Harry Potter and the Thunderstruck Muggles

Dumbledore was speaking for a while now, but what he said reached Harry's ear only through a filter. This filter, could it have been offered for sale, would have made Harry rich, considerably richer than he already was. Because it let the information pass, stored it somewhere in Harry's mind, while the words just bounced off.

However, the filter seemed to be of tempory nature. It had been implemented a while ago, around the time Dumbledore addressed one of the changes in Hogwarts.

The news was certainly interesting enough. They had to do with new teachers for old courses, and old teachers for new courses - probably the reason why the filter let them through.

An old teacher, going to cover a new course, was Remus Lupin - Remus in private conversations, Lupin in public, Prof in classes to come, and those classes would be Charms. Lupin had given up Transfiguration.

Considering how he had mastered the challenge in the previous year, how he had managed to become an Animagus under his own control, this abandoning seemed strange. Something new just when he had settled? Yes, because even these admirable efforts were insufficient to cope with the well-known skill of the new Transfiguration teacher: Almyra Benedict.

Almyra replaced Lupin, and Lupin replaced Madam Hooch, now known as Sylvie and, according to Cho, working around the clock for an uncertain future of Groucho Spectors Ltd. When the Headmaster announced Almyra, Harry applauded enthusiastically, still listening to Dumbledore's every word, watching the Headmaster's smile toward a beaming couple, some seats farther down the teachers' table.

Harry's listening was still intact, and his applauding as frenetical as before, when Dumbledore announced Samantha Sheridan, the new teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, replacing Jesamine Grubbly-Plank. With two exceptions - Ron and Ginny, the other students had looked surprised, seeing Harry welcome Samantha that way.

Samantha took the opportunity for a few words of her own.

"Howdy, ladies and gents, boys and girls. As this big guy just told you, I come from Texas, and you can blame him for getting me across the big water. He said to me, there's a bunch of little wizards and witches, called students, all of them incredibly well educated, and just waiting to hear what you have to say. You know, that's how they sell insurances in Texas, so for myself I translated it to something more realistic, like - er, well, you know what I'm trying not to say. And then I come here this evening, to see you all for the first time, and guess what - he's right."

Laughter, protest, applause.

"Yes, I agree with you - it has to be pretense, just to smoothen the culture shock. That's understood, naturally, I'd do the same in your position. But by pure luck, as the - erm, as someone said, I've got insider information, so it won't be quite that simple for you when trying to drag my feet. Sure, I'd be disappointed if you wouldn't try, but - well, folks, what I'm trying to say, for someone from outside like me, 'specially from an outside like Texas, you just don't know what a gentle people you are, so I thought I should tell you. Thanks."

This was followed by roaring applause. Hermione, quick as ever, drew the conclusion from Harry's unexpected enthusiasm to Samantha's remark about insider information. Her look promised Harry a thorough interview about recent conversations.

---

Then Dumbledore announced the third new teacher for dance lessons, also the new liaison officer with Beauxbatons, and a moment later this teacher appeared, and since then, Harry's mind was busy with something else.

And not only his mind. Because the new teacher was Marie-Christine Théroux.

What he was thinking would be badly suited for admitting in public, and what he was feeling - a thrill in his entire body, a tension in his groin, sent a message surprising even himself. He wanted her.

Maybe this was cheating, maybe what filled his mind were unfaithful thoughts. If so, then for the first time. Nothing before had counted seriously - not in his opinion and, to some degree, not in Cho's either - as far as she knew, that was, but his night with Ginny didn't count much differently from a previous encounter in a similar situation.

Well - not from his side.

Only that this night had broken a dam. He knew it, knew which factors had played together to let it crash, and he was ready to take his share of guilt, if guilt was involved. This moral weight felt easy to carry since he saw it in perfect balance with the other share - Cho's.

It wasn't Cho's affair with another man. Harry felt neglected, quite simply. All through vacation, there had been just one night. And not even on selfish purpose. Okay, truth to be told, he had welcomed the opp - er, obligation, and the night had been long - or short, depending on how to count. The next morning, in full daylight while still alone in the house, there had been a short discussion whether the night was over. They had come to an agreement quickly: the night was over when the blinds were up.

But that was it, while other people ... Two weeks, Cho had said, which meant fourteen nights, and if they hadn't used them, they could blame only themselves. Four weeks for Ron and Janine - as Ron had explained, the trip had come cheaper than expected, which left just one conclusion, and Harry only wished he and Cho had been together four weeks in a row.

What's more, he wasn't indiscriminate, not at all, actually. He felt no desire to gather a collection of experiences. What did he care about other women? Well, okay, a bit more than about other girls, but ... He just felt a deep longing in general, with a specific focus in particular. Was this what people called sperm-blind? Maybe, since his vision seemed strangely narrowed down to one spot, but there was still his getsumai no michi to watch, hehe.

His desire was growing by the minute. Almost painful, though not unpleasant.

Had someone near him mustered a haragei like his own, the scandal would have been perfect. But there wasn't anyone. Harry's eyes had met Marie-Christine's only for a short moment - enough to make her look somewhere else. Even across the distance, she had recognized it, and Harry had received an answer as clear as his message. Maybe this had been the moment for that filter to start working.

---

"... seem to know this Texan woman quite well."

"Huh?"

Hermione looked indignant. "I said, you seem to know that new Care teacher quite well. Have you been the source of the insider information?"

"You mean Sam? Yes, she was feeding me T-bone steaks, and I was feeding her stories."

A wicked grin. "Sam, huh? ... That's all? Just stories and steaks?"

This would be easy play. "No, there was something else."

Hermione nodded. "That's what I thought - alone in this big, deserted school - "

Harry grinned. "Not the school, dummy - Hagrid's hut."

Calling Hermione dummy had been a mistake. He knew it - a second too late, realizing that he better concentrated on this conversation, otherwise he could as well stand up and declare in public what was really on his mind.

