Harry Potter and the Magical Tours

Sitting and waiting ... No longer in the Great Hall of Beauxbatons, no longer in the car that had taken Harry to a large building. Now he was sitting at a table in a windowless room. The chairs were plain, nothing of the fancy style found in Beauxbatons.

He felt no difference.

He didn't feel much anyway. There was a numbness - not from any bad treatment; the policemen who had escorted him out of the school building and put him into the car hadn't been rough, not too careful either. The lack of sensory reception came from the knowledge what he had done, no matter how good the reasons.

Harry still saw no other possibility, and knew that he would do it again.

Thinking returned slowly. How were the French police? Less friendly than their British colleagues, that's what he'd heard. Soon, he would know.

Should he pretend not to understand French? Little sense in that; it would take forever. Should he talk? Mr Spinbottle crossed Harry's mind - did he need a lawyer? After such a clear act of self-defence? He would wait and see.

It shouldn't take too long. Marie-Christine had given him an address where Harry would find her and Cho, waiting together. Some apartment. Maybe some kind of love nest - until recently, that was, until terms between Marie-Christine and Gérard had ended in a mess.

Wrong. They had ended half an hour ago, after a last embrace, under the brilliant green flash of a Killing Curse - Harry's second, but his first against the will of the targeted person, and his first without a wand.

Was it true, against Gérard's will? No, not true, only right. Gérard had expected the curse, except that he'd expected it a moment later. Self-destruction only after destroying the one who had made him lose for the first time in his life, in front of those having witnessed a milestone in the process.

Again going through the seconds in the Beauxbatons hall, Harry wondered if Gérard had expected this outcome, if he had known that Harry could send a Killing Curse without a wand, and had uttered his insults only long enough until Harry was ready.

No. This would be thinking around one corner too much. How should Gérard know? Harry himself hadn't known.

---

The door opened. A man came in, walked around the table, and sat down opposite, looking at Harry. The man was middle-aged, not thin, not thick. Dark-haired. Moustached.

"Mr Pottère." he said, "I am Claude Domingieux, Commaissaire du Police Domingieux. We will talk."

"Good evening, Monsieur le Commissaire."

"Alors. What happened?"

With surprise, Harry sensed burning anger, and what he heard was a snapping voice that would have suited in the interrogation of a criminal, which he wasn't.

"Didn't they tell you?"

"I'm the one who's asking the questions. You're here to give answers."

"Yes of course, Monsieur le Commissaire Claude Domingieux. I killed Gérard, a moment before he could do the same with Marie-Christine. Only he tried to use a knife, whereas I used a Killing Curse. And another difference: he wasn't successful."

"So you confess having killed Gérard Pouilly on purpose?"

"Pouilly? ... Oh, yes, I remember, although he was always Gérard for me." Remembering the meeting with the tiny lawyer, using him as a mental guide, Harry added, "Otherwise, I don't confess anything."

"You just said you killed Monsieur Pouilly with a Killing Curse."

"Yes."

"And this curse wasn't sent by accident?"

"No."

Domingieux' arms made an impatient gesture. "Then you killed him on purpose, what else?"

Harry kept silent, not only because he could see the trap in this statement, still more because the discrepancy between what he heard and what he sensed hadn't faded, bothering him enough to search for another approach in his responses.

"Lost your speech?"

"Lost your politeness?"

The Commissaire jerked up a bit, then leaned back again, a careful expression in his face. Maybe he remembered that there hadn't been a wand. With a voice of tempered impatience, he said, "Listen, young man, either you talk reasonably, or this will take awfully long - and I love it, sitting deep into the night with some wise-ass who's trying to teach me manners - "

"Why, is it a hopeless case?"

For an instant, it looked as if Commissaire Domingieux would laugh. Then the moment was gone. Still, the words and the behaviour didn't match with Harry's sensing. Anger, yes - maybe even against him, but something didn't fit.

"Why did you kill him?"

When in doubt, try politeness. "Monsieur Domingieux, now and for the last time: I killed Gérard Pouilly in an act of defending Marie-Christine - er, Mademoiselle Théroux, from being killed by him. And from now on, I'll answer questions which are new and belong to this case."

"All right then. Did you fuck her?"

