants flatly refuse to accept, as they say, honours outside a thinking brain, and as the Goblin warriors on our side declared any medal pale in comparison to the invisible but nonetheless shining bond between them and our side."

Shining? Nonsense, thought Harry, seeing twenty-nine light-eating surfaces before his inner eye.

"But there's more, and so Hogwarts School has the great pleasure of assigning a few Special Awards for Outstanding Services."

Dumbledore beamed. "The first goes to the Flying Squad as a whole, and thus to each member, whether flying or ground personnel. Mr Krum, please come to me as the representative of thirty people who were a cornerstone of our success."

Was a Squad member entitled to applaud? Harry didn't care, nor did the others when Viktor stepped forward to shake hands with the Headmaster and receive the medal that would be placed in Hogwarts' trophy collection.

"Two Special Awards go to the wizard and the witch who were first in the front line, breaking ground for the others to follow: Sirius Black and Minerva McGonagall, please come to me."

McGonagall just had to stand up; she sat next to Dumbledore. Harry watched his Head of House, who seemed overwhelmed by her emotions - obviously she hadn't expected this.

When Sirius had received his medal and was about to return back to his seat, Dumbledore stopped him and turned to the audience.

"For many wizards, Mr Black is still notorious as the prisoner of Azkaban who escaped for some evil purpose. It is high time to declare in public that Sirius Black was falsely accused, innocently imprisoned; and the only truth is that he did in fact escape, to save lives and to serve as my personal secret agent during the last twelve months."

With surprise, Harry found himself shouting, waving, and jumping. He wasn't joined by a majority in the hall, proof that many people still held the wrong picture.

---

Dumbledore waited for silence.

"Now it gets a bit complicated," he said then, "because - but first things first. The action that needs to be awarded is the successful attack against the three dark wizards on the ship; neutralizing them was the key to our success in battle. I now ask the five Squad members who flew the attack to come here."

Harry followed the twins, then met Cho and nodded to Viktor before they reached the Headmaster and together stood in front of him, waiting.

"There is a little problem we have to solve. One of these five people received a Special Award already before. Basically there's nothing wrong with a second one - however, we certainly want to avoid the impression a Hogwarts Special Award is something you collect by the dozen, like Chocolate Frog pictures."

A wave of laughter went through the hall.

There was a glitter in Dumbledore's eyes. "This is why I have to ask you first, Harry Potter: what is your opinion?"

Harry needed hardly an instant. "You're right, Professor, I don't need another one, that's why I want this one given to Hagrid - he deserved it, and I can't help but thinking he'll know it and will be happy."

Fred didn't miss a beat. "Also, Professor - as a Squad member, I share one, too. I want mine given to Charlie, for obvious reasons."

George chimed in: "True, Professor, and it's similarly obvious that mine has to go to Llewellyn O'Shea."

Viktor didn't hesitate either. "Mr Dumbledore - two awards in five minutes is a bit - er, what I'm trying to say is, please give mine to Professor Flitwick."

Dumbledore's eyes had switched from speaker to speaker. Now he looked at Cho.

"Please, Miss Chang, do me a favour - at least one of these awards should really go to the intended person. I couldn't stand the thought this act of bravery remains unawarded."

Cho nodded. "Yes, Professor, I'll accept mine. I'm glad that there isn't an obvious candidate left who I could pass it to, so I don't need to feel ashamed; but honestly, when Harry called us, I was so scared that - er, I mean, it feels right to say yes."

Everybody, as it seemed, shared her opinion, most of all the other four candidates, who applauded frenetically as a beaming Cho received her medal.

Dumbledore waited until the five people had gone back to their seats, then he said, "I had planned a few more awards - four, to be precise, but somehow a few people were quicker, which is just fine: normally, a posthumous award always has a bitter taste, but the way it was done here, so instantaneous, so unplanned, feels better."

The lack of applause indicated no disagreement; instead, many faces looked thoughtful, as if only now realizing what the word casualties really meant.

