Harry Potter and the Magical Tours

Back in Hogwarts, in these last days before the Easter break, Harry felt reminded of a time four years ago, of a time when the news of his Parseltongue had been going round in Hogwarts, when a lot of students had thought of him as Slytherin's heir. Because something similar seemed to go through many minds now; he could see it in their faces and feel it with his haragei.

Not that he would scan; the signals were strong enough by themselves. But there were differences, and different people. Ron, for example.

"I saw it, Harry. She was dead, if not for your spell. You saved her, it was the only way, and whoever's saying differently will be sorry for that."

"Don't you wonder why I didn't stupefy him?"

Ron shook his head vigorously. "It's true, I'm asking myself, but one thing's for sure, nobody can react as fast and accurately as you, so I know you had a good reason."

Harry hugged his friend, feeling a burning in his own eyes.

"C'mon, brother." But Ron's voice was a bit choked, too.

Harry found his balance again. "It's a bit complicated, and a bit embarrassing, too. Do you mind hearing it together with Hermione? Then I have to tell it only once."

They had to wait only a short time, until Hermione found the opportunity, and the place, and anybody else out of earshot. Hermione hadn't seen it, but she had asked others and come to her own conclusions. She said, "He'd tried it again, right?"

Harry nodded. "How did you know?"

Hermione looked surprised. "It was the only possible answer - you must have felt something, otherwise, you'd have used stupefying, or a disarming spell."

"Thank you." He hugged her also. "You're the best know-it-all I can imagine."

Hermione grinned. "I still might have some questions, Harry - "

"Yes, I know." Then he told them the full story - until Saturday evening, that was.

Hermione looked as if she could extrapolate further by herself. "How long did it take with the police?"

"Quite a while. Someone had tried to pull strings, to blame it on me." Harry looked up. "Did you know that Pouilly is an old wizard family? Maybe something like Malfoy here."

Ron looked satisfied. "That may stop now."

With respect to Harry's expression, Hermione kept her reply polite. "Our Ron - tactful as always."

"Oops - sorry, Harry."

Harry tried to grin. "It's okay - I better get used to such remarks, so why not be trained by a Weasley?"

Hermione asked, "Why didn't it work? The string-pulling, I mean."

"It worked, but only in the beginning." Harry gave an outline of his talk with Domingieux.

"And then?"

"Then I took a cab to the apartment where Cho and Marie-Christine were waiting for me."

Hermione looked at him.

"Then I sat there, had time to think it over. But the worst came this morning ... Anyway, I'm through." Seeing Hermione's unwavering stare, Harry asked, "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"I was wondering how Marie-Christine feels now."

Ron glared at Hermione. "That's really a stupid question."

Challenging Hermione was a mistake - always.

"Is it? My dear Ron, on occasion, you should read how death affects people - those who didn't die, of course. Among other things, it's the strongest aphrodisiac, and our Harry here knows exactly what I'm talking about." This said, Hermione stood up and marched off - Harry's face had been answer enough.

Ron gaped at him. "Is it true?"

Harry nodded. "Honestly - I tried what I could, but - there was no chance."

Ron looked disbelieving. "Chance, huh?"

Harry glanced up. "Believe me - there's no reason to be envious. I mean - yes, it's very ... But if you ever look for an opportunity, make sure you don't have to pay the same price."

---

Two other people expressed their friendship with him in an unexpected way. When Harry followed Lupin into his office, he found someone waiting there: Almyra.

Lupin smiled. "We thought we should ask you together, Harry - are you okay?"

"No, not really - not yet. But sitting here with you two - er, thank you."

Lupin grew serious. "I think we know why you didn't try anything else. Do you remember our lessons of last year, Harry? What I said about sadness, and looking into the mirror afterwards?"

"Yes, Prof. You were right - by the way, that commissaire, too, he warned me of the after-shock. But I'm through, and yes, I can look into the mirror."

Almyra said, "We still have another reason to call you in, Harry. Something to put your mind off this story - and you're entitled to hear it first."

"Huh?" For a moment, Harry couldn't follow.

Almyra turned to Lupin, her face beaming. "Tell him."

"It worked." Lupin's smile was back. "You had the right idea, Harry."

"Wha - oh, yes, of - wow, super!"

Somehow it was strange. Harry would have hugged Lupin, he would have hugged Almyra, while the presence of them together prevented both. Instead, he said, "Your second shape didn't take long, Prof. What's your next?"

Lupin laughed. "I'm no collector. And you - what about your first?"

"None, for a while. I'm busy with Apparition and Apparition Pursuit. That reminds me - can you apparate as an animal?"

They didn't know because they hadn't tried so far.

Harry looked hopeful. "If it works - and if I can pursue, maybe I find a short cut to an Animagus."

Lupin and Almyra saw little hope for that. Also, they showed little inclination to serve as test objects, recommended that Harry might come back once he had found a way to pursue with his full body - the idea of being tracked by a spirit alone struck them as somehow less inviting.

