Harry Potter and the Magical Tours

With new energy, Harry dove into the last weeks of this quite remarkable school year. After all that time, the year had brought a temporary stop to his life-long crusade, and a workable solution to his other serious problem - how to endure a year at Hogwarts without Cho.

In view of such essential goals, other things seemed of minor importance, except these were the ones left to do - winning the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, for example. Oh yes, and to pass a few end-of-year exams, he'd almost forgotten about them.

It was Hermione, of course, who reminded them when Harry and Ron were discussing Quidditch training schedules, and how to re-synchronize between Harry and the rest of the team.

"What about a few learning sessions?" asked Hermione. "You've fought Voldemort - great, but the teachers may have some other topics to ask."

Harry grinned. "Are you sure?"

Hermione sighed. "Be reasonable. Yes, okay, Charms is no longer an issue for you ..."

Definitely so - not with Harry as the only one having mastered Apparation long before schedule, for the first time creating a situation in which Hermione wasn't top of the pop in a matter taught in classes, although there was little doubt she would master Apparition soon by herself.

"... Defence is a self-runner too - even if your gaps are as wide as the Hogwarts lake, Snape'll make you pass after two minutes. And Transfiguration - you haven't got the foggiest about that, but Lupin will have a nice chat with you, and at the end, you'll have to remind him not to forget his signature on the exam form."

Harry beamed. "How did you know?"

"But there's still Care, there's Social Ethics - "

"Grubbly-Plank and Binns won't let me hang - never!"

"And there's Potions, in case you forgot, and that's McGonagall."

"Oops." Harry knew - his Head of House wouldn't hang him either, only he wasn't ready to encounter the shameful scene of McGonagall doing a triple-G for him - a generous grading by grace. Not with her, and, come to think of it, not with another teacher either.

He glanced at Hermione. "How are the chances for a little coaching from your side?"

"Hmm ..." Greed appeared in Hermione's face. "You know what I'm going to trade for, don't you?"

"You mean test candidates for your new recipes?"

"Yes, what else? And one candidate in particular, for whom your vote has a lot of weight."

For a fleeting instant, Harry had to fight the temptation of a cheap deal. Then he said, "You don't need my help for that. He's ready to do it - first thing next terms, after they've settled their own issues. What I can - "

"Really? Super!" Hermione's face was shining, then showed an appreciating smile. "I have to admit, Harry - no matter how bad your morale as a student, there's nothing wrong with your ethics."

Harry felt pleasure and self-consciousness at the same time.

"I've heard that before," he replied, "although in some other context. Anyway, what I can offer is the role of a business agent, between you and some candidates in Haiti. We only have to find some werewolves there."

Hermione thought for a moment. "It's a deal ... You still have no Apparition license, but who said it's my job to watch other people keeping the rules?"

Ron looked deeply astonished. "Why? I always thought there's a voice from Heaven, telling you each morning, maybe under the shower, maybe when - "

Hermione just laughed. "Who told you that? But recently, the shower's too loud to hear a word."

Ron nodded. "Ahh - that explains a lot."

And so Harry started working hard on things as mundane as Potions, Care, and Social Ethics - in the spare time left besides regular classes and Quidditch training. However, his good intentions were corrupted soon. The first blow came some days later, when reading the Daily Prophet during breakfast. The headline covered almost half of the first page.

For a moment, Harry pondered two alternatives - a suicide of the spectacular kind the first, a punishment in Voldemort's usual style the second. Then, reconsidering what he had felt in the dark cellar of Sirius' house, he knew that this had been no suicide.

To get another opinion, he marched over to the Ravenclaw table, made Cho and Almyra read the article, and asked, "What's your guess - suicide or Voldemort?"

Almyra's answer came instantly. "No suicide. Otherwise, you're the better expert."

Cho looked uneasy. "What does it mean for you, Harry?"

"For me?" Then he understood. "Oh - nothing. When talking with Voldemort, I excluded Warrington explicitly. I told him he can do with that guy whatever he wants. Well, he did, didn't he?"

"Yep ... Now Rita Skeeter can rest in peace."

"And Warrington will rest in pieces."

Harry's bad joke raised a grimace from Cho - after all, this was breakfast, a sanctified time of day for her. Almyra, in contrast, looked more approving than distasteful, quite understandably so for an earwitness of Warrington's confession.

---

However, there was an aspect in the accident which caused Harry to think for a while, through most of Social Ethics. At the end of the class, his decision was made, just in time because double Charms came next.

He had barely dropped his broomstick in the training area when he jumped to the front of the Magical Tours headquarters. Moments later, he stood before the Managing Director's secretary.

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but today it's impossible. Honestly! Mr Boonhill - "

"I know, Madam, but it's about this accident. I have some information, and I want to tell Mr Boonhill."

A minute later, he was sitting in front of the large desk. The manager's face looked tired. "Good morning, Mr Potter. Was your talk with Mr Crownshield satisfying?"

"I never saw him, Mr Boonhill. It was a trap, although that was no real surprise." Seeing the man's expression, Harry continued quickly, "But to make a long story short - yes, the result was quite satisfying. I'm thankful for your help, Mr Boonhill, and that's the reason for my coming. I know about the background of that accident."

"Then you know more than we do - it's a mystery for our technicians."

"They might as well stop investigating," stated Harry, "because they'll never find out. It was a murder, committed by Voldemort. Warrington was Voldemort's helper, if not to say his employee, and he had the clumsiness to reveal an important detail about where to find Voldemort. That was reason enough for Voldemort to kill him in the most spectacular way. Although - it's probably not by accident that the linkports of Magical Tours were used for that purpose, my feeling is Voldemort has some grudge against his business partners."

Mr Boonhill's eyes had widened, narrowed, widened again. "Mr Potter - just assuming I believe you every word, can you prove what you said?"