Harry kept silent, not fully able to hold his expression straight.

"Doesn't it belong to the case, Monsieur Pottère? Or maybe I used the wrong language, eh? Well, then" - Commissaire Domingieux showed a mocking bow - "did you ever have sexual intercourse with Mademoiselle Théroux?"

Harry kept silent, suppressing a surprisingly strong impulse to laugh at these ridiculously formalistic words, given with an overarticulating voice, otherwise not unlike Dobby's.

The voice changed back to normal police snarl. "Answer, young man! This question is clearly related to the case!"

"Why?"

"As if you didn't know!" Amused sarcasm - quite impressive how quickly the Commissaire could change the mood in his voice. "This is the reason why he went crazy, and this is why you killed him - to have her for yourself!"

"So that's your version?"

"It's not my version, it's fact. They were lovers, you came in, she turned to you, and you got rid of him - the boring old story." Tired patience, followed by surfeit.

Harry kept silent.

"Forget about self-defence," said Domingieux. "Yes, we have witnesses that he had a knife at her throat, but so what? He'd never done it, wasn't the type ... What makes you think he was serious? Some angry words from a cheated lover, that's all the witnesses confirmed."

Except that his haragei had told Harry something else. How to explain this to a preoccupied French cop?

When in doubt, not at all.

"I don't think it makes sense to continue this conversation. When can I see my lawyer?"

Commissaire Domingieux laughed. "Your lawyer? Do you know how long we can hold you before you're entitled to see a lawyer? Fully according to the law? French law, Monsieur Pottère - forty-eight hours."

Harry hadn't known.

---

Seeing Harry's surprise and uneasiness, for once the Commissaire presented the same impression by sensing, hearing, and watching: satisfaction.

"So maybe we can talk now, after this little misunderstanding is out of the way?"

"I'm not going to comment on Gérard's motivations for what he did. It doesn't matter anyway what I think. All that matters is - " Harry shook his head, slightly upset about his near slip. "No, I'm not going to repeat myself."

"Maybe I'm curious, Monsieur Pottère. Maybe I want to hear what you think, even if it doesn't matter. So what drove Gérard Pouilly over the fence?"

"He couldn't - " Harry stopped.

"He couldn't what? Is it too complicated for a simple cop's mind? Or too embarrassing? Didn't he get a hard one? Was that the reason?" Seeing some reaction in Harry's face, Domingieux leaned forward. "Now?"

"No - as far as I know, he wasn't impotent. Yes, sex was involved, but it's something more fundamental - and very personal."

"Wow!" Domingieux' head was nodding in admiration. "More fundamental than sex - that's new to me. Tell me, please."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Harry replied, "Self-esteem, for example."

"Ah, self-esteem." The mockery in the voice didn't catch; Harry could feel how the Commissaire recorded a fact.

"Concerning personal," continued Domingieux, "Everything that's spoken in this room is personal, so don't let yourself be misguided from some self-consciousness."

Harry didn't. "I can decide about my own personal feelings," he said, "not about those of other people. You can ask them, so don't ask me."

Another laugh. "What a delicate taste - so careful not to spill intimate secrets, not to hurt other people's feelings - except for a killing, that's not out of bounds, eh?"

Harry's face didn't change, and Domingieux seemed unsurprised of that, considering how quickly he continued.

"Then please tell me about your own feelings - toward Gérard Pouilly, for example."

"I met him a year ago, at the previous ball. He was amusing - I liked him."

"Has changed, hasn't it?"

"Yes."

"To what?"

"Pity - and carefulness. He's - was - dangerous."

"Dangerous?" The police officer snorted. "That's ridiculous."

"No, it's - " Harry became aware that Commissaire Domingieux wasn't a beginner in interrogations, that the had changed his tactic, and that the new style seemed considerably more difficult to withstand.

"And toward Mademoiselle Théroux?"

"I like her. I'm obligated to her."

Domingieux looked thoughtful. "Obligated, hm? Is it too personal, or can we ..." He let the unfinished sentence hang in the air as an invitation.

"It has to do with Voldemort," explained Harry after a second. "She found out something - for that, I owe her."

"So if she asks you for something, you'll do it, right?"

"Yes."

"Even if it's a killing."

