Harry Potter and the Thunderstruck Muggles

They were in Transfiguration, and Harry felt ready to make his first serious step in the process which - finally, eventually, hopefully - would turn him into a dragon.

He waited until his young teacher stood close enough; there was no need having the other students listening, not after they had laughed at him that way. Then he said, "Al - I think I have a feeling how a dragon's ticking. Now I'd like to figure out how to make a full-body transfiguration."

Almyra smiled. "Would be a small dragon, after all, wouldn't it?"

Harry smiled back - this kind of teasing felt totally different from the other students' reaction. "Why not, for starters? Can you tell me how it's done?"

"There are several approaches, Harry. One is - " Almyra stopped herself, then lowered her voice still more than before. "This isn't the best place here. Can you meet me at the old dragon camp, after supper?"

"That mysterious? Okay - no, make it half an hour later, I've got a patrol right after supper."

Almyra nodded and walked away toward other students, leaving Harry with time to think about the particular type of dragon he would prefer.

Truth be told, he didn't care much. Dealing first with Carrie the Hebridean Black, then with Samuel the Common Welsh Green, Harry had sensed little differences. Moreover, none of them originated from such outside details; instead, they could traced back to gender, or mood. As far as he knew, this question seemed as relevant as the opposite: assuming a dragon could turn into a human, would he ponder details like the colour of the skin, or the shape of the eyes?

Okay, a Hungarian Horntail looked slightly better armed than other dragons. But then, wasn't he dragon enough as a Hebridean Black? Or a Chinese Fireball - honestly, Harry didn't need the appearance of a fire engine with wings, except that this engine had a different approach toward fire. And then Ron's bad joke - no, black was beautiful.

How did a full-grown Norwegian Ridgeback look? Harry tried to remember Norbert, once Hagrid's pet animal, but couldn't come up with any detail that might distinguish it from a Hebridean Black. Maybe not quite as dark, but at that time, the thought of coming close to a dragon had been too scary.

The memory of his Hungarian Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament showed more details. Black, too, except for the tail - no, the tail was black like the body, only the talons were brown, each of them looking like a little bronze sword. And the tail was longer, thinner, a whip with thorns rather than this muscular club of the Hebrideans.

Harry would take it as it came - if it came. When it came.

The patrol ran unremarkable - full daylight, and the camp people busy with their own food. Even so, Harry scanned with full concentration, no longer feeling himself as part of an innocent game. Suddenly, a rising arm had a totally different meaning. Something to sense metal would be nice ...

Rahewa appeared quiet too - small wonder, she would go for another visit in the Cambridge University Hospital right after the patrol, knowing quite well what to expect. Harry knew already, from Spinbottle.

---

With the patrol done, he didn't even dismount, waved goodbye to Rahewa and went for the dragon camp. It was easier than walking, and maybe Almyra wanted to show him some tricks as a falcon, or eagle. Or owl.

If so, they would come later. She was sitting in front of the hut and watched him arrive.

He dismounted and sat down at her side. "Hi. I appreciate this conversation out of earshot from the other students, but why this place here? What's wrong about the spot near Hagrid's grave - does Lousy bother you?"

"Not the least." Almyra grinned. "Sometimes, I play with him - as a dog, that is. He's funny, and very polite."

"Really?" Harry stared. "I never saw you there."

"Of course not - I'm not doing it as public entertainment, you know."

"Well then - is there anything special at this place here? Like, talking about dragons has to be done in a former dragon camp?"

"No, it's ..." Almyra hesitated, then continued, "You'll see in a moment. Okay - Animagus techniques. They're all similar, of course, but you can distinguish three different approaches."

"Three? That's a lot."

"Yes. The first method is to change into the animal of your choice, and then to scale your size up or down, depending on what's required. The second is just the opposite - scaling your size first, and then to change your shape. Most often, it doesn't matter which sequence to take, but for a change as extreme as what you're planning, Harry, they're both a bit risky. Imagine - scaling yourself up to dragon size, I guess that'd be dangerous for your organs as much as for your bones."

"But there's a third, isn't it?"

"Yes, and that's what I'd recommend to you. It's the most advanced, in a way more complicated than the others, but safer - and I have reason to believe it's simpler for you, because ... you'll see in a moment."

"You really make it mysterious. What's your own method?"

"When I started, it was one of the other two - I tried both. But some time ago, I changed my technique - actually after your case study, after I heard your descriptions of those travels through the void. In a way, it's similar."

A thought crossed Harry's mind. "Al - did you invent this technique?"

"Erm - not really."

"Not really, huh? Yes, okay, I didn't invent the Golden Patronus either."

Almyra looked pleased. "That's a good comparison ... And now I'm going to show you how it works." She stood up, then, to his astonishment, she started to undress.

"Hey, what do you have in mind?"

"You can't see it when I do it in clothes - you get the special treat, Harry, because it's you, and because the others were laughing that much ... If you tell anyone ..."

"I'm not stupid - well, not that stupid ... You have my full attention."

"I bet."

Then she stood before him, naked. "I'm going to change into a dog now - watch carefully, what I'm trying to show you will be visible only for the shortest instant."

"Okay - go ahead."