"That'll be difficult." Seeing the manager's look, Harry added, "Don't get me wrong, Mr Boonhill - it's fact from start to end, and I'll help you if I can, but there's a significant difference between knowing and proving."

"You said Warrington was killed because he told somebody something. What did he tell?"

"The address of his vacation house on the Bahamas. That's where Voldemort was hiding."

"And whom did he tell?"

"Me - and two other people who were present at that time."

Mr Boonhill asked with some carefulness, "Is my impression right that this information wasn't given voluntarily, Mr Potter?"

"Basically, yes. We didn't torture him, if that's what you think, but we forced him to reveal some details. But before you feel pity, Mr Boonhill - Warrington was the murderer of Rita Skeeter, a journalist."

"And why is Voldemort interested in hurting Magical Tours? To discredit us with the most spectacular accident you can imagine?"

"Some people in your mother company - Amalgamated Enterprises - are, or were, his business partners. Mr Crownshield is one of them, and your predecessor, Mr Gallagher, was another. Business partners of Voldemort have unlucky fates, Mr Boonhill - you know the old saying, about the long spoon you need when lunching with the devil."

"Mr Potter - I really appreciate your help, at least we know what happened. If I understand you right, these details are badly suited to be recorded in an affidavit. Although it won't help to keep the damage at bay."

"How bad is it for your business, Mr Boonhill?"

A bitter laugh. "The worst. Do you know about Muggle techniques, such as aeroplanes, Mr Potter?"

"A bit. Why?"

"When flying, those aeroplanes can shake horribly in wind and storm - that's why they always have lots of bags ready, if people start retching. Well, and now, we need the same bags because our passengers are scared to death entering a linkport gate."

---

Harry's next decision was taken in a second. "Mr Boonhill - you need positive publicity, right?"

With his fine ear for business chances, the Managing Director looked very expectant.

"I'm ready to be interviewed by the Daily Prophet. In this interview, I'll explain that this wasn't an accident but Voldemort's doing, and why. I'll state in public that Warrington has ordered the murder of Rita Skeeter. I don't know how much it'll help, but I think it's better than some signed paper in some office."

Hope was glowing in Mr Boonhill's face. "You'd do that, Mr Potter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Well - I learned to distinguish between Magical Tours in general and specific people in particular, so maybe it's a bit of an apology. I have some obligation toward you specifically - and it gives me an opportunity to settle another obligation to Rita Skeeter."

"And how do we handle the other side - I mean the interviewer?" The manager looked apologetic. "You know - we're definitely ready to be grateful, but the slightest suspicion that this interview is just a paid advertisement - "

Harry grinned. "Don't worry, Mr Boonhill - I know whom to contact."

When he returned to his classmates, Madam Hooch looked very upset. "I'm not forcing you to hang around here, Mr Potter, but do me a favour - before you jump through the world, tell me in advance when to expect you back. Then at least I know when I have to start being scared, rather than all the time."

Harry blushed. "You're right - I'm sorry, Prof."

"It's okay, Harry. Do you still have other visits to make?"

"Erm - yes, with the Law Enforcement Squad, if that's okay."

The witch grinned. "If you pass a store - I won't mind a pumpkin fizz."

* * *

Harry's interview was recorded the same evening - in Hogwarts, for authenticity as much as to keep Harry's unlawful Apparition travels within bounds. Thanks to the nice weather, they did it outside, near Hagrid's grave. It was a private place with a certain affinity to Voldemort's crimes, and a writer quill didn't mind working without a desk.

Deborah promised to publish the interview as soon as possible. In the meantime, another sensational news prepared the ground better than anything they could have invented. Next morning, opening his Daily Prophet issue, Harry found a surprise.

Harry wondered who had been the initiator of this transaction, more precisely, who was authorized to access the destination account. His prime candidate would be Voldemort, naturally so, except that this dark wizard's greed had never extended to money. Crownshield, or the people around him, were another possibility. At any rate, this transaction hadn't been the first step of Warrington's preparation to escape law's long arm.

Harry's own interview was printed in next day's issue, at page three, however with a front page headline that asked, "New Light in the Warrington Accident?" - followed by a wild speculation that Warrington had been the victim of a clever robbery before he was murdered. In a sense, the interview was new even to Harry - he'd given Deborah full freedom to edit the recording:

Mr Potter, you claim to have information about the recent accident in which Mr Warrington was killed. Is this correct?
"Yes, I do. In particular, I know it wasn't an accident."

No? Then what else was it?
"A murder. Mr Warrington has been murdered."

By whom?
"By Voldemort."

Indeed. Did you see it happen?
"No, of course not. But there's no doubt - it's the only explanation that fits."

So it's just an assertion? That's daring - what if Voldemort takes you responsible for such unproven statements?
"How could he - by suing me? (Mr Potter laughs.) Or by attacking me? The last time he tried it was some days ago - since then, he has other worries than searching for me. Anyway, it's more than an assertion. I have enough information to be sure, I think the police would call it circumstantial evidence."

Then please explain your evidence.
"Well - for starters, it's a fact that Voldemort has the skill to make such an accident happen. In Apparition and Summoning, he's really perfect - I saw it with my own eyes. The next fact is that Warrington was Voldemort's helper. And finally, Warrington did something which gave Voldemort a lot of trouble, to say the least. (Grinning.) Put these facts together, and look what happened to Voldemort's helpers in the past, if they made a mistake, then you know that I'm right."

Careful, Mr Potter. So far, I just see a bunch of assertions. What did Mr Warrington do to deserve Voldemort's wrath?
"He told me where to find him. I mean, not in these words, but he told me the address of his house on the Bahamas, and I knew I'd find Voldemort there - and so it was. Voldemort living in Warrington's house, at an address that was kept a deep secret - I think this is proof enough that Warrington was his helper."