"I forgot to mention something first," continued Dumbledore, now definitely grinning. "As bad as the recent events were - as so often, there's something good in the worst: Hogwarts has found some - er, unexpected resources, and will use them to the greatest effect. That's why, contrary to past occasions, a Special Award is more than just the honour and a medal."

He paused for dramatic effect, then said, "Attached to each Special Award is an award of thousand Galleons."

Thunderstruck silence followed his announcement.

Harry glanced over to watch the twins' reaction. They looked at each other, then shrugged - so what, it said, another reward was waiting in a vault, and the Weasley parents had a lifelong habit of spending most of their money on their children.

Dumbledore's grin deepened. "It might not be completely by accident that I failed to announce the award beforehand, because I had a feeling ... However, I'm sure everybody here will agree when I say the passing of the four awards to the deceased applies to the honour and the medal, while the monetary part shall be left to the living - those for whom the awards were intended."

Watching again, Harry saw the twins shrug once more, but this time with a wide grin. While Dumbledore still waited for the uproar to fade, Harry turned to Ron.

"Listen, Ron, that money - I think the ground personnel is grossly underrepresented here, so we - "

Ron's shaking head interrupted him. "Forget it! I'm not going to take - "

"Wait - I didn't mean to give it to you."

"Oh." Ron turned pink.

"I meant a split, fifty-fifty, and now shut up."

Ron beamed. "Harry ... yes, that's okay. Thanks."

Dumbledore's voice stopped them.

"... any misunderstanding takes place, I have to clarify something: in case of the Squad's Award, it's no question that a full amount goes to every member, meaning to each of the thirty people."

Ron's face jerked around. He looked at Harry, open-mouthed.

Harry grinned. "Too late - a deal's a deal."

Ron turned to Hermione, who'd followed their conversation with shining eyes.

She shook her head, smiling. "Viktor has gotten two awards, remember? I don't feel neglected, Ron, but thanks anyway."

Well, with two dentists as parents, money had never been a critical issue for Hermione.

* * *

Dumbledore informed the audience about the current state of the school and what would happen next. Except for twenty-two prisoners somewhere deep down under the school, all other wizards had left Hogwarts with the train. The Goblins would stay for a while, serving as prison guards - "the most reliable people I can imagine, so I expect politeness toward those guests, and I shall treat any rudeness as a personal insult."

The resources Hogwarts had gained included more than money. There were ten brand-new Firebolts, too good to rot in some school supply closet, but too powerful to be used as training devices for first-years learning to fly. Dumbledore announced that there would be fourteen brooms as of next year, when hopefully the next Quidditch match could be performed. Then, the two teams in a match would use those Firebolts, thereby making sure that winning a game was the result of superior skills, rather than better broomsticks.

Quidditch ... Harry felt a longing for that simple and joyful kind of flying - simple in terms of emotional involvement, not technique. Dumbledore's decision solved a problem for Hary: it was no question that a Steel Wing couldn't be used in a Quidditch match, not if the slightest touch of two players would jolt them out of their saddles, and he'd given his own Firebolt to Ron.

His attention returned to Dumbledore's announcements.

"... have left two gaps in our ranks. One of them is the post of a Charms teacher. For this, we have found a solution which wouldn't surprise me if it turns out permanent. Our new Charms teacher" - Dumbledore's gaze searched along the teachers' table - "is Madam Hooch!"

With his mind still on Quidditch, Harry's only concern was the person who'd be in charge of that.

"Which immediately opens another gap: that of the Flying teacher. I'm sure the surprise will be severely limited when I announce the new Flying teacher of Hogwarts is ..."

"VIKTOR KRUM!"

The shout had come from twenty-nine Squad members plus Hermione, although not too well synchronized.

"Exactly! This will fit well with the reduced involvement in Flying Squad duties. The Squad will of course continue to exist, at least until the end of the year, although more as an Emergency Squad than a team for regular duty. In short - Mr Krum keeps his old hat and gets the new one in addition."