Hermione looked a bit mean. "And how's Cho doing? Far away, that's for sure."

"Right you are - in California, to be precise. And when I visited her, I found an abandoned dog in London Linkport, and took it to Sam, said this hut must hold a dog. That's all - I haven't been in that hut once."

"Doesn't mean anything - with the warm air outside, and the nice grass ..."

Ron stared at Hermione, about to protest, about to mention that another member of the Potter-Weasley gang had joined the evenings.

Harry was quicker, for example with respect to Ron's inaccurate view about the number of days Ginny had joined them. As this view wasn't inaccurate by accident, he hurried to say, "Okay, Cho's far away most of the time, which means I wasn't as clever as some other people, picking me a Hogwarts teacher who's always so nicely at hand - but it doesn't mean I take the next opportunity to correct that mistake."

No - only the second.

Before Hermione could say out aloud what he was thinking, Harry added. "While on the subject - how was the weather in Bulgaria?"

"Sunny - during the days, I mean." Hermione smiled, sufficiently put off track by Harry's hinting that she, Keeper of the Rules, was frivolously violating one of them constantly, for more reasons than sheer tradition. "And here?"

"Hot ... I got me some Gillyweed, for diving tours in the lake. It's awfully expensive, by the way - twenty-two galleons a-piece."

Ron glanced at Harry, but kept silent, not knowing how to comment on that in the presence of Hermione, who didn't know yet about Harry's fortune.

Hermione turned to Ron. "And how was the weather in France?"

"Almost too hot to be outside." Seeing Harry's and Hermione's grin, Ron grinned in return - with everybody aware of the conversation between the lines, it was nearly impossible to find a harmless formulation, and there was no need to make bad jokes about someone keeping inside.

Then Hermione wanted to know if Harry had managed to find some Haitian werewolves. Funny as it seemed, for such a diligent student and researcher, she had spent no thought whatsoever at her project while in vacation. Yes, Harry had agreed to be her agent, but it was so untypical of Hermione, biding her time until someone else would deliver results.

Harry told her what Mrs Benedict had said, that they had to talk with Almyra, that this had been a major disappointment in his planning for vacation, and how it finally had led to his first encounter with a teacher from Texas.

Hermione was baffled. "A deputy sheriff? Now that'll be interesting to see how she's going to run the job here. Since Mad-Eye Moody, we haven't seen a student dance in the air as a rabbit."

Ron grinned. "And for her this would be even appropriate - such a rabbit would definitely count as a magical creature."

* * *

With the latest news exchanged - that was to say, the public ones - Harry checked whether there was a chance for reaching the teachers' table unnoticed. With the start of his last term in Hogwarts, suddenly the Ravenclaw table was unimportant, while there were many people at the teachers' table with whom he would like a chat after meals. One, in particular.

But someone else caught him first - Ginny. Having been quite content and relaxed during the last days, she was now looking a bit worried. "Harry, did you already talk with Rahewa?"

"No - why?"

"There's something on her mind - something serious." Ginny sent a brief smile. "You know, I'm trying to train my haragei all the time, and so I did with her. I'm not that far yet, but just by watching her - she's not herself."

This was reason enough to let Harry sober up a bit, to change priorities for the moment. He took the next opportunity for a casual stroll along his own table, to address the youngest member in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Hi, Rahewa. How was your vacation?"

"Fine, thanks."

Like some days before, Harry sensed enough to feel deeply worried. There hadn't been anything fine in the girl's vacation, certainly not in the recent days.

"In the mood for a walk?"

Rahewa didn't look at all like that. But next moment, her lips tightened, her head nodded, and she followed Harry outside.

Having left the building behind, Harry said, "I heard from Cho about some - er, transactions, actually right after the last conversation I had with you. So you've switched Firebolts, huh? Did Cho tell you about her very personal motive for that?"

"No." As if Quidditch was something to be mentioned in a footnote, after the really important items were out of the way.

"Well, she's pretty sure that for the next years, she can walk around saying, 'I was the last one to beat this Gryffindor Seeker.' She could be right in that, couldn't she?"

"Yeah, could be."

Had Cho traded her old Comet for Rahewa's Firebolt One, the answer could have been hardly more dismissive. Harry waited a moment to see whether Rahewa had something on her own agenda, but no such luck.

He continued, "She also told me about your contracts. Of course, I felt a bit excluded at first, but how can you compete against real prairie grass? Anyway, I was glad to hear you'll be a movie star."

This time, he had hit a string, only it felt strange - something like guilt, disappointment, desperation. "Say - " He stopped, because Rahewa was about to speak.

"Harry - what I said the last time ..."

"Yes?"

"About ... what you said about a scholarship ... Can we ..."

He tried to help. "You're interested?"

"Erm - yes."

"Sure - of course, any time."

Rahewa was struggling with every single word. "Then ... I'd need it soon." The prospect of thousand galleons wasn't cheering her up - quite the opposite, she was fighting tears more than words.

Harry stopped and took her shoulders. "Rahewa, tell me: what's wrong? You didn't gamble your salary from Cho, did you?"

The girl was at a loss to speak, and she was losing the fight against her tears. Harry took her, put her head against his chest, and held her while violent sobs were shaking the thin body. After a while, he sat down and tapped the grass at his side.

"Come here, let's sit and talk."

The tears had cleared the way for words, haltingly still, not surprisingly so in the light of Rahewa's story. No, she hadn't gambled, although the money had been spent in a desperate bid of a different kind. Her mother was ill, seriously so, and every galleon within reach had been invested in an attempt to find a better treatment than the public offer. Worse, Mrs Lightfoot had been the source of the sparse money in their household, and this source had of course dried out first.

---

"What about your father?"

The flow of words came to a standstill. After a moment, burning shame in her voice, Rahewa confessed that her father was unemployed, had an alcohol problem, and always good to drain the last sickle off the small Lightfoot purse.