And how did Voldemort know where you got the address from?
"Very simple - he asked me, and I told him."

That's hard to believe, Mr Potter. Wasn't it obvious to you that Mr Warrington would suffer from Voldemort's revenge?
"Of course it was. But I saw no reason to protect him - not because he helped Voldemort, this alone doesn't say much since you never know if these people do it voluntarily or under pressure. No, Warrington was the one who ordered the murder of Rita Skeeter." (Rita Skeeter was a journalist of this newspaper who died in a car accident, a hit-and-run still under investigation.)

Another assertion?
"Oh no. He told me - at an opportunity when he was pretty sure his words couldn't be used against him. I'm not sure whether Voldemort knew, that's why I told him that too. Voldemort doesn't like his helpers killing other people without his authorization, probably another reason why he was really mad at Warrington."

You are quoting a conversation with a dead person, Mr Potter. How can we be sure you are not making this up?
"Oh, there were other people present, so I have witnesses. Not many, but some."

Which people?
"I'd prefer to keep their names to myself. If this case ever comes up in front of a jury, it's soon enough to present witnesses."

A jury? A murder trial or a lawsuit from the Warrington family?
"Whatever. By the way, there are also witnesses for the meeting with Voldemort - this might be of interest for anybody thinking about a lawsuit."

What was the reason for this meeting with Voldemort? We are surprised to hear that you would like to meet Voldemort, still more surprised that Voldemort would like to meet you.
"I didn't like it, I was forced to meet him. But I can tell you, he didn't like it either, after our meeting was over. Aside from that, we should drop the matter - it was a very private meeting, in contrast to the previous one which took place in full public."

Mr Potter, what was your motivation for this interview?
"I'm fighting Voldemort where I can hit him, even if it's just a company he's hurting, not a single person."

But obviously, your protective impulse didn't extend to Mr Warrington.
(Silence)

Would you comment on that, Mr Potter?
"Why? It wasn't a question, and as you said, it's obvious. No - I have a comment. I wanted to declare in public that Wesley Warrington was responsible for the murder of Rita Skeeter, and this was the right opportunity."

That's a very clear comment. How is your relationship with Magical Tours, the company which is suffering from Voldemort's action?
"I had my trouble with them in the past. It took me quite a while to realize that my troubles were caused by specific people, not by the company as such. So if you want, you might say I give this interview as an apology."

Have you been paid by them?
"Paid? (Laughter) I wish I was. No - they had a lot of expenses, from things I did, but none of that money went into my pockets."

So you would claim yourself neutral regarding Magical Tours?
"Not at all. Most likely, there are still some people - either in that company or in their mother company, Amalgamated Enterprises - who have helped Voldemort, or still are helping him. And if so, my best advice is to get rid of them quickly, otherwise they'll have more expenses. But this has nothing to do with their service, I mean linkport travelling. I do it all the time."

Thank you, Mr Potter, for this conversation.

Other people in Hogwarts had also read the interview, Harry could recognize from their glances. Not quite as bad as after the story with Gérard, however these glances weren't friendly either. Well, stirring up mud didn't make friends, nor did a reminder that Voldemort was alive and kicking - or throwing people into linkports.

---

Up to a point, Harry felt expectant to get a reaction from other people, some authorities for example, or the Warrington family. However, the only person who reacted, by visiting him in Hogwarts, came as a real surprise.

It was Mr Spinbottle.

When they had found a quiet place, the lawyer presented the Daily Prophet issue. "Mr Potter, your interview is the reason for my coming. I was deeply astonished to read your statements, since I have proof that Mr Warrington committed suicide."

"What??"

"I received a letter, Mr Potter. It's not exactly the kind of letter you'd find, or expect, but it comes very close. More - the letter came together with a substantial amount of money, an amount which allows the conclusion that the writer is going to abandon his former life, maybe even his life altogether."

"A letter from Warrington?"

"Yes. He expresses his deep sorrow about the death of Mrs Skeeter, that he feels, to some degree, responsible for these events, and that he sends that money for compensation, together with some suggestions how to use it."

"Responsible to some degree? That's - " Harry stopped, as a fantastic thought started to build in his mind. "Mr Spinbottle, when did this letter arrive?"

"Two or three days after the accident - I'd have to check in my office for the exact date."

"And the money - is it as substantial as, say, what could have been found some days earlier at Mr Warringtons's account?"

The lawyer hesitated.

Listening to his haragei, Harry grinned. "It's okay, Mr Spinbottle, you gave the answer already. So, two days before Warrington's death, the money disappears. Two days after his death, the money reappears together with a letter. Mr Spinbottle, where has it been in-between, and how come this letter took so long?"

"It's indeed a bit mysterious, although there might be a simple explanation. For example, Mr Warrington might have deposited both with a colleague of mine, to be sent after his death."

"But you don't believe it, do you?"

"Well - it's highly unusual to write anonymously from one lawyer to another. There's no reason I can see - except that Mr Warrington required this explicitly."

"I'd know a better reason, and a better explanation."

"I'm looking forward to hearing it, Mr Potter."

Now it was Harry's turn to hesitate. If his assumption was correct, maybe he had no right to reveal the details.

"Let me ask another question first, Mr Spinbottle. What suggestions did the writer give for the handling of the money?"

"I'm not sure whether I'm entitled to tell you, Mr Potter."

"Yeah, and I have a similar problem. Let's see ... Assume I tell you about the sender, how confidential would you take this information?"

Mr Spinbottle cooled a bit. "I'm not giving interviews to the press, Mr Potter."

Harry felt up to this heavy artillery. "Another question, Mr Spinbottle - since we're talking about more than a million, isn't it quite interesting to see that this money wanders from one lawyer to another, without anyone else knowing, and these lawyers have professional ethics that stand a million?"