For Fleur, the events in Beauxbatons were no reason for a longer discussion, certainly no reason to behave differently. She examined him. "Are you okay, 'arry?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Did you settle with the police?"

"Yes - except for some formalities."

"How is Marie-Christine?"

"She's okay. I guess she'll have still a few bad dreams, but she's not twisting at every sound."

"Good." Fleur's expression made clear - whatever had been required to recover from the shock had her full approval, in particular since her own advice would have shown little respect of public conventions.

But Harry himself had a question. "How's Gabrielle?"

Fleur grimaced. "The good news, she has no trauma."

"Erm - and the bad news?"

"She's walking around telling everybody how her hero has killed a murderer."

Harry sighed. "Well - no, not well, but it could be worse."

Fleur had a similar opinion, expressed the hope it would fade soon, replaced by some other fascinating news - for example by a wedding that was due in a few weeks' time.

Ginny had looked very relieved, seeing Harry back in Hogwarts - maybe because she had heard horror stories about French police, or because she had known more about the Pouilly family, or because of another reason. She caught him for her own private conversation.

"Harry, I wanted to tell you" - she was searching for words - "when you warned me of Gérard - er, you were totally right. I don't dare to think how it might have turned out."

Harry saw the opportunity for checking his own conclusions. "Say - how was the exact sequence, I mean who stopped being interested when?"

Ginny looked embarrassed. "Do we need to talk about these details?"

"Please, Ginny - it's important for me."

"Well - erm, after that scene, when you warned him, I was quite upset. At that time, he'd have found. But there was no offer from his side, and soon afterwards ..." She blushed.

Busy with his own thoughts, Harry nodded. "Yes - that fits."

"Huh?"

Looking up, he registered Ginny's expression. "Sorry to touch sensitive issues, but it's exactly what I had expected. The warning pushed him off, because he wasn't ready to challenge me ... Except for this one time."

"He forced you to kill him, right?"

"Yes."

Now Ginny looked as if she would like to hug him. "Then give it a rest, Harry - he'd planned it, and his planning worked - as simple as that."

She was right, and true. And he could hug her. "Thank you."

"How's Marie-Christine?"

"Better than yesterday." Had his face been under control?

Not quite, apparently. Ginny took her breath to say something, but kept it to herself and walked away. Harry suppressed the impulse to call after her. Whatever he could say, none of it would help - quite the opposite, probably.

---

Monday afternoon, he had another conversation, very formal and somewhat embarrassing: with his Headmaster and his Head of House.

"This is a Hogwarts rule, Harry," explained Dumbledore. "Using an Unforgivable Curse demands an inquiry and a written report. We know what happened, so it will be as short as possible."

Meanwhile, Harry could have sung the song in his sleep. It wasn't even difficult to leave out delicate details. And he could anticipate questions. "I knew that he would try it again - as soon as possible. That's why I used the Killing Curse, not stupefying or something else. I'm too much obligated to Marie-Christine to leave her at such a risk."

What had been the sense in bypassing details in such artful linguistics? The expressions of Dumbledore and McGonagall, hearing about obligation, showed him they knew the background. So he said, "Marie-Christine has found out Voldemort's next strategy - that's why Cho and I owe her enough to ..." He didn't finish the sentence.

Dumbledore looked expectant now. "That's enough for the inquiry, which means the next is off the record, Harry. Can you tell me what she found out?"

Harry looked at him, at McGonagall.

His Head of House was about to rise. "I guess that's something between - "

"No," Harry protested quickly. "Please, Prof - it's just - well, you'll know in a minute." He described the plot and told them how he had found a mole wizard in the Chang family.

Dumbledore looked friendlier than in the minutes since the conversation had started. "You're right, Harry. I didn't know, and that's why - never mind." He smiled. "I'd like to ask you a favour."

Harry waited silently. He had learned - answering yes in advance was risky with Dumbledore.

"Please keep me informed about things related to Voldemort, even if they are as personal or intimate as those. After all, I'm supposed to be your mentor in this regard."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Prof. In this case, I have to tell you a bit more about - er, owls ... disappearing owls."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Not really. All I need are the details unknown to my own sources."

"Yes, of course." For Harry, it seemed of limited interest which source had delivered what. There were three candidates - Black, Lupin, and Snape, and as far as Harry knew his Headmaster, each of them had been milked to the individual limit.

---

He had another conversation with his Head of House the next day, still related to the events in Beauxbatons, although with a context that was more entertaining than serious. It started after breakfast. Sitting at his table, Harry heard some noise in the large group of younger students streaming out of the Hall. Checking closer with all his senses, he felt something that made him jump up and rush over.

Breaking through a ring of students, he found three figures in the middle. One was a student he didn't know, lying on the floor, moaning, apparently recovering from some unconsciousness.