Before his eyes, the perfect, bronze-coloured body of a young woman changed to a dog. A moment later, Almyra was back in her own shape. "What did you see?"

"You disappeared, and you reappeared as a dog - at the same moment, I'd say."

"Not bad - but you missed the essential point. Watch again."

Harry concentrated, pushing aside details like breasts, hips, a black triangle, watched a human body disappear, and reappear.

"And now?"

"There was ... I've seen something, but don't ask me what it was."

"Shit ... It's so short, it's subliminal. I wish Cho was here with a high-speed spector camera, then we could watch it in slow motion."

"Yeah, certainly." Harry rolled his eyes. "Would be interesting to hear what she'd say, seeing us here."

Almyra grinned. "That's a lesson, nothing else."

"Sure - except that Cho had some trouble with lessons in the past, remember?"

"This is Transfiguration, and if you don't keep to the subject - "

"I do - as much as I can." Honestly as ever, Harry added, "It's not that simple, I can tell you."

"Thanks for the compliment, but you better come up with an idea how to watch faster, Harry."

---

Watching faster - a funny idea. As if you could see, or hear, with different speed. Then he realized - there was indeed a method, not faster but slower.

"I know! Wait a minute or so - when you see mee motionless, do it again, okay?"

Harry took the lotus position, calmed down his mind and slowed down his body system until he had stripped off all individual activity, had reduced himself to a sensor for external or internal perceptions, only that his mind kept idle.

"... get up, Harry. Hey, do you hear me? Harry!"

He returned from his trance, came awake. "Yes, I'm back."

"What did you see now?"

"Lemme see ..." He fetched a perfect recording from his memory, or maybe his unconscious. And there it was - very short indeed, but perfectly clear.

"You disappear - you don't just fade, no, it's sort of becoming translucent, until the shape's gone. And then - there's a pulsing sphere, in the centre of your body. Then - the sphere changes shape, no, size, shrinks, and then it's gone, and a dog appears - translucent first, and then it gains substance, until it's real ... That's it."

Almyra beamed. "Excellent - you're the perfect high-speed camera, Harry."

"Am I?" He grinned, looking at her body. "As a low-speed camera, I'm not bad either."

"The show's over." A moment later, dressed again, Almyra was sitting at his side. "You've seen it, Harry, and your description was accurate to the point. That's what you have to do."

"I've seen it, yes, except I don't know what it means. What's happening in that time?"

"The essential trick is, you have to abandon your appearance, that means your human body, of course without abandoning your being. At the end of this step, you appear as a sphere. This done, you decide to appear in the shape of your choice ... And when returning, it's the same."

"How does it feel?"

Almyra looked at him. "How did it feel in the void, Harry? I think it's very similar, but you'll be the first to tell me - and I'm looking forward to that."

"Would it be possible to stay longer in the sphere state?"

"Guess what? If I could keep a sphere for ten minutes, do you think I'd made this show here? No, we're beings who need a body and a shape to exist, that's why the sphere isn't stable."

"But what if you don't decide for another shape?"

"Then you fall back to your own body. That should be your first training goal, Harry - reaching the sphere state, and back. The dragon comes later."

"How dangerous is this training?"

Almyra beamed. "That's the beauty of this method - it's almost safe. Failing simply means you don't reach the sphere state, or you don't reach the shape of your choice. But nobody keeps stuck in a sphere, because it's not stable. With the other methods - Harry, there are horror stories about failed attempts, but that's not your problem."

"You said almost safe. Where's the risk - in creating a misshape, rather than the proper one?"

"No, that's extremely unlikely - seems as if the sphere can change only into a functioning shape, that's why this method is so great. I call it the digital transfiguration - there's no state between human, sphere, or animal."

"Then what else? Why doesn't everybody use it?"

Almyra laughed. "There's a tiny little problem, Harry - it's difficult to change that way. You've been in the void - okay, your body kept its shape and its position, but ... There's just one risk." Now she was looking solemn.

"Which is?"

"Could be you like the animal shape so much that you won't come back."

* * *

Deborah drove Harry to the Seven-Eleven building. It looked smaller than expected, with large satellite dishes on the flat rooftop. Harry wondered whether they were functional or just decoration; at any rate, they looked impressive and very technical.

Deborah found a parking lot. "I'm your press agent, Harry - what they call a public relations manager, okay?"

"Sure - what else?"

"I mean, if they start making suggestions - for anything outside this talk show, you'll tell them to deal with me, right?"

Harry grinned. "Yes, of course. And you can calm down - I've been to a moviemaker party, I know how they do business. 'Wanna make a movie? No? - Then wanna fuck?"

Deborah twitched a bit. "That's not Hollywood here, but I think you've got the basics."

Harry grinned broader. "Why - do they talk only about movies - er, TV, I mean?"

"Sometimes you're ... Never mind, but from now on, expect microphones everywhere, Harry." Deborah opened the car and climbed out.

The lady at the reception desk was all smile. She spoke into her headset and called a young man who escorted them into an elevator and then into a visitor's room, all smile and attention, otherwise giving a damn, as Harry could recognize easily with his haragei.

They had to wait a minute, so they were offered champagne. Deborah sipped a bit; Harry didn't.