Mr Spinbottle went totally stiff. "I think we should finish this conversation, Mr Potter."

"Just a moment, sir - I wasn't questioning your ethics, and I'll show you why the sender could be perfectly sure too."

There was no lawyer born yet who didn't fall for curiosity, even after insulting implications. "Go ahead, Mr Potter."

"All right. To make sure not even a grand jury can force you to report this, Mr Spinbottle, what I'm telling you is no statement but a wild speculation. Okay?"

A very small grin appeared in the thin-lipped face.

---

"The speculation starts at a time when the money is still safely at Gringotts, and Mr Warrington hasn't the slightest intention to change that state. But then, as I said, he's killed by Voldemort. By some coincidence, the Goblins know that Warrington was Voldemort's figure, and they also know that he was the one who ordered the murder of Rita Skeeter. In case you don't know, Mr Spinbottle - for Goblins, Voldemort is a deadly enemy, and justification enough to break their common rules. This - not the murder, mind - Warrington's connection with Voldemort is reason enough for them to perform a little bank fraud that makes the money disappear. For them, it's of course a piece of cake to date back the transaction by two days - while there's no way to send that letter quicker than it was done. And now let me finish my speculation - the purpose is probably good to stand the highest demands of morale, am I right?"

Spinbottle had listened first with disbelief, then with simple astonishment. "How would the Goblins learn about these facts, Mr Potter?"

"I'd say - someone told them. That would be my guess."

"Your guess, eh?" Apparently, the lawyer could judge this guess properly. Next moment, he said, "But you didn't show how they could be sure about my integrity."

"Isn't it obvious, Mr Spinbottle? In this speculation, the Goblins know about your behaviour with money - more, they'd know if suddenly a large amount would appear in your vault, right? And then they'd take measures."

The lawyer swallowed. "I have to admit - I didn't think for a moment about keeping it, while I was wondering indeed how ... Yes, you're right, Mr Potter."

"In this case, I'd like to hear a - speculation what might be the purpose of that money."

Mr Spinbottle nodded. "Naturally. It's not really a secret, not for the bigger part. The writer of that letter suggested to establish something like a Rita Skeeter Award, a prize for courageous journalism, to be paid from that money - more exactly, from the interest."

Harry smiled. "That's nice. Rita would have liked it a lot, what do you think, Mr Spinbottle?"

"Oh yes - and I'll be glad to follow this suggestion. But there's still a minor part to be dealt with."

"Another suggestion?"

"Yes. The writer recommends to set out a premium for the person, or persons, who contribute to the conviction of Rita Skeeter's murderer, not including police and other authorities. Now, the only person that fits this qualification, Mr Potter, is you."

Harry's answer came without hesitation. "No. First, the nominal murderer was of course the one who drove the car, and I don't think we'll ever find him, or if so, then just by accident - "

"That's agreed, Mr Potter, but I'd say it's justified to take Mr Warrington as the responsible one, and that's the intention - quite obviously, following this wild speculation."

"That's also my view, and that's why I can't accept the money, Mr Spinbottle. If my assumption is right, Voldemort killed Warrington for reasons I told him. I stand to what I did, but I'm not going to take a galleon for that."

"Hmm ... Do you see other candidates for that money, Mr Potter - people who qualify but who don't have this ethical problem?"

This time, Harry was thinking longer. "I know some people who'd qualify, but they won't take that money ... No, Mr Spinbottle, I can't offer candidates."

"How can you be sure about their answer, Mr Potter?"

"The people I have in mind could hear Warrington's confession. Believe me, sir, the thought of that money would make them sick."

"I see. Do you have another suggestion what to do with it?"

"Certainly. Send it to the widow fund of the Law Enforcement Squad - for some reason, that's pretty close to the suggested usage."

Mr Spinbottle nodded thoughtfully. "Very well, Mr Potter. Thank you for all this information, whether as statement or - "

"By the way - how much is it?"

"The suggested premium? Fifty-thousand galleons."

"Yeah, something like that would have been my guess. The Squad can use it. I hope you'll do it anonymously; they don't need to know about the background."

"That's difficult, Mr Potter. I see your reason, but - "

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not - talk with the Goblins, and let them run a trusted order for that. I bet they won't ask."

Mr Spinbottle smiled. "I'm not holding against that bid, Mr Potter."

* * *

With these issues settled, Harry found the proper concentration for the final rush toward end of terms. His free time - a badly inaccurate term under the given circumstances - was spent to equal parts between Ron and Hermione, the one calling for Quidditch training, the other coaching him through Potions, Social Ethics, and Care of Magical Creatures, in descending order of time shares.

Reading the Daily Prophet each breakfast, Harry could also watch how the excitement about the Warrington accident faded, how columnists stopped commenting on his interview, and how linkport business slowly recovered from a deep shock - except that service checks at link gates had to be done more often than before, probably as often as had been reasonable from the beginning, if not for the sloppy control from the Transportation Department.

There seemed nothing left to disturb his role as a diligent Hogwarts student - until that morning when an owl took his attention by neatly slicing the newspaper he was reading in two. The scene felt strangely familiar, also the Gringotts emblem on the letter - only the letter itself wasn't.

Transaction? Which transaction? Harry's first thought was that Mr Spinbottle had sent him money, then he dropped the idea - they had agreed how to handle it.

What crossed his mind next was a present from Magical Tours. Not impossible though unlikely; on the other hand, his mind couldn't deliver any other realistic idea.

Ron watched him. "Gringotts, huh?"

"Yes - how did you know?"

"This owl - bigger than life, that's Goblin style. Let me guess - an unknown uncle died and made you heir of his fortune."

"Yes - how did you know?"

Hermione laughed, even Ron grinned approvingly. "Couldn't be another Request, so that's all that came to my mind."

