Harry Potter and the Thunderstruck Muggles

Back to normality ... The Headmaster, also a master of careful wording, hadn't used this expression, probably because he knew - at least suspected - that nothing would be as before. And right he was.

Hogwarts, the school of wizardry and witchcraft, had appeared on the map of some bureaucrats - Muggle bureaucrats, and they felt in charge.

The anti-terrorist units left two days later, until then keeping at their own. Apparently, service with a smile was not listed in their job definition, so everybody could have his own guess about what they might think of wizards.

Shortly afterwards, Hogwarts got visitors.

Harry tried pumping Almyra to find out more about them. However, it was Dumbledore himself who broke the news in a short speech before supper.

"The British Muggle government," announced the Headmaster, "has started activities to integrate wizards and wizard institutions into a system which eventually - hopefully - will combine both worlds to mutual benefit. For us here at Hogwarts, the first step is a kind of evaluation. Mr Triplethorne" - Dumbledore pointed toward a man who sat next to him - "will be our guest for the next weeks. He will look over our shoulder to see how things are working in our school, in order to find out how Hogwarts can be integrated into the standard school system of Great Britain."

The Headmaster's face kept expressionless, quite in contrast to that of other teachers, and students, at hearing these words - and that of Mr Triplethorne himself, who looked extremely unhappy.

"Mr Triplethorne is a representative of the Ministry of Science and Education. You will treat him with the respect any visitor deserves. In addition, you will allow him to join classes and courses. Finally, you will answer his questions about habits and standards, and you will help him in all regards in which a non-magical person might have difficulties with our wizarding environment."

That's still to be seen, thought Harry, feeling absolutely certain that every other student was thinking the same.

Ron, for example. "Civil disobedience, that's how we have to proceed. They'll never get along with us. Never!"

Harry couldn't follow. "What's civil disobedience?"

Of course, Hermione gave the answer. "Not following rules - shouldn't be a problem for you, Harry. They send you a letter that you have to register yourself in some list, and you just do nothing. They send you a letter that you have to fill out your tax declaration, except you don't - and so on, and so on."

Contrary to Hermione's assumption, Harry still saw problems. "But they didn't send letters - they sent that guy. If he asks you something, you have to answer, and you can't lie to him."

"Sure, but so what?" Hermione grinned. "Your answer has to make clear that it's awfully complicated, nearly impossible - for a Muggle, that is. If we do that sufficiently, they'll just give up."

"Give me an example."

"My God, Harry - you're always so inventive when bypassing rules, how come you're so thick in this matter?"

"You just don't have an example at hand, that's all."

Ron looked very satisfied about this exchange, apparently agreeing to both remarks, in particular because he himself had an example.

"Imagine - that Singlerose - er, Triplethorne comes and asks why we use parchment rather than plain paper. Well, my answer is, for what I've heard, paper is heavily suffering from stray spells - bleeds out, gets spotty, sometimes starts to burn, while parchment is highly spell-resistent."

"Is it true?" Harry looked baffled.

Ron grinned. "That's what I heard - and that's what you heard, now."

Harry knew at once, he would be a miserable player in this game. No doubt, for Ron or Hermione, it seemed the simplest thing of the world to muck Mr Triplethorne around, and with a smile, while for Harry, the only alternatives were honesty or hostility.

He shouldn't have worried. Mr Triplethorne already had trouble even without students dragging his feet. A task as simple as moving through Hogwarts - for him it was a nightmare. Again and again, people saw him enter a room and then touch the wall along the door frame, until everybody knew - he was searching for the light switch, of course unable to conjure up a bunch of candles in the air. This marked the first stroke against his reputation.

Then - it took that Muggle bureaucrat forever to walk from one place to another, simply because all the short cuts, common knowledge for every student at the end of the first year, did not work with Muggles. Whispering a keyword, passing a fake wall, turning an armour? Whisper as he might, nothing did happen. The poor soul had to take the long way around.

And then the guarding pictures. Mr Triplethorne had the current passwords for all towers - big help for him, since the Fat Lady preferred to ignore him, in agreement with her fellow pictures in Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff. Without an escort, Mr Triplethorne got lost quickly.

After little more than a week, he gave up.

Many students saw this as a reason to celebrate a big victory. Not so Harry, nor Ron, or Hermione - the three friends agreed that this episode had been just a warming up.

However, for a few days, Hogwarts stayed free of Muggles.

* * *

Into this time fell the next significant change - less for Hogwarts altogether, more for Harry personally. It struck him as a lightning out of a cloudless summer sky, just at the end of a dance lesson.

The students had left the hall. Marie-Christine turned to him. "This has been our last lesson, 'arry."

"Huh?" He looked at her, baffled, not trusting his ears.

"Yes. I'm leaving Hogwarts - tomorrow."

Now he was truly speechless.

"I'm sorry - this is probably not the nicest way to tell you. But then ... it came all so quickly, and - "

"Wait a second - what are you talking about?"

Marie-Christine looked away. "I got an offer - and I accepted. Tomorrow - "

"What offer? Where? From whom?"

Marie-Christine shook her head, her cheeks burning. "Sorry - it's confidential, that's part of the contract. Dumbledore is informed, and I - "

"Wait wait wait - what does it mean, confidential? Is this a secret job, or what?"

Marie-Christine bit her lips. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, 'arry. My replacement will arrive tomorrow, and I'll pass things over, and that's it."

Harry's rage was growing by the second. "So, will it? That's perfect - a wonderfully smooth transit for the school, really! Except that your replacement may find herself short of an assistant - or is it a man?"

Marie-Christine's head was shaking.

Another thought struck Harry. "Say - are you sure there's everything all right with your new job? Confidential - that makes me very suspicious, that's how people disappear, never to be seen again."

A short smile. "No, 'arry - it's nothing dubious, and it won't stay a secret forever - there's just a certain period, that's all."

"Wonderful ... marvellous ... great, I'm beyond myself from excitement. Must be a hell of a job - "

"Erm - yes, it is."

"Well, then ..." With effort, Harry tempered his maddening fury. "Congratulations, Marie-Christine. Can nobody say you stressed your goodbye beyond any reasonable limit, really, by all means ..."