The other two, standing side by side, were Rahewa - in attack stance - and Damon Harker, his fists raised.

When the other students recognized Harry, the circle dissolved within seconds. Not even the threat of lost points would have achieved such quick disappearances. Some of the students grabbed the victim, who joined them in their hurry.

Harry looked at Rahewa. "What happened?"

No answer.

Damon Harker felt less reluctant. "That ruddy pigface called you a murderer, Harry, but Rahewa gave him the right answer. Then the others wanted to pay back, that's why I came to help her." Young Damon looked proud.

Harry turned back to Rahewa. "Did you use aikido?"

He earned a nod.

This was of course a violation of the aikido codex, and Kenzo would have to say something about that. Harry, on the other side, felt only relief - Rahewa hadn't used a knife, giving proof of a well developed sense in scaling attacks.

"Hm ..." He had to search for words, mostly for didactic reasons. "First, let me thank you for saving my - er, honour. But generally speaking, you shouldn't hit other students for such nonsense remarks about - "

A flash from dark eyes. "It's no nonsense!"

Harry stepped closer, put his arm around Rahewa's shoulders. "No, it's not. But we both know it's not true, so let them talk. You can't hit every student who's giving bad remarks about me."

Rahewa smiled - partly about the joke, partly about the question whether it would really be impossible - after all, you could work with lists, couldn't you?

Harry saw her again at lunch. The expression in Rahewa's face was bad enough to walk the few steps down the table. "What's wrong, Rahewa?"

No answer.

He sat down. "Please."

Never before had he seen these eyes as close to tears as now. "I've got detention."

"For hitting this student?"

A nod, careful, and looking away - impossible the thought of crying in the presence ...

Harry stood up and grabbed her. "Let's go."

Surprise, replacing something worse. "Where to?"

"McGonagall."

"She's not going to take it back."

"I know. C'mon!"

Thunderstruck, Rahewa followed.

McGonagall looked at the two students, sitting opposite her desk, managed to steady her twisting lips. "What can I do for you, Mr Potter?"

"Professor, I just heard that Rahewa has got detention."

"Yes, Mr Potter - for violating another student, although not through magic. You know the rules, don't you?"

"Yes, Professor. She did it to defend my honour. That's why I have to do the same - detention, I mean ..."

It took the Head of House hard, keeping serious.

"... so, please, if you could find something we can do together, we'd appreciate it very much."

After some more seconds, McGonagall had her voice under control. "I think that's feasible, Mr Potter - Miss Lightfoot. Although, it won't be the Forbidden Forest."

Outside, Rahewa didn't know how to look. The result was a pair of beaming eyes in a dark red face. Still, she had a question. "What did she mean with Forbidden Forest?"

"That was my job, when I had detention."

Utter disbelief. "You??"

"Yes." Harry grinned. "It had to do with a dragon, and with Hagrid. When doing the detention together, we'll have time - then I'll tell you how it came and what happened in the Forbidden Forest - that was when I met Firenze."

Suddenly, Rahewa couldn't await this shameful punishment.

---

Harry met her again on his way into the training hall. Rahewa was walking the opposite direction, with a face worse than that at the lunch table. He stopped her. "Kenzo?"

She nodded.

From the scene alone, Harry could imagine what Kenzo had selected as punishment - a ban from the training, with only one question left open. "How long?"

"One - chck - month."

With her first sob, dams started to break away, and Rahewa started to run away. She tried, at least, but Harry caught the girl. "Come here."

For a moment, she tried to free herself, then her face kept buried at his chest, a thin body twisting in silent sobs. When she had calmed down a bit, he said, "All right - we'll do it together. Follow me."

She would not.

Harry smiled. "Keep still ..." After finishing his face repair, he asked, "Okay - want to check in a mirror?"

Oh yes, she wanted, too preoccupied for realizing that this doubt might be a crime worse than blasphemy. In the exercise hall, they sat down on the floor, as close to the door as possible without sitting in the way.

Kenzo let them wait twenty minutes. Then he came over and sat down opposite.

"Sensei," said Harry, "Rahewa has violated bushido, the codex of the warrior, and she accepts your verdict for that."

Kenzo didn't move, nor speak.

"She did it for me. This is why I see only one solution: I have to suffer from the same verdict."

Kenzo could have taught McGonagall a lesson or two in steady faces. And in taking his time - for that, and for thinking. Finally, he bowed.

"The punishment was intended to create a time period without aikido, and kenjutsu. Since this goal seems at risk now," a short flash from Kenzo's eyes, "we have to change it. During this month, you, Ha-ri, will teach Rahewa bushido - here in this hall. You'll do it with talking, with meditation ... and with not more exercises than required to reach the proper calmness of mind and body."

Harry bowed.

Rahewa bowed.

Kenzo bowed.

The next day, McGonagall called Harry and Rahewa into her office. "I've found something for you together," she said, "and you'll do it this evening, so it's out of the way before the Easter break."

