Harry Potter and the Magical Tours

In the time left until the match against the Slytherins, Ron pushed his team through a last series of training sessions. He did so almost as mercilessly as Oliver Wood had done, with one significant difference - only in the evening, not at the crack of dawn, and this was enough to earn him more praise than complaints from his teammates.

In these first days of March, the weather presented itself unfriendly, alternatively offering cold rain and not so cold rain, once even snow. Buzzing at high speed through a haze of snow had a hypnotizing effect - if you had to use your eyes for this task. When using getsumai no michi instead, as Harry did, there was no difference at all.

The three Firebolts Two in the team created a significant impact on their tactics, most of all Ginny's. Within her basic role as a Chaser, Ginny received the special job of a Hunter. When the other team held the Quaffle, it would be her task to intercept, coming from behind, while Katie and Alicia were supposed to block the path as much as possible. Conversely, when they were running an attack together, Ginny had to stay behind Katie and Alicia - until, suddenly and surprisingly, she would push forward at full force, taking over the Quaffle and using the Firebolt's superior acceleration, this way slipping through the barriers formed by the other team.

From a Quidditch perspective, Ron's decision regarding his Goblin Request had been the only one possible, as Harry and Ron became quickly aware. Since the moment Ron could cope with Harry's sprints, their synchronization ran worlds better than before. They felt sure to beat the other Beaters, were nonetheless busy to practise the strategy as suggested by Fleur.

Ron had explained the strategy to the girls, and of course he had done so by quoting Fleur as much as himself - with the result that Harry would be teased a lot by the three Chasers. Katie, for example. Guarded by him, flying at high speed with the Quaffle toward the goalposts, she called, "Harry - it was wonderful, but now you've got to leave."

Alicia, supposed to catch the Quaffle, failed miserably, hardly able to hold her broomstick while twisting in a bad fit of giggles.

Ginny seemed less amused.

At least Ginny could smile when it was Alicia's turn, flying with the Quaffle and then, close to the goal, squeaking with a high-pitched voice, "Gerroff me - gerroff me!"

Her own version was short and simple. "Get lost!"

When practising with Rahewa, Harry used the superior speed to force the girl into all kinds of abrupt manoeuvers - lightweight movability versus heavyweight speed. Rahewa would not be handicapped in the coming match, only Harry was already thinking ahead - when playing against the Ravenclaws, Rahewa would face a real Firebolt Two, driven by a Cho who mustered hardly more weight.

Which didn't mean Harry would call that weight insignificant, not at all, actually, except this had little to do with Quidditch ...

After their training sessions, the Gryffindors used the recreation rooms to warm up again, feeling blessed to have them at hand and - this late in the evening - for themselves. Three rooms for seven people would, basically, suggest simple math - Katie and Alicia in the first, Ginny and Rahewa in the second, Harry, Ron, and Wynton in the third. Only that Katie had a tendency to vote for a different math. At the beginning, for example, she insisted to get first-hand guidance how to deal with this hot water, which from her perspective could only be given by Harry.

He did - it was simpler than starting an awkward discussion why Ginny would be equally suited to the task. And surely enough - as soon as Katie sat in the hot water tub for the first time in her life, she had other trouble than playing teasing games.

Some days later, when Katie again suggested a different mix, it was Ginny who broke the game. She grabbed Wynton, said, "All right - we're in the first room," and disappeared with him through the door, a speechless Katie staring after her.

Only Rahewa's face didn't move while listening to Katie's remarks. She wasn't even embarrassed when, one evening, called by Ginny because Rahewa had been badly hit by a Bludger, Harry came over to cure it away.

---

Nonetheless, there was something on her mind, and it had to do with him. Harry could feel it, but he couldn't ask - not because he didn't know which words to use, only he knew there would be no answer.

So it was Rahewa herself who found the courage to ask, two days before the match. They were sitting in Gryffindor Tower, nobody else close. Out of the blue, Rahewa asked, "Ron has got the Firebolts for him and Ginny from a Goblin Request, right?"

Harry nodded - within the team, Ron had seen no reason for making a secret of the origin.

"Did you get a Request too?"

"No, only Ron."

"Why not you?"

Harry explained his bond with the Goblins, and why a Personal Request for him would have been much worse than none.

Rahewa understood immediately. Still, she asked, "So it has nothing to do with what Ron did, or what you did?"

"No, certainly not. Without the Privileged from last year, I'm sure they would have given me the same."

Rahewa looked up. "Maybe more?"

"No, I don't think so. You know, a Request is not like a grading in school - aside from that, Ron's task was crucial enough."

Rahewa kept silent for a moment, then she said, "If I catch the snitch day after tomorrow ..."