The accusation sounded so cheap, tempting protest so much, Harry had to remind himself of his carefulness.

"The question didn't come up," he said. "She didn't ask me to kill someone. She didn't even ask me to save her life, I did it by myself."

"And you still owe her?"

Harry stopped himself just in time before answering - this man was breaking holes in his barriers awfully fast. And besides, he wouldn't have known how to answer.

"So you like her?"

"Yes."

"Enough to ..."

Just barely, Harry managed not to ask back, To do what? the question Domingieux had tried to provoke.

"Do you love her?"

"No."

"You're right; it complicates things too much." The Commissaire hesitated a moment, just long enough to register any sign of protest at this provoking remark. When none appeared in Harry's face, he continued in a more conciliatory tone.

"Okay - you like her, you have sex with her, Gérard finds out, it drives him crazy, he comes to the ball, fidgets with a knife, and you kill him because it looks as if he might hurt her. Can we agree on that?"

Hardening himself against the invitation in this sympathetic voice, Harry kept silent.

"Why didn't you stupefy him?"

To make sure Gérard would never try again. But Harry didn't say it aloud.

"That's the little problem we face here, Monsieur Pottère ... If it really was self-defence, if he really was about to kill her, a stupefying spell would have been the natural choice. But it wasn't, and this is why we're dealing with a case of murder."

Harry didn't believe Commissaire Domingieux. Something was wrong. For a while, overwhelmed by his own emotions, he had put the thought aside. Now the doubt was back, for him reason enough not to say more. He felt a strong temptation to figure it out in a discussion, only this man was better than himself.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, after a series of unsuccessful attempts, alternating between questions and remarks, even a little monologue, Commissaire Domingieux said, "Silence is golden, eh? Think it over," and left the room.

Harry did.

After five minutes' thinking alone and without interruptions, he knew that his patience had almost run out. This room here wasn't even a cell - no water, no toilet, no place to lie down. He examined the door: no inside handles. Well, either the door would open with fine work, or it would blow through the next wall.

He took the lotus position and spent three minutes on calming down and concentrating. A lock was a lock was a lock was holding him away from Cho and -

Click

Harry pushed the door open, stepped out, and closed it again. Sensing around, he recognized that the building was almost empty. It shouldn't be difficult to find Monsieur Domingieux.

Ten minutes later, he had located him. The tag on the door confirmed what his haragei was telling him - however without giving any hint why so much anger kept boiling in the Commissaire.

Harry opened the door.

Domingieux was sitting on a desk, and he had a quick reaction, so his wand came up very fast.

"Expelliarmus!"

The wand shot through the room into Harry's hand.

He moved closer and reached the desk, which was covered with photos, quite a lot actually, most of them showing the slumped body of Gérard, as if any of them might reveal something new.

And Harry's wand.

Harry took it and looked at Domingieux. He could feel expectant carefulness, but no fright - none at all. And the anger was gone.

He took a chair and sat down. "I'm ready to talk - if you'll answer me one question."

"You're threatening a police commissioner, that's the only thing that matters here - and there's no quesiton about that!"

That was true - although not right.

Harry stood up and put Domingieux' wand on the desk, then he sat down again. "And now?"

Domingieux looked at his wand, at Harry, leaned back, and shrugged. "Ask."

"You're mad about something, but it's not me, and not the killing either. What is it?"

For the first time, Harry felt a split second of fright. Domingieux' eyes widened, then his face went expressionless again.

"I can't read thoughts," assured Harry, "but I can sense emotions. It's called haragei - and it's been this haragei which told me that Gérard would try the same tomorrow, or next week. That's why I didn't stupefy him. I owe Marie-Christine too much."

Domingieux watched Harry's face while saying, "Gérard Pouilly."

"Yes, sure - the same person."

"No, quite a difference." The police officer presented a very French-looking pair of raised eyebrows. "Gérard was a young man, while Pouilly is an old family."

And suddenly it was clear. Not in the details, only that Commissaire Domingieux had received a message from somewhere above. Not for a second did Harry believe this had been the man's own decision. In this case, the anger would have felt differently.

"Okay, that's answer enough. Thank you. Where shall I begin?"