Hermione beamed like a Christmas tree.

Harry remembered the conversation at the Delacour dinner table. A teacher at Hogwarts - it had been Hermione's plan, not Viktor's. On the other hand, Flying was a course mostly for first-years while otherwise, the task involved almost solely Quidditch organization. If Viktor really wanted to raise children and cattle, he would be able to combine both professions; until then, the Squad should be history.

---

"The other gap," said Dumbledore, "was opened by the loss of Hagrid. We need a new Keeper of Keys and Grounds. By some coincidence, this post seems to attract people who did wrong in the beginning and then found their true destination."

Harry had difficulties to follow. Who -

"There is a young man; his name is Damian Loew. He came to Hogwarts on a Firebolt - if you know what I mean. Although this was only yesterday, to him as well as others, me included, that seems long ago. Since then, he had time to think it over, and we had the opportunity to talk with him - after Miss Granger had the first and most interesting conversation with him."

Heads turned to Hermione. She showed an expression that might be called non-committal satisfaction.

"Coming to the point, Mr Loew agreed to take over the post of the Hogwarts Keeper of Keys and Grounds. His first year will be without payment, as atonement for his attempted attack, which failed mainly for his unwillingness to do it seriously. This penance was Mr Loew's own wish, although we feel it appropriate.

"However" - Dumbledore's voice rose - "should it so happen that, say, three or four months from now, a petition of students or teachers will come to me and say, 'Headmaster, our Keeper has earned our trust and confidence,' I wouldn't mind cutting the year to a shorter period."

A blood-red face at the teachers' table showed everybody which head belonged to said Damian Loew.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Is he the prisoner you examined?"

"Yes. He told us everything - including three names of the five attackers who fled ... We'll get them, and he'll give testimony."

"What do you think - does it make sense?"

Hermione shrugged. "He's no Hagrid - but then, imagine how it was when Hagrid got the job, after he'd messed up with his pet animal. Whatever our new Keeper is, he's not a dark wizard."

Dumbledore finished his speech with a request to the students and teachers to increase their contacts with Beauxbatons people. Hogwarts owed them, he said, and since there would be no opportunity to do something official until the end of the year, they were relying on private initiative.

Harry turned to his friend. "That we'll do, Ron, won't we?"

Ron was all smiling. "I'd guess that pretty soon you might get another invitation to a chateau, to tell stories to a ten-year-old. I hope you won't forget old friends then."

"Definitely not, although that's not the next step. I've invited Gérard and Marie-Christine to come tomorrow."

"Uh-oh - what's Cho's comment to that?"

Harry looked innocent. "What's that supposed to mean? Those two are closer than ever - the events have cleared things up for them as much as for some other people."

Mentioning those other people made Ron finally realize what Harry's announcement meant. "Only them? Why - "

"They were the only ones I found the time to talk with, you dummy. Remember what Dumbledore said - private initiative!"

Ron nodded, stood up, and left at once, no doubt heading either for Fleur or directly for the portkey link.

* * *

Harry went to the Ravenclaw table and sat down on a seat that had been occupied until moments ago. He grinned at Cho. "I like it with the rich and famous - especially if one of them - "

She interrupted him, obviously too concerned to honour jokes of any kind. "Do you think what I did was okay? Dumbledore's such a tricky guy - I never expected those awards."

"Nor did I - although there's nothing about the money that feels wrong to me, not after all those dark wizards we had to examine this morning. Besides - whatever you would have done, the money was yours, so the only difference is the medal, and that's something you really deserve, honestly."

Almyra nodded. "Absolutely."

Relieved to hear her decision confirmed, Cho changed tack at once. She stared at Almyra almost accusingly and said, "You fought with the Squad."

"So?"

"So you should have been honoured too."

Almyra waved dismissively. "I don't feel excluded, or ignored."