When the sentence didn't finish, Harry felt a slight challenge to know what Rahewa meant, and to answer directly. Except he felt a stronger impulse to challenge back, and so he asked, "Then what?"

"Can I ask you something then?"

"Maybe you can ask right now."

"Yes, but ... It feels right only then."

"You mean, as a present?"

Rahewa nodded.

Of course Harry knew what she wanted to hear and saw no longer any reason for playing dumb. "Don't you know already what happened in Middle Station?"

"Yes, but ..." She looked at him, not showing any surprise that he knew what she wanted. "I'd like so much to hear it from you."

A story how he'd killed a man - maybe not by intention, although this might have been the case a moment later ... The heart's desire of a girl wo had attacked a man twice her weight, almost twice her age, to protect him.

Harry nodded. "It's a deal. You catch the snitch, and I'll tell you every detail."

* * *

The Ravenclaws had played the Slytherins with Cho still using a normal Firebolt from the Hogwarts pool, and they had slaughtered them twenty-six to four. Harry had of course seen the match, had drawn his own conclusions. Since then, however, things had changed - for example in some players' equipment.

For this reason, it would be informative discussing matters with someone from the Ravenclaw team, although maybe difficult, especially with the candidate Harry had in mind. But then, he saw more reasons - in the evening before the match, your mind tended to rotate endlessly around the same thought, which did no good, and besides ... So he invited Cho and Almyra in Gryffindor Tower.

Seeing the two girls, Ron stared at Harry with reproach in his face. "Are you mad? She's competition!"

Before Harry could answer, Rahewa wheeled around toward Ron and hissed, "She's Harry's guest!" sending a look from two burning eyes which made Ron shut up, still more surprised than a moment before.

Nonetheless, Cho had heard his remark. She smiled at Ginny. "Belinda was right - even after Percy, your father didn't stop improving."

Katie and Almyra could hardly calm down, while poor Ron was sitting there with burning cheeks. Sure, Weasleys came with a sharp tongue as a natural gift, but Ron, more used to Janine's style of controversial discussions, had entered the ring not fully prepared for the Chang class.

Toward the girls, more exactly toward the smaller one of them, Harry said, "We hoped you would tell us a bit about the Slytherin team."

Cho looked at him. "Oh - do I have to sing and dance for my invitation?"

"That may come afterwards. But first let's talk about Quidditch."

Almyra started to chuckle, couldn't stop, receiving an angry glance from Cho, who replied, "Oh, c'mon, your team is good enough, generally speaking ..." She looked pointedly at Ron. "I don't see any chance - er, risk that the Slytherins can beat you."

Ron had recovered. "Right now, you might as well support us. Whatever happens, it's only the match between our two teams which will decide about the placement."

Cho smiled at him. "My dear Gryffindor captain, you have to improve also in math. If you lose that match, we can lose against you and still win the cup - simply by scoring higher, which isn't too complicated, considering your first result ..."

Ron looked as if stung by a bee.

"... while if you win, we have to beat you in any case - not that I'm worried about that, mind you ..."

Harry put in. "Tell us something about Paul Larmer." Paul Larmer was the Slytherin Seeker.

"Okay ... Frankly, he wasn't up to the task in our match." Cho looked at Rahewa. "He may have improved since December, but even so, he's just no natural, as simple as that."

Rahewa listened attentively, her expression unchanging.

Harry asked, "A second Draco?"

Cho grinned. "Paul is nice, but maybe that's the only difference. They had a real loss with Bob leaving Hogwarts. And Paul's much heavier than Rahewa, so there's a speed advantage" - she grinned broader - "in that match."

Harry said quickly, "And that match's the only one we are discussing right now."

Cho smiled. "Okay, okay."

Alicia asked, "And their Chasers?"

"Hmm ... You've seen them; I wonder if I can tell you more. The Quaffle score alone was eleven to four, but they had a bad start, I won't say our Chasers were that much better." Cho wrinkled her nose. "To be honest, I think the Gryffindor Chasers are still the best, and our only way to beat you is - oops, we should discuss only the next game."

After her compliment, nobody objected to this small glitch.

Ginny said, "The Slytherins are the only team without a girl. Does it mean anything?"

Cho grinned. "I guess it means a lot, while for the match, I don't know. Most of their Chasers and Beaters never played against so many girls - it may give you a head start." She laughed. "But once you've scored twice, they'll have lost any reluctance to hit you as hard as they can."

Ron asked, "And their Beaters?"

As a first answer, Cho gave him another special look, a reminder that Ron didn't really deserve an answer, while she in her borderless mercy was putting politeness over revenge. This settled, she said, "Adrian's good. You're lucky we have the new rules - he knows quite a number of nasty tricks."