Marie-Christine still couldn't look at him. This, and her expression, and his haragei might have told him more, had Harry been able to sense anything besides his own rage and desperation.

"Adieu, 'arry. It couldn't last forever, could it?"

Deeply hurt, unable to find a nice word, unwilling to kick and jump still more than he'd already done, Harry left the hall - student that he was, having just received a lesson like the others, except not in dancing.

* * *

Next morning, at breakfast, Harry found himself in the foulest mood he could remember. This day would be bad, and the next would be worse, and the damned Muggles were making a mess of the wizarding world, as he could read in his Daily Prophet. Further, he was looking ahead to a Christmas ball without a partner, to nights without ...

Hermione, a disgustingly sweet smile in her face, said - no, sang, "Harry my ferry - full moon's coming soon, time for a trip, to deliver a sip - " She stopped, muted by an expression of burning rage in his face.

After a moment, she asked hesitantly, "Erm, did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"Hasn't been the right thing either, huh?"

"No."

Hermione looked guilty. "Er - I know that this deal's totally out of proportion, Harry - it wasn't planned that way, and as soon as you can make a portkey - " She stopped again - what was intended as an apology seemed to arrive as a reproach that Harry couldn't manage his own portkey project in time, at least considering the expression in his face.

Ron looked astonished. "Hey, Harry, did you swallow a nitro ball by accident? That's how you look."

"Do I? Then I should swallow a fuse too, so it won't stick, what do you think?"

The smile in Ron's face died quickly - too high the risk that his next remark might provide the fuse Harry was apparently missing. Ron looked at Hermione, shrugged. Harry in bad mood - a rare thing, though a dangerous one.

At lunch, Dumbledore announced the change in the teachers' team and presented a Mademoiselle Danielle Crouchard as the new Beauxbatons liaison officer and dance teacher.

From his place, Harry could see a slim figure, short black hair in a fashionable cut, a beaming smile, altogether a good-looking young woman. He couldn't care less.

"Oh my ..." Ron's comment never made it to the end.

Even so, Harry could feel the glances of his friends, could sense their sympathy, making him aware that his affair with Marie-Christine hadn't been the secret he'd thought.

He tried to steady himself, feeling shame - not because of this discovery, just for his childish behaviour. He turned to Ron. "Er - weren't you going to say something?"

A careful glance. "Yes - er, about your job as assistant. Are you going to continue with that?"

Was he? Harry didn't feel like it, not at all, had told Marie-Christine he wouldn't - well, as a reply in the heat of his initial rage. On the other hand, he couldn't help thinking this was sort of a very cheap revenge, totally beneath his style.

"Might be," he said with some effort. "At least until she has found someone else."

"That's good, Harry - so I'm not the only assistant around."

The joke was so bad - startled, Harry realized how his friend was desperately trying to find something that would cheer him up. He grinned wryly.

"Blimey, that was an awfully thin one, Ron, but I appreciate the spirit, if you know what I mean."

Ron looked relieved. Hermione looked thoughtful. Harry decided to find something good to steam off - maybe damaging a large building.

What he really did was exercising in the training hall until he felt so exhausted, he couldn't even lift a wand. He worked alone, using dummies for targets, his imagination bringing them to life - a simple, archaic concept of opposition, suited well to forget all real-life complexities, to submerge in a world of pure good and total evil.

When his bokken seemed as heavy as if being made of lead, Harry stopped with a grunt of satisfaction. For three hours - okay, minus the first ten minutes - he'd been in a world of arcane rules, far away from his misery and loneliness. For a while, he hadn't been missing his love, had forgotten about a substitute sex partner lost yesterday.

Coming awake, sweating and panting, Harry sensed her.

The new dance teacher was leaning against the wall, near the entrance. Dressed like a Muggle - black jeans, white T-shirt, sandals, looking lean, clean, fresh.

Coming closer, Harry recognized the long, narrow pocket at the side of her right thigh. It was strangely relieving to see that even a witch in Muggle dress wanted her wand the flick of a hand away, all the time.

Her stare struck him as very French, very female, she would study his genitals with the same open interest as she did his face now. "You move gracefully, H'arry Potter."

His eyes widened a bit - she spoke English, and she had almost mastered his name.

He answered in French. "Thank you - although, for the last minutes, it can't have been true."

"Maybe I was referring to the minutes before ... I came to talk with you - about dancing."

Of course - apparently sent by Marie-Christine, who had figured that her own presence would not improve the negotiations. Harry said, "If you'd give me a few minutes - if I don't reach the hot-water tub in a hurry, I'll be stiff like that bokken."

He saw a glimmer in her eyes, as though she had misunderstood him on purpose. "Mind if I come with you?"

He found his speech - rather quickly, considering her question. "Actually, yes ... I'll meet you in your office in, say, half an hour?"

She nodded, showing no embarrassment whatsoever. "My name's Danielle, assuming we'll - work together. See you then, H'arry."

Lying in the hot-water tub, feeling relaxed and weightless, Harry started preparing for the conversation that would follow in a few minutes. This Danielle was looking for an assistant - naturally so. She wanted to dance with him - and no doubt, she had more in mind than waltz and tango, was offering a very special two-step boogie, well outside the regular schedule. Now that was interesting - how did he come to that honour?

Maybe just by accident - a French woman, not losing time to settle in a new environment, taking the first chance with acceptable odds. Could be as simple as that ... Had she heard rumours? Unlikely, still more unlikely that Marie-Christine was trying to sell the whole package ...

Harry was already heading toward the steam room when he remembered a more realistic possibility. French press had been quite detailed about some scandal, involving him as well as Marie-Christine, detailed enough not to leave out full names, not with an old family pushing. From there, it was just straight-forward thinking - for a woman like Danielle Crouchard, born and raised in France.

Yes, he would agree to work as her assistant in dance lessons. Otherwise - Harry didn't think of her as a replacement for Marie-Christine, for more than one reason ... His situation wasn't that desperate.

Not yet.

* * *

Monsieur Armodéc had seen Harry's surprised glance - the dinner was served by the house-maid, Désirée nowhere in sight. "Today it's just the two of us, Harry. Mademoiselle Désirée has - found it preferable to look for new challenges, and I didn't have the opportunity yet to settle for a replacement."