"I see ..." Harry exhaled. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm glad you told me, so we know exactly where we stand."

No answer, but Rahewa, from her own perspective at the talking end of the scene, seemed to feel the same.

"Now ..." Harry was selecting his words carefully.

"Let me explain something. Mr Chang - Cho's father, that is - has found a way to deal with this Mr Crownshield, I mean rather than killing him. As a result, I've got more money than I can spend ever - I don't even know what to do with the interest per year. This means, there's a lot of money waiting to be used for something - by the way, this was the reason why I came to you with that silly story. Anyway - if you allow me to help, I'd be more than glad to take over the cost for the medical treatment."

No - just the scholarship, nothing else.

"Rahewa - since your mother is so seriously ill, don't you want to try everything, no matter what it takes? Assume there's a chance, only it's so expensive you couldn't afford it? Thousand isn't much for doctors and clinics; I think you'd never forgive yourself, not to have tried."

"But ..."

"You think you'll never be able to pay back, not in a lifetime - am I right?"

He was right indeed.

"Let me make a suggestion. First, I'll talk with Gringotts, or that lawyer, that Spinbottle, to make sure that all bills from the treatment are directly routed to Gringotts, and they know how to handle them. Then, for your own living, you get the scholarship, with your own Gringotts account nobody else has access to - "

Rahewa's head was shaking.

"Hear me out! This scholarship is exactly what it says, so you'll have to pay back after you've finished Hogwarts - or before, if that movie business turns out more profitable than expected. While the treatment covering - "

"You must tell them to do a full bookkeeping!"

So the offer was settling in her mind, thank God.

Harry nodded, "They'll do it anyway, but for us - let's assume it's really as expensive as what I'll get in interest for one year. Then, at the end of the year, hopefully your mother's doing better, and I'm still as rich as before. Rahewa, take it into proportion: it'll give me an ob on you, and that's it."

Still some reluctance.

"As I said - in the worst case, I'll have just as much money as before, so anything more than an ob would be inappropriate. I mean - you've protected me against Gérard, and for this alone, I'd say it's me to balance out, but - yes, I know that you'd never agree, that's why you have to live with that ob, until I come to claim it ... Now, do we have a deal?"

Yes, they had.

"Then what about your father? There are places to dry out people, to give them a new start. What do you think?"

Rahewa didn't think so, because her father wouldn't go to such a place, and even if, he'd fall back to his old habits immediately - as soon as a galleon could be seen within reach.

"Well, then - can you handle him?"

"Yes." With a fierce expression.

"All right. Listen, at breakfast tomorrow morning, I need a sheet with address, data, everything to establish this arrangement. Some time during the day, I'll apparate to London and settle it, and I'll inform this Spinbottle that he's going to talk with the doctors, to make clear your mother's a patient whose welfare is followed up by people outside - we know what a difference it makes, don't we?"

For the first time in this conversation, Rahewa's mind issued something other than dark despair. After a moment, she said, "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"This obligation ... it'll never end."

He smiled. "In the Japanese tradition, it would be unfair, but I guess in the Cree tradition, it has to be that way, so it's okay. And of course" - he looked solemn - "it establishes a bond between us, still more than before."

Walking back to the school building, Harry wondered if this side effect was really a spin-off that had come by accident. Somehow, he had his doubts. Of course, Rahewa would never use her mother's illness for any purposeful manoeuver. Every step in their conversation had been inevitable, the obvious consequence of the previous one, and at the end, Rahewa's devotion to him was suddenly framed by an official bond.

Then he remembered Cho's words, about him collecting family in many ways. So his own sub-conscious apparently had played a role. Well, that was just fine.

Entering the hall, he found the teachers' table deserted.

* * *

First school day in Hogwarts. A breakfast served by house elves was a good thing, much more convenient than doing everything by yourself, and the food beyond any criticism. Not so the time when it was served - awfully early, after weeks of sleeping till noon.

Of course Harry was late and had to shove down the stuff as fast as he could.

Then Rahewa came to deliver the sheet, these two black eyes looking into the world with a bit of hope. Then Ginny caught Harry to ask about Rahewa, and what miracle he'd performed that the girl could smile at Ginny. From her own experience, Ginny felt of course worried that Rahewa had encountered something of a similar category.

"No," assured Harry. "It's about her mother. She's ill, sort of pretty bad, and we agreed that I'll take care of the financial aspect."

Ginny looked relieved, and pleased - to be honest, she looked somewhat more, and Harry asked her whether he had to come with a lemon, to bite into, before other students might have their own thoughts. By the time this was settled, the first class was due, and Harry still hadn't found his way to the teachers' table.

Potions came first, with McGonagall full of elan to give the new year and her students a jump start, while the students would have preferred a more careful approach toward hard work. And sure enough, the Headmistress remembered her conversation with Harry, nominally ranked as an end-of-year exam.

"Mr Potter," she asked, "what about your project? Are you going to do it?"

"Er - yes, Prof. Except I don't know where to start."

"I spoke with Professor Dumbledore about that. He's pretty sure the deadly agent was sulphuric acid, and only the ball, its rotating, speed and so forth were driven by magic. In other words - you're in for some basic chemistry, which means a thorough scan through the library."

Seeing Harry nod yet without further movement, McGonagall asked, "Then what are you waiting for? The library's reached by walking, I'm afraid." But it came with a smile.

Ron had listened. "What kind of project is this, Harry?"

"It's about those yellow-fuming balls Voldemort used in the Battle of Hogwarts. He used the same balls to guard Sirius' prison on that island - and I want to figure out how to fight them."

"One of those balls - "

Ron stopped, but even so, Harry knew what his friend had left out: one of those balls had killed Charlie, while Hagrid had escaped the yellow fume, to die an instant later under a Killing Curse.