Harry remembered the last game against the Slytherins - a fight in which scoring with the Quaffle occurred as a random side effect more than anything else. However, at that time, terms between the houses had been different.

"Nigel is new," continued Cho, "but he's a real artist. In terms of accuracy, I'd say he comes closest to Harry."

Suddenly, most Gryffindor members had a funny expression in their face, as if barely avoiding a laugh. Cho saw it - fortunately, she took it for something else, something she preferred not to comment upon.

Katie asked, "What do you think of Simon?" Simon Ryerson was the Slytherin Keeper.

Cho shrugged. "Don't ask me. The others said he was one of the reasons why we could lead five-zero so quickly, but ..." She glanced at Wynton. "You've seen him - what do you think?"

Wynton looked apologetical. "I've been concentrating more on their Chasers; the other Keeper isn't my problem. Otherwise, I agree. A score that could have been held can drive you so mad for a few minutes - then you really look bad."

For the rest of the evening, the conversation turned to other topics, with just the effect Harry had hoped for - nobody in the team, he himself in first place, was biting nails, or hairs, at the thought of tomorrow's match.

And Ron had taken a lesson about the right time for remarks, as he showed the next day, giving his pre-match speech. "As we've heard yesterday so convincingly," he began, "we're better than the Slytherins in almost every position - that's what Cho said. But she was just trying to lure us into some reckless confidence. Of course we're better, but if we don't concentrate, if we think the match is already won, we've lost before we started."

"Okay, Ron," replied Katie, "we've heard you - now let's start so we can win."

Maybe Ron had intended to say more, only the team took Katie's remark literally and got up, heading toward the Quidditch pitch.

---

Lee Jordan's voice came through the loudspeakers. "And there are the Gryffindors in their scarlet robes ... Red against green - in a minute, we'll have to concentrate on Quidditch, while until then, you can't help thinking that the Gryffindors should lend two of their girls to the Slytherins, just for good balance - only I don't think Ron Weasley, the Gryffindor captain, would agree to that ..."

The Gryffindor captain was shaking hands with Adrian Pucey, his colleague, who looked tense - naturally so, because either the Slytherins won the match, or they were out of the race for the Hogwarts cup.

Harry watched Adrian, watched also Nigel Humphries, the second Slytherin Beater. What he sensed was fierce determination - a good sign, those two were so eager to show their skill, they would keep the Bludgers in the game.

"... Two ... One ..." Viktor's whistle pierced into his ears.

Harry shot up, caught the game from the very first second, his senses gripping the wheelwork of figures, speeds, and actions. Chris Curlington and Eugene Hammett, two of the Slytherin Chasers, were approaching closely together, the Quaffle sent back and forth between them. Harry saw Ron coming toward a Bludger, saw the point where the Bludger would be hit, the point where Chris and Eugene would be at the time the Bludger had reached him, sped forward ...

The Bludger came pelting, was there. Harry's club came up, his eyes fixed on Chris, then the club swung downward, forward, sent the Bludger - and Chris saw it, had waited for this moment, was passing the Quaffle over to Eugene.

Only the Bludger wasn't zooming toward Chris. It shot toward Eugene straight as an arrow, would reach him the same instant as the Quaffle.

Eugene made the mistake to seize for the Quaffle.

The Bludger hit him hard into the stomach. Eugene coughed, dropped the Quaffle, which was trundling through the air, then Eugene started gasping for air in earnest, losing all interest in Quidditch for the next minutes.

Totally in contrast to Alicia, who stood closest, caught the Quaffle, sent it to Ginny, who had been behind, now the one closest to the other goal.

Harry had pushed forward the moment after hitting the Bludger. He passed Eugene, hit the same Bludger again, this time sent toward Ron, raced forward to take his position at Ginny's side, following her toward Simon, lonely Simon in the Slytherin goal, who had no one else to help him - too suddenly had the change occurred.

"... SCORE! SCORE! Ginny scores for Gryffindor - forty seconds in the game, not quite a record but almost. And Eugene still looks bad, and Adrian looks mad, really mad, and you know what this ..."

Adrian Pucey - mad he was as a captain, mad as a Beater, mad enough to forget all tactics. He tried to shoot Bludgers at Harry, with disastrous effects for the game because they bounced off Harry's club, miraculously whooshing toward obstacles in the path of Katie and Alicia.

For a change, Harry sent a Bludger, shot at closest range toward him, back to Adrian, hitting the Slytherin captain hard in the ribs.

Adrian forgot about Bludgers, came on with his club raised - in the middle, had this been kenjutsu. Harry parred, his own club coming from above, crashing Adrian's down.