When both Harry and Rahewa bowed silently, the witch had again trouble with her face. "Mr Filch asked for help to polish the items in the trophies cabinet. If I remember right, Mr Weasley could tell you how it's done - with your hand's work. Before you start, you'll deliver your wands here in this office."

His eyes widening, Harry stared at her. What he saw was an entreating look - not to say anything, not to ask what exactly was meant with hand's work.

He nodded. "Yes, Professor."

In the evening, Mr Filch provided them with polish and rags, then let them alone - Harry's presence made the caretaker very nervous.

"Oy! The no-goods of Gryffindor - Potter for polish! Lightfoot for lacquer!"

Of course - Peeves.

"May I help you?" Peeves was about to come down, no doubt to make the worst mess of the trophies.

Harry had an idea. "Peeves - do you know what I did in Beauxbatons?"

"Sure - you made a new ghost." Peeves cackled. "Nasty Potter makes a nasty ghost, and other nasty - "

"You know that I did it without a wand?"

Peeves looked watchful. "That's what I heard."

"Its true. And now I'd like to show you something else. Would you come a bit closer?"

"What is it?" Peeves' expression was very suspicious.

"It's called The ghost in the bottle - and this bottle of polish seems about right. Now, if you could just - " Harry stopped, grinning. There was no sense in talking with empty air.

Sobering up, he said, "Okay. Rahewa, get yourself a piece - we need something in our hands if Filch comes in. I don't want to watch all the time, because we have a lot to talk about."

For starters, he sent a cleaning spell across the first two pieces, a cup and a plate - with engravings good enough to demand ten minutes, had it been done with rag and polish.

Rahewa looked doubtful. "Isn't this cheating? I don't want to cheat McGonagall, and we're not supposed to use magic."

"No, it's not. Remember what she said?"

Rahewa scanned her memory. "Not exactly - only that we had to deliver our wands."

"She said, 'with your hand's work,' and that's what we'll do. You'll pass me the pieces, that's your hand's work. I'll polish them, that's my hand's work - and there was nowhere said it has to be rag and polish. If Mr Filch cannot imagine another method, that's not our problem, is it?"

At this moment, Mrs Norris came around the corner, hunched, stared at them.

"Oh, dammit ..." Harry eyed the cat. "I don't know how, but she's telling Filch everything."

"No, she isn't." Rahewa moved to the cat, grabbed her, hung her halfway over a shoulder, the rest supported by two arms. She came back and sat down again.

Harry stared at the shapeless bunch, which kept purring like a rusty pipe, strongly reminding him of an owl in someone else's arms. "I can't believe it."

Rahewa beamed. "A Cree trick ... So, how was this story with a dragon and Hagrid?"

* * *

Easter with the Weasleys proved nice, giving Harry a warm feeling of family and home and peace. Strongly contributing to that peace was the absence of the kind of remarks, whispers, and glances he experienced in Hogwarts.

This quiet state encountered an interruption, though only a short one, by the twins' arrival. When they started with their comments, talking about brilliant performance and a cool mind, Ma Weasley stopped them cold.

"Shut up! Harry was forced to do what he did, and he's done it properly - still, it's nothing to celebrate."

She was very concerned about the formalities still pending. Harry assured her that these were really just formalities, that he would contact Mr Spinbottle next Tuesday, and that both sides would feel best if he stayed out of France for some time.

His own concerns dealt with something totally different. The Changs had invited him for another dinner. This dinner would take place Easter Monday, and from Cho, Harry had been forewarned - while to the outside he was expected to do another performance as an amateur magician, the true reason for this dinner party was a thorough check of the invited people. Mr Chang had new business partners, maybe also new employess of the high ranks, and he wanted to hear Harry's comments, of course also those of Nagini.

In one aspect, the invitation showed a remarkable difference to the previous one. As the letter stated, Harry "might be prepared to stay until the next morning." He thought a lot about this peculiar formulation, remembering Cho's explanations at the last time. In the end, he felt pretty sure - this was Mr Chang's - or maybe Mrs Chang's - version of something which, in plain English, would read, "Dear Harry, you don't have to travel back in the night, so don't forget your toothbrush, and let's forget about this ridiculous story about a driver who's drunk, sick, or nightblind."

The thought sent a thrill through him. Guest suites had this effect - in particular if they were located in the house of the future parents-in-law.

Preparing for his second performance as an amateur magician included a request toward the twins. Some of their designs seemed wonderfully suited for an audience of Muggles, designs which had been improved since a first test in Gryffindor Tower, offered from a mini flying carpet.

When the limousine arrived, there was a passenger in the back compartment: Cho. She found the time for saying hello to the Weasley family, naturally so, as she had come with flowers for Ma Weasley, and with the promise of visiting for a longer time during the summer break.

Ma Weasley beamed about the flowers.