"Harry ... Can this project afford someone else?"

Harry examined the tight-lipped face of his step-brother. "I was already wondering how to handle the phase when it's time to shoot balls and counter-balls. But it's a lot of work, so don't you ever complain about me dragging you into this."

Ron still didn't smile. "If you see me coming with earmuffs, you know what's up."

McGonagall found it a good idea, running the project in a twin team, and minutes later, Harry and Ron were scanning through large volumes in the library.

Ron stopped reading. "What did she say, sulphuric acid? Here, I found something. There's sulphuric acid, sulphurous acid, and sulphurated acid - no, sulphurous and sulphurated seems to be the same."

A moment later, his voice sounded excited. "Hey - look at that! Atomic models of molecules! Reminds me of astronomy - it's almost like planetary orbits." Ron glanced up. "Harry, what do you think - me doing the basic chemistry, and you figuring out the magic elements, is this a reasonable split?"

"We'll know afterwards. For now, it sounds okay to me."

And this was the start of their Poison Ball project, which, at some time, should play a key role in the events to come.

* * *

The next class was Transfiguration. The Gryffindors were already sitting in their rows when Almyra entered the classroom, to be welcomed with hammering knuckles, stomping feet, and shouts of hooray - in particular from three students who were seated side by side.

Almyra beamed. "That's very kind, and the right thing against my nervousness. This is my first class from the other side" - she blushed - "only weeks after we all have been students. I thought, my first class, please let it be first-years. And now it's you."

"Yeah!" Seamus Finnigan, his arms raised, hands outstretched to claws, was shouting, "We're big, and mean, and dangerous!"

The rising laughter died in a gasp. Suddenly, a large black dog ducked on the table, baring his teeth, a deep growl in his throath. Seamus fell down to his seat like being shot, staring, his face gone pale.

The dog jumped behind the table, then Almyra was back, smiling maliciously. "I said I'm nervous; I didn't say I'm scared."

Harry's fist was pumping, his thumbs up, his face shining in admiration.

Almyra saw it and smiled at him. Then she turned to the class. "We have a little problem, but I know already how to solve it. If you call me Prof, I'll start laughing. If I call you Mister and Miss, then you'll start laughing. So - and this is a convention that applies to seventh-years, maybe sixth-years too - I'll call you as I did some weeks ago, and you'll do the same, calling me Almyra. I'm sure we'll get along - and if you hear me addressing you by your family name, then you know you're in trouble."

Yes, the names were used as before, while at the same time there was this fine difference, established by Almyra within seconds, cleverly taking profit from Seamus' pantomime. In that, Almyra had beaten the Hogwarts speed record, previously held by Professor Drilencu, the one who had invented the title "Prof."

It was interesting to see - the less formal a teacher acted in these superficial details, the better - and the quicker - seemed this no-nonsense atmosphere established. Harry was musing how it would be with a teacher who suggested, 'Hey, old pumpkin,' when the current teacher's tight grip caught him.

"Harry," said Almyra, "the class file is somewhat vague about your recent activities, but I just happen to know that you've been running a bit idle in Transfiguration, in favour of other issues. Now that they're settled, what's your goal? Want to give it a try?"

Fascinated, and admiringly, Harry looked at his new teacher. "Yes, Prof - er, sorry, Almyra. Yes, I'd like to master an Animagus."

Almyra nodded with appreciation. "Like the father, like the son. And what do you have in mind? Something extravagant? ... Your father was a prong, right? Or something handy?"

Harry remembered the conversation with Lupin. "No, I wouldn't say it could be called handy."

The teacher, who happened to be his sister in spirit, showed pleased expectation. "What shall it be, Harry?"

"A dragon."

Next moment, the class was hanging in their seats, captured in a howling laughter - even Ron. Only Hermione, who could have quoted chapter and verse of the Transfiguration handbook stating that these animals were beyond reach, stared at Harry with widening eyes.

And someone else remained calm - Almyra.

"In this case," she said, "you may contact the National Dragon Foundation, to visit a dragon camp. I think the closest is in Ellesmere - that's in Wales, near Shrewsbury. They have mostly Common Welsh Green, and some Hebridean Blacks. I have a feeling none of them is your choice, but it's a start."

The class was still laughing, taking Almyra's answer for just the kind of joke you might expect from her, after Harry's answer. Ron shouted, "No, it's obvious what he'll do - a Chinese Fireball, just for a perfect fit."

The class was howling again. There wasn't anyone having trouble in understanding Ron's joke.

Neither had Almyra. She looked very cool. "Ron Weasley, for someone who once had a brother that was devoted to dragons, this is a pretty stupid remark - and I don't remember having asked for your opinion."

And only now, staring into two flaring eyes, it dawned on Ron with the big mouth that his teacher was the best friend of this other Chinese fireball, the one in the human shape. He looked like hit in the face.

"I ... sorry, I thought it was a joke."

Almyra's voice sounded a bit friendlier. "I don't think so." She glanced at Harry. "Was it?"

Harry had listened to the laughter, in particular Ron's, and to Ron's remark which, for some reason Ron didn't know, kept burning like a sting, and Harry knew - this scene was to motivate him in the dark moments when the task would appear impossible to master. It would drive him like he'd been driven once, finally coming up with a Golden Patronus.

"No," he said. "It wasn't. None at all."

* * *

The lunch break offered lunchtime only for the other students. Harry used the time for his trip to London, feeling grateful for having mastered the fastest method of travelling - after you had left the Hogwarts protection sphere on your own legs.

Gringotts marked his first station. For once, it wasn't Mr Moroney who discussed the details with him. When Harry expressed his intention to cover all costs of Mrs Lightfoot's treatment, the Goblin still saw a few problems - not within Gringotts, only from bitter experience with doctors and hospitals. When Harry informed him that this would be handled also with the help of Mr Spinbottle, suddenly all problems vanished. There was nothing on earth to stop the combination of Goblins and a wizard lawyer of the cunning kind.