He sneered, "Wanna see the yellow card?"

He should have used his superior speed to escape. Viktor's whistle cut in - penalties against both teams, for using a club toward a player.

Alicia started, raised her arm to shoot - no, to send Simon into the wrong corner while the Quaffle sailed leisurely through the wide open goal. Seven to zero for Gryffindor.

Joseph Walsh started, pushed, reaching full speed, shooting the Quaffle as hard as he could. The red ball zoomed across, into the corner where Wynton had arrived a split second earlier, moving exceptionally fast for his standards. Still seven to zero for Gryffindor.

Adrian sobered up enough to call for a time-out. Unfortunately, calling for a time-out required that his team held the Quaffle. Unfortunately, until then, the score reached eight to zero for Gryffindor.

Down at the ground,Ron grinned. "Was a nice game so far ... I guess now it will turn a bit more difficult, unless Harry can do the same trick again."

---

Ron was right. The Slytherins had realized that there were some superior broomsticks in the other team, and that this team included a Beater who should be kept away from Bludgers. They started a game without Bludgers, a slow one in which manoeuvering was trump.

For several minutes, nobody scored. Then the Slytherins made their first point.

Harry tried to appear more promising again, hunting Bludgers and sending them the wrong direction. The first effect - Eugene Hammett scored again for the Slytherins.

The second effect was that Nigel Humphries - a moment later, when Ginny, guided by Harry, tried a speed attack alone - sent a Bludger to Adrian who was waiting in good position.

The Bludger raced toward Ginny, was hit by Harry's club, bounced off into nowhere, rather than clearing the path ahead. As if angry about his failure, Harry drove a narrow arc - Ginny might score or not, at any rate, it was too late for another Bludger.

Ginny didn't score.

Harry got the Bludger again in midfield, in good position to send it toward Chris Curlington.

"... comes the Bludger, and poor Chris will ... no, Harry missed again, for the second time in sequence, and Chris is through, Quaffle goes to Joseph, Katie tries to block, Quaffle back to Chris whose path is free, and in a second he'll test Wyn - ouch, that must hurt ..."

The Bludger, sent by Harry after receiving it from Ron, hit Chris in the back, exactly at the shoulder blade, an instant before Chris was ready to shoot. The Quaffle fell from a suddenly powerless arm, and Alicia was there, took it, shot it toward Ginny who pushed forward, leaving behind all Slytherins who just couldn't follow.

Guarding Ginny, Harry saw - felt - Adrian as the only player still in the way, not enough to block Ginny, unless he got a Bludger, and except he was trying a body attack ... and there came the Bludger, was sent into the air by Harry, Harry who suddenly lost speed, almost collided with Adrian, in this crucial moment in which Adrian had seen a chance for a collision with Ginny - and then it was too late, and Harry shot already back toward the closest Bludger while Ginny dumped the Quaffle through a goal, too close, too fast for any reaction from Simon. Nine to two for Gryffindor.

The Slytherins tried another position play at low speed, did it quite well, finished with a shot into Wynton's low-speed arms.

Running the counter attack, at Katie's side, Harry saw two other broomsticks buzzing through the air - Rahewa and Paul Larmer, almost side by side, Rahewa slightly ahead.

Then he saw the Snitch - a second before Rahewa, bending sidewards, grabbed it, to push upward and to the side, driving her Firebolt into a looping of sheer joy before she shot down, incredibly steep, to stall in the last moment.

Harry reached her first.

Rahewa held the twisting Snitch, her face beaming. "You owe me a story." Then her fist pounded onto the ground. The match was over - twenty-four to two for Gryffindor.

In Gryffindor Tower, with the usual guests, Ron turned to Cho. "Now the math is simple enough even for me - if you lose against Hufflepuff, we can lose against you - provided it's not more than one point."

"It's not impossible - we lose a player by a red card, your Chasers knock us flat, until I get the Snitch just in time ... We've seen such games, haven't we?"

Ron started to explain why this scenario was so unrealistic, and that his remark had to be understood as covering the extreme, while in practice there was a much simpler solution, meaning ...

Rahewa glanced at Harry. "Until they're finished with that discussion, we have time enough."

Harry saw the expectant look. "You want every detail, right?"

Yes, definitely so.

"Then it's impossible now - I was in those tunnels for more than an hour."

Rahewa swallowed - of course Harry was right, the codex of honouring guests couldn't be broken, only she was still an eleven-year-old who had hoped ...

Harry found the solution. "I met this man three times, and I was attacked each time - for compensation, because we have to delay it until tomorrow, I'll tell you about the other occasions, too."

This was more than acceptable.