---

Where it began, of course. So Harry told Domingieux how they had met Marie-Christine and Gérard a year before, how they had met again in the Battle of Hogwarts, that the two had found to each other - only to realize that Gérard was unable to consolidate his love with his personal preferences, or habits. Then Harry described the scene during the Hogwarts ball.

Domingieux had listened silently until then. Now he interrupted, "Wait a second - your description of that fight was a little short. So Gérard made his remark, and Marie-Christine shot him a good one, okay. What came next?"

"I went over the table and kicked him, so he fell down with the chair."

"Can you show me?"

Domingieux barely suppressed a gasp when Harry obeyed, his feet of course missing the Commissaire on purpose. Then the police officer said, "Well, can nobody say you couldn't scale your attacks - sorry, was a police joke. Okay, and then?"

"I was here on this side. Marie-Christine asked me to escort her out, and we started to walk." Harry demonstrated how, after a step or two, he had turned, while the Commissaire took over Gérard's role.

Domingieux looked at Harry in the attack stance. "And so you stopped because that girl came flying."

"Er - yes, Rahewa. She was at his neck and had the knife at his throath."

"A knife, eh? ... How old is she?"

"Erm - eleven."

Domingieux glanced at Harry. "Is this a habit in 'ogwarts?"

"No - I mean, hopefully not. She's American Indian, a Cree, and she knows how to handle it."

"I bet - she was impressive enough that Gérard got a knife for himself. What do you think, could he really handle it?"

Harry looked at Domingieux; however, the question sounded like genuine interest, rather than an attempt for an interrogation trap. He asked back, "Is it really complicated to kill someone with a knife?"

The Commissaire snorted. "Not quite as simple as you think - although I have to admit, the throat is a simple target, compared to the heart."

"I didn't know. Anyway, Gérard was really brilliant - I'm pretty sure he learned it thoroughly enough."

"Okay - back to that scene. So this girl showed him some metal."

"No - he couldn't see it, he only could feel it. Then Ginny came - my step-sister, she does aikido like me, and like Rahewa ..."

Domingieux' expression was worth a look.

"... she came and told Rahewa it's okay, and then she said to Gérard he was lucky to be alive. Then - "

"Was he?"

"As I said, the problem wasn't that Rahewa didn't know what she was doing. He was lucky that Rahewa had been quick enough. Had he sent a spell to me, well ..." Harry's voice trailed off.

Domingieux showed a thin smile. "So the message is, don't mess with 'arry while Rahewa's around, right?"

"Er - yes, definitely."

"Does she love you?"

"No." Seeing the doubt in the Commissaire's face, Harry added with a pointed casualness, "She adores me, that's all - so to speak."

"Could have been worse, couldn't it?" Not looking apologetic at all, Domingieux said, "Sorry - a French joke."

Harry had no intention to tell the Commissaire how right he was, that it wasn't funny at all.

"Okay - what came next?"

"Ginny walked Rahewa back to her seat, and Cho took over Marie-Christine. Then Gérard said something about big hero, protected by little girls. And I said yes, and that this was a difference between us, because he wouldn't find any girl who would do this for him."

"Uh-oh. That must have hurt, more than your kick."

Harry looked surprised. "You're right - although I hit him once more, said it was a message from Marie-Christine. But that was when I realized what his problem was, and I told Marie-Christine outside, in the park."

"A second before, she was still in the hall, and now - "

"Sorry - Gérard left, and I went after Cho and Marie-Christine, and found them outside. Marie-Christine was crying, almost broke down, couldn't be comforted for a while. Then we spoke, and I told her Gérard is dangerous. She didn't believe. I said yes he is, because he can't lose - that was his biggest problem, he couldn't lose, couldn't even compromise - "

"Why - er, why not? After so few meetings, you figured this out?" Domingieux' face showed just a trace of disbelief, more expectant curiosity.

"Well," said Harry, "I had some more information, for example from what Gérard said about himself, and also from my haragei. He was either excellent, so he could outperform everybody, or he didn't do it - like sports, for instance. You can't play sports without losing one time or another, and that's why he didn't. And compromising - he couldn't get his love and his ideals together, and it drove him crazy - "

"Ah - so we come to a little sex, after all."