Establishing a vault of thousand galleons for Rahewa seemed simple, compared to the first issue. Still, Harry had a concern. "How secure is this vault from being accessed by other people?"

Was the Goblin indignant or amused? "What do you mean, Mr Potter?"

"Well - Miss Lightfoot is a girl of twelve years, and her father has a tendency to spend all money within reach for liquor, that's why I'm asking."

"I see ... According to wizard law, Mr Lightfoot would be entitled for taking money from there, while Gringotts considers customers self-responsible from the age of ten. To prevent any trouble, I would suggest a personal password that protects the vault, Mr Potter. Then, age no longer matters, regardless of who might come and with which argument."

"Yes, of course! All right, let's do it."

"Very well. Which password shall we establish first?"

"Erm ... Prairie grass."

The Goblin wrote it down, his face unmoving. Probably, a password like Funkynoodle would have caused hardly more outburst of emotion, maybe except for the spelling.

Mr Spinbottle's office came next. The lawyer wasn't there, only his secretary, who accepted the data sheet, listened to Harry's description what had to be done as quickly as possible, and offered him an appointment later the same day.

Harry agreed, sighing inwardly. So he would miss the third meal of the day as well, reason enough to look for something nutritious outside, before returning to Hogwarts. What he found was significantly better than expected - some people from South Europe had opened a fast food shop and were selling large rolls with grilled meat inside, quite delicious, really.

Some of the figures around looked strange - like tourists, not at all like wizards. Maybe they were on a round trip, travelling in Muggle disguise. Considering the average quality of the common English gastronomy, it was small wonder to find them gathering around this new shop.

Returning to Hogwarts, Harry just had time for passing the news to Rahewa before Social Ethics was due. Rahewa nodded at his description, her face as unmoving as that of the Goblin when hearing the password. Only the results from Mr Spinbottle's activity would be of interest for her.

Vacation hadn't left any mark in Boring Binns. For all the Gryffindors knew, the ghost had faded into the next wall six weeks ago, to reappear now and to resume his lessons exactly where they had stopped at the end of the previous term. Frustrating.

For compensation, the last class was Care of Magical Creatures, and Samantha's first action led the Gryffindors outside, to a spot under trees close to her hut. Some students eyed suspiciously toward Lousy, which was sitting calmly in front of the hut's door, whether ordered by Samantha or by self-nomination. It worked well - until the dog saw Harry.

Next moment, a light-brown cannonball shot through the group, ignoring the terrified squeaks of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, to reach Harry, to jump, then racing back, returning with the small leather ball.

Samantha glared first at the dog, then at Harry. "Either you call your spells inaudibly, or that ball's goin' to be confiscated."

Silent spells - a totally new concept. According to the books, it wasn't supposed to work. With any other teacher, this would have been a trick offer, a teasing joke, while Harry had no doubt Samantha had been serious, not caring much about impossibilities.

Nor did he.

With an expectant-looking dog before him, whose hind legs were already dancing in anticipation, Harry put his lips at his wand, to form the spell with mouth movements, kind of wizard Braille for the mute.

"Volitollite!"

The ball shot away, to the deep satisfaction of both dog and student. Maybe it didn't fly quite as far as usual, but who cared?

---

Hermione, who had watched the scene, couldn't decide whether to look indignant for Harry not following the lesson, or approving for his silent wizardry. In the meantime, the other students checked in all directions, apparently waiting for some herd of magical creatures coming around the next corner.

"No," said Samantha, "first we have to talk. And then it's your job to fetch the animals - after all, you're old enough to wipe your behinds by yourselves, aren't you?"

After a moment of gasping incredulousness, the students complained this was no place to talk, here in the full heat of the afternoon sun - ignoring the shadow of the overhanging tree in their argument.

"Forget it." Samantha almost spat the words. "We're not going to sit in some clammy classroom with such a nice weather outside. And besides, you don't really know what heat is - in the Dust Bowl, there you'd find it hot, while here ... Anyway, for good measure, today it's my treat - in the next lessons, this honour may be passed further from one to the other."

Her wand pointed toward the hut. "Accio cervisia!"

A muffled sound, like a fridge door banging against a wall, then the hut's door flew open, and a small squadron of beer cans came zooming through the air.

The students gasped, then grinned - forgotten was the complaint about the heat.

Hermione's arm was up. "Prof - we're not supposed to drink alcohol during classes. Actually, we're not supposed to drink at all during classes."

"Is that so?" Samantha's can popped open, while she examined Hermione. "I really appreciate your comment - horrible the thought I'd never wised up, me, and died dumb ... Except today, I'm just prepared for beer, and the only soda's reserved for Harry." While sipping from her can, Samantha's eyes kept fixed on the face of a sufferable know-it-all. "You won't rat out on us, would you?"

Hermione, shrugging, popped her own can open, to take a long gulp. She had no trouble at all with that, knowing well that even for her, by far the most important provider of Gryffindor points, there was a quick short cut to the position of the MUSIC - the Most Unpopular Shithead in Class.

While Harry continued shooting balls for Lousy, Samantha announced that, at the end of this lesson, the students should have won a clear perception of what they were going to do this year. The item on the official schedule were Merpeople - not Samantha's favourite, as she admitted. So, individual projects would take precedence - provided they offered something reasonable, give or take a bit.

Merpeople would have been a fascinating option, but Harry's mind was set - on dragons, what else. He was discussing it with Ron when Samantha came along and said, "So that's the rest of the Potter-Weasley gang, and no doubt, by the looks of it. Howdy, Ron - how was it in France? Hot and wet, for what I've heard - hot outside and ..." She let her remark trail off, grinning broadly.

Poor Ron, blushing, wasn't used to Texan small talk. "Er - yes, er - hello ..."