According to Harry's schedule, Charms classes were the times to learn Social Ethics, but a weird transaction onto his account had to be investigated quickly. He went to Madam Hooch. "Prof, I've good news and bad news. The good news is, I'll come back with a pumpkin fizz."

The witch chuckled. "And the bad news?"

"Probably not before the end of this class."

The air was pleasantly cool in the large hall of the Gringotts building - and cold on the long journey with this little cart, down into the maze of tunnels and passageways. A moment after they passed the underground lake, Harry jolted up. "That's the wrong way - my vault's somewhere else."

"No, sir," said the Goblin at his side. "You've been assigned a new one, for space reasons."

Then they stopped, and when the green smoke had dissipated, Harry stared in disbelief. The vault - considerably larger than his old one - was crammed from floor to ceiling with large green bags of a heavy fabric.

He stepped to the closest bag and opened it, feeling numb at the view. Galleons - one of these bags weighing enough to make him ache when storing it back. He looked at the Goblin, who seemed totally unimpressed. "I have to talk with someone."

"Yes, sir, Mr Moroney is waiting for you."

The Managing Director smiled broadly - for Goblin standards. "Mr Potter, you won't believe what a pleasure it is to discuss something as mundane as money with you - I took the liberty to reserve this consultancy for myself. Where shall we start? Time deposits? Bonds? Investment certificates?"

"Wait a second, please, Mr Moroney. Maybe it sounds stupid, but - are you sure this transaction was correct?"

"Definitely, Mr Potter. Here's the ledger - recipient, Mr Harry Potter, forwarder, Mr Curtis Crownshield, sum - "

"Crownshield??"

"Yes, transferred from the Trade and Merchant's Bank of Bahamas, Nassau - just the address from where you'd expect such orders." The Goblin director looked up. "It seems to me, Mr Potter, the name tells you enough."

"Well, maybe not enough, but something, yes. How much is it?"

"Five hundred grand, Mr Potter."

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry - banker language. Five hundred thousand, Mr Potter - half a million, in other words. At the least, it'll give you an interest of twenty thousand per year - but I'm sure, with a reasonable placement, we can raise this to fifty without taking any risk."

Dumbstruck, Harry listened for a while how the Managing Director was explaining a clever mix of Goblin certificates, public loan shares, and venture capital bonds, plus a slim hundred grand in time deposits to be fluent in an emergency. Eventually, having recovered sufficiently, Harry said, "Mr Moroney - please, let me interrupt you. I'm sorry, but you've lost me minutes ago."

"My mistake, Mr Potter - I have to temper myself, it's a while since I had a chance to design such a nice portfolio - "

"Well - since you're the expert, I'd say if you set up an investment plan, I'll follow your advice entirely, Mr Moroney. I wouldn't know anything better."

The Goblin beamed. "I'm flattered, Mr Potter - it'll be a pleasure. Just let me ask - how much should be left as cash in your vault?"

"Erm ..."

"I'd say twenty - does this sound appropriate?"

Just in time, Harry stopped his protest. The managing director was talking about twenty thousand. "That's okay, yes."

"And short-term availability, say, within two months? I'd recommend another fifty."

"Yeah, that should be enough, probably ..." As if he knew what to do with fifty thousand galleons.

* * *

Harry still felt under shock when returning to the training area, and of course, he'd forgotten the drink. Madam Hooch looked concerned. "Harry, are you okay?"

"Er - yes, Prof ... I'll be back in a minute with the fizz."

It was hard to wait until the evening, and difficult to find non-comittal remarks when people asked what was bothering him. But eventually, it was late enough to find Mr Chang at home. Harry turned to Ron. "Don't wait for me with the training - I'll be late, or maybe I'll not show up at all."

"Damn, Harry - where do you go to?"

"To the end of the rainbow."

Ron looked sour, for Harry missing the Quidditch training so close before the match as well as for the answer - which could only be rated as an unfriendly advice to mind his own business.

While, in fact, only one detail was wrong - Harry was heading for the start of the rainbow, since the end with the pot of gold had already been found in Gringotts.

Mr Chang opened, saw him, and smiled. "Good evening, Harry. Your visit comes unexpected."

Unexpected - not to be confused with a surprise.

Mrs Chang greeted him warmly. "A pity Cho cannot apparate yet. Wouldn't this be a nice evening to sit in the garden ..."

"For what's on my mind, Mrs Chang, I'm glad she's out of earshot."

"Ooh - what's that? Deep secrets from her, to be discussed with us?"

"Yes, at least until I know some more details."

He was offered tea - ice tea, with respect to the weather, and Mr Chang seemed having fun while this ceremony was taking its time, and the guest's impatience growing by the second. But then, finally, Harry could speak.

"Sir, today I was at Gringotts, after I got a letter from them."

"Did you?" The fine smile in Mr Chang's face was crumbling away, making room for a broader grin.

"Yes - and what I saw was almost unbelievable. A Mr Crownshield has made a transfer to my account, and right now, Mr Moroney feels like a kid with his toys while designing an investment plan."

"Yes, I know that feeling. How much was it, Harry?"

"Half a million - galleons."

"A very solid currency." Mr Chang looked deeply satisfied. "So he did it - excellent."

"Did it? I'm not sure what's more surprising to me, that he transferred the money or that he's still - " Harry stopped, barely avoiding an extremely tactless remark.

But Mr Chang had understood anyway. "Well - let's say I found reason to change my strategy a bit."

With effort, Harry kept silent - either Cho's father would tell him or not; questions of the pushing kind were no means to alter that.

"My original planning," said Mr Chang after a moment, "was of course different. But then - maybe because I wasn't entirely sure how much this man was involved by his own free will, I thought it over once more. It's a good Chinese habit to be careful before - er, doing irreversible actions. And then I had a better idea, and also a plan how to make it true. The idea was of course to make him pay - I had thought of it before, only I didn't want that money. But suddenly I knew who could benefit, without having the same uneasiness because he wasn't involved in the plot, and still to my deepest satisfaction."