Harry nodded. "Yes, of course. He preferred the athletic type, well-trained - Cho, Ginny, he made clear to everybody that he'd like to - er, have them. And Marie-Christine, the one he loved, had breasts too big, and her body was too soft, or whatever - "

"But he was alone with this opinion. I mean, you didn't think so?"

"No. I think she has a wonderful body."

"As you know for sure?"

Harry swallowed, looked at Domingieux, not finding any teasing, or sneering.

"Marie-Christine sounded a bit - er, suicidal in the park. Cho wasn't ready to let her go - you must know, Cho and I both owe Marie-Christine. Cho got a key for a guest suite. And there - Marie-Christine didn't want to be alone, and Cho said she should - er, pick her choice. But she couldn't decide."

Domingieux waited for him to continue.

"So we stayed there together. Then Marie-Christine started to talk about his complaints - I mean, her body, and her bosom. And we told her it's nonsense, that she's very attractive, and so. And - then she said, 'Show me.' And we did."

"Both of you?"

"Yes."

Commissaire du Police Domingieux didn't blink. "Convincingly enough?"

"Yes. At one time, Marie-Christine said to me, 'You're right, he can't lose.' She - she was doing something she seemed not to be allowed with him."

"But he loved her?"

Harry felt grateful for the change of topic. "As far as I know - yes. I remember his look a year ago ... yes, I'm sure."

"And then?"

"The next time we saw Marie-Christine was here, and we heard they'd split. She said, 'It was a mess.' When Gérard appeared - I mean, from what he said, it was obvious that she'd told him about us - about people other than him who didn't find her objectionable at all."

Thinking about this scene, Harry added, "This must have been the second blow. Someone else could make his love happier than he himself - if he hadn't lost already before, if he could think this was just a problem, this knowledge made clear that he'd scored only second ... He couldn't live with that."

Domingieux cleared his throat. "Monsieur Pottère, if the situation would be the same, Gérard with the knife at her, what would you do?"

Harry had to think about the question only a second, then he looked up. "The same."

"Why?"

"He was going to kill himself - this way or the other, that much was clear. A day later, there might have been a small chance he'd do it only toward himself, but - for Marie-Christine, I wasn't ready to take chances. And I know Cho thought the same."

"Someone else too? Someone - er, outside these three people?"

"Oh ..." Only now, Harry understood the question. "I don't know; you may ask Fleur - Fleur Delacour, Gérard was her assistant in dance lessons. Otherwise - I know Rahewa thinks the same, but I guess you're looking for someone less prejudiced."

"Yes, indeed ... Monsieur Pottère, would you repeat the essential parts of your statements in front of a jury?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Certainly not. This was a conversation between you and me, Monsieur le Commissaire. I promised you to talk, after getting my answer, and I did. This has nothing to do - " Harry shook his head. "In front of a jury, I'll sit with a lawyer, and do what he tells me - probably just claiming self-defence, and nothing else."

"Then why did you tell me all this?"

"Because ... If I would have said, Gérard couldn't lose, just so, you'd never believed me; the picture is only complete after knowing all details. And I wanted to show you the picture ... and why I would do it again."

---

Domingieux looked at the table. "I'd like to ask some more questions - maybe not fully related to this case. After that, I guess we'll be done for today ... although it's already tomorrow."

Harry shrugged. "I don't promise, but - ask."

"How did you manage without a wand?"

Harry nodded. "And what is haragei, and getsumai no michi, yes. I learned these techniques from a Japanese teacher. His name is Matsuo Shigura. He showed me that all magic is in the wizard - provided he's ready to believe. You could do the same."

"Provided I believe?"

"Yes."

"Hmm ... Maybe I'll ask you for his address. How did you open the door?"

"With magic - moving things and such."

Domingieux grinned. "Is it a big repair?"

"Er - no, I think the lock is still working."

"That's good. How does this Shigura teach such tricks?"

For the first time in this conversation, Harry blushed. "He puts you in a cell while someone's waiting for you."

Domingieux laughed. "I'd like to know this Shigura. Clever guy, really." Then his face steadied again. "Your obligation to Mademoiselle Théroux - would you be ready to give a more detailed statement about - "

"We can make it shorter," interrupted Harry, although for reasons of politeness. "Marie-Christine is a kind of expert on Voldemort. By conclusion, she found out what will be his next strategy. It is directed against Cho and me, of course, but against our child, rather than ourselves. And some time ago, we found proof for that."