Then the machinery started chewing them through. Harry's contribution was a hello and a nod here and there - according to his standard, he offered smiles too, except they seemed pale compared to the wide open mouths, sparkling teeth, barking laughters they were greeted with.

Deborah did the talking. She also did the signing - of some papers which left them the right to breathe while present and to leave the building unmolested, as far as Harry could follow. However, Deborah did it only after a short negotation.

"We need a recording of the show," she said, "on a tape cassette."

"That's unusual, Miss Beckett."

"Well, we are unusual."

"Hmm ... You know that you're not entitled to use it for any commercial purpose, neither in your own name nor - "

Deborah could present her own teeth as good as these Muggles. "Don't worry, it'll be used privately ... Or in court."

What for Harry had sounded like a menacing threat caused the opposite effect - settling the issue within moments. Then they seemed ready to show some talk, only that it would take two more hours until Late Listeners could begin.

They had to wait again for some minutes.

And, finally, the great moment - the maestro himself, Winston Winslow. Surprisingly young, slim, middle-sized, open face, a boyish grin, dark blonde, and a pony tail! Harry felt sure this man had more groupies of his own than Hogwarts together.

---

"Miss Beckett, hello, Mr Potter, nice to meet you." Winston Winslow examined Harry's appearance - wizard robes from scalp to toes - and nodded appreciatingly. "Very good - perfect." He turned to Deborah, smiled. "It's a relief to work with a pro - imagine he'd come in jeans."

For a split second, Harry felt like a piece of furniture, delivered by a truck service which had come to the right place, and just in time. Then the moment was gone, though not before realizing that this hadn't been his own feeling.

"Then we can start with our preparations - if you'd follow me, Mr Potter? See you later, Miss Beckett."

They reached another room - comfortable chairs, more champagne, declined as before. The man didn't drink either.

"Well, then, Harry - may I call you Harry?"

"Yes, of course, Winston."

A thin smile. "Later, when we're on air - during the show, I mean - please keep my name out of your answers, Harry. I'll use yours as often as possible, and those of the other guests, because the audience can't remember their names longer than twenty seconds, except mine, of course - "

"Of course."

An apologetic gesture. "That's TV - nothing personal. A name has magic" - Winston smiled - "and I'm just the moderator, the source of questions, that's all. A talk show is no real conversation."

"Who are the other guests?"

"Two more people - a man and a woman, that's all I can tell you now. It's a rule of Late Listeners - none of the guests know in advance whom they're going to meet. But I can tell you - you're today's star guest, and the other two are there to squeeze you. They'll try what they can to give you hell - is this okay with you?"

Was the question more than rhetorical? "How should I know in advance?"

"Yes, how should you? Harry, it might happen their questions are aimed below the belt - actually, that's quite typical. It's part of the show, the audience's waiting for that - what I'm trying to say, don't expect the manners of some dinner guests ..."

After some dinner recently, this metaphor seemed totally out of place from Harry's perspective.

"... and don't confuse it with my style as a host. I'm not your host, Harry - I'm an evil-minded moderator. Okay?"

Open-minded cruelty - the words in perfect sync with what Harry could sense. "Okay, Winston."

"Good - you see, I apologize in advance, and I know what I'm doing. Now, coming to general rules - you'll be getting upset, and it's okay to show it, but I can tell you - the calmer you can stay, the higher's your scoring in the eyes of the audience."

"Yes, I see the picture."

A grin - boy to boy. "Harry, just from this casting, I know you'll be perfect - you're so self-assured, not at all what you'd expect from a school boy."

Harry didn't think of himself as a school boy and wondered if this slip, wrapped into thick flattery, had come by accident.

"Then - no bad language, Harry."

"What's bad language?"

"No swearing. If you want to insult someone, do it politely. A dick's a penis, and a pussy's a vagina. That's the rough picture."

"And a stupid jerk is a person with limited intellect, right?"

Winston Winslow laughed. "Wonderful - this is really your first talk show, Harry?"

"Oh yes - and maybe the last."

If Harry had planned his reply as a polite insult, he failed miserably. With a shining face, the talkmaster said, "That's fine with me - Late Listeners, the only talk show which managed having the famous Harry Potter as guest ... There'd be nothing wrong with that, really."

---

Then Harry was informed what to expect from his moderator. He would be asked why he was famous, how it was to be a wizard, how it was for a wizard to meet Muggles, and so on, and so on. Winston Winslow didn't like leaving any detail to the mercy of fate, had to defend a hard-earned reputation as well as viewing figures his competition could only dream of.

Harry felt like a cat, permanently stroked against the fur. He reminded himself that he did that for the wizarding world in general and for Rahewa in particular - Sirius and Deborah were only one alternative, however an important one.

Finally, the man was done with his coaching. He escorted Harry to a technician who looked friendly without showing rows of teeth - a relief after so much heart-warming excitement.

Sitting test. Lighting test. Recording test - camera only, microphones only, both together. Harry got his own microphone - astonishingly small, fixed at his robe. Another microphone test.

The technician looked satisfied. "All right, young man - don't play with it, and don't curse it, okay?"