Mr Chang showed a pleased smile. "You, Harry - to make my future son-in-law rich, rather than killing a man, made me feel very, very good."

"And how did you ..."

"Aaah - that's another beauty in this plot. Mr Crownshield received a letter, telling him that - by an unlucky accident - he had disturbed the harmony of some people for whom the writer felt deep concern, and that this little flaw could easily be forgiven after - well, doing the transfer he did."

"I can't help thinking the letter used totally different words, Mr Chang."

The host beamed. "No, Harry - I was quoting almost literally. But I forgot to tell you - the paper had the signature of the Black Triad, a congregation of - er, business people which is well-known in Hong Kong and, as it turns out, also in Nassau."

Harry stared at his future father-in-law, not feeling well.

Mr Chang laughed. "No, no - I'm no member of that society, my only contact is just good enough to provide me with some sheets of paper, showing a very nice emblem."

Harry swallowed. "I need still a moment to say thank you, sir. This news - I have no idea how to tell Cho, or the others. When I saw that vault ..."

"How does it look, Harry?"

"To be honest - frightening."

Mr Chang grinned. "After all that time, we've found something that can scare you? There's no need; it's just money. You'll get used to it, I can promise you that."

"Hopefully, sir ... Right now, the interest alone is enough to feel giddy. I don't know what to do with so much money."

Mrs Chang smiled. "No need to worry - Cho will help you to figure out."

* * *

A thousand galleons were nice, while half a million was a burden. Harry realized this old wisdom quickly, in the few days left before the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup final. He simply found no way to pass the news to anyone - not even to Cho.

His mind kept running in circles. By the way, I got some money - if I'm not very careful, ten years from now I'll be a millionaire, and if bad comes to worse, still before. They would laugh, wouldn't believe him at first, and then they would believe, and stop laughing. Harry had the distinct feeling his fortune would separate him from the others worse than his Parseltongue had done in the past.

And of course, they would ask. Yeah, my future father-in-law was about to kill a man, but then he blackmailed him instead, and because of his high ethics, he didn't want the money for himself - well, what can you do? Without knowledge of the background, such a story was excellently suited to make him very unpopular in Hogwarts.

Suddenly he felt stupid, having declined the fifty thousand from Mr Spinbottle. On the other hand, if Almyra or Deborah would find out, he could pay them from his own money - a year's interest, if Mr Moroney was right, peanuts, so to speak.

During the Quidditch training, it crossed his mind that he could have bought Firebolts Two for all team members still missing one - had there been a way, without revealing the story, without spoiling the challenge entirely. They'd crush the Ravenclaw team, no question about that - and winning the cup would feel like ashes in his mouth.

Harry's troubled mood didn't go unnoticed; however, after he had truthfully confirmed that no, there wasn't any bad news to be concerned about, the others assumed he was thinking of end-of-year exams, or a cup final in which he had to play against Cho, or an end of terms after which said Cho would no longer be around.

He made a few attempts, failing miserably. The first was with Cho. "What would you do if you were rich?"

Cho didn't understand. "What do you mean? I'll be - sooner or later. It won't change anything."

He tried with Ron. "Say - assume you had hundred thousand galleons. What would you do?"

Ron shrugged. "No idea ... Some time ago, I'd have said I'd go shopping for two days, and take the rest to the bank. But now - I can go shopping any time I feel like it. Okay, there's a limit, but then - how many clothes can you wear, and how many Firebolts can you fly? I guess I would buy a new car for Mum and Dad - that's all I know."

A new car for the Weasleys - replacement for the one Harry and Ron had lost to the Forbidden Forest, four years ago, that was an idea to cheer up. Harry decided - he would confess to Ron at the next opportunity, and then ask him how to handle the purchase without driving Ma Weasly nuts, either because of the money or because of this new toy for her husband.

But right now, Ron could only think about the cup final, which was due soon, would be played tomorrow, would start in the evening, was about to begin in a few minutes, while the seven Gryffindors in their scarlet robes were walking toward the Quidditch pitch.

---

The stadium was full - no place left, people standing, hanging in trees, and they could hear how Lee Jordan was doing his best to convince some others who thought they could watch from midair.

"... know perfectly well that spectators are not allowed to fly broomsticks while the game's running, in order not to confuse the team players. So please, dear guests, come down to the ground and find yourself a place - the sooner the better, since the match won't start unless the air's clear."

Only the air wasn't clear at all, half of the sky darkening quickly behind a black wall of thunderclouds.

Bobby Gillinshaw, captain of the Ravenclaw team and one of their Chasers, was talking in a low voice with Ron. Once in the air, these two would fight each other tooth and nail, while as long as Viktor's whistle hadn't blown yet, they shared the same concerns - those stupid airwatchers, and the thunderstorm that would strike soon.

Lee's voice again. "This is the last warning - Mr Krum just told me, if there's still a broomstick in the air three minutes from now, he'll gather the veterans of the Hogwarts Flying Squad, and then you'll see a few Steel Wings in action - remember, touching a Steel Wing which isn't your own is an extremely unpleasant feeling. So please, be reasonable and show a bit of goodwill - and don't forget, the other spectators may become rather unfriendly if you make them wait much longer."

Harry felt impatient, wasn't in the mood for hunting spectators on a Steel Wing. Checking around, he had a better idea and went to Viktor.

Viktor nodded and spoke with Lee, who then announced, "A last offer for goodwill - if you move into a treetop, so that you surely won't be confused with a team player, it's okay to stay on your broomsticks. Now please, hurry - there are enough trees around, and we're already five minutes late."