"Maybe so - but I feel too rich, compared to you. That's why I say we - "

"No! Under no circumstances!" Almyra tried to stare as menacingly at Cho, but she wasn't very successful.

Harry started to laugh.

Cho glared at him. "What's so funny?"

"A minute ago, I had almost the same conversation with Ron, except that then we didn't know yet about the award going to every Squad member."

Cho looked mollified. "And?"

"We split it." Harry grinned. "And then, next second, Dumbledore announced the award for each of us! You should have seen Ron's face."

"I think I did." Cho turned back to Almyra. "So, now - split?"

Almyra hesitated only an instant. "No."

"Do I have to get nasty?" growled Cho.

Almyra smiled. "You better not - Harry might help me."

Cho examined Harry's face. "You might be right ... Among Giants, refusing a present is a heavy insult - actually, among Chinese, too. So I'm really mad, which is why in a moment I'll go upstairs and tear a certain parchment apart, just for revenge."

Harry asked, "What parchment? ... Oh." A look at Almyra's pink face had given him the answer: the loan for the steno pen.

Almyra seemed very embarrassed. "That's unfair - it's even more than a split."

"Your own mistake." There was deep satisfaction in Cho's voice. "You know me well enough; you had your chance, but you messed up."

"Erm - thank you."

Harry said, "Far be it for me - "

Cho nodded. "Exactly."

"Far be it for me - ouch - to interfere with your negotiations, but there's still something about another agreement, and now's the right time." He looked at Almyra. "Ready?"

"What?" Cho had hardly issued the word when she grasped Harry's meaning. "Yes, of course - do you mind me coming with you?"

"We wouldn't go without you ..."

Cho looked pleased.

"... just to make sure you can distinguish Hedwig from Al. Ouch!"

Reaching the Owlery, they found Hedwig awake. Harry was welcomed with a gentle peck, then Hedwig saw Almyra and turned very excited.

Harry smiled. "Well, that answers any questions, doesn't it?" He plucked the owl from the bar. "Hedwig, old girl - we had a good time together, but now I have to take care of a snake, and you've found someone who'd like to share a few night trips with you. So, thanks for your help during all those years."

He turned. "Al, old owl - here, she's yours."

"Thank you." Almyra had only eyes for the owl. "Hello, Hedwig - I'm sure we'll have a good time, too, what do you think?"

Harry grabbed Cho's hand. "Let's go."

* * *

It was Saturday morning, breakfast time - a late breakfast, nothing to do for the classes that would be held regularly again as of Monday - the enemy was beaten, and O.W.L.s ... who could seriously think about O.W.L.s on the first free day after a week that had brought hard work and dramatic events?

Hermione could.

"Honestly," growled Ron, "that girl really can spoil your fun."

Fun? Ron had announced he would - after another cup - be found in the office, busily cleaning up the mess of parchments that had piled up there the day before, and had asked Harry to call him in time before the guests from Beauxbatons arrived.

What he really meant was, Harry should call him in time before the funeral, which was scheduled at two o'clock.

Sirius came through the hall and reached their table. "Harry, Dumbledore's asking whether you have time to speak with him."

"Something in particular?"

"Oh - well, just the weather, and your educated guess about the favourites for the next Quidditch cup ..."

At least the reply had brought back Ron's good humour.

"Got it ... I'm coming."

Having entered Dumbledore's office, Harry didn't recognize the person in the guest chair immediately, also because his vision was further obscured by an excited Fawkes. An instant later, though, the woman turned and showed two rows of white teeth.

Rita Skeeter.

Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling. "Harry, please sit down. You certainly remember Rita Skeeter. We were discussing press strategies, and - erm, your name came up. So I agreed to invite you, without any commitment, for a first discussion of the issue."

Harry turned to Rita Skeeter. "Then I should call my press agent."

She nodded. "Certainly. Who is it, by the way?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Oh - I see."