Harry felt pity, remembering his own first encounter with this woman. "Hey, Sam, give him a break. By the way, how should I address you in class - I mean, maybe Sam isn't the proper form, after all."

Samantha looked surprised. "No? Frankly, I give a hammered shit for that. Figure it out for yourself, Harry, you're more at home with the rules here." She snorted. "Or ask that Lady MacMess over there - she seems to know all the rules for what's really unimportant."

Samantha hadn't lowered her voice. This explained why Hermione froze in mid-step for an instant, before continuing, her cheeks slightly flushed.

Samantha had watched. "Uh-oh, I just made a friend for life." Now she lowered her voice. "Harry, tell me - how come you picked that girl as your friend? Such a pre-pubescent attitude - listening to her, you'd never believe she's getting laid regularly."

Ron looked as if not trusting his ears - an amateur bigmouth at his first encounter with a professional one.

Harry wondered how Hermione would react to Samantha's comment. It seemed even possible that she would consider it a compliment. At any rate, he wasn't going to tell her, while this seemed the right time for pulling a brake.

"Hold it, Sam. Hermione just wanted to help you. Okay, sometimes she's a bit rasping at your nerves, but she has her qualities, believe me. Our friendship's definitely more than Care of Rare Animals."

The witch laughed. "Got it, honey." She turned to Ron. "And you, young man with the beautiful eyes, do you think the same?"

Said eyes didn't know how to look. "Er, yes, er - Sam."

While Samantha walked away, Harry grinned at Ron. "Beautiful eyes - wow! Did you hear that before?"

His friend blushed deeper than a moment ago. "Erm - actually, yes, I did."

"Like" - Harry mimicked Gerry - "oh, Ronnie chéri, ils sont beaux, tes yeux - something like that?"

Ron giggled. "Harry - I guess I have to be more careful, I didn't know you're carrying both ways."

"Well, since I met Gerry - " Harry stopped himself, watching a scene not far away, pushing Ron to shift his friend's attention.

Samantha had approached a sour-looking girl with curly brown hair. "Hi, Hermione. Harry just told me you've hidden qualities, so I thought I might give it another try."

Hermione's voice was frosty. "Don't bother, Prof ... They're well hidden."

"Then we're complementing each other." The words came with a thin smile.

Hermione looked incredulous, showed detest. "Really?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Because I have hidden flaws, except sometimes they're quite prominent."

Hermione didn't answer. Quick as ever, she had read enough messages in this remark to think it over, and maybe to gather some more impressions from this new teacher, before deciding how to react.

Harry turned back to Ron. "Well, it's love at first sight between those two. Anyway, what do you think about the dragon project?"

Ron thought it was crazy, wasted efforts, not his cup of tea for sure. He had done an O.W.L. about dragons, but only so much, and since Charlie was dead, and Hagrid too, Ron could do without those dangerous beasts. He wasn't sure yet what he would do, but certainly not volunteering for oversized firebreathers of the flying kind.

Which meant Harry was at his own in this project, not surprisingly so - but only counting students, while he felt confident to find support from two teachers, Almyra and Samantha.

* * *

After classes, he just took the time to fetch his GALA from his dormitory, then he was on his way to the appointment with Mr Spinbottle.

The lawyer studied the data sheet. "Mr Potter, I understand that it's about the health and welfare of this Mrs Lightfoot. But please tell me, whom do I represent in this issue?"

Harry felt a hot rush of impatience. "To quote a teacher of mine, Mr Spinbottle, I give a hammered shit as long as it's going to help her, and quickly."

Apparently used to his client's unconventional negotiations, the lawyer had a short smile - could have been a grin, if this wasn't impossible for members of his profession.

"Let me explain it to you. I can represent only one client. If it's you, then we can agree upon the proceeding in a minute, only that I won't be authorized to speak in Mrs Lightfoot's name - which will cause problems with those damned doctors. If it's her, I can chase them in pairs, with the nurses as escort, but the big question is whether she'll agree, because you can't instruct me to represent her. And if it's the girl, I can assume I'm representing you as well, and a daughter has more weight, but still, she's under age, and I may face the same problems as before on a minor scale."

Harry thought for a moment. "So, the best solution would be to represent Mrs Lightfoot herself, right?"

"Definitely so. Then we only have to settle the financial aspect."

"Say - can I hire you to represent her, and to do whatever's necessary - for her free of charge, and all cost at my side?"

Mr Spinbottle smiled. "That'd be perfect - if she agrees."

"Then let's ask her. Where is she?"

"In the East-End Hospital - that's why my first step should be to have her transferred to a better place."

"St. Mungo's?"

"Not necessarily. Depending on what it is, a specialized Muggle clinic might be the better choice. Just for the record, Mr Potter - is there any financial limit?"

"Er - yes. Half a million galleons."

This time Mr Spinbottle really mustered a grin. "Which means none. All right, just a moment ..." The lawyer went to a wall safe, apparently to fetch a pile of Muggle money.

Harry asked wonderingly, "What do you have in mind with that money?"

"We're going to visit a clinic, and doctors, right? Probably outside any visitor's time ... That's the stuff to oil our path, Mr Potter."

The lawyer was right. Half an hour later, after convincing several people on their way that this was in the mutual interest of all people involved, they were sitting in a dirty room, with battered chairs, a table showing traces of cigarette butts, carving knives, and greasy food, and a depressing gray-green paint at the walls.

The woman was undeniably Rahewa's mother, the similarity obvious. She had listened to Mr Spinbottle's explanations and now looked at Harry. "Why do you want to do that, Mr Potter?"

"Because ... I'm doing it for Rahewa, Mrs Lightfoot, that's all I can say. I don't know how to explain - I have a lot of money, and I was looking for a useful purpose, and then ... I could try to explain more details, but I'm not sure ... Well, it's just that - I want to help Rahewa."

"What is Rahewa for you?"