It came with a nice smile, and Harry couldn't help feeling this remark was given to each guest, which was interesting - Muggle technicians seemed ready to believe in hexed microphones without having heard about wizards.

Make-up turned out the next station. An older woman powdered Harry's face, doing something with his eyebrows, even with his lips. Then she started to work at his scar. He asked, "Are you trying to make it disappear?"

"No, sweetie. All I'm doing is to make you appear in the camera as always. Without that, you'd look like death warmed over - if I wouldn't dampen this scar a bit, people would think you'd escaped a car accident, or Dr. Frankenstein's surgery."

"Who is Dr. Frankenstein?"

"Never mind, honey ... Okay, done."

Some more minutes to wait. Some more champagne offered, although this time, they had mineral water ready. Then someone held him, and a second later pushed him forward when a signal light came on, sent him on stage.

* * *

Applause - from people sitting in rows, the studio audience. As Deborah had told him, the camera would show these spectators and their reaction after statements of the three guests, to keep those watching at home informed about when to laugh, to smile, to be upset, or terrified.

"... Harry Potter! Good evening, Harry - may I call you Harry?"

"Yes, sure."

So the casting had really been a necessity. Without that, his answer would have been very different.

"And here, ladies and gentlemen, comes our next guest - Dr. Stanislav Humperdinck!"

Under another applause, an elderly man entered the stage and sat down in the chair to Harry's left. The only appropriate term was multi-coloured - suntanned face, white hair, similarly white goatee, but a coal-black moustache. Harry came to the conclusion that white and black were both artificial colours.

"Dr. Humperdicnk is professor of psychology at the Westham University. Dr. Humperdinck has specialized in what's commonly called Esper - people who claim some extra-sensoric perception, and our doctor has a reputation for uncovering hoaxes and frauds. Dr. Humperdinck, what do you prefer? - Stan - Stanislav - Doc - Doctor?"

"Well, mostly I'd prefer my name - Dr. Humperdinck."

The man's surprise and uneasiness was palpable - no doubt, this hadn't been part of Dr. Humperdinck's own casting, which left only the conclusion that smarty Winslow had trapped him on purpose. A low murmur in the audience indicated that this formality ranked quite unpopular.

"Fine, Dr. Humperdinck, we'll keep to that. Then we come to our third guest of the evening - Mrs Eleanor Goodridge."

A woman with a plump figure and a better-looking face entered the stage and sat down to Harry's right. She was expensively dressed; Harry could smell her perfume. The woman's hair shimmered in a light brown, at least as curly as Hermione's.

"Mrs Goodridge is undersecretary of the Science and Education ministry - she's been one of the first voices who made suggestions how to incorporate Harry's people into our community. How may I call you, Mrs Goodrigde ..."

"Doesn't matter, as long as you don't call me Elly. Eleanor is fine."

She was scoring remarkably better. Then Harry realized how it worked - if the moderator beamed, like now, the audience applauded wildly. If Winslow didn't move a face, the audience kept silent, and if he dropped the edge of his mouth, the audience would probably moan in protest.

Was there anyone with an independent mind? Certainly not in the rows Harry could see slightly better, now that he'd adapted to the spotligts. Maybe in the Muggle homes.

"So we're complete for this evening - but before we really start, a short break for the commercials. Stay tuned!"

Attendants appeared with drinks - mineral water was the only kind asked for. The woman used the time to say hello to the professor and to Harry - keeping in her seat, although with some effort. If the guests hadn't been instructed for that, she would have walked around, bursting of energy. In Harry's perception, the parallels with Hermione were growing.

---

After two more endless minutes, the break was over.

Winston Winslow's face looked neutral. "Harry, I introduced you as a student of the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, but I'm sure many spectators would like an explanation. What does that mean?"

"Yes. Hogwarts - that's the wizard school of Great Britain. Students attend that school at the age of eleven, after elementary school, that is. There are seven classes - I'm in the seventh ... I think it's perfectly normal."

"Normal, yes ..."

The audience took it for a joke and lauged.

"... for wizards. These terms, Harry - wizards, witches - is this the official terminology for your people?"

"Yes, sure."

"So a woman with magical power is a witch, right?"

"Yes." Harry's expression made clear that these questions sounded pretty stupid in his ears.

"Calling a woman a witch's normally pretty insulting. How do you deal with that?"

"For us it's a neutral term. Witch - that means it's a woman, or a girl, and it's no Muggle. That's all."

"Yes, right - Muggles. Is this term also neutral?"

"Yes."

"Really? It sounds a bit - er, contemptious."

"No, it's not. There is another term, a very insulting one, but Muggle just means non-magical."

"Would you tell us this other term?"

"No."

"Why not, Harry?"

"Because it's very insulting."

"Is it correct to say Mudblood is this term, Harry? Mudblood?"

With some effort, Harry kept his face steady, and his mouth shut. This Winston had trapped him too! Well, that guy had warned him in advance, but still ... Harry's silence was his own genuine reaction after this blow, as much as the result of Deborah's instructions. "You're our ambassador, Harry - keep that in mind."

"No comment, Harry?"

None indeed.

"Well, no answer's as good as an answer, I'd say. Then let's come to your role, Harry. You're famous, we've been told. Is it true?"