Even a French Commissaire could look horrified. "Thank you - and you can believe me, Monsieur Pottère, this won't appear in any protocol."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I know - that's why ..."

"Well, then." Domingieux' expression turned business-like. "That's it, Monsieur Pottère - thank you for your coming."

The smile about this joke was short at both sides of the table. Then Harry asked, "Monsieur Domingieux, what will happen next?"

"Oh - your lawyer will have to do some work, for sure, but I'd be surprised if you'd be ordered to appear here again."

Thinking it over, Harry found the shortest comment. "Thank you."

Domingieux grimaced. "Sometimes I have a grudge against old families. Especially late in the night."

Harry stood up. "Do I find a cab downstairs?"

"Yes, turn left and around the corner."

"Okay. Good night, Monsieur Domingieux."

Almost at the door, he was stopped. "Monsieur Pottère?"

"Yes?"

"Was it the first time?"

Harry knew what the Commissaire was talking about. "Not exactly, but - in the sense you're asking, yes."

"Then be prepared for the after-shock. It will take a while, so you won't be caught in the cab. You'll feel like hell."

"Yes, I know - my teachers told me."

Domingieux looked sympathetic. "Did they? But they didn't tell you how it really feels."

* * *

Both Cho and Marie-Christine were waiting for him at the door when Harry came up the stairs in an old building. Taking the stairs and examining the staircase and the doors at every landing, he felt grateful that the bell had worked, and also the door opener.

He nodded to the girls, stepped through the door, and looked around.

Basically this was one large room, with a mini kitchen built into a corner and another door, in addition to the exit, probably to a bathroom. At the room's other end, Harry could see mattresses on the floor, rather than a bed, not unlike futons, only thicker. A student's apartment - for a rich parents' kid who had to overcome some limitations of the Beauxbatons dormitories.

And who was dead now.

Cho and Marie-Christine made him sit down. First they gave him a glass with something; next moment, they had a thousand questions. Harry summarized his two conversations with Domingieux, so very different, and with some details left out. Only when the glass was empty and Marie-Christine gave him a refill, he realized that it was white wine.

Cho asked, "So you're free?"

"Yes, that's what he said ... We could go."

"But you won't - not tonight." It was Marie-Christine.

Harry didn't care much, this way or the other, and stared mindlessly ahead.

Cho took his hand. "How do you feel?"

"Dunno ... Not at all, I guess."

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Can we do something else for you?"

"No ... Just let me sit here."

Cho, in his back, bent over him, hugging. "You were great. You did right."

Harry nodded. "Yes."

The girls were walking through the room, doing something he wasn't aware of. After some time, Cho stood in front of him. With surprise, he realized she was wearing pyjamas - much too big for her. With the long trouser legs falling over her feet, she looked like a child.

"Come to bed, Harry."

"No ... Let me sit here still for a while."

A small lamp in the mini kitchen was the only illumination, giving a dim light at the table where Harry was sitting, and almost none toward the end where the two girls had disappeared under the bedcover.

After a while, Harry could hear regular breathing from both sides of the bed. Looking up, he tried to remember what had made him listen; the faint noise was hardly loud enough to cut into his brooding mind. Then he realized - his mind itself had sent the message, more exactly, his haragei.

Stupid Gérard. Bloody, stupid, stupid Gérard, who had found a way to be killed by him. Suddenly Harry knew: had it failed, somehow, Gérard would have waited. He wanted Harry to do it. What had Marie-Christine said at the lake? "... the only one he isn't talking about with detest, not even in bad mood."

And what did it mean? Gérard had - long ago, in this short year - accepted Harry as the better - what? Wizard? Human? Man? Was it then wrong what he'd said, that Gérard couldn't lose? No - Gérard had just made sure he wouldn't compete against Harry. He had never really tried to seduce Cho - regardless of what little chance there might have been. And after Harry had sent him a warning because of Ginny? It had been Ginny herself who stopped it, and of course Harry's own doing - anyway, Gérard had never tried to challenge him.