"She's - unique. She reminds me of my own situation, the first time in Hogwarts. Cho said - er, Cho, that is - "

The woman interrupted him. "I know her name, Mr Potter - like yours, and that of some other people. I know what you mean for my daughter - to be honest, I wasn't too happy about that, and that's why I'd like to hear your own description."

"My own ... I feel sort of responsible, a kind of obligation. I don't know why."

"And what did your girlfriend say, this Cho?"

"She said - you know, it was a joke, but ... She said I'm collecting family, and Rahewa's my first daughter. It's of course nonsense - "

"Is it? Could be this thought becomes more realistic than expected."

"No, Mrs Lightfoot - we're here to make sure it stays as a joke."

"You can't - not for sure." The woman smiled for the first time. "But I appreciate what you're doing, and - yes, I agree to be represented by you, Mr Spinbottle ... Thank you, Mr Potter."

About to leave, the woman stopped. "If ... Mr Potter, if you ever see reason to make it come true, you should know that you'll do it with my approval - and that it's a comforting thought." She left the room, not looking back.

* * *

Mr Spinbottle promised to get the transfer running first thing tomorrow, after talking with Mrs Lightfoot's doctor, and after getting professional counsel about which medical centre was suited best for her treatment. They agreed to meet three days later, then Harry returned to Hogsmeade.

Walking toward the school, he realized that he wasn't in the mood to talk with Rahewa now, for example because there wasn't anything to tell yet. The visit in the clinic had done nothing to raise his mood - a hospital wasn't a good place for someone whose haragei sensed emotions so distinctly. Glancing across the lake, he knew what would help to clear his mind - a tour through waterspace, cool, clean, silent, dark.

The layer of food in his stomach felt awfully thin. Going into the school for his swimsuit and the Gillyweed would probably include a short visit of the house elves in the kitchen, because he would be unable to resist. Then his stomach would be full, and most likely he would meet someone ... He decided to do it without Gillyweed, and without swimsuit. It was almost dark, and this way, he saved time.

He turned to walk back, to reach the position outside the sphere from which he could apparate to his favourite place at the lake. Sometimes this sphere was a real nuisance - now that dark wizards were no longer a threat, it would be a great help when restricting the protection to the school buildings only.

Darkness, calm and smooth. In his getsumai no michi, the contours of the ground below appeared like faint strokes of coal, drawn by a painter on a dark-grey canvas. Two minutes limit wasn't much, compared to gill-breathing, while the lack of speed, restricted to his normal human hands and feet, limited him even stronger.

Harry came up, to catch breath, and to dive down again. A third turn, and a fourth, then he felt better.

For a while, he was lying on his back in the water, motionless, balancing to keep on the surface, staring into the sky. There were only few stars at this time of the year, shortly after dusk, stars which seemed no farther away than, a moment ago, the lakeside from his underwater position.

He turned, inhaled deeply, and dived down to shoot through the water, feet above ground, toward the lakeside. This method was faster than swimming at the surface.

---

He sensed her before he saw her. Marie-Christine was sitting on a blanket, spread just beneath his clothes.

"Salut, 'arry." She threw him a towel, then watched him toweling.

He felt breathless, although not from diving. "How come you're here? Did we have the same thought at the same time?"

Marie-Christine's answer, about having the same thought, was given without words. Looking at him, she stretched herself on the blanket, her hand unfastening the swimsuit's strap around her neck. The view made him hardening instantly.

He fell on his knees, his hand pushing down the suit, exposing breasts with nipples as hard as his growing member. Grabbing them, caressing them with his lips, he felt her frantic movements under him to strip the swimsuit off. He was between her legs, felt gripped, guided inside, his path wet and ready. Pushing deep into her, feeling the tightness and heat on his flesh, still cool and wet from the previous dive, his mind was flooded with a desire that wiped off any coordination, leaving only this animalistic rhythm of thrusting, gasping, groaning, her own body responding with the same rhythm, pushing herself against him as hard as she could.

He heard his own pained moan, felt his heat rise and erupt, felt her stiffen, heard her whimpering - none of which was going to stop him, not now, not as long as his hardness felt undiminished, ignoring what was supposed to be time for a break.

Her hands were at his back, clawing, nails digging into his muscles, ripping over his skin. He took her arms, pressed them down over her head, held her in that position while continuing, slower now, each thrust raising a hoarse gasp, each backward movement a tremble in her hips.

Her eyes were closed, opening only for a fleeting moment when his next push didn't come as expected, as awaited impatiently. The moment of numbness gone, his back burning from what had to be claw marks, he accelerated again, driving both of them uphill toward another peak to watch the clouds and the rain.

Lying at Marie-Christine's side, his hand wandering across a body who had calmed down, and dried in the warm night air, Harry said, "It can't have been telepathy."

"What?"

"You coming here, to this place ... When I arrived, all I had in mind was swimming - probably the first time since we're back in Hogwarts that I was not thinking of your body."

Marie-Christine smiled. "This thought was back pretty quickly. And it seems to be somewhat stubborn - obviously, you can't keep your hands to yourself."

He trailed over a stomach, toward mounds which had softened too. "Should I?"

"Might be a good idea, so we can talk about what's on my mind. I saw you arrive, then I saw you walk back - and disappear. I thought I might find you at this place - so I came here to ask you about assistance in the dance lessons."

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"It's true - that's what I want to talk with you about. Except that talking wasn't the first item on my agenda."

"No, definitely not."

"But it's now. Are you ready to assist me?"

"Maybe in a few minutes."

Marie-Chrstine laughed. "Please, be serious for a moment. So what's your answer?"

Harry's hand was wandering down her legs, his fingers playing like in dance figures. "Sure - as much as what fits in my own class schedule."

Marie-Christine looked pleased. "That's kind. Thank you."

"Thank you?? Not so quick, mylady - we still have to talk about my - er, remuneration."