Listening to this statement which sounded very questionable, except for an obvious fact, Harry kept silent.

His host had a fine sense for nuances. "I won't go into details, about how much it was her decision, how much it was me who found it about time for a change, Harry, but let me assure you - we didn't part in a row, and I'm not the one to be ungrateful when it's time to say goodbye."

Silent as before, Harry bowed, admitting that any doubts he had felt now were cleared away.

"I'm still looking around, you know. Might be - I could imagine myself inviting Mademoiselle Beatrice for a longer visit. What do you think of this idea, Harry?"

Now this was really insolent, wasn't it?

But Monsieur Armodéc's question had been serious, so Harry found himself forced to answer. "I wonder if it's appropriate for me to comment on your planning, sir."

The loup-garou laughed with genuine joy. "Certainly not, Harry - I hoped to hear a comment on my choice!"

Harry felt disarmed. "Well, erm ... There might be a conflict between your policy and hers - about leaving a tiny amount of desire unfulfilled."

Monsieur Armodéc nodded gravely. "Yes, you're right - that was my feeling too. But then again, what's the sense in perfect harmony all year long? Every now and then, you need a conflict of interests, don't you think so?"

Harry, who was struggling for months with a serious conflict of interests, felt little inclination to agree.

His host showed no impact from Harry's gloomy mood. "It's a matter of proportion, of course ... I'm talking about differences in style, while the basic idea is shared between both sides - nothing like that deadly enmity between you and your long-time opponent ... By the way, what are you planning to do, Harry?"

"Huh?"

Monsieur Armodéc looked surprised, apparently considering this question as the most natural of the world. "With Voldemort. The plot's been completed, the wizarding world is a mess, will hardly ever recover. That's his work - I hope we agree at least that much."

"I don't share this total conviction, sir, but I can't offer any realistic alternative about whom to take responsible."

"Then let me ask again - what are you going to do?"

For an instant, Harry wondered why this seemingly natural question felt more pushing than some offers he had received here. Blaming his current mood, careful nonetheless, he said, "Actually, I was indeed thinking about looking for him, and ask him personally - and, depending on his answer - well, if there's an answer at all ... Yes, there's an open issue, only, I've no idea where to start, how to find him."

His host looked satisfied. "That sounds more like what I've expected, Harry. Where to start - how did you find him in your previous encounters?"

"Finding him, that's good." Harry had a short laugh. "Mostly, it was him to find me - except for the last time, but even then, I just was a bit quicker than his own planning."

"There are probably many ways. The best summary I ever heard was an American Indian proverb. 'To find a man, you have to follow his tracks.' Just find out what it means here, Harry, and then ..."

Monsieur Armodéc had surprised him again. Quoting American Indians, down here in Haiti. Only after a moment, Harry realized that there were such people all along the American continent, and decided to ask Rahewa if she'd heard this quote before.

---

Then he asked his host whether the offer for a guest room was still valid. He wasn't in the mood to reach Hogwarts a few hours before dawn and felt sure enough here - expressing his request so late, without leaving time for a preparation, at a time when even Monsieur Armodéc had no flower of the night at hand.

Of course he could stay, his host looked pleased, said they could use the time for longer discussions, or do something they'd never done before - playing chess against each other.

Shortly after the thirtieth move, Harry told his king to kneel down and admit the opponent's victory. "In chess, I'm no competition for you, sir. You should play against my friend Ron - that'd be a more realistic challenge."

Monsieur Armodéc beamed. "He's invited, Harry, by all means - any time, at any scale ..."

Harry kept his face steady. "Chess only, I'd suggest."

"... yes, but I'm sure your friend would accept some food and drinks too. What's your game of choice, Harry?"

"Go."

"Yes of course - I should have guessed by myself. I don't know that game in detail, Harry, but I'd really appreciate if you would find the patience to show me."

"That would be a pleasure, sir." Harry's words expressed more than simple politeness - he was fascinated by the prospect of watching Monsieur Armodéc's strategy in this game. "For the next potion, I could come with my Go set."

"Excellent - that would probably solve a problem. I wonder whether I might find a set here around, and even if so, then probably not of the best quality."

After another game, lost like the first but with some more decency, Harry said good-night to his host. Seeing his guest room again, this time alone, tired but sober, he asked himself why he didn't accept more of Monsieur Armodéc's hospitality, now that ... Without finding an answer, he fell asleep.

He was diving in the lake. His hands and legs looked normal, which meant he hadn't eaten Gillyweed - even so, he could breathe easily, move effortlessly through the narrow sphere in which he was able to recognize details. It was cool, a smooth touch on his skin, the gentlest caress along his flanks and thighs.

A line appeared in his vision, then another, then he recognized what he had found - the skeleton of a dragon, no doubt one of the four dragons which had died in the Battle of Hogwarts, had been buried in the lake, with the other three somewhere close ... Funny to detect it now, after he had never been able to find a trace of them. Passing between two of the gigantic ribs, he glided toward the head somewhere in front of him, feeling like in an underwater cave.

A light spot. Coming closer, he saw it was a female figure, in a white T-shirt. One of the camp girls? No, looked very much like the new dance teacher, although a few details didn't match.

The face looked at him, the mouth unmoving while the words reached his mind. "Here you are, at last ... Riding a dragon from inside - the dragon is inside you, Harry, but I'm inside the outside dragon, to ride you, when you come inside me."

He couldn't follow the logic, registered however the invitation, which he could follow easily, with his growing arousal, the faint stroke of the water, along his hardening member, replaced by a harder touch when two legs came floating up, closing around him, dragging him nearer toward her ...

Her face was very close now, a secretive smile cursing her lips, no other movement visible, although he could hear the words clearly.

"Dance, Harry."

Only she danced, slight movements, with her legs twisting gently, her body stretching back, sending a wave of heat into his flesh, or was it the other way around?

He hung weightless, motionless, not daring to move, yearning to keep this incredibly intense sensation that was spreading through his groin, his legs, paralyzing him, the intensity still growing - it was impossible to stand much longer, any second now, he would erupt, only he didn't, not as long as he could hold still ...

He saw it coming, approaching slowly, its rotation much fast, its contours strangely distinct in this shadowy cave - a water ball, aiming at him, now passing her head, her breasts, slowing more while the rotation reached a frightening speed ... Barely inching forward, but the moment of hit would be ...