One exception - the failed attempt with a wand, stopped by Rahewa.

Would there ever have been a curse coming out of the wand?

Too late to ask ... As if he'd got an answer.

Would he really have killed Marie-Christine?

Let's see ... Gérard, for whom Harry is out of any competition, realizes that said Harry has made Marie-Christine moan and gasp and twist and spasm - worse, this Harry surrendered any control to let her ride on a wave of ecstasy - and this information certainly has been given with the most angry words. And then - Gérard doesn't make any attempt to violate him ... Wrong - of course he does! He tries to destroy this desirable body right in front of Harry's eyes, as a punishment for him, for her, and as a guarantee that, only seconds later, he would be killed by Harry.

A brilliant plan, so very much like Gérard. Had almost worked.

So Harry had done right. In this case, he could as well stop feeling sick.

Failing that, to go into the bathroom and vomit.

Failing that, to drink a glass of water and go to bed.

Pyjamas were lying in the bathroom, apparently put there by Marie-Christine. Gérard's, of course ... Harry's body tensed in anticipation at the thought of feeling the fine silk.

Stripped down to his underpants, he climbed under the bedcover at Cho's side, carefully nudging her to move a bit toward the middle. Not coming awake, she obeyed just enough to make room for him, without showing any intention to inch away from the body in her back.

* * *

He woke - pretty early, considering the time he had gone to bed. Both girls were still sound asleep. Harry climbed out, careful not to let cold air shift in.

In the bathroom, he examined the shower. As far as he could guess, these pipes would make noises like a landing aeroplane, while hot water might be a game of luck. He dropped the idea - maybe later.

Then he recognized one of the reasons why he had come awake: hunger.

Checking the fridge and a cabinet, he found sausages and cheese, but no bread. Of course - fresh baguettes were a French standard even on Sunday mornings.

The thought alone made Harry's mouth water. He dressed, took his money, and found a ring with keys - if they were the wrong ones, so what? Wasn't he the world champion in opening doors?

Standing in the shop, just in time he remembered that some people preferred these tasteless bulks of baked dough called croissants. And there was a glass of confiture, and a glass of ... Shopping hungry made full arms, if you'd been too much in a hurry to come with a basket.

Returning into the large room, Harry glanced to the bed. He saw a jet-black mane and a dark-brown one, shorter. There was no movement, just an occasional sound of snoring.

He found no tea in the kitchen. Well, then, café au lait would do. Minutes later, he had found all items to start the first coffee brewing of his life.

The scent of fresh coffee was really great - funny, how much better than the taste, especially in combination with the scent of fresh baguettes. And it was good enough to wake two girls. In rapid succession, they disappeared in the bathroom, then hurried back under the cover, from there watching his every movement.

Seeing the two expectant faces, Harry asked, "Won't you come out for breakfast?"

"My God, no!" Cho looked shocked. "Breakfast in bed, that's almost like heaven - in particular when it's served."

Guided by Marie-Christine's comments, Harry found trays, cups - nobody in Great Britain would call them cups - and dishes. Marie-Christine looked delighted when he offered her the choice between baguette and croissants.

Croissants, as Harry learned at this occasion, weren't that bad - not for eating, Heaven beware, however you could pass them over right away while baguette required butter, and confiture, cheese on the second - no, the other, Harry - and this one with sausage, please.

Eating in the lotus position - you didn't have to travel as far as Japan for that. The sight of the two girls in front of Harry was spectacular in its own way - Marie-Christine doing awful things with pieces of her croissant and her caf‚ au lait, while Cho kept crunching away as if these pyjamas had to fit within the next twenty minutes.

Then Harry remembered how all this had started, and the joy in his mood turned to bitterness.

---

He carried the trays into the kitchen, came back, sat down, looked at Cho, at Marie-Christine, at Cho again who right now changed from a more sitting position to a flat shape under the cover.

"What's this?" he asked. "Won't you come out?"

"Certainly not! What's the sense of a breakfast in bed if not for lying a bit longer, maybe to sleep, maybe not ... I've got a much better idea - you come in."

Harry watched Cho, who had a hopeful expression in her face, glanced at Marie-Christine, who didn't look much different, and if so, then only ...

"What for?"

Cho smiled. "Oh - we'll find something."