"Your - " Marie-Christine stopped, her surprise replaced by a sensual smile. "Don't you worry, mon chevalier, your lady won't disappoint you."

For a moment, Harry felt startled. It seemed insane what they were doing, and planning. Looking at her again, his hand trailing back, up her thighs, his uneasiness was pushed away.

"To be honest," he said, "I was surprised that you got the job. I mean - from Dumbledore's side ... I never expected him to accept your application, not with you and me at the same school."

"Maybe he had no choice."

Harry came up, propped on his elbow. "What do you mean, no choice?"

"It's Fleur's doing. She asked me, and probably she did everything that nobody else would apply. Okay, it's not the most attractive job, but as far as I know, I was the only candidate, and that's a bit strange."

"What's wrong with the job?"

"Dance teacher at an English school, that must be French people's perception of hell on earth." Marie-Christine laughed. "But I had some insider information - and maybe I saw benefits no one else would see."

"Did you?" Harry's hand was playing not quite as aimlessly as before.

Marie-Christine's breath accelerated a bit. "Yes - which doesn't mean the benefits have to come in such a rapid succession, if you know what I mean."

---

She was right - still, although that might change soon. "What did Dumbledore say?"

Marie-Christine grinned. "He wished me luck to do the right steps - his actual words."

"Uh-oh ... Well, as long as you're not doing any step, rather lying quite still - "

"Stop it! It's impossible to lie still while you're doing that! To put your mind at something else, how's Cho doing?"

"Working hard in the movie business. And widening her horizon - no, that task's already finished."

Something in his voice made Marie-Christine look at him. "How?"

"She had an affair with a man. To find out how it is with someone else, as she said. And because he couldn't give up, she invited me to a party, to mark the end a bit more clearly. It was awful."

"Mon Dieu ... Poor 'arry."

"No - yes, okay, but" - he had a short laugh - "I'm not in the position to complain. I'm not lying here for revenge, not at all. She wasn't happy with it, that's what's bothering me most. And she's not calling, or coming, that's still worse."

Marie-Christine watched his face. "You'd like to see her, and - "

"Of course, what do you think? It's ... I didn't say Get lost, or anything like that. It was only that party - awful people, and then she was gone. If I had an address ..."

"I'd like to see her too, and - "

His voice was teasing, like his hand. "Now?"

"Yes." Marie-Christine's voice sounded a bit strangled. "Truth be told, 'arry - it's great to make love to you, but - if I had to choose between you and her, I guess you'd score second place."

"Funny - I can say the same to you. Although, when I said I wish she'd be here, I didn't think of a replacement."

"Satyr ... I was trying to figure out what I'd prefer more - with both of you or with her alone ..."

"And?"

"Since I don't know how it is, with her alone, I couldn't answer that question. In that, you're ahead of me, 'arry. In the meantime, I've found out how it is with you alone, so it's obvious what I'd like next to satisfy my curiosity."

This discussion was sending a thrill through Harry's mind, and another one through his body. His hand started to wander anew. "Curiosity, huh? Right now, it's an academic question. You have to make do with what's at hand - by the way, I'm quite open-minded to alternative forms of - er, journeys."

Marie-Christine smiled. "I know, 'arry. It's not this - er, not-so-small difference that's bothering me - there's nothing wrong with that. No, it's just that you are no woman."

Harry stopped for a moment. "Are you lesbian?"

"I don't know. There's no other woman with whom I'd like to do that, while with Cho - her touching me is enough to make me feel powerless."

"While with me, you prefer being at the steering wheel, don't you?"

"Sometimes yes, for a change. But basically ..."

Two of his fingers slid inside her, pressing upward, raising a moan. "You want to be dominated?"

A trembling sigh. "Yes."

Harry's fingers retreated, then returned to their previous location, harder this time. "A total surrender of your own will?"

Marie-Christine's answer came as a gasp rather than words, however unmistakable enough. Harry felt her shaking slightly, and a new rush of wetness on his fingers.

Not letting go, he commanded, "Turn onto your stomach."

She obeyed with another moan.

"Put your arms on your back."

Now she was outstretched in the position of total helplessness, her breath already coming in ragged gasps. Harry reached for his wand in the pile of clothes and touched Marie-Christine's wrists. "Manobstringe."

A ribbon appeared, soft and smooth, tying her wrists tightly together. Marie-Christine was trembling, a shudder ripping through her body, her breath now in pained sobs.

He parted her legs wide, knelt over her thigh, his hardness twisting and pulsing at the touch of her trembling flesh. One hand held the other thigh in a firm grip.

"You're completely helpless, and I can do with you whatever suits me." His other hand caressed Marie-Christine's core, his fingers playing around, and up, and back, finding her soakingly wet.

His fingers parted her lips in a sharp movement, raising a small outcry and another shudder. Marie-Christine was twisting in the pre-stage of orgasm.

He moved between her legs, pulled her thighs over his own, and pushed himself into her waiting case, his moan drowned in her sobbing. With barely enough control to keep motionless inside her, he held her firmly against him, his other hand moving around her thigh, finding her most sensible spot, his fingers circling, caressing, tabbing.

A croaky gasp, followed by spasms rippling through her body, rippling him, pressing his flesh, loosening, pressing harder. He felt his own climax rise while his restless fingers didn't stop, sending waves of agonizing pleasure through her, until a moment later her shaking body sent him over the edge. Holding her with both hands, he kept on while his pulsing flesh calmed down and came to a rest.

Then Marie-Christine's arms were free again, and Harry was lying behind her, holding a body still recovering from the thrill. His own breath came as unsteady as hers. "That was ... I never before did something like that - I hope it wasn't too rough."

Marie-Christine's hand covered his own. "It was fine, not rough at all ... One day, I'll add the missing lesson in your education, 'arry, and show you how to be rough in the right style - the one to drive me crazy ..."