At the very last instant, he knew - the hit would be deadly, this was no water, was a terrible maelstrom, formed into ...

He bent his body backward. At the same moment, his legs came up, touched her body, and this single movement was enough to break the balance, to send him into a burning heat of ecstasy, his mouth opening wide in a silent scream while the deadly ball, ever so slowly, passed his face.

Harry came awake, gasping, in a long groan, feeling the spasms in his pulsing flesh which was shooting, shooting ...

There was darkness around him, the room quiet, a feeling as though an echo had faded an instant before ... and a heavy scent in the air, bitter-sweet, musky, beguiling.

Still panting, still unsure whether to be angry or relieved, Harry realized that this loup-garou had tricked him again, in a way never to be discussed.

* * *

It was afternoon local time when Harry jumped back to the Hogwarts Express platform, after a breakfast at which Monsieur Armodéc - never touching the issue of air conditioning Haitian style in a bedroom - had drunk his potion in a deliberate gesture and with obvious disgust.

Was he obliged to join the last class? What was it - Charms? Probably not, then, Lupin would understand that delivering a Wolfsbane Potion sometimes took a little longer than planned.

Reaching the Entrance Hall, Harry found a woman blocking his way. She asked, "What are you doing here at this time of the day, young man? Where do you come from?"

Thin, not too big, Muggle clothes - somewhat formal, a pinched face, a great determination, like Hermione at her most unpleasant, and totally unknown to Harry.

"I'm not aware that this is any of your business, madam." He tried to bypass her.

Her hand was on his shoulder, holding him. "Just a second - "

The sentence never finished, ending in a cough.

Reflexively, Harry had responded with the classical technique against attacks as stupid as this one - stepping back onto the opponent's foot, his elbow shooting backward, the other arm freeing his shoulder, ready to deal further measures, like breaking an arm, hitting a larynx - or just holding before the woman collapsed at the floor, like in this case.

"Sorry - was a reflex ... It's not particularly clever to attack me from behind."

Come to think of it, not from front either, although the woman seemed ready for that, should her breath ever catch again.

Harry asked, "Who are you?"

There was still pain in her face, but it was nothing, compared to the hate in her eyes. "I've ... asked first ... and now you'll answer me ... young man."

He shrugged. "Harry Potter's my name. And yours?"

"Harry Potter - I heard that name before ... And mine's Rosetta Rushmore, supervisor of the Education Ministry for Hogwarts - and I'll make sure you'll not forget that, never ..."

Oh yes, she did her best, with a deep grudge against Hogwarts in general, as it seemed, and a very personal hate against Harry in particular, not leaving any doubt about that.

Within the single day she'd been there when Harry met her first, Rosetta Rushmore had managed to wipe off the smile from every face that was so unfortunate and couldn't avoid dealing with her. Within the week that followed, she reached a point at which people were thinking about unforgivable curses - preferably all of them together.

Maybe the only reason which protected Rosetta Rushmore's mind and body was a simple conclusion. Mr Triplethorne had been the first, had been replaced by her - then, for Heaven's sake, who'd be third in line if they found a way to get rid of her?

Harry didn't have to pump Almyra for internal details - first because the teachers complained openly and voluntarily about Rosetta Rushmore's opinions and style, second because the woman herself never hesitated to deliver remarks in full public, loud enough to be heard by everyone around. Third, because Harry got his special share of her personal attention.

The Hogwarts teachers weren't qualified for their job. They had never passed an exam, never received a certificate, certainly none from the Education Ministry. The only reason why they could keep working - so Rosetta's comment - was that nobody else qualified any better.

Hogwarts was apparently a close relative of Sodom and Gomorrah, considering her estimation - what with boys and girls so tightly together, and then the houses! Gryffindor had a witch as Head of House, nothing else - how was McGonagall supposed to keep order in the boys' department? Slytherin was even worse - a male Head ouf House who might find himself confronted with a situation in which he had to enter girls' dormitories. Unbelievable!

---

Within several days, everybody called her "the Rosetta Stone," the means by which Mugglese, found on some papers from the Education Ministry and totally unintelligible, could be translated to plain wizard English, unfortunately not making significantly more sense.

Then a second-year called her "Mrs Stone," innocently asking, "Isn't your name Rosetta Stone, madam?" when inquired for his reason. Nobody knew if that boy really hadn't known better; at any rate, the scene didn't improve things.

Then, at lunch, Hermione said, "All right, let's call her Mount Rushmore."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, sure - a dirty piece of rock with four faces, one more arrogant and ugly than the other."

Ron was already laughing uncontrollably while Harry, for whom geography and politics weren't his strongest, learned about this monument of megalomania in the Black Hills of South Dakota, USA.

Maybe there were some Hogwarts residents who couldn't stand a certain temptation. At any rate, the lady demanded that all students had to deliver their wands after classes, to be locked in until the next day. Harry heard about this from Lupin.

"Did she say why?"

"For reasons of security, as she put it - as if we didn't know whose security was meant."

"And - what was Dumbledore's response?"

"He flatly refused."

So there were limits even to this man's patience, thank God. "And then?"

"Then she made clear - not for the first time, by the way - that it would take her just a phone call to get a bataillon of policemen and guards into the school."

"And Dumbledore?"

"He said, 'Let them come'."

"Really?" Harry beamed. "Was he serious, or just fed up?"

Lupin grinned. "Neither, nor - just his old cunning self ... Took him a few days to recover from the shock, I guess." At Harry's blank face, Lupin explained. "Sure, in a way she's right - if we don't get along, the next step will be something drastic. But she's a hell of an ambitious lady - calling the cavalry would mean she's given up. That from her? Never, Harry."

Soon afterwards, at supper, students and teachers alike had to wait half an hour for their food. Next morning, at breakfast, Harry had the story together, thanks to a close connection with the kitchen people.

"It was a warning strike." He grinned at Hermione. "You never came that far, remember, but Rushty managed just after these few days."

"And why?" asked Ron, while Hermione was still chewing on Harry's reminder.

"Well - Dobby said, it was just a warning. But if that woman ever again comes into their territory, the house elves will withdraw kitchen service."

Hermione said, "That's not going to stop her."