"Only joking." Harry looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to be having trouble staying serious. "Professor, as far as I'm concerned, there's absolutely nothing to - "

Dumbledore's soothing gesture stopped him. "As I said, Harry, this is without any committment. Your reaction is no surprise, and because Rita expected this response she asked me to be present - she had the feeling that otherwise you might flatly refuse to talk with her."

"Well, for once, she's correct."

"Just because it's not yet printed," was the woman's reply. It seemed downright impossible to insult her.

"My dear Rita," smiled Dumbledore, "your cynicism is so heart-warming, which is why I always forgive you."

For what Harry could see, Rita took this remark as a compliment. And slowly, it dawned on him: Dumbledore didn't give a damn about whether Rita Skeeter managed to talk with him, unless he had a personal - or official - interest.

"Professor, what's the real reason for this invitation?"

They both looked satisfied, deepening Harry's suspicion.

"Rita's interest is obvious," explained Dumbledore, "she wants to write articles about the Battle of Hogwarts, and for that she wants all the information she can get - plus a bit more."

Rita Skeeter nodded.

"So far," continued the Headmaster, "it's perfectly normal. I, on the other hand, want to achieve a result from this press activity, and suddenly you see Rita and myself in the same boat."

Rita Skeeter began, "What he has in mind, Harry - may I call you Harry?"

"No."

The witch smiled. "What he has in mind, young man, is a press campaign to get rid of Fudge."

"Oh ... By the way, considering the alternatives, call me Harry."

The witch smiled wider. "It's a pleasure to work with you, Harry - call me Rita."

---

Harry didn't care much one way or the other, only Dumbledore's request kept running through his mind. He said, "I take it, Rita - you want interviews, right?"

"Absolutely, Harry. Do you know how a press campaign works?"

"I'm not sure - Rita."

"It's a sequence of hits below the belt, not to forget kicks in the privates. Anyway, it plays with emotions and prejudices, and facts are just good for placing another insult. Everybody knows Fudge is a jerk, but that's not enough. What we need are stories like this: because the Ministry was unable to send Law Enforcement, your friend Hagrid had to die ... See the picture?"

Harry swallowed.

"I'm being frank with you, Harry - outside a press article, I'm honest and trustworthy. I stand by my word; the tricky part is getting it." For a change, Rita smiled at the Headmaster.

Stand by her word ... words - written by a ...

Harry saw his chance. "Okay, Rita, here's what I offer: interviews with me and Cho, with Ron, with Almyra, with Viktor and Hermione too - "

"You mean I wouldn't get the others without you, Harry?"

It was Dumbledore who answered. "You wouldn't, Rita."

She nodded. "Go ahead."

"... and with Nagini."

"Who's Nagini?"

"Voldemort's snake."

On Rita's face appeared pure, undiluted greed. "And what do I have to do for these treasures, Harry?"

"Two things. The first is a gratuity."

Rita Skeeter looked surprised, then her face went wry. "How much?"

"One of those writing quills, for Ron."

The witch inhaled sharply. "Do you know what they cost, Harry?"

"No - and I don't want to know. I just want a quill."

"Hrrmm ... And the second?"

"In the same press campaign, or maybe another one, you clean up Sirius Black."

"The Azkaban escapee?" Rita seemed astonished. "Why?"

"Because he's innocent."

"Who cares about that? What's your personal involvement? I mean, aside from the fact that everybody thought he was after you?"

Harry didn't answer - any remark felt too risky.

Rita beamed. "You're a quick learner, Harry. So just for your information, making Sirius shine is a key part of the campaign, here you've been storming open doors ..."

So her questions had just been an attempt to squeeze him for information! Well, as she'd said - he was learning quickly.

Rita's expression grew business-like. "Do we agree, Harry, that I can use the interview material in my own style? I have to hit the crying nerve, and the angry nerve, so I have to tune it a bit."

"So far, we don't agree on anything, Rita - except that Fudge's a jerk."

"You get your quill - for the interviews and free hand with them."

He was hesitating.