A week later, in the Quidditch stadium as a spectator, Harry watched how the Hufflepuffs scored twelve times against the three goals of the Ravenclaws Chasers before Cho outperformed William Chadwick effortlessly with her Firebolt Two.

Eighteen to twelve for Ravenclaw. Harry looked to Ron at his side, who nodded grimly - this math was the simplest of all. In little more than two months, they would play against today's winner in the Hogwarts Cup Final.

* * *

Easter was lying ahead, and it would bring a short break. However, the weekend before Easter seemed still more important for many students, at least when listening to their conversations which rotated around partners and dresses. Saturday would be the day of the Beauxbatons Ball.

From Harry's perspective, preparing for the ball meant some training sessions with his Cree - or not so Cree - dance formation, while issues like partners and dresses were settled, although still reason enough to talk with the former about the latter. He was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, after lunch, when he saw a well-known, yet totally unexpected figure.

His godfather. "Oy! Sirius!"

Sirius came over and had three different smiles for Harry, Cho, and Almyra; then he sat down.

"What are you doing here?"

"Didn't they tell you? Maybe it was planned as a surprise."

After this first teasing reply, Sirius explained that Dumbledore had invited him to do a presentation for the seventh-years and the sixth-years. Vocational counsel was the issue, and Sirius was supposed to roll the drums for the Law Enforcement Squad. He would start with the seventh-years, who had Defence immediately after lunch, then come to the sixth-years, who had Social Ethics first.

Sirius looked at Cho and Almyra. "What about you? How are the chances?"

Cho smiled sweetly. "For the Squad?"

Still busy to keep his face straight, Harry saw two other figures, not quite so well-known, equally unexpected although now he could guess the reason: Deborah and Paul.

When in doubt, invite them - even if it's not your table. "Oy! Deborah - Paul!"

They came over, raising a situation in which Harry felt sorry for his good manners - he had to introduce back and forth, while he would have preferred to watch the looks between Sirius and Deborah, in particular since one hadn't known of the other, here in Hogwarts.

Manners prevailed. Before the silence could go awkward, Harry turned to Paul. "So - at last, I've answered your question."

Paul nodded, smiling, while Almyra didn't have a clue.

"Some days ago," explained Harry, "when we met for the first time here and I asked you for your room, Paul wanted to know whether this was Miss Almyra Benedict. Only I didn't want to answer - not before I had fetched Nagini to test them a bit."

Several people looked relieved to have something to talk about that was as innocent as a mind-reading snake. After confirming that they would see each other in a short while, the three counsellers left to contact the class teachers - Sirius toward Snape, Deborah and Paul toward Professor Binns.

Cho watched them leave. When they were out of earshot, she turned to Harry, with a smile that looked a bit threatening. "Say, tricky Potter - you didn't tell us everything, did you?"

"Huh?"

"The way Sirius and that woman were looking at each other - "

"I couldn't see that - I was busy introducing people."

Cho smiled triumphantly. "Wrong answer, you lousy spy! You didn't ask how they were looking - which means you knew in advance."

Unable to resist any longer, Harry grinned broadly. "I'm still lacking details, but - after all, there's a limited variety, isn't it?"

Almyra made a sound which came suspiciously close to a giggle.

Cho glared at him. "And I was worrying because that woman is just the proper age for your taste. You must have been wetting your pants from laughing."

Almyra kept totally noiseless - hands pressed on her mouth, her stomach already twisting.

"I'm not - er ... Anyway - please call her Deborah. She's nice."

"Oh, is she? You better fill in the gaps quickly, and now!"

Harry confessed that parts of the interviews had been about more private issues, and that his last visit with Sirius had been surprisingly - no, not surprisingly, anyway short. "That's all I know," he finished. "You've seen the glances - how far has it developed?"

Cho turned to Almyra. "What's your guess?"

"Why do you ask me? You know Sirius as - er, as long as I."

Cho found the tact not to comment on that, and they agreed that, whichever level those two had reached, the rest was only a question of time.

---

When Deborah and Paul gave their presentation about journalism, they had a very interested listener - Neville Longbottom. Harry could imagine Neville as a writer quite easily, while he wondered how this bundle of twisting nerves would ever manage an interview with a reluctant customer. But apparently, Neville was aware of that problem - his questions confirmed it.

Paul showed the solution. "Miss Beckett and I work as a team to complete each other. We both have our strengths, so it's only natural to split tasks according to our preferences."

Parvati Patil had to grin about that, and Harry had to grin about Parvati.

Neville asked, "What's different between a newspaper and the WWN?"

Deborah answered. "In terms of work, less than you might expect. The people you hear talking are just the counterpart of the paper - behind the scene, it looks very similar."