"Yes it is." Harry smiled triumphantly. "It was Samantha who spoke with them. She said, if the woman ever should come again, the elves should kick her out, and Samantha herself would make sure to notify the other side about this order."

Somehow, Hermione had trouble savouring the news, while Harry was grinning madly, remembering the scene how Dobby, freed a minute earlier, had sent Lucius Malfoy down a staircase.

Then Ron came to report that this education expert had demanded to forbid Quidditch.

"I was checking with Dumbledore whether there's a chance for a Quidditch cup, now that wizards and Muggles seem to have stopped shooting at each other. He said it's a little late in the year, and a very bad time for asking - and then he told me why."

"What's wrong with Quidditch?"

"Highly dangerous ... the risk of injuries uncalculable ... A sport in which some team members are supposed to knock other people down, with balls hard as stone, is against the law - "

"The law??" Harry almost giggled hysterically.

"Yes, and girls riding on broomsticks, that's obscene, she said."

Hermione glared. "Obscene? That's sexual harassment - discriminating a certain sex for ..."

Ron showed an exhausted grin. "Then go and sue her."

"It's funny," said Harry, "Monsieur Armodéc said something in that sense, except he just thought it's not really decent."

Ron looked at Hermione. "Go and sue him too."

"No." Hermione's voice was flippant. "It's not really funny." She turned to Ron. "And your advice is a typical example of male ignorance toward female discrimination. You should - "

Ron waved impatiently. "I could do with some discrimination of a certain female, believe me. She said broomstick flying in general should be allowed only at the age of sixteen. Flyers had to wear helmets, use safety belts - "

"That's not unreasonable, is it?"

"Yeah, maybe." Ron sighed. "But I'm telling you only the most outstanding ideas she has. Say, Hermione, why do Muggles need a form in triplicate when someone's going to fart in the corridor?"

"Oh, that's simple." Hermione ignored the special style of Ron's remark completely, probably because - basically - it was a plea for her superior knowledge. "There are just too many Muggles, so, to keep them employed, one half's keeping accounts of what the other half's doing ... Well, that's the result."

---

These were the problems Hogwarts had with Rosetta Rushmore. They affected Harry only to some degree. But in addition, he had the very personal attention of the lady.

He was heading toward the exit, on his way to a place outside Hogwarts' protective sphere in which portkeys didn't work, when he met her again, blocking the door. He could swear, she'd been waiting for him.

"What do you want outside, Mr Potter? Aren't you expected in your class?"

"I'm on the way to my classwork. Please let me pass."

A sneering smile. "Classwork? Outside? That's still to be seen. Follow me."

"You're entitled to get answers from me, and help in tasks. I'm not obliged to follow orders from you, madam."

It was true; they knew it both.

Rosetta Rushmore stared at him, the smirk gone. "Then we wait. Sooner or later, you'll change your mind."

Harry was changing it already, about the required level of politeness, and the required level of action, toward this -

"Don't dare to point your wand against me - you know the rule!"

Yes, Harry knew. Dumbledore had established it publicly, announcing drastic measures against someone violating it, somehow keeping very unclear which measures exactly that would be.

Harry folded his hands in front of him. "Please." Then he murmured something else.

As though at their own, the woman's legs started to trip, moving her forward, away from the door. After a few steps, they stopped again.

Smiling, Harry shouted, "Thank you." Out he was.

He felt almost sure to be in for an unpleasant conversation with Dumbledore and prepared himself for the moment - except it never came. Rosetta Rushmore's repertoire was different.

He met her again at the door, this time together with Ron - on their way to the training area for nitro balls.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley - what's your current class?"

"Potions."

"That's what I thought. I spoke with Mrs McGonagall about your project. I have to tell you that it's completely against the law - that's why I can't allow you to go outside."

"What?" Harry and Ron were staring at her, at each other.

"Working with explosives is forbidden for anyone without a special permit, which is granted only giving proof of the Explosives and Chemicals Certificate - something you can't possibly hold. Working with dangerous chemicals - like sulphuric acid, for example, is regulated by the same law ... Sorry."

Yeah, very much so - her face showed it.

"Then we'll do it with water."

"No you won't - moving, or shooting, projectiles of any matter, at a speed higher than four feet per second, outside closed cabins or pre-constructed areas with special security precautions, violates the first amendment of the Public Security Law ... You'll have to find another project, I'm afraid."

To which Rosetta seemed looking forward expectantly, ready to be as inventive as before.

Ron looked at Harry. "Mental, definitely."

"Mr Weasley, you'll hear about that - you've been a Prefect and assistant administrator the longest time, mark my words!"

Ron glared at her. "With you around, that's the first senseful suggestion I've heard." His trembling fingers were fiddling at his chest. "You can have my badge right now, should be just fit to - "

Harry grabbed his friend, stopping a remark he felt genuinely sorry not to hear - never would he know which of two alternatives had been on Ron's mind.

Of course, Ron kept his job and his rank - Hogwarts simply couldn't afford losing his work. But their project ...

Harry talked with McGonagall.

The Gryffindor Head of House looked sour. "She's probably right about these laws - even if not, I won't be able to prove the opposite. Besides, weren't you almost completed with it?"

"Not quite - but aside from that, she's doing what she can to sabotage our work."

"You think you have problems, Harry?" The witch had bitter lines in her face. "Are you interested to hear what I'm dealing with? You come to me - you, the artist of rules, whom I had the honour watching for nearly seven years? Find a way, Harry - don't discuss it with me, don't tell me your short cut around this rule. And if, by some accident, your next shot happens to blow - " McGonagall stopped herself. "This conversation never took place, Harry, and listening to my own words, I could start screaming right away."

Looking into a tired face, Harry suddenly felt calm, quiet, knowing what probably had been obvious for a while. He had to find the one who had caused this mess, and he had to punish him. It was very unlikely that this punishment would, somehow, let Rosetta Rushmore disappear, or the other Muggles, but he had neglected a duty already too long.

He smiled. "You're right, Prof. You're soo right."

The witch looked startled. "I hope you didn't take me literally, I mean - "

He could laugh. "No, Prof. She's a puppet on a string, isn't she? It's the string I have in mind."