Harry shook his head, fighting with the memory of another room, only it had been darker, with the result that Marie-Christine and Gérard had a row in which suddenly quite surprising arguments were appearing, with the result that they split, met again at a ball, and Gérard had a new argument of a special type, glittery and sharp, stupid Gérard who had tried ... This damn fool had made him do it, and now he was dead, to argue never again, never ever ... Harry started to cry.

A moment later, he was sobbing, his stomach twisting in painful spasms of sorrow and helplessness.

Cho was out. "Come, Harry, come to us." She started to undress him.

"What are you doing?"

"You're under shock. You need warmth, and as much skin contact as you can get."

He didn't resist when she finished her work, pushed him under the cover, into the middle, against another body which started to comfort him too.

After some time, his crying stopped. Maybe he had cried enough for his foolish victim, or Cho was right and it was the warmth, or the skin contact, or all of that together.

He felt a lot of skin contact, from both sides. It was good to calm down his mind, while his body, recovering quicker after some sleep and a delicious breakfast, started to go out of sync, showing totally different interests.

But his mind still refused, and his mind was the boss, wasn't it? ... Harry looked to his right side, which meant Marie-Christine. "Stop it."

She didn't. "Why?"

"Because I'm not in the mood."

"It's hard - er, to believe that." Marie-Christine's eyes didn't fit, somehow, looking so hungry only minutes after a breakfast.

"Some hours ago, I killed your lover. This here's his apartment - and now you're lying there, and all that's on your mind is - "

"Wrong." Marie-Christine's hands had stopped. "I pay my share of the rent, and yesterday - you killed the man who tried to kill me - yes, he's been my lover, and for a while I thought I could love him, but I didn't. So what? You've been my lover, too, and I want you to be it again!"

Harry shook his head.

"You don't understand, 'arry. I was dead! He was holding me, and I knew - in a few seconds, I'd be dead - no matter what anybody would do, no matter what would be afterwards, it'd come too late for me ..."

Harry felt her trembling.

"... and then you said it, and I was still alive - and then ... 'arry, I can feel the knife still at my throat, but I don't want to feel it any longer - I want to feel something else, something that doesn't kill, and someone who's not going to kill me. You've saved me, 'arry, you've done what nobody could do - that's why I want to feel you, inside me - now, and I'm not going to wait any longer ..."

He was pulled forward, and pushed forward, felt her twisting body under his own, her legs parting, clasping around him, felt her wet heat, his mind no longer resisting, his body eagerly following this invitation which lacked any politeness, any artistry, any decency.

Marie-Christine cried out only moments later, had left him far behind. Not for the shortest instant felt he ready to stop now, or slow down, no matter what the body under him was signaling, this body which had infected him with its frenzy, which found no answer in its protest, stopped protesting quickly, started to respond again, receiving back its own fever, receiving his thrusts, his shot, his continuing until he felt this body go rigid again, then fall back and relax, powered out and calm.

He withdrew, fell down on his back, looked at Cho. Her expression showed no anger, no disappointment, only the fever Harry had felt seconds before.

Marie-Christine turned a bit, looked at Cho. "I'm sorry - this was very selfish of me ..."

Cho shook her head, found her voice after a second. "No - it's fine with me - it was ... Watching you - I was following quite a bit ... But I can wait."

Marie-Christine looked at Harry. "Put her in the middle."

He obeyed, not finding resistance, raising a moan which didn't result from any roughness in this movement.

Marie-Christine's arms were moving under the cover, raising a gasp from Cho. "Take care of your half, 'arry."

His half meant an arm to be secured, and a leg to be put under his own, and some territory that could be shared, or explored simultaneously.

Cho tried to protest. "No - let me wait ... I'm too close ..." Her words trailed off in another moan.

Marie-Christine's eyes were shining. "I've a better idea - we'll wait together ... But first, we have to make sure you'll find the patience ... although, I'm afraid, you won't find it as quickly as you may hope, because - this game is just too enticing, with you in this desperate state."

Cho's breath came in gasps. "No - please ... You promised we'd wait together."

"Oh, we will - first for you, and then for some new spirit." Marie-Christine looked up. "Be very careful, 'arry - we have lots of time."