"Relax, Harry - I'm going to bite Fudge, not the hand that feeds me. All I need is the right to turn the answers of a sixteen-year-old with normal taste into lines of kitsch."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, that's the problem." Harry's own decision was clear. But as for the others ... Harry said, "You'll have my answer - our answer - in half an hour. I need to talk with the others about this tuning, Rita."

Fifteen minutes later, he had all of them together in Ron's office. First, he told them what Rita Skeeter wanted and for which purpose, careful not to call her Rita.

Hermione didn't say anything; she just kept looking wonderingly at him.

Ron said, "It's certainly a good cause, but you know what you have to expect, Harry, don't you?"

"Yes - but we get something else."

"What?"

"One of those writing quills - for this office here, to be borrowed every now and then."

Five seconds later, he had their approval.

* * *

The place was full. Row after row, teachers and students stood in a half-circle around the two open graves - Flitwick's to the left, Hagrid's directly in front of Harry. The vicar from Hogsmeade was speaking, rasping on Harry's nerves, making it impossible for him to map the words to Hagrid's picture in his mind.

His composure was ruptured further when Fang, the boarhound, started to wail in the nearby hut.

"The Lord hath it given ..."

The two coffins looked as if the double funeral was for a grown-up and a child.

"... the Lord hath it taken ..."

A ripple of emotion ran through the mourners - the traditional words were a bit too literally true, although it had been the Dark Lord.

"Praise the name of the Lord."

"Amen."

Dumbledore and McGonagall raised their wands and murmured. The two coffins moved forward, then stopped right above the holes. Slowly, they descended out of view.

Dumbledore stepped forward and looked down into Hagrid's grave. "Farewell, Hagrid, my friend. I trusted you with my life, and I was right - you gave yours for us." The Headmaster turned to Flitwick's grave.

The huge figure of Madame Maxime came forward. She was murmuring in a low tone, then her voice stopped. A dry sob, before she took the shovel. Harry heard the thud of the earth on the coffin.

Fang was howling.

Why didn't they proceed?

Cho pushed him gently and whispered, "They're waiting for you."

With his vision blurred, Harry stepped forward. Half turning, he nodded to Ron and Hermione, who came forward to join him at the open grave. As far as he could see, Hermione didn't look better than he himself, while Ron seemed a bit more composed - maybe you could handle such things better when you had to bury your own brother two days afterwards.

"Hagrid ... We're here to say goodbye to you, and to thank you for everything." About to turn, Harry stopped. "And don't worry, we'll take care of Fang. Bye."

They walked over to the second grave, where they joined the waiting queue. After a moment, Harry could see more clearly.

Hermione asked, "Any idea what to do with Fang?"

"I spoke with Sirius," replied Harry, "but that's all that came to my mind so far. He said he doesn't even know where he himself will be next, so ..."

Ron said, "I was thinking of my parents, but he's just too big for that small house."

"Yeah - it doesn't fit any better than the idea of Sirius - or Lupin, just because ..."

"I'll ask Grubbly-Plank," said Hermione. "She might have an idea."

Harry let other people pass him in the queue while he waited for Cho. The last reverence for Flitwick would be simpler, but he wanted to do it together with her - after their encounter in the patrol exam, it seemed the only reasonable way.

Then it was done, and they waited until Almyra joined the group.

Harry wanted to have a look at Fang and his water bowl, so they walked to the hut. Inside, Fang showed excitement at finding so many visitors to be welcomed with wagging and licking and sniffing.

Harry was grateful when Almyra grabbed the dog; his own balance of emotions in this hut felt too fragile.

---

To Hermione, Ron asked, "Do you know where Loew will be?"

"No - but I can't imagine him here. He's not an option either."

Cho said, "I think I know what to do with Fang."

Hermione glanced suspiciously - after all, Cho was Chinese, and for them, a dog could mean food.

Cho saw it and grinned. "Calm down - I mean, I know someone to give him a good place."