With delight, Cho went through The Burrow - an endless number of cosy corners, steep staircases, and a ghoul! Ma Weasley looked a bit suspicious at first, but then beamed still more since there was no doubt - The Burrow raised some unconscious memory of early childhood in Cho. Obviously, this style of buildings was quite common in Hong Kong.

And then they had to go - the Changs wanted a few minutes with Harry before the other guests arrived. On the road, Cho showed signs of adventurousness. Harry, in contrast, showed none. His demand for a week's worth of thrills was more than covered, tinted glasses or not.

Mr Chang's welcome looked almost normal. However, barely inside, Harry recognized differences.

Mrs Chang accepted today's flower - an orchid, naturally, blue with fine shades of violet - and then greeted him in French style.

Mr Chang, dropping any formality, beamed at him. "Harry, we're proud of you."

Harry looked from one to the other. "Proud?"

Mrs Chang nodded emphatically. "Yes, of course ... It's very satisfying to know that our daughter is going to marry someone who really can protect her."

Harry didn't know what to say.

Mr Chang said, "Harry, we're too much Chinese to get overly excited about the death of a person. But we feel very excited to learn that, with only seconds to decide, you've found the courage, the willpower, and the skill to solve the problem with the only solution, no matter how unpopular it might appear, and I'm sure it does ... That makes you one in a million ..."

"No," protested Cho, "he's unique."

Mr Chang smiled at her. "Yes, my little flower - but you should leave him some room for improvement."

---

Harry managed some improvement in his magical performance. Knowing more about the issue than the last time, he avoided all similarities with standard Muggle tricks. Yes, he showed levitation, as before, only this time with Nagini, floating at eye level along the guests.

And he had learned that the most scary trick - lie detector - had to be followed by something funnier. So he placed this part in the middle, and he used cards. Picking one of the guests, he let the man shuffle a deck of cards - "once more, please, they're still too ordered" - and then take one card after the other in rapid sequence, to tell the suit and the value with an arbitrary number of lies put in.

Of course, for most guests, this had to be one of these very popular card tricks, except they were at a loss to imagine how he was doing it.

Another guest wanted to break what could only be a hoax, failed. A third guest showed his own deck of cards. "Can we use them?"

"Certainly - oh, Tarot cards, wonderful!"

After twenty cards or so, the man gave up, with a desparate look in his face. But he was just a clueless Muggle, like all the others.

The final tricks, aside from Harry's trademark with flowers for the ladies and emptied glasses for the gentlemen, were based on two of the twins' designs - "magical cakes," as he called them quite truthfully, although not earning any faith in his statement.

First, he used the Star-Spangled Sugar Pearls. All he had to do was breathe a bit heavier than normal, then the colour sparks were flying from his mouth into the air, and the guests roared in applause.

Then came Fred's Funny-Talks, however in the advanced design. The effective period was not more than a minute, and a single bubble could hold a short sentence. Harry asked Mrs Chang as his assistant to the front, gave her his wand, and instructed her to make the bubbles pop exactly in the sequence in which they arrived. Then he walked into the corner, to produce the bubbles and to send them with a little magic toward Cho's mother.

Mrs Chang stood ready with the wand, looking as expectant as a child.

Pop "Ladies and gentlemen, this is bubble speech."

Pop "You know - like in the comics."

Pop "That's how the comic bubbles were invented."

Mrs Chang started to chuckle.

Pop "And that's what people mean if they say - "

Pop "Save your speech."

Pop "Only my charming assistant doesn't save it."

Pop "No - she can't wait to hear this nonsense."

Mrs Chang started to giggle.

Pop "I mean - what can you expect from bubble speech?"

Pop "But you can say things you didn't say, did you?"

Mrs Chang was laughing so much, she had trouble with the last bubble.

Pop "Anyway - applause for my curious assistant!"

Flushed from joy, Mrs Chang bowed.

Afterwards, one guest talked first with Mr Chang and was then sent to Harry. "Mr Potter," the man said, "tell me your price for an evening, it doesn't matter how much, but I simply must - "

Harry interrupted him. "I'm sorry - it's reserved exclusively for this house."

The man stared in disbelief. "You mean - the house is the trick?"

Harry nodded gravely. "You could say so, yes."

Now Mr Chang had trouble with his face.

When the guests were gone, Mrs Chang looked at Harry. "These bubbles - no, really ..." She started to giggle again.

"The honour goes to Fred," explained Harry. "He's the designer."

"Yes, please tell him ... but it was you who filled the bubbles."

Mr Chang, on the other side, was too much of a salesman to let Harry's refusal go uncommented upon. "Do you know what you could have asked for? ... Ten thousand is nothing on the stages this man is handling!"

Harry grinned. "Yes, sir, but anyway I'd spend it on broomsticks, so what's the loss?"

Mr Chang exploded in laughter.

"Don't laugh!" Cho looked indignantly at her father. "He's serious; he'd buy Firebolts Two for the rest of his team - and then?"