"In the wizarding world, yes."

"Of course. Would you explain to our spectators why you're famous?"

"Yes. For that, first I have to explain what's a dark wizard. You'd call it a criminal, but it's more - I mean, every wizard can become a criminal without being a dark wizard. It implies dark magic - black magic ... For what I know, the term's common here too, so I think it's clear ..."

"Black magic - does it mean forbidden magic?"

"Not really - there's some forbidden magic, but it's not necessarily black. I'd say, the main difference is in ethics - black magic is evil, has an evil purpose, and is always destructive ... Anyway, there's a very powerful dark wizard, his name's Voldemort. He - "

"Voldemort?"

"Yes - it's a pseudonym, his real name's Tom Riddle. When I was one year old, this Voldemort killed my parents, and then tried to kill me. Only it didn't work - all I got was this scar here," Harry pointed to his forehead, "while Voldemort's spell fired back and almost destroyed him. That's my - er, fame."

Winslow's face seemed fascinated. "You say this powerful - er, dark wizard could kill your parents, but he couldn't kill you - a baby of one year. Did I get that right?"

"Yes."

"And what happened to that Voldemort?"

"He wasn't dead, but no longer alive either - I mean, he no longer had a body of his own. Took him twelve years to recover from that."

The moderator turned to the multi-coloured professor.

"Dr. Humperdinck, would you like to comment on that, or ask some questions?"

"Well, not really. Mr Potter has lost his parents, we can take that as a given, and this experience - not at that age, of course, the experience of not having parents like the other children - obviously traumatized him. For compensation, he has invented a story which explains why he's so special, which provides a benefit for this severe disadvantage."

---

The moderator's question fell into Harry's disbelief. "What's your answer, Harry?"

"I'm - well, baffled, to say the least. He's right in one point - if you have no parents, the other children can really traumatize you. But otherwise - no, I have an answer. I was eleven when I heard about my fame for the first time. Until then, I didn't even know that I'm a wizard."

The woman asked. "What happened with you after the attack, Mr Potter?"

"I was raised by relatives. They're so scared of magic, they didn't tell me anything - the invitation to Hogwarts was the first time I heard about myself."

The woman smiled. "Your relatives aren't the only ones. Our Dr. Humperdinck here doesn't believe in wizards - this might explain why he has to work with traumatizing and compensating."

"What??"

A maliciously looking undersecretary turned to the man at Harry's left. "Dr. Humperdinck, I think you can explain your own position better."

"Yes, thanks." The professor looked at Harry. "Mr Potter, for me the so-called wizards are perfectly normal people. The only special thing is, they're either the victims of a mass psychosis, or maybe mass hypnosis, or they have caused it by themselves. But one's for sure - there's no such thing like magical power. It's nonsense."

Harry couldn't help - he was giggling. The response from the audience came strongly, with laughters and similar giggles, although the moderator hadn't followed Harry's example.

The professor recognized it, his face showing detest.

"Modern science - physics, for example - has examined questions of cause and effect well enough. There are atoms and molecules, and still smaller particles, as we know, but there's no place left between them for magical charms."

This explanation had given Harry time for recovering. He wasn't ready to perform a discussion about sub-atomic particles, no sir, but he didn't think this doctor was.

"Is there place left between them for God?"

The woman caught the thread. "Maybe Dr. Humperdinck doesn't believe in God either. Maybe for him, Christianity is a mass psychosis too, and why not, it's hard to prove that God exists. When - "

Winston Winslow had little mood for a conversation - at such a critical point - in which he wasn't steering. "That's our keyword - giving proof. Harry, could you give proof of magical power, of your magical power?"

"Certainly, but ..." Harry turned to his left. "Dr. Humperdinck, can you give me an example which kind of proof you'd accept?"

The man looked satisfied, as if seeing his expectations confirmed. "No, I can't - simply because it's impossible. Sure, you could demonstrate some tricks here, and without the proper equipment, I'd be unable to reveal their true nature, but it wouldn't mean anything. Every illusionist could do that."

The moderator looked into the camera. "Our spectators might be not quite as unbelieving, so we should do a test anyway. But first," he turned back, "you do magic with a wand, isn't that so, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Would you please show your wand?"

Harry drew his wand, held it up, until a sign from the camera man indicated that the close zoom was done.

"Harry - what would happen if one of us would take the wand?"

"Nothing - here, look." Harry passed the wand to the woman who passed it further to the moderator, but only after inspecting it by herself.

Winston Winslow held the wand, moved it, murmured something, of course not causing any effect. He examined the piece with these exaggerated movements that seemed mandatory for the slow spectator's mind, then said, "Can you explain how it's built, Harry?"

"Sure. It's made of wood, with a magical core. Mine is holly, and the core's a tail feather from a phoenix. Actually, I know the phoenix from which it came, his name is Fawkes - "

The professor started to laugh.

Harry suppressed the urge to give him a pair of flap ears. "There are other types too, of course. All kinds of wood, and other cores - unicorn hair, for example."

The moderator still held the wand. "This black top - does it have a meaning?"