* * *

For the short run, Harry and Ron found several solutions. They could use the secret passage with the exit in the Three Broomsticks. This was the longest way - quicker was the linkport to Durmstrang, where Harry got permission for their project without any problem, or to Beauxbatons, although this wasn't the best place to shoot nitro balls. Rosetta Rushmore knew about the linkports, but she couldn't be everywhere in first place, couldn't follow either.

Harry's portkey programming project was safe - which Muggle law should regulate that? He worked outside, feeling relieved in spite of the cold weather - sometimes at the former dragon camp, sometimes in the former Giants' camp. But his progress was slow.

A matter of accuracy, Ray had said. Still, deep inside, Harry hoped for - almost expected - the moment when, with an inaudible click, it would work, like it had happened with his apparition, and his pursuit. But unfortunately, portkey programming wasn't part of any inheritance from his dark enemy. The best he had managed so far was a three-step jump - ridiculous the idea of a portkey to the Ile de la Tortue.

If the progress in that project was slow, Harry saw none whatsoever in his Animagus project. Changing into a sphere? No way, amigo. He tried it with wishful thinking - concentrating on the picture of him, as a dragon, diving down toward Rosetta Rushmore.

A nice picture, not rewarding more than a daydream.

After another encounter with the ministry woman, in which she demanded that the three recreation rooms be labeled - for boys, girls, teachers, Harry finally started thinking seriously about his quest for Voldemort.

Finding the dark lord, who wasn't a lord ... Maybe that was a hint, maybe he would find him when scanning Great Britain for all lords, and then discard those which were genuine. Only - aside from the technical problems, who said Voldemort was in England? Marie-Christine had suspected so ...

At this point, Harry's single-mind braimstorming mutated to a single-minded brooding. After a while, he called himself back to his schedule.

Then what else? Asking the Goblins - was a measure, although he didn't expect much. Of course, they would have to watch for Wormtail with the silvery hand. As if Wormtail would appear in public with his hand unprotected. But still, he had to talk with them, would be too stupid not doing it, only to learn later that they had known all the time.

Maybe he should place an ad in all major wizard newspapers. Voldemort, where are you? I want to talk with you - just a little chat, there's some question I'd like to ask. Well, yes, before I forget - depending on the answer, might be I'd like to kill you. That would be the day, getting a response for such an ad ... No, he would get responses, lots of them, only they'd be crap.

But newspaper was the keyword which brought Harry on the right track - the track he had to follow, according to this proverb Monsieur Armodéc had quoted. Voldemort had spread rumours, lies, disinformation, all through newspapers - Muggle newspapers, of course. Then how had the information been passed over to them?

That was something to be discussed with Deborah, which meant a visit in the evening, or on a weekend. Visits ... How was the official state with Hogwarts students leaving the school? Suddenly, thanks to Thornella Brushface, this was an issue.

Before Harry had the opportunity to beat this bush in an innocent way, he found a letter from Groucho Spectors, delivered by the Magical Tours postal service. A shareholder meeting - two days from now, four o'clock in the afternoon, equivalent to midnight here.

Harry knew the location now, so he could apparate directly and didn't need this stupid kind of operation base called hotel suite. Well, not for that, and for all he knew, not for anything else either.

---

It was half past eleven when he came down the staircase, dressed in his light grey business suit, fully aware that he would tremble miserably on his way to the jumping point outside, which had been the better alternative, compared to carrying a heavy coat in Santa Monica. And who was standing there?

Coquetta Crushdoor herself. Did she have spies, or could she read minds?

"What's this? - Mr Potter in a Muggle suit? On your way to a costume ball?"

"No."

The woman's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Oh, I know - some silly girl's waiting for you, probably in Hogsmeade ..."

Harry started to giggle, then to laugh - about this crazy idea, from this crazy woman. A Zen joke from her, of all people!

Rosetta Rushmore took his laughter exactly as what it was - something ridiculing her. "Whatever - you won't leave that building, Mr Potter!"

"Yes I will." He made a step.

Something like fright, for a fleeting instant, replaced by stubbornness. "You won't curse me again! I've found out about you, that you don't need a wand for that. One try, and you'll find yourself first in front of your funny little Headmaster, and the next day in front of a Muggle jury!"

Nobody called Dumbledore like that - nobody!

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, deliberately raising a twist from her when, for a short moment, his arms looked as if pointing at her. "Funny little Headmaster, huh? You miserable Muggle - you know what a memory charm is, do you?"

With a quick movement, Harry's hands touched his temples, fell back - enough to make the woman jump. "All right then - what's your choice?"

Yes, she knew what a memory charm was, had no doubt he could perform it, which wasn't entirely true, not with the accuracy to blend out the memory of five minutes in the Entrance Hall. But she didn't know, while she was perfectly aware that her emotional remark had all the qualifications for a political scandal - and her demission, to say the least.

But Rosetta had guts, could nobody say otherwise.

"You won't do that, Mr Potter. Not you, not after all I've heard about you. It just doesn't fit."

"So? Some people are supposed to fight dark wizards, and then they're using dirty tricks by themselves. Some people are supposed to consolidate wizard schools into Muggle systems, and then they're harassing students, and insulting teachers. Now - "

"That's not true!" The woman swallowed. "I ... I take back what I said a moment ago - it was a stupid remark, and obviously wrong."

This could have been a reason to grin, if not for the tense atmosphere. And of course, she had left him no choice. "It's all right. I take back what I said about you ..."

Leaving it to everybody's guess whether or not it was obviously true.

"... and you're right, I'm not going to use a memory charm. But I'll go outside now."

"To what purpose, Mr Potter?"

With some effort, Harry released his clenching teeth. "To join a shareholder meeting of Groucho Spectors in Santa Monica, California, USA - where it'll be four o'clock in the afternoon pretty soon - that's the scheduled time."

He felt rage, being forced to tell her the truth, didn't feel any better when Rosetta Rushmore, looking totally perplexed, stepped aside, watching in astonishment how Harry left the hall to walk toward the Hogwarts Express platform.

Well - rage made for enough heat not to feel cold.

* * *

Entering the meeting room, Harry found just one person already waiting - Cho, an open folder before her on the table. She smiled at him! "Hello, war hero."

"What?"

Cho twisted a bit, slightly blushing. "Er - hello, Harry."