Mr Chang was gasping for breath. Recovering, he asked, "I take it there was no new mole, Harry?"

"No, sir - just Muggles, and all of them as happy as kids."

---

Mr Chang looked satisfied. He failed to mention the unlucky Mr Millar, or enterprises located in Nassau or Hong Kong. It could mean there was no news, or he was waiting for next morning, in order not to break the leisurely atmosphere. Instead, he asked with a cunning smile, "Who's going to win the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, Harry?"

"Well, it's Cho versus Rahewa. Our teams are too much on a par to win any other way."

The Changs wanted to know about Rahewa.

Cho answered for Harry. "She's his newest acquisition. You know, Harry's collecting family like other people stamps - and this is his first daughter, after he's got enough brothers and sisters. I mean, I could imagine adopting her - after the cup, that is - but how to raise a daughter that's six years younger than you and can handle a knife better than her stockings?"

Mrs Chang smiled at her daughter. "If it's family, it's no competition."

"Is that so?" After a second, Cho seemed quite in a hurry to talk further. "No, that's not the problem - I mean ..." She trailed off, blushing.

Harry came to help. "Young Damon is Rahewa's cavalier, while I'm just an idol. The other day, she was really shocked, hearing I got detention years ago." After this remark, of course he had to tell the story of the trophy cleaning.

Cho looked at her mother. "See what I mean?"

Mrs Chang nodded. "As I said - if you can't fight it, embrace it."

Cho looked fierce. "After the cup."

She looked less fierce when she came into the guest room a while later, still very determined, although not with Quidditch on her mind, as could be easily recognized with a look at this garment Harry remembered so well.

The look alone was enough to accelerate his breath.

Cho noticed with satisfaction. "Today it's just the two of us, so I thought I might put in a bit of fancy ... Unwrapping, for example; wouldn't it be a pity if your hard-earned skill got lost?"

Harry relished the sight of the wrapping, which so artfully gave hints of the content. "That's very unlikely," he said.

Cho bent closer, sniffed at him, taking some more of the Samurai scent. "I'd like to know how the others smell ... Harry, that should be your wrapping the next time - Clair de Hune, for example."

"Really?"

"Yes - that's some touch of ..." Cho's eyes were glittering. "To smell you, and at the same time a perfume from another woman - there's nothing wrong with this combination, believe me."

Harry traced a line across the thin fabric. "I don't get it. One time, you're going mad because your perfume wasn't the only one, and the next time, you want me to use the other - especially for occasions like this. And then - you didn't exactly help me to stay off from Marie-Christine."

"No, I didn't." There was no denying - the memory of that scene was tearing off some of Cho's patience with a slow and sensual unwrapping.

Harry glanced up, to examine her face for a change. "In public, you're a book case of jealousy, while privately - "

Cho shook her head. "No, I'm not ... Anyway, let's discuss this another time because right now, there's something more urgent."

His fingers were teasing a bit harder, then stopped. "But I'd like to know."

"There's no need to know everything. And besides, weren't you told it's very impolite to let a lady wait?"

He obeyed, but only until her breath came ragged. Then he stopped again. "I can't concentrate - this question is bothering me a lot."

"That's a lie - you feel very concentrated here."

"Maybe so - " he had to pause for a gasp because Cho was probing this particular concentration. "Still, my mind is wondering - "

"This mind will stop wondering in a second." Cho tried to get up, couldn't - even without a third person's assistance, Harry's lessons with various Japanese teachers had enabled him to hold her in a tight grip - badly suited to calm her down.

"That's ... you'll suffer for ..." Maybe so, but right now, it looked very much as if she was suffering first, if that was the right term.

Not losing his grip, Harry used his mouth for some more teasing. "Tell me."

"I'm not jealous - not in the common sense. The thought of you doing it with another woman doesn't upset me, quite the opp - er, not exactly the opposite, you know what I mean."

Oh yes, he did, remembering so well.

"Maybe it's limited to Marie-Christine, and you better not running tests for that, because that's exactly the point ..."

"Indeed." The exact point he was playing with made it impossible for her to speak ... Until he stopped again. "Which point?"

"It must be my choice - at least I must have had a chance saying yes or no."

He wasn't really surprised. "You mean, if I came along with someone, and you could say 'She's okay' or 'She's not,' then you ..."

"I don't know, and I can wait to find out ... And now, would you please concentrate on the only girl that's around??"

He did.

* * *

What made him wake next morning was a door which opened with considerably more noise than the night before, however the person was the same. Cho grinned. "I'm here officially - to call you for your last chance of a breakfast. And since I'm hungry, that's all ... Get dressed."

Checking the time, Harry almost jumped out of bed.

Some minutes later, after a short shower, he met Cho again at the breakfast table. With some embarrassment, he greeted Mrs Chang. "I'm sorry for being so late."