"Er, yes. Two years ago, I had a fight with Voldemort. Our wands melted into each other - the black top's all that's left from his wand."

The professor was grinning. "Brilliant, really ... Absolutely fascinating, the story's perfect, by all means."

---

The moderator seemed to have the same thoughts as Harry, and probably as most spectators. He passed the wand back. "Harry - could you do a spell toward Dr. Humperdinck? Maybe he won't be convinced, but for us ..."

Harry resisted the immediate temptation. "Cursing another person is impolite, to say the least, or insulting - some spells are even criminal. I mean, imagine I'd be a gunfighter, would I have to shoot him just to give proof? Maybe something ..."

The professor smiled. "No problem, Mr Potter, none at all. Go ahead."

"You're sure, Dr. Humperdinck?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Just for the record, sir - you allow me to do a harmless spell toward you, something that can be reversed easily?"

A fleeting instant of uncertainty flicked through Harry's haragei, then he was told, "You have my permission, young man."

"Well, then ..." Harry pointed.

A moment later, the scientist's hair looked fire engine red - easy work, after Harry's training in Swashbuckle Sweets. The goatee was black, only the moustache remained unchanged - in colour, that was, while it had grown in size so that Dr. Humperdinck looked like a Chinese, or Tatar, after a failed treatment in a hair saloon.

Some gasps, then the audience roared in applause.

Dr. Humperdinck, due to lack of a mirror, wasn't impressed at all. To change that, the moderator asked him to walk to a control monitor, asked the control center to provide a camera shot that showed this guest his new appearance.

The professor's eyes widened. His hands touched his moustache, felt the strand that was hanging down below his chin. Watching him, Harry sensed surprise, uneasiness, a second later replaced by a determined effort to stabilize.

Dr. Humperdinck walked back and sat down. "Very clever, I must say. Of course ... that's ... well, better than I thought."

Harry asked. "Shall I reverse it, sir?"

"What? ... Oh - don't bother, Mr Potter, I'm sure I'll be my old self in a minute or so."

"No, unfortunately not. Please let me correct it, Dr. Humperdinck, I didn't mean to - "

"No!" An impatient wave. "I'm sure my hair's still okay - leave it."

Winston Winslow's voice cut in. "He likes it that way - and we like it too ..."

Laughter, applause.

"... so maybe we can have a more neutral example. Harry, any idea for something impressive? You know, something no stage magician could do, while the camera can follow?"

"Hmm ..." Harry looked around, had an idea. "See that empty seat over there - in the last row? Maybe if a camera could ..."

He waited for the sign from the camera man, then he apparated to the seat. The woman next to him squeaked, almost jumping into the lap of her left neighbour.

Harry smiled. "Relax - I'll be gone in a second." He stood up, waved, then he jumped back.

---

Moderator and co-guests were staring at him.

"It's called Apparition."

The moderator swallowed. "I think we have sufficiently demonstrated that there's something a wizard can do, what we normal people can't - the rest's for scientists ... Harry, what can magic do?"

"Well, how should I answer that? It can ... wizards use magic the way Muggles use tools - engines, in particular."

"Can magic do everything?"

"No, there are limits. If someone's dead, he's dead - there's no magic to make him alive again. And there are lots of Muggle techniques which are more efficient than magic, while - "

"Really? Which, for example?"

"Which? Erm, a copier, for example. I wish we had a normal Muggle copier in Hogwarts. It's such a nuisance if you have to duplicate your own writing."

Heads shaking in disbelief, and pleased looks. Technology beats magic - apparently this message raised quite some spirits.

"What can magic do against people, Harry?"

"Almost everything - of course with the said limits."

"Is there a spell that can kill people?"

Harry was fully aware of this question's critical nature. "There is such a spell. It's the wizard equivalent to a gun, and the rules are pretty much the same. The spell is forbidden, except for self-defense, and using it always causes a trial."

"Can every wizard do this spell, Harry?"

"No. That's one difference between tools and magic - everybody with a gun can kill, but learning the Killing Curse is very difficult."

"Can you do the spell?"

Harry had been waiting for this question, had the answer ready since Deborah's coaching, and just smiled. "A wizard's skill is a very private issue, I'm afraid."

"Hmm ... Our spectators would be very interested to hear this answer, Harry."

"Yes, I bet."

"Are you a good student, Harry?"

"No, I don't think so. I get along all right, but ..." Harry shrugged, feeling how this answer won him back sympathies lost a moment ago.

"That seems to be understatement, Harry. Would you say that the average student can do the things you did, or seem to know? Then what can the excellent students do?"

"Erm, well, I have a few special skills - each time I have an encounter with Voldemort, I seem to inherit something else. But it doesn't make me a good student in the sense of a school, you know?"

Winston Winslow turned to the woman. "Eleanor, you're the expert in that. How would you scale Harry in our system?"

The undersecretary of Science and Education seemed more than ready to do that. "Mr Potter, is your knowledge in school issues private information too?"

Harry grinned. "No, madam. Please call me Harry, so it feels more like school."

Laughter, applause. These spectators were easily entertained, really. The woman looked pleased too. "At your age, Harry, the teacher should call you Mr Potter - that's the rule in our schools."