Hermione blushed, although not much.

Harry asked, "Who?"

"Wait and see. I can't guarantee anything, but I have a feeling."

When Almyra was ready to let go of the dog, they marched up to the school buildings. Behind them, the crowd was leaving the burial site.

"Well," said Harry, "he's gone."

In the Entrance Hall, two people were coming toward them - Viktor and Fleur. Viktor said, "Squad meeting in fifteen minutes."

Fleur said, "Ron, 'arry - your guests have arrived."

"What meeting?"

"What guests?"

"What room?"

A second later, six people tried to speak simultaneously, with Almyra as the only one who wasn't joining.

As quickly as it had started, the chaos faded. Harry agreed to attend a meeting on such short notice, provided special guests were allowed.

Cho agreed to do the same, provided her guest was Almyra.

Viktor agreed to allow special guests, provided they would behave, and his own would be Hermione.

"That's a contradiction in itself," said Ron.

Hermione snapped back, "Did someone tell Janine what a bad mistake she's going to make?"

Then Cho wanted to know which other guests were waiting.

Harry said, "Gérard and Marie-Christine. I invited them."

Two faces were looking suspiciously at him - Cho's and Almyra's.

"I met them in our hall at the evening of the battle. They've fought with us - at least, they were ready to do it in case the others stormed the entrance, which is just as well."

"And what else?"

Harry grinned. "Come and see."

They found them waiting in the Great Hall. By the time the first hello was over, Ron and Janine had left the group.

Cho eyed Gérard, then Marie-Christine. "I have the feeling some priorities have changed recently - or am I mistaken?"

For once, Gérard wasn't the first to answer. "No," replied Marie-Christine, "you're not mistaken - although 'arry promised to tell us everything about your fight with Voldemort."

"Then let's go," said Harry. "The Squad's waiting."

Five minutes later, they were sitting in a classroom, after Harry had introduced all the special guests, earning a thankful glance from Ron when he presented Janine as "one of the back-up fighters from Beauxbatons", and after suppressing his own grin, because a pair of open eyes was all anyone needed to see how things stood between Ron and his special guest.

Viktor marched to the front. "Okay, folks - officially, this meeting follows our good tradition of exchanging information, experiences, and opinions - only that today all of us will contribute" - with a glance toward Almyra - "including what I might call 'flying personnel outside the Squad'."

He grinned. "So much for the official title. But unofficially, and after I've announced what has to be said about our schedule for the next weeks, this is just a chat round: everybody wants to hear everything, and from everyone."

---

And so they did.

Harry listened in fascination when the others told their stories how they'd fought the Firebolt attackers, and how they'd started to fly stun attacks toward the dark wizards, even the last member following when they saw Voldemort locked in the light sphere, while the twins were throwing dust bombs in pairs, with Lee Jordan ready to enervate them in case of a stun hit.

Every now and then, Harry and Cho had to explain details in French. Otherwise, their guests could follow, and did so with shining eyes. Marie-Christine looked like a little girl at Christmas.

Then it was their own turn.

Cho spoke first, telling a breathless audience how she had crushed Malfoy and then ridden a wide arc before returning to the ship, where she had waited for the sphere to fade, so she could see Harry and Voldemort struggling with a wand.

"Why didn't you use your wand?" asked a Ravenclaw Beater.

Cho shrugged. "It wasn't exactly a decision. Everything happened so fast, and from that angle - I'm righthanded, and all I could think was I must make sure that he's not going to curse Harry. Well, he didn't."

"And then, after you came back?"

"That's Harry's story."

Harry grinned. "She was teasing Voldemort ... Drove him nuts. She said - what was it? Oh, yes, 'What's this beanpole doing with your wand, Harry?' He just couldn't stand it." But of course, he had to start at the moment of his touchdown.

After finishing his story, he showed his wand. "Here - the top, that's what's left of Voldemort's wand. It's awfully powerful, but I can take it off." He demonstrated how the wand could be sized down to his old one, then put the top back.