Harry couldn't resist. "Think twice about the WWN, Neville."

Heads turned to him, including those of Deborah and Paul. And Neville himself, his voice slightly flippant. "Why? Because I'm not up to it?"

"No - you'd be an excellent moderator, I didn't forget your spector presentation ..."

Neville's expression changed to attentiveness.

"... but with the WWN, you'd have to be careful what to say. If you want to tell the truth, criticize people, you're better off with the Daily Prophet. Ask them." Harry pointed toward Deborah and Paul, who looked pleased.

Deborah started, "We're of course prejudiced ..."

The ghostly teacher gave the answer. "Unfortunately, Mr Potter is right. The Daily Prophet is not the only alternative - this newspaper tends to some exaggeration, whereas the Magical Times is a bit conservative, but the WWN is just too docile. They're owned by the wrong people."

Harry gaped at Binns. Once more, the translucent ghost had shown what Social Ethics could be, if not for his boring style. This seemed just another example where a twin team might do wonders.

Sirius' presentation was quite realistic - for the daily work of a Law Enforcement Squad member, with lots of boring tasks, demanding patience and stubbornness. Only, he found himself confronted with a tiny little problem - his own person being notorious for some recent undercover work, Snape notorious for the same, and whatever the other Gryffindors knew about Harry's activities was badly suited to emphasize regular Squad routine.

Sirius looked desperate. "I'm not here to promise dream careers - by the way, what you're interested in is not a dream but a nightmare ... I'd do you a bad favour if I'd recommend that - ask your teacher."

It was the wrong signal. All students wanted to hear exciting stories about hide-and-seek at the dangerous level.

"Listen," said Sirius, "even if you come out unharmed, you'll be fired from the Squad next thing - unless you have some strings to pull."

It made things worse. The students wanted to know about the strings, and it didn't help when neither Harry nor Ron could look as curious as the others. Altogether, it was a very interesting Defence lesson, while totally different from what Sirius had in mind. Anyway, a year from now, he would have a second chance.

Harry asked his godfather, "Did you find some candidates in the other class?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure. All I know is, we need people. After the recent clean-up, we're short of reliable Squad members."

"Did you find something else that looked promising?"

Sirius stared into an innocent-looking face. "In a few weeks, I'll invite my helpers to a party - plus some additional people. Until then, I'd recommend a virtue that would suit you well, since it's so poorly developed."

"There's such a virtue?" Harry grinned. "What on earth might that be?"

"In case you really don't know - to keep your nose out of other people's business."

"Now that surprises me - honestly."

His godfather didn't think so.

"Yeah, sure. I mean, if it was your love life, I'd know what you mean, while business - "

Sirius laughed. "It's not impossible to find an information leak somewhere else, but not with me."

This sounded like an excellent advice - unfortunately, Deborah had already left, and Harry couldn't help thinking Sirius had been fully aware of this fact when giving the hint.

* * *

Walking downstairs toward the Beauxbatons link gate, both Harry and Cho felt quite some expectation. They hadn't seen nor heard Marie-Christine since - well, since the Hogwarts ball. Somehow, something had prevented both sides from visiting each other, and a postcard would have looked just too ridiculous.

The first person they met was Oliver Wood, scheduled at the other side to guide people out of the gate. He smiled. "Brilliant performance, Cho, but do you really expect me to wish you luck?"

Harry grinned. "Why not? Because that's what she'll need; otherwise they won't have a chance."

Walking forward, Cho answered - into his ribs.

"Ouch - that's good for a penalty."

Cho kept her voice low. "With pleasure - but not here in public, and first there's a ball." It didn't sound like Quidditch, and Harry had a moment to think about the effect of balls toward Cho, and this effect's effect toward him.

Then they saw Marie-Christine.

She was alone - not a regular guest but a member of the organization team. It gave her the opportunity to join the event, and the school was glad for everyone ready to do some work. Beauxbatons standards demanded quite some people.

Cho asked, "Does it mean what I think it means?"

Marie-Christine grimaced. "Yes - we split, and it was a mess. We might find time for a talk later."

They reached their seats. Using Janine as the request channel, they had ordered twelve of them - Harry and Cho, Ron and Janine, Ginny and Wynton, plus Harry's dance group, which would appear later. The effect was that, for the time being, they had a roomy spot in an otherwise crowded hall.

Harry went behind the stage to talk with the conférencier, and to make sure his group would do their presentation before any other - partly to limit the period of nervousness among them, though mostly with respect to a very impatient eleven-year-old who could hardly wait to join the ball.

Coming back, he recognized the glass in front of Cho. Inside, fine bubbles were rising upward. He smiled. "You start early."