Within seconds, the airwatchers had placed themselves between the topmost branches of some trees, grateful not to lose their excellent view so high above ground.

Cho was standing there, a challenging look in her face. It crossed Harry's mind how peculiar this situation was - like a ball for a very special dance, only today he was the one wearing red, while Cho's robe showed the same steely blue as those of the other Ravenclaws.

At Cho's side stood Miranda Pincus, the second girl in the Ravenclaw team and their Keeper. Since the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match, stupid remarks about a girl between goalposts had stopped, and Wynton had expressed quite some respect for her performance.

Harry's and Ron's immediate opponents were Terry Boot and Quentin Bedlam, the Ravenclaw Beaters. They were talking with each other, probably discussing their own strategy against the Potter-Weasley gang with these broomsticks that could accelerate so frighteningly fast.

Viktor's whistle shrilled, and the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup final was running.

---

Harry shot up, had a Bludger before him, waited still a moment, his perception of Quidditch nautics already working - shooting now would mean the Quaffle was bound to leave Jasper Stone's hand, only to be caught by Oleg Kurassov, while in a second ... And now his club came down, hit the Bludger, sent it on a perfect course toward Jasper, and Oleg was a few feet behind Katie who got the Quaffle, passed it to Alicia, who passed it further, and Harry was speeding to reach Ginny, escorting her toward the Ravenclaw goal, nowhere a Bludger in sight, none close enough to reach them, nobody able to follow, so he could already turn in a loop, to hunt a Bludger.

Under him, Ginny shot the Quaffle at short distance - and Miranda had her fingers at the ball, brilliant Miranda ... poor Miranda who could only block, couldn't hold, giving Ginny time to take it again and to score before the first defender had arrived.

One - zero for Gryffindor.

Against a black sky, Harry saw two figures zoom through the air - Rahewa, who was performing artistry on a Firebolt, and Cho, following her at close distance, always ready to play her trump card - the Firebolt Two, should the sparkling of the Snitch be seen.

This technique - Harry remembered his own game against her, when Cho had done this marking with an old Comet. He had outmanoeuvered her more by his Firebolt's steering control than by speed, while here in this match, Cho wasn't suffering from her broomstick's slow reaction.

To win the match, the Gryffindors needed fifteen points in the lead through scoring, or more luck at Rahewa's side than could be reasonably expected.

It wasn't impossible - Katie, Alicia, and Ginny scored about twice as often as Bobby, Oleg, and Jasper, thanks to their skill and to the superior speed and accuracy of the Gryffindor Beaters. But so far, the score was seven - four, still way to go before they were at the safe side.

Then Ron and Terry had a short conversation, with the result that Viktor came up with some presents - a yellow card for both of them, and a penalty against each team.

Bobby made it simple and straightforward, not offering any hint, and Wynton saw his chance in the wrong corner. Seven - five.

Alicia made it as usual, coming at high speed and feigning a shot, just in time to see Miranda not falling for it, and catching the Quaffle with all the time of the world. Still seven - five.

Escorting Katie in the next counter attack, Harry saw the Snitch - near the Ravenclaw goal. And others had seen it too, among them Rahewa and Cho, racing through the sky, Cho closely behind, now at Rahewa's side, getting ahead, the slightly higher speed of the Firebolt Two enough to win the contest.

Harry's mind was racing through calculations, found no way to stop Cho in time, found only one solution, reached the Bludger, took this extra second for maximum accuracy ...

The Bludger shot along, hit the Snitch, pushed it out of the way Cho was coming. Harry saw her fist, grinned - you couldn't stomp your feet airbound on a broomstick.

Rahewa had changed her course immediately, hurrying after the Bludger to find the Snitch again. But it was gone.

---

By now, the sky looked almost black. Toward this dark background, a sparkling dot appeared high up in the air, almost in the middle.

Everybody had seen it - the spectators, shouting, pointing - Harry, racing toward that spot in search for the next Bludger - and the two Seekers, for the first time in the match slightly apart, Rahewa a hopeful bit nearer.

The wheelwork in Harry's mind was clicking frantically. A second calculation confirmed the first - Rahewa would reach it an arm's length before Cho, who had lost precious time in a turn. Harry stopped, watching ... Three seconds from now, the score of ten - six would jump to twenty-five to six for Gryffindor.

The world disappeared in a bluish-white flare. At the same time, all senses drowned in a thunderclap which left thousands of eardrums numb.

The Snitch was gone.

Into the stunned shock among audience and players, Ginny was racing with the Quaffle toward the Ravenclaw goal, shooting effortlessly, not raising a reaction from Miranda who seemed paralyzed by the first flash. Eleven - six.

Another flash, another bang almost as deafening as the first.

Harry saw the Bludger coming, hit it, sent it point blank into the stomach of Bobby Gillinshaw, whose attention had been caught by his teammates, probably to call for a time-out.

The Quaffle trundled off, away from Bobby who wouldn't call any syllable for the next two minutes, was caught by Alicia, was passed forward, was racing in Katie's hands toward a goal with a stupefied Miranda. Before the red ball could pass the line, the world disappeared again - in a grey wall of water.

Any sight was lost - for all players except one. With his getsumai no michi, Harry watched the scoring for twelve - six.

He raced toward Ron, toward Ginny. "Keep playing! Keep on - I can see enough fo us together!"

The rain was drumming onto their heads, hammering into their faces, the Quaffle pounding like a drum. The players seemed lost in waterspace - the Ravenclaws, that was, while Harry kept screaming commands with mouth and mind at peak level.

Until Bobby had recovered enough to get a time-out, it was fifteen - six.

---

Harry caught his teammates. "We're staying, so the time-out's over in two minutes. Just hold position. Until the rain's over, it'll be a single-player game, and they can't see anything."

Viktor came up, urgently suggesting a referee break.