Marie-Christine asked, "What made you hold wand against wand, 'arry?"

"Beats me ..."

She hadn't understood.

"It wasn't planned. All I knew was, it's the wand that has to do the fight. I wasn't sure if I could counter Voldemort's curse at exactly the same moment, and so I thought, stop him before the spell. And when the two wands crossed, there was a feeling - I simply knew that this was the right thing to do."

Then he had to tell the audience how they'd found Nagini, and of course, he had to explain why he and Nagini knew each other so well, and how it all had started.

This took him off the hook, because now the Squad wanted to hear Almyra's story. In particular, they wanted to know how it was to be an eagle and to dive down, attacking a broomstick rider.

This angle in the story was fine with Almyra, who had skipped her Parseltongue study as quickly as possible, though to the great disappointment of Marie-Christine.

Finally, Hermione had to tell the story of how she'd interrogated the prisoner, and what he'd said, and what kind of man it was who now held the job of the Hogwarts groundskeeper.

"I think he's the right choice," finished Hermione. "I mean, Dumbledore really has a touch with putting people at the right places - Hagrid, Snape, Lupin, Black. And besides, groundskeeper isn't the most challenging job. He'll do fine."

Afterwards, at supper, while Marie-Christine was looking around, watching the teachers' table with great interest - mainly for Snape and Lupin - Harry watched Gérard and his casual handling of the Hogwarts drinks.

"Don't you want something stronger?" he asked.

Gerard gave him a quick grin. "No ... Normally, to such a question, I should have said, 'The best British wine is the one left in the bottle', except that recently I've taken to - er, skipping some remarks, and some drinks, too. And besides, there are things stronger than liquor."

"Oh yes," admitted Harry.

A fine pink showed in Marie-Christine's face. But maybe it had to do with Snape and Lupin, who both were looking toward the Gryffindor table and smiling.

* * *

Sunday morning, Harry's breakfast came earlier than usual, and shorter, too. The reason, the same which caused even Cho to leave the table and follow him outside, stood before the building: a very impressive group of Giants, in loose march formation, with Lleyrin in front.

They had come to say goodbye.

Seeing Harry and Cho, the Giants smiled and waved. It didn't look as precise and military-like as something similar from the Goblins, but then, this might have been a matter of perspective.

Lleyrin bent down. "Harry Potter and Cho Chang, my thoughts will be with you. We'll wait for the day when we see each other again."

Cho said, "Lleyrin - please wait for me," and spun off.

Harry asked the Giant chief how long they expected to be on the road. The first of them would be at home tomorrow morning, replied Lleyrin, and those with the longest way back home around tomorrow evening. Harry was told that their next meeting would be in Lleyrin's home valley, as the Giants saw no reason to visit Hogwarts again, and that Lleyrin's home would wait for the honour.

Toward a human, Harry might have asked, "Are you happy to be going home?" But this wasn't a human, and Giants had a way of dealing with stupid questions -

Cho appeared. In her hand was a leash, and at the leash's other end was Fang. Cho gasped a bit.

"Lleyrin - I'm not sure whether I should call it a present. His name is Fang - he was Hagrid's dog."

Lleyrin stroked Fang, whose tail had disappeared between the hind legs. Harry said, "Well - he's kind of a coward. Don't rely on him too much."

"A coward," replied Lleyrin, "is the true hero's first stage."

Effortlessly, he took Fang into his arms and stood up. The boarhound squeaked first, but calmed down quickly. A careful snout came up and explored the unknown territory while the dog's eyes were examining the magnificent view.

"Cho Chang - I'm not sure either whether this is a present for me, anyway I know someone who'll be delighted."

"I'm glad about that, Lleyrin. Will you tell me who this someone is?"

Lleyrin the Fist, narrator of a story about a Giant near waters, gave her a faint smile. "I thought you would know, Cho Chang - who else but my wife, Seselith in June?"