How did she know about what was happening in Hogwarts?

"How do you know about what's happening in Hogwarts?"

Cho blushed more. "I have my sources ... How come you look so crotchety?"

"Shouldn't be too difficult to guess, if you're so well informed - a minute ago, I had an encounter with Mount Rushmore herself, that's why."

Cho looked totally blank, which meant her sources weren't worth a sickle, or totally outdated. But before Harry could investigate the thought further, Sylvie and Jesamine entered the room and greeted him.

Cho opened the meeting, while the protocol pen was scribbling in a frenzy. When she started with the first topic, her voice was a bit tense.

"Our movies department has started a major project which - at the end - will consist of about a dozen spector cassettes. It's about dancing."

Harry nodded to himself inwardly. Of course - the one for which Rahewa was hired, and the rest of his dance crew, probably among others.

"The first cassette gives a do-it-yourself course in the standard dances of the world dance program, covering the basic steps - foxtrot in three versions, waltz in two, cha-cha-cha, rumba, tango, jive, samba ... For each of these dances, there'll be an individual cassette with all steps known - very detailed, so you really can learn by yourself, especially with the advantages of spectors in contrast to Muggle TV - truly three-dimensional, you can look from all angles - but whom am I telling that? Well, and the last cassette will be a demo collection of dances around the world" - she looked at Harry - "like Grass Dance, for example."

Which made sense. In a spector, you could really watch all the details. With a little marketing, this should be a boomer. Rahewa's part seemed placed in a distant corner, but so what - at least she'd got the salary.

"... first cassette in a beta version. I'd like to give you an impression how this project will be run."

Walking to the large spector globe at the rear end of the room, watching Cho closing the blinds, Harry wondered why she was moving so awkwardly, like on full alert for something to happen.

When the misty gray faded, opening to the introduction scene, he knew why, and knew also who had told Cho about the events in Hogwarts, and why Cho hadn't understood his remark about a real nuisance.

The male dancer was unknown to Harry, while the woman was Marie-Christine.

White-hot fury boiled up in him and made him gasp. He glared up toward Cho and saw her stagger for an instant - apparently hit by an involuntary wave from his mind. She didn't look up.

He was desperately fighting for control, using the full ten minutes of this demonstration to become again master of his voice, his mind, using all his skill to lock this burning rage up in some cage, to be dealt with later. He felt betrayed, manipulated, robbed, blackmailed - by Cho, that was, not by Marie-Christine, whose motivation seemed fairly obvious.

---

They went back to their seats.

"So that's our project in the Edutainment area." Cho's voice had lost some of its tension, while her body still seemed unnaturally stiff. "It will take about half a year until the last cassette is completed, while the first one, what you've just seen, will be in time for the Christmas business ... With this project, we give a first answer to the request from Narita Spectors to provide spector movies - without them, they're not going to sell systems, which is understandable ..."

Harry's mind drifted off, to something much more important for him. Marie-Christine, taken away from Hogwarts, away from him, officially for this movie project, while everybody with eyes to see, ears to hear knew the true reason behind.

A very clever move, yes, oh yes - he could imagine Cho, grinning about her plot. Well, she better watched, could happen easily this grin might freeze.

"... more movies. For this purpose, we have to increase our efforts, and we have to become more efficient. That brings us to our main topic of today, the new corporate structure ..."

To hell with corporate structures. Some other structures were keeping Harry's mind busy, those of a heavy attack, of possible counter-attacks, those of a body he remembered well, of another body whose shape seemed seriously at risk to fade in his memory.

"... will be Groucho Recordings, the one for producing the movies, and also this project. The next daughter company will be Groucho Entertainment, in charge of the marketing and distribution. The third will be Groucho Manufacturing - for the systems production, that is the interface to Narita Spectors ..."

Daughter companies? Cho was about to collect daughters of her own? Then, like for himself, there might be a surprise in store - she might find an indestructible barrier.

"... candidates for the CEO's are obvious, I'd say. Sylvie has opted for Groucho Recording, Jesamine for Groucho Manufacturing, which means I'll go for Groucho Entertainment. Okay, that's the rough outline - any comments so far?"

Harry raised his arm. "No."

Cho looked like hit in the face - no, more like punched in the stomach, taking all wind off her. Sylvie and Jesamine showed little surprise, only an anxious expectation.

Cho had recovered a bit. "Time-out ... Harry and I, we'll discuss this plan in my office - okay?"

Since she had been looking at the table, he didn't know whether this question was directed toward him. Probably so ... Well, then, time to rumble.

He followed her downstairs.

---

Cho's office looked splendid. Spacious, light, with a windowfront spanning the entire width, some comfortable-looking leather chairs placed at a low table with a top of gray stone, possibly granite. And then her desk - larger than life, crowded with papers, folders, phone, a second phone, a third phone, plus a side-table with what looked like a TV screen ... Had to be one of those people computers.

Harry sat down, examining the paintings at the wall opposite the windows, not registering a detail, hardly the fact that they were Chinese.

Cho didn't sit down. She was walking from one end of the free space to the other - a little more heat and energy, and she'd been floating. Now she stopped. "What's that supposed to mean - no?"

"No."

Her voice came snarling. "Talk in complete sentences, for God's sake!"

Harry almost did, remembered just in time what he'd sworn to himself some minutes ago - that she would pay, would pay for what she'd done, would pay more for every additional detail, like this command. Maybe a waiter would obey, only he wasn't.

Cho was shouting. "This is a time-out! You're not restricted to yes and no!"

No he wasn't - not by their contract, to be precise.

"Do we have an agreement that I have to say more?"

"You want to pay back, right? It has nothing to do with the actual plan, it's just to strike back, to hit me where it hurts."

He could sneer too, had found the opportunity to train that - recently, in Hogwarts. "I've bought a blocking minority - and what happens? Your next step is to shift the business decisions into daughter companies, with the mother just good to earn the profits, or to pay the debts, and to hire or fire the CEO's - as if we had much choice in that. But not with me! Ask any business expert what he'd do in such a case - you can't seriously expect me to agree how you're undermining my control power."

Cho was trembling in rage. "I don't believe for a second that's the real reason. If I'd suggested the opposite, you'd have said no as well!"