"No need to worry - I'll stop earlier this time. I really would like seeing a Beauxbatons ball to the end."

Ron and Janine laughed, remembering the previous year.

With the same memory in mind, Harry kept to his new favourite in the league of non-alcoholic drinks - Orangina. Basically a simple orange soda, Orangina offered a distinct taste found nowhere else, in particular when it was served in these funny little bottles which hardly filled a glass.

The conférencier opened the ball, and Harry was gliding with Cho across the parquet. He smiled, smelling the champagne in her breath.

She saw it. "A glass at the beginning - it gives you a kick start. You should've done the same."

"Later - when the presentation's over. This prairie grass charm is a bit tricky, and the parquet here is larger than in Hogwarts."

---

It was considerably larger, but there were also more people, filling the space to the limit. Cho had no objections to be pressed against him, helped even in this regard, giving Harry reason to ask, "Didn't you say you'd like to see the ball to the end?"

"Yes - why?" Cho's innocent voice was strangely out of sync with her body.

"Then maybe you should - er, keep dancing."

"You know, it's like with the champagne - it gives you ..."

"A kick start, yes - but please don't forget about a certain difference."

Cho giggled, kept a fraction of an inch more distance.

When Harry danced with Janine, he asked, "Are you celebrating?"

"Why - yes, sure." She hadn't understood.

"No - the anniversary, with you and Ron. It's not exactly the same day, but a year ago ... or do you count the Delacour visit?"

"Oh." Janine smiled. "Well - both. Maybe we celebrate just in the middle."

The anniversary of the Delacour visit would be tomorrow, and the middle ... Apparently, thought Harry, the effect of balls wasn't restricted to Cho. At least, Janine kept normal distance to him.

While on the subject ... Dancing with Ginny, Harry said, "Some temporary solutions seem to develop a long life."

She smiled. "I haven't got the foggiest of what you're talking about, Harry."

"Shall I spell?"

"Didn't we agree on something? I'm not asking you, you're not asking me - especially during balls."

Harry couldn't remember a promise not to ask Ginny, but even so, she was probably right. He definitely felt no need for increasing unbalanced states.

Then it was time to hurry behind the stage, to gather his six dancers, and to stand ready. The conférencier offered a big advantage - he made the announcement and saved Harry from doing it himself, so Harry could concentrate on his spell.

"... Grass Dance!"

The keyword. Harry moved forward into the light, while his group hurried to the side exits - Rahewa, Gabrielle, Chloé to one side, Damon, Fabien, and Philippe to the other.

"GRAMENALERE!"

It worked! Harry stood calmly, relieved when the spotlights turned away from him to illuminate the scene in front and below, three pairs in opposite positions, moving gracefully to the uncommon music.

The lights went out. Harry heard the almost inaudible shuffle from Rahewa's feet. How funny it would be if he didn't manage to re-establish the parquet - for the others, but even for them not very long.

Of course it worked. Harry could feel it even before the light exploded in their faces - three girls to his right, three boys to his left. They bowed, and again, accepting the applause.

There was no such thing as a free supper. The conférencier had done the announcement for him; now Harry had to pay by answering questions.

How it had started? Quite naturally, what with dances, and American Indians ...

Why just this group? Oh - more by accident than by anything else.

If they would continue? Certainly ... Harry managed to suppress the remark that it had to last three more years before Gabrielle could give a damn for Grass Dance.

If they would enlarge the group? That might be something to think about ... And then to drop the idea.

At least, the conférencier let them go.

Harry waited while his troupe changed dresses, then they headed toward the table. It was interesting to see how Damon no longer showed any intention to leave, while he seemed to have no objections, should Fabien or Philippe come to this decision, or both together.

After bowing again for the local applause, they sat down. Harry wanted to order Orangina for all of them, except Gabrielle had a better idea, or so she said: champagne.

Harry shook his head. "No way."

"I've got some already, from my parents."

Harry looked at her. Fleur, who might have confirmed, or done just the opposite, was nowhere seen.

"Would you say this also with Nagini around?"

"Honestly! ... Not much, only some."

"How much is some?"

She had been allowed to sip. They agreed on a quarter glass of champagne, filled with orange juice.

Then Damon wanted the same. Of course. "You'll get it, Damon," explained Harry, "but I warn you - French people can handle that better."

For a courageous second-year, in the presence of three girls within the proper age, this advice represented challenge enough to insist.

Harry ordered, shuddering inwardly at the thought of dealing with a dance formation of the size the conférencier had suggested. But then, who knew - was there any difference between six and sixty, as long as Gabrielle belonged to them?

---

Marie-Christine came over to welcome the six new guests, and to congratulate them for their performance.