"Oh, they do - except, hearing me addressed like that, I know I'm in trouble."

More laughter.

Mrs Goodridge smiled. "So the system of teachers and students is the same across all cultures - well, that's little surprise ... Now, Harry, what was the topic of your last essay?"

"The last ... Oh yes - it was a five-parchment piece in Divination, about a Tarot picture. My friend and I, we had been playing sixty-six rather than working on it."

Thundering applause, and shouts of excitement.

---

The woman was politician enough for the proper timing of her next sentence, easily on a par with the moderator. "Another similarity - good to hear that, although - Divination's not exactly what I'd expected."

Harry nodded. "You're not alone in that - most wizards don't believe in it, and I dropped this course later."

"What about English Literature?"

"What should be? I read a lot."

This time, the woman had a fit of laughter. "No, I mean the course."

"There's no such course in Hogwarts. The students can read and write - otherwise, they're on their own. Okay, there's Study of Ancient Runes, but that's rather weird."

"Is it? I'd never guessed." The woman sobered up. "What about Math?"

"Yes, and Astronomy too. I attended Astronomy for some time."

"Sciences? Physics, chemistry, biology?"

"Physics - that's not a course of its own. It's represented in others, mostly Astronomy. Chemistry, that's Potions, and biology has even two - Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures."

An approving nod. "What about foreign languages?"

"For that, you're on your own - Hogwarts doesn't offer courses for that. But it's no problem to learn them."

"Is it? ... Which languages do you speak, Harry - in addition to English?"

"French, and Parseltongue."

"Pathel what?"

"Parseltongue - snake language."

"Ah yes - er ..." The woman looked suspicious. "Could you say something in - er, that language?"

"I need a snake for that; it doesn't work toward humans." Seeing the woman's face, Harry added, "Seriously - I'm not joking, madam."

She seemed a bit mollified. "How did you learn these languages, if they're not offered in school?"

"For Parseltongue, I'm not sure - for what I know, I inherited it from Voldemort, as a result of this attack. Well, and French - I hired two fairies for a week, as a preparation for a visit in France. They used full-time techniques, deep-sleep training, all that stuff."

He had her attention - suddenly, Mrs Goodridge looked greedy. "One week? And then you were fluent?"

"Yes - if a fairy talks into your dream, and she's talking French, you learn pretty fast, believe me."

The undersecretary rattled something in French, violating the rule about not using bad language.

Harry rattled an answer, matching her style.

The woman grinned. "Just a little test, Harry - you've passed, really. What about social sciences?"

"Sure - History, Social Ethics - it's a bit dry, but maybe that's because the teacher's a ghost."

Dr. Humperdinck started to giggle, almost hysterically.

After a glance to the red-haired figure, Mrs Goodridge was back at Harry. "So then, which courses are on your schedule, Harry, in this last year for you at school - and what are your topics in them?"

"The topics are very individual, because in the last year, you're doing projects, integrated projects which can span several courses. For me, that is ... Charms is the most fundamental course for wizards, my project there is portkey programming - "

Harry had to explain what a portkey was, and could do it easily after his demonstration before.

"Then, in Potions and Defence against the Dark Arts together, my project is about some poison balls - one of Voldemort's weapons. It has to do with sulphuric acid, but we're still training with water - my friend and I, that is, because we work together there." And if it wasn't true currently, then maybe again in the near future.

"Then there's Transfiguration and Care for Magical Creatures, which for me is one project - a transfiguration into an animal."

"A transfiguration into ..." Mrs Goodridge's voice faded for a moment. "What's that good for, Harry?"

"Well, what's school stuff good for?" Harry waited until the laughter had faded. "At any rate, it might come in handy - if you have to walk, doing it as a dog's easier than on two legs, that's for sure."

"Yeah, probably ... And what's your animal, Harry?"

He smiled. "I'm still working on it - until then, I'd like to keep it to myself."

"Understandably. And what else?"

"What else ... Yes, there's sports, and dance. That's it."

---

Winston Winslow hurried to regain control. "Isn't that a fascinating portfolio, my dear spectators? So, Eleanor, what do you make of it?"

"Well, it's not as bad as expected - those people are quite advanced in their methods. Working in projects, team orientation, integrating different classes - these methods can only be approved, no denying. But otherwise, it's a mess. Once we've taken over authority, we'll have to restructure it from scratch. Imagine, no - "

Harry wheeled around. "Once you've what? ... As if we'd waited all this time to be ruled by Muggles! No thanks, madam."

The undersecretary showed a fine smile. "Maybe this won't be your decision, my dear Harry."

The moderator was quick to catch the steering wheel. "What would you do, Eleanor, to consolidate these people into our system?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The woman looked astonished. "Apply our system to them - as simple as that. Education system, school system, police, administration - everything. Our government is there, and it works. Those few wizards more won't make a difference."

"They have a Ministry of Magic. What about that?"

"Well - if that's required to make them happy, why not? There have been ministry jobs for lesser issues. But of course, such a ministry won't keep authorities which belong into one of the established departments. To talk about my own - there's just one Ministry of Education, and it's in charge of all children in this country, no matter which colour, race, skill, and origin. Segregation - that's the last thing we need, really. The United States of America used that system, and what - "

The moderator, expert in dealing with politicians, turned to the professor with the many colours. "Dr. Humperdinck, what's your opinion?"