Ron shook his head. "No way - the weather's perfect. Watch the time."

An angry swarm of dripping-wet blue figures came up, mad as hell, almost blindfolded, mostly relying on Lee Jordan's comment to register how the Gryffindors scored five times in a row.

Twenty - six.

The rain had faded enough for human eyes to see, enough for Bobby, Oleg, and Jasper to score.

Twenty - seven.

Harry scanned the sky for two Seekers and a Snitch. Cho had changed her tactic - in the rain, marking was the inferior technique. By the time Harry's attention had found back to the Quaffle hunt, Ginny had lost the ball while avoiding a Bludger, and Oleg was up and away.

Twenty - eight.

Another Gryffindor attack, stopped. Counter-strike stopped by Harry's Bludger, speed attack by Ginny. Twenty-one - eight.

The last light of the day was raising a million sparkling reflections from raindrops everywhere - and a single one from a golden spot near the Gryffindor goal.

And two Seekers where pushing, pushing, from different angles, flat over their Firebolts, seemingly identical, yet so different.

Harry saw it like in slow motion. Cho was going to win the race. He himself was in the right position to prevent this. Ron had reached a Bludger and had sent it to him. The Bludger came pelting through the air, reached Harry in time, and all he had to do was to shoot ...

He had two choices.

One - to hit the Snitch. In this case, Snitch and Bludger would bang into Rahewa, who was coming straight from opposite, leaving her no chance to duck or dodge.

The other - to hit Cho, fullsize from the side. And Harry knew for sure - whether on purpose or not, she wasn't going to stop, or to roll over, because this would mean losing the race and the game. She would catch the Snitch, and then she would come down, with some ribs broken or a fractured arm - depending on where she was hit.

The Bludger came buzzing ...

With a slight twist, Harry moved aside, his eyes not leaving the scene ahead.

"... CAUGHT THE SNITCH!! Cho's got it - she's coming down, she's down, touches ground! Ravenclaw wins the cup final in the last possible instant - twenty-three to twenty-one! Congratulations to the lucky winner of the most remarkable game in Hogwarts history ..."

Harry dived down, touched ground, and unmounted. The game was over. They had lost.

---

Ron stomped closer, a mad glittering in his eyes. "You stupid fool! Bloody Beater, you! Can't you hit a Bludger when it's time? You would've stopped her! What's wrong with you? Love-sick or - "

Ron stopped - in front of him stood Rahewa, snarling, claws outstretched - thank God, no knife. "STOP IT! IT'S NOT HIS FAULT - I LOST IT!"

Ron just sat down, pounded his fists onto the ground. "Damn! Damn! Damn! So close - a minute longer, and nobody'd cared about the snitch. Stupid me, spending a Personal on a ruddy Firebolt Two - for what? How can you win if your own partner can't stand sending a Bludger only because the other player happens to be his - "

Rahewa's leg kicked him flat. Even in his gloomy mood, Harry realized that she had been quite careful; Ron wasn't unconscious.

Ron sat up again, glaring at the girl. "You insane? Why - "

"He loves her! Isn't that reason enough?"

The other team members had arrived and stood around the scene, watching with various emotions, none of them amusement.

Harry sat down, facing Ron. "She would have caught it anyway - with or without a few bones broken. That's why."

"How can you be sure? It was a chance!"

Ginny's hand rested on her brother's shoulder. "Save it. Harry's a ballistic computer on legs - was it all through the game, you know it. Why should he be wrong here?"

"I didn't say he's wrong! But even a chance against all odds - "

Alicia interrupted him. "Cho has a Firebolt Two - you knew in advance what it meant. If the cup's that important, why didn't you lend your own to Rahewa? She was brilliant - with a Firebolt Two, she'd won the race."

Ron looked perplexed. Maybe he was asking himself the same question.

The complete Gryffindor team had received an invitation to the party in Ravenclaw Tower, with a broadly grinning Bobby Gillinshaw making a show to announce it in public. And for Harry, it was no question that he would follow the invitation, together with some teammates or alone.

Ron shook his head. "No thanks. I don't need help to rub salt into the wound - I'm perfectly up to the task by myself."

"C'mon - life goes on ... Here's your chance to show the good spirit of a loser."

A wry grin. "Maybe later - once I've found that spirit. Right now, I'd spoil the fun for everybody."

Harry found just two people ready to follow - Ginny and Rahewa.

When they arrived in Ravenclaw Tower, they were greeted with applause. A grinning Cho turned to Almyra at her side. "Wasn't I right? He'd come, a girl at each side."

Harry bent down and kissed her. "My congratulations. You're the true cup winner, and you deserve it."

"Thank you. It's only half of the truth, as we both know quite well. Almyra's the other half - without her present, this party would take place in Gryffindor Tower."

"If you think so ..." Harry bent down again, to kiss the other half of the truth. "My congratulations. You've found a worthy target for your sponsoring."

Cho asked, "How's Ron?"

Ginny answered. "Mad - at himself, at Harry, at Rahewa - "

"Why her? There's no reason, you may tell him that - none at all. Without - "

Ginny grinned. "No - not for her playing. But she kicked him afterwards, when he didn't stop shouting at Harry."

"Really?" Cho looked at Rahewa. "Harry saved me, and you saved Harry. I owe you for that, and I know already how to balance out."

A head with black hair was shaking violently.

"Let's discuss it later." Cho glanced at Harry. "To be honest, I had expected one more Bludger."

"Yeah ... But you weren't going to dodge - the Snitch was yours, this way or the other. I like you better with healthy bones."

Cho stood up and hugged him. "Thank you again - you're the best loser I can imagine."

Harry smiled. "As with you, it's only half of the truth."

"Huh?" After a second, Cho understood, and put her arm around skinny shoulders. "Right you are - Rahewa's the other half."