"Thoughts are free."

"Free, yes - so free, I felt like kicked the moment you saw her in the spector." Cho sat down, hands balled to fists. "This is a perfectly normal business - she's hired as an actor, and dancer, for - "

"Perfectly normal, bullshit! Marie-Christine's the first to admit she's not the greatest dancer of the world, not in the same league as others, Fleur for example."

Cho looked triumphant. "That's a do-it-yourself course, not a dance contest! She's coming over better in the globe than Fleur - people can identify with her - who'd identify herself with a Veela?"

This was true. Marie-Christine looked magnificent in the spector - another burner to heat up his fury.

"I offered a contract much better than Hogwarts, and she came - that's all."

"Much better - oh yes, I can imagine. A lot more money, probably some other benefits ..."

Cho's face turned dark red.

"... and I can't blame her - I'd have fallen for the same trap - any time, except it wasn't me who got the offer - although I wouldn't have asked for money."

Cho dropped her nominal defense line at the spot. "Did you think I'd be sitting here idly, biting nails, while you were balling her all the time? Not caring much who knows about? ... And as if that's not enough ..."

"And why?" He was shouting too. "And why not? There's just one pussy on earth that's allowed for me, huh, which is yours, except this one's kept out of reach ..."

Cho gasped.

"... for reasons I still don't understand, week after week after week. And then we meet after an eternity, and I'm told you can play the game as well, only it's no fun, and that's all there is for the next eternity. I'd say you're confusing cause and effect here - "

"Certainly not!" Cho's eyes were sparkling fire. "It wasn't me who started playing games with other people - that was you!"

"Ah - the old story, unforgotten, unforgiven ... Okay, so it was me who started, but it's you who's ending them."

Cho twitched. "What's - "

"Because I'm not playing along any further. I never told you what to do or not to do, and I'm not willing to let me drag along, to follow the whistle of your - bell, in particular not if it's never coming a certain way. You've messed in my business, Cho, and that's been the last time - "

"Messed in your business? It's not your business alone - and besides, you've messed in my business, you're still doing so, not allowing us to do a necessary step in our development!"

Harry didn't even think about his decision. "Don't worry - it won't happen again. You can go along - I take my veto back, what do I care about that stuff, who's selling what to whom, and whether it's a - "

"Of course you don't!" Cho's voice was almost tilting over. "You never did, except to throw spanners in my work, like some minutes ago!"

"I took it back, remember? And otherwise - why should I? How could I? Did I get a chance to participate - just with my natural interest, and sympathy? Did you come after a few weeks to tell me it's going tough, or well? Did I get any feedback after an investment of hundred grand? No. And when I bought myself in, I had to promise not to say anything but yes and no - the most ridiculous rule ever, and it was you by yourself who broke it constantly. So where's the base on which I should feel concerned? Because it's you? I loved you without your business, I loved you with your business - the only reason for me buying in was to see you - did me a great favour, oh yes, but that's past - as I said, I'm going to make sure none of us is messing any further with the other."

---

Cho went very still. "What do you mean?"

"As for my loan to Groucho Spectors, it's no longer a loan. What I mean is, it doesn't have to be paid back. That's for the company as a whole, for all three of you ..."

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"... My share of twenty-six percent goes to you, so you have control of the company and its next hundred daughters. That's about half of what I've got from your father - the other half will be used for things like Mrs Lightfoot's treatment, and otherwise for the fight against Voldemort, please tell your father that - "

Cho almost exploded. "I'm not telling my father anything! I'm not your messenger!"

"Okay, then I'll write him a letter that, except for minor sums, I din't take personal benefit from this money that was passed to me on wrong premises - half of it for you, the other half for a good cause, that's the best I can handle, because I'll need it."

Cho's face had turned pale. "No - that's not what I had in mind. You can't - " ..."

"I can't?" Harry struggled to keep his own voice under control. "Oh yes I can, very much so, that's my business - and if it's not what you had in mind, then it's at least what you've achieved; there's no clause that gives you a veto. I'm done with Groucho, and I'm done with people telling me - "

"And I? What am I supposed to do?"

Harry stared at her. "You can do what you want - like all the time before. The only difference is, now the same's true for me."

"Do what I want? Ha! As if I'd ever had a chance - wasn't it always your big crusade which dominated everything? Voldemort here and there, dictating every decision - even now, nobody's heard anything from him, but no, you can't give it a rest, have to dig through all holes - "

"Yes, exactly. I didn't choose my fate - and besides, for the last half year, the time in which we messed up so thoroughly, there wasn't anything of a crusade. But now it's high time, and yes, it's dominating my life - but it's not dominating all my decisions - not this one."

"Why can't you give it a rest? He isn't playing a role any longer."

"Why do you ask? You're dealing with spectors and movies, I'm dealing with Voldemort. I'm no longer telling you what to do, so please do me the same favour."

"But ..." Cho was fighting for composure. "You can't be serious - not if this damned fate has any meaning. What about our ..." She was unable to speak the word he didn't dare to think of. "What about Voldemort's last plot? That can't be - "

"He's been wrong before - obviously. Seems as if we've been wrong too."

"No! We weren't wrong." Almost a cry.

"Yeah, maybe not. But that was last year. Voldemort has done his blackmailing, and that's been the last time. Now you've done your blackmailing, and that's been the last time too."

"Only our noble hero Harry never did, right? Always the best intentions, because that's what counts - when spending money, when fucking girls, when killing people - "

"And you? What about your intentions? Because - in case you didn't notice, let me remind you - we did all that together, and more than once!"

Cho swallowed.

"Maybe except for the killing ..." Harry stood up. "Anyway - I've blackmailed you once, yes, you can say that. The result's a disaster. If you want, blame me. At least, I've corrected it five minutes ago, as much as possible. Mr Spinbottle will take care of the papers."

"Yes, I blame you - and myself too, but you more. You don't even give me a chance to correct my mistakes."

"Nonsense - I'm not preventing you from anything, I just made sure of that. New is only one thing, now it's the same the other way around. As if it would mean anything, pretty ridiculous, with the current state in Hogwarts, but that's where you can find me, if you think there's a reason. Goodbye."

The last picture burned itself into Harry's memory - Cho, her hands covering her face, the first sob ripping her body.