Looking around for an additional chair, Harry saw another figure coming closer, and suddenly a chair ranked as the least worry on his mind.

Gérard reached the table. He was standing almost at Marie-Christine's side, a mock version of past times. "Good evening everybody! So we see each other again, and it's as if nothing has changed - but that's only how it looks to the outside, n'est-ce-pas, my dear Marie-Christine?"

Marie-Christine looked away, keeping silent.

Gérard sneered toward Harry. "I watched your group. You let the girls dance, 'arry - really, quite a habit of yours, as I could see - and as I've been told." His quick glance toward Marie-Christine left little doubt what Gérard was talking about, giving Harry a feeling of what Marie-Christine had meant, mentioning a mess.

Gérard looked at Rahewa and met an expressionles stare from two dark eyes.

"And here's the young lady who not only can dance by herself, no, who can make other things dance too ... knives, for example." Next instant, Gérard had something in his hand. With a faint click, a long blade popped up.

"But she's not the only one who has mastered the ..."

Gérard grabbed Marie-Christine's hair with one hand; the other one held the knife against her throat. He glared at Harry. "Don't you move, or she's dead." His eyes quickly scanned Rahewa and Ginny. "The same goes for you!"

The table stood between Harry and Gérard with Christine in his grip. Worse - Harry's arms were lying on the table, his wand somewhere deep in his cloak.

Obviously, Gérard thought the same. "The great wizard, and fighter without weapons, and he's helpless ..."

Gérard's expression changed. "One movement, 'arry, and Marie-Christine's smelling her own blood - although not for very long."

Harry leaned back, careful to keep his arms on the table. "Okay ... I'm not going to move." Looking to his side, toward Rahewa and Ginny, he added, "Nor anyone else."

Gérard issued a high-pitched giggle. "Very good ... You see, I can make people dance too, or sit still - maybe it's not quite as pleasurable as your method, 'arry, but people may remember longer. And I let others watch - although, maybe that was just a lack of audience in your case, what, 'arry?"

Marie-Christine made a choked sound and twisted a bit.

"Keep still," snarled Gérard, pressing his knife harder against her skin, "or you'll dance right now!"

Harry stared into Gérard's eyes. "That wouldn't be a good idea."

"Oh - don't you think so, great wizard?" Another one of these hysterical giggles. "And why not, my dear asshole 'arry?"

"Because if you touch her, I'll make sure you'll never touch her again."

"I mustn't touch her, eh? It's only you who's supposed to touch her, eh? Except you don't use a knife but ..."

Gérard's expression changed again. There was a horrible desperation in the sweat-streaming face.

"You've touched her for the last time, 'arry, and I don't give a damn for what you'll do. No - it's a lie, I know what you'll do, in a moment, but first you'll watch how this knife goes deeper into this beautiful body than you ever ..."

Harry could sense it for the last minute. Gérard would kill Marie-Christine, and then he would stand there and wait to be killed himself. And if anything would prevent him from doing so now and here, in front of this audience he had selected on purpose, he would do it at the next opportunity, maybe not even waiting for another audience.

Without surprise, Harry realized that his decision had already been made before. The only thought running through his mind now was, Let it work, please let it work.

His hands touched, like in a prayer. His outstretched arms, now forming a long triangle like an arrowhead, rose slightly upward, pointing at the distorted mask of Gérard's face.

"... managed to put your bloody ..."

It's the intention that counts. The magic is in yourself.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!!"

The green flash shot across the table, upward, hit Gérard's forehead, and disappeared inside.

The hateful face slacked. Eyes, suddenly sightless, stopped moving and blinking. Cramping fingers opened. The knife was the first thing falling down, then Gérard's dead body followed while Marie-Christine, pushed forward from the collapsing weight, stretched her arms to hold on to the table.

Harry went around the table, probably fast though feeling like in slow motion. There was no need to check anything; he'd sensed the fading fire of hate and despair an instant before. His arms were around Marie-Christine. "It's okay - it's over."

Her body started to tremble. A chair was free - Harry pressed her down, his hands on her shoulders, his mind sending a wave of calmness and safety. "It's over," he murmured. "You're alive, and he'll never try it again."

Looking up, he saw faces staring at him. Consternation, after-shock, utter disbelief, first signs of relief - and a pair of coal-black eyes, burning like two flames in a brilliant fire.

Sending another wave, Harry felt Marie-Christine recover. She turned around and looked at the formless shape that was lying on the floor. "He's dead?"

"Yes."

"Thank God." Marie-Christine buried her face in her hand. A moment later, the first sobs could be heard.

Cho had come around, also Janine. Harry made room for them and walked the same way back, around the table to his seat, where he sat down.

Waiting.