Then man twitched, apparently disturbed in thoughts. "Huh? ... Oh, I don't see a need for any action, as there's nothing special - which doesn't mean there won't be a lot of politicians who take the opportunity to profile themselves, as we're about to witness." The direction of his glance left no doubt whom he had addressed with this remark.

"Well, Harry - are you looking forward to this prospect?" Winston Winslow's expression was friendly, questioning, in some contrast to the waves Harry could receive.

He tempered himself. "I'm looking forward to a cooperation, a system in which a school like Hogwarts can have a copier, and phones - even TV. Otherwhise ... I don't think Mrs Goodridge knows what she's talking about - she's starting from the wrong premises. After all, we're no immigrants."

The woman's head jerked up, very much to the moderator's pleasure. Before she could give a sharp reply, Winston Winslow said, "Okay, you're no immigrants, but why should our constitution, and our government, not apply to all British citizens?"

"Because some of them are different - a difference which goes deeper than the colour of the skin, or the shape of the eyes. Our own system's been stable for thousands of years - we've been there all the time, knew about you. New is only that you know about us."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"For a beginning, we should find out what happened - why suddenly the wizarding world is in the focus of the Muggles. Once we know, we might have a bearing how to proceed further."

Winston Winslow nodded. "Yes, this question might be the right topic after the next break. But before coming to that, Harry, what if our government in its eternal wisdom finds it appropriate to enforce our own system? You see, there's less than one wizard in thousand Muggles."

Harry smiled humourlessly. "If the result is that we have to learn English Literature, in addition to our own courses - that's something you can live with. If it's more, if our system's at risk - well, thousand Muggles might find it difficult to put force on a wizard."

* * *

Deborah was angry with him. "Harry, you've been the perfect representative - until you had to threaten them. Was it really necessary?"

"Threaten? I thought I was polite."

She mimicked him. "Thousand Muggles might find it difficult ... Of course they might find it difficult, but you just don't say it. I'm disappointed, really - macho talk from you, of all people!"

Harry twisted up. "That's unfair! All I said was it won't be as simple as this woman tried to make it look. Imagine - if they'd really try it, with sheer force, we'd see a civil war. Compared to that, I'd say my remark was very moderate."

"Yeah, maybe ..." Deborah sighed, then smiled. "Okay, Harry - for someone with as little experience in public relations as you, it was very good."

Harry grimaced. "Stop flattering me - it's even worse than shouting at me. Say, I'd like to see the recording, and maybe I'd know some people who'd like seeing it too. How can we arrange that?"

"Very simple." Deborah's eyes were shining. "Sirius has a TV, and a video recorder. Come to visit - say, Saturday afternoon?"

Harry grinned. "Are you entitled for invitations to that house?"

She pushed him playfully. "That's not your problem, young man! Who can we expect?"

Suddenly Harry knew what Deborah had in mind, apparently hoping to meet someone about whom she knew very little - only that this person was female, and closely related to himself. He smiled. "I'm not sure yet - could be I have to disappoint you again ..."

"Bah - Harry, you're just too clever."

"I didn't say I won't try - I'm playing openly, as you know, I'm fed up with hide and seek. But it's not my decision alone."

Deborah looked startled. "Openly? Say, how openly are you playing, Harry?"

"You mean who knows about a certain dream?"

She nodded.

"Cho, for example. I wasn't singing it around, but I'm not going to lie when I'm asked."

"Oh no ..." Deborah looked very unhappy. "Harry - er, is this the reason why ..."

"No. If you feel better - Cho and I, we - er, we've been together after this dream."

Deborah looked so relieved, she didn't even tease him for his careful selection of words.

Harry grinned. "So, the talkshow's over, and you owe me something. By the way, I think this invitation is a good opportunity to show you the girl - but for God's sake, don't mention it toward her."

Deborah glared at him. "Maybe I'm a journalist, but I'm not heartless!"

As it turned out, only Ron, Ginny, and Rahewa followed the invitation. There were more people interested to see the recording, except that Dumbledore had promised to get a TV plus recorder installed as soon as possible - a simple necessity, now that the Muggle world was breaking in. With this alternative in view, other people could wait a few more days - Hermione for example, or Almyra, or Marie-Christine.

Rahewa's presence offered enough excitement for Deborah. True, she didn't mention illnesses, or adoption, while no neutral spectator would have rated her behaviour normal and innocent. But then, there was no neutral spectator.

For Harry, this visit provided the first opportunity to watch the beginning - but only for a moment, until the header faded and Winston Winslow entered the stage to welcome the spectators. At the same moment, a red alert went up in Harry's mind.

Ginny, with a choking sound, jumped up and left the room.

Neither Ron nor Rahewa had noticed. Deborah looked wondering as Harry left the room to follow his step-sister. He found her in the kitchen, leaning against the table, trembling, a tissue between her hands, which were balled to fists.

"Ginny - what's wrong?"

"This ... I can't watch it, Harry. It's too ... He's the one - except he didn't call himself Winston Winslow."