Mrs Chang smiled. "A long sleep is the hallmark of a peaceful mind."

Or maybe of a tired body.

Mr Chang, for whom this was an ordinary business day, had left a message for him, although not on paper. "He's trying to gather information through business channels," explained Mrs Chang. "This is a slow process, since he doesn't want to be noticed for a special interest toward Amalgamated Enterprises. He said, so far there was nothing significant, but it takes a while to recognize a pattern."

Harry looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't even know how a pattern looks. Please give him my thanks, Mrs Chang."

Cho's mother looked grim. "He's not going to stop ... He's been challenged, which means he'll keep it in mind until he sees a chance to return the favour."

"But don't we know that it's Voldemort who's sent this wizard?"

"Certainly, Harry. But there are people in the middle - business people who must have some knowledge."

"This Mr Millar - is there any news?"

Mrs Chang's face lost all expression. "No."

Harry had left Nagini in the guest room. Even so, his haragei told him - this answer might have been literally right, while certainly not true.

When in doubt, ask. "Would it be - er, very surprising to hear from him?"

Mrs Chang looked innocent. "How should I know? I'm a Muggle, not a witch."

Which was answer enough.

Mr Chang had sent car and driver back from his office, to be available at Harry's disposal when returning to The Burrow. Harry accepted the lift, however directed the driver downtown where he sent him off.

---

His first stop was Mr Spinbottle's office, only to hear that the lawyer was in court, so he made an appointment for late afternoon.

His next stop was Sirius' office - the anteroom, to be precise. A young woman blocked his path. For what Harry saw, Sirius could have kidnapped her from a Hogwarts class, sixth year more likely than seventh. Except Harry didn't remember such a face. And she seemed very determined.

"Are you looking for something specific, sir?"

"Er - yes, indeed, it's Sirius I'm looking for. Sorry - Harry Potter's my name."

A quick glance at his forehead, almost a nod - and the girl didn't move! "Do you have an appoint - "

She was interrupted by the opening door. Sirius stood in the frame and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Jessica; he's not going to hurt me. That's Harry Potter, my godchild. Harry, meet Jessica Crow, my new secretary."

"Nice to meet you." From her side, it was an outright lie.

Inside the office, Harry and Sirius were looking at each other, both with the same question in the face - what the hell the other had done. Harry pointed to the outside. "Did you raid an orphanage?"

"Don't get confused by her looks - she's up to the task, and she's not as young as you might think."

"Does she know she's hired as a secretary?"

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I saw was a bodyguard, and she seemed convinced I came here to do something horrible."

"You can't blame her - did you read the newspapers about your case?"

Harry hadn't - quite purposefully so.

"Well - you're not exactly Jack the Ripper, but the difference's more with your first name than anything else."

"I think I know why," said Harry. "The French press took over the version from the Pouilly family, and the British press took over the version from the French press."

"And the police?"

"I met a Claude Domingieux. For him, it's self-defence."

Sirius stared at Harry a moment longer, then went to the door and opened it. "Jessica? Please come in."

The girl-like woman entered the room and looked at Sirius, avoiding Harry's glance.

"Jessica," said Sirius, "please send a letter to the French police and ask them for a copy of the Potter file. Send it to - " He looked at Harry.

"Domingieux - Commissaire du Police Claude Domingieux."

The secretary started to write, stopped, looking desperate. Having a fair guess of what was causing her trouble, Harry moved his harm toward the parchment. "May I?"

Not-so-young Jessica almost jumped away. Only after a second, she managed to offer parchment and quill.

Harry wrote the title and the name, returned parchment and quill, then looked at Sirius. "What do you have in mind with that file?"

"First Jessica will read it, and then she'll know you have a good reason when killing people." Sirius looked at his secretary. "Harry's the one who followed that man in Middle Station ... But I don't think he'll develop it to a habit - killing people, I mean."

Harry stared at his godfather. "Thanks a lot - really, I always appreciate such good faith."

Sirius wasn't impressed. "And then I'll read it - just to be sure."

Now Harry was really speechless.

Sirius looked apologetic. "Harry, I trust your judgement. But you should read those articles, then you'll know why I would like to see the file."

"Better not ... Tell me, what's their version?"

"Oh - it's a story of sex and crime and passion and betrayal - just the kind that's selling newspapers, that's why they presented it five times in a row. What's your version?"

Seeing two faces looking expectantly at him, anger was boiling up in Harry like a wave of fire. "Mine? It's a story of sex and crime and passion and betrayal - you'll find the details in the file. Bye." He stood up and started walking to the door.

"Harry!"

He stopped, not turning.

"Please come back."

He turned, tried a cold stare, failed. "Something else?"

"Why didn't you stupefy him?"

"Because ... read it in the file." Harry turned again, stepped toward the door, his sight already swimming in a haze.

Sirius caught him at the door, turned him round, hugged him. "I'm sorry."

"He would have killed her, Sirius ... He wanted me to kill him, only that he wanted to kill her first." Clutching to Sirius' chest, Harry started to cry for the second time.

Sirius seemed frozen in helplessness, and embarrassment. It was Jessica who guided Harry to a seat, who found a tissue, brought him a glass of water. Then she left the room.

---

When Harry had calmed down, Sirius asked, "If you want, we can ask Deborah for another press article to put it straight."

Harry shook his head. "Who'd be interested in that? As you said, the first story's just too good."

"But if the truth is a good story too - "

Harry had a short laugh. "The facts are pretty much the same, only the accentuation's a bit different. Nobody would realize the finer details." He gave Sirius the shortest possible summary of the facts with the proper accents.

Even the shortest version made Sirius' eyes widen. "Harry, you're astonishing me."

Harry snorted, maybe for revenge. "You're not long enough in the job. Domingieux didn't even blink."

"That reminds me - did you get along with him?"

"Not in the beginning, but in the end. He's the one who took the pressure from the Pouilly family without passing it further." Harry explained about his appointment with Spinbottle, and that some formalities were the only task left to do.

Sirius looked relieved. "Okay. Something else, two weeks from now, I'll give a party for my rescuers. I'd like to check the invitation list with you, to - er, make sure there's no rough edge left."

"Rough edge?"

"To make sure there's an even number of guests."

"Where's the problem? Invite an even number of guests."

Sirius sighed. "My God - for someone who just told me this story, you're awfully slow in understanding."

Relishing the moment, Harry grinned. "Oh - you mean equal numbers of ... well, didn't the story make clear why I'm slow with that?"

Sirius shook his head. "And that's my godchild ... So, for the slow kind of mind: I'm going to invite people which may come alone or with a partner, and I'd like to know in advance where I have to balance out. Got it now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then ..."

"Start with the host."

"That's me."

"Plus?"

"As if you didn't know!"

"Deborah ... You sure she's coming alone?"

Sirius stared at Harry with a perplexed expression, met a broad grin, and asked, "Are you trying to pay back?"

"No - I mean no longer. Go ahead."

"Harry and?" Now Sirius was grinning.

"Are we doing a list or are we scoring wisecracks?"

"Cho ... Ron and?"

"Janine."

"Viktor?"

"Hermione."

"Remus?"

"Almyra."

Sirius' head snapped up. "You joking?"

Harry smiled. "Not at all."

Sirius whistled. "Well, well, well - my old friend Remus." He looked conspiratorial. "Say, how did they ... how do they - "

"What I can tell you without violating confidentiality - the feelings are totally mutual, and it's nothing new - not at all, if you get my bearing ..."

Sirius blushed a bit.

"... only it took them awfully long to - er, express themselves, what with the natural barrier. And because there's some codex, if you get my bearing again, they're waiting desperately for end of terms, when Almyra's no longer a student of Hogwarts."

Sirius looked pitiful.

Harry laughed. "No need to worry. They're very inventive, if you get - "

Sirius looked blank. "Not this time. You've lost me."

Harry grinned maliciously. "To quote someone - it's not impossible to find an information leak somewhere else, though not with me."

Sirius nodded ruefully. "Okay, got my lesson. Anyway, who's next ... Severus?"

"No idea."

"Hmm ... alone, as far as I know. Kenzo?"

"Alone, I'd say. But that's just an educated guess."

"Educated, eh? Some education - "

"Now give it a rest! You're asking me about the love life of my teachers, and then you're complaining if you get an answer!"

Sirius chuckled. "Okay. Then we have Paul who'll come with his girlfried - "

"How do you know?"

"Wasn't it you who said you shouldn't answer stupid questions? And two colleagues of mine, both married. So we have two singles that need balancing - "

"What about your secretary?"

"Yes - that's what I was about to say."

"By the way - what's Deborah's comment on her?"

Sirius grinned. "Whatever's crossing your mind, forget it - Deborah's the one who recommended her." Jessica Crow, as Sirius explained, had been working for the Daily Prophet, showing a remarkable skill in organization - together with a deep horror of the cynical style among the staff. Hearing about Sirius' need for an efficient assistant and anteroom dragon, Deborah had suggested a change into a world where the distinction between good and bad was sharper than in a newspaper office.

Then, checking his paper, Sirius said, "We're one woman short. Any suggestions?"

Harry looked surprised. "Isn't it obvious? You invite all your helpers, right?"

Sirius swallowed. "Is this a good idea, Harry?"

Harry's face was beaming. "It's perfectly Zen."

"What?"

"Yeah, sure. Maybe it doesn't look right, but it's certainly true - and you know, it's the intention that counts."

Sirius sighed. "Okay ... Ginny."

He checked again. "Well, let's say, Severus and Jessica, then this would mean Kenzo and Ginny. Harry, that's some weird combination."

Looking innocent, Harry replied, "No - why?"