Presents from the Past

Fleur Weasley, quarter Veela and mother of three children in which this nature was halved again because their father was an ordinary human, sat in her kitchen and waited for two of them. She did so together with her brother-in-law Harry, who did the same, except that he meant his own children, of which he only had the two that were expected any minute. The title "brother-in-law" wasn't quite correct, Harry was only a kind an adopted brother of her husband Bill, but Fleur wouldn't bother with such meaningless differences, especially not toward Harry.

The children they were waiting for would return from school. The older ones, the girls, would return from Beauxbatons, where Fleur had been a student herself. The boys, in contrast, would return from the Ecole Publique d'Amitié - the Public School of Friendship.

The attribute public was a kind of joke. True, this school stood open to everybody, except that is was run by Goblins and designed for two strings of pupils, Goblins and humans. The idea was to let them meet during breaks, while eating, and - as much as possible - in classes. Of course, the language in such courses could only be French because there was rarely a human speaking Goblin, and certainly not at that age.

Actually, there was a notable exception: Gabriel Uriah Potter, closest friend of Fleur's son Michel, was fluent in Goblin, which also meant considerably better than his own father. His unusual skill might have been related to the fact that Gabriel's godfather was Urion the Unique, a legendary Goblin colonel who had developed a friendship with both Potter parents. It was left to everybody's guess whether the boy's second name could be counted as the human equivalent of his godfather's first name. At any rate, Gabriel had started teaching Michel the language, reporting a progress which for everybody save the two boys was no less than astounding.

Socializing with Goblins as closely as that seemed a habit with a limited number of adepts. As a result, the school the boys attended appeared truly elitarian: the Goblins hired only the best teachers, won them easily with never-heard-of salaries, and saw no reason to cancel a course only because there were just three pupils in a year.

Repeating the pattern already known from their older sisters, the boys joined the same class although Gabriel was one and a half years younger than Michel. The Potter children had skipped a year, balancing with the help of various people. If they were superior, then only regarding their magical potential which for Fleur, being used to special powers all through her life, wasn't a reason for feeling awe.

A bit more reason for awesome feelings could be watched in front of her: Harry, carrying Fleur's youngest daughter on his arms.

Harry coming over and grabbing the next-best child from her, so to speak - so far, there was nothing unusual. He had done so with Michel, and when Gabriel appeared, he hadn't dropped the habit since Harry could manage even with two children on his arms. And on these arms, they kept quiet come heat or hay fever.

Well, this description was true for the boys. Fleur's youngest daughter was a different story.

Ismène was the name of that angel: two years old, capricious as a stage diva, and merciless as any Veela. She treated Harry like dirt, and with great pleasure. Twisting like an eel, stomping on him, even beating him wherever her small fists would hit. Sure, they never hit parts as sensitive as Harry's nose or his eyes, because Harry was too quick with his movements, but her failure on these targets again and again would still increase Ismène's frenzy.

So, to the unknowing spectator, it looked as if for Ismène, Harry's lap was the worst place she could imagine. Except, of course, that Fleur's daughter couldn't reach this place fast enough, a moment after Harry had entered the room.

The beating, the bad treatment altogether was a phenomenon; Ismène didn't behave that way to anyone else: not her mother, not her older siblings nor the Potter children. It looked as though she saved up all her temper until Harry was back in town. Fleur suspected an unspoken agreement between the two, had even asked in that direction once - well, she could have saved her breath, actually had known in advance.

Once, Ismène had tried her style on Cho. "I'm not Harry," Cho had said, "either you stop playing devil, or I'm going to play devil myself."

Ismène had stopped.

---

Now Fleur watched as Harry managed to take a gulp from his Orangina, just between a tender stroke and a harder blow, because her daughter had seen a chance where none had been. With a voice she would have described as casual, Fleur asked, "'arry, do you mind a private question?"

He glanced at her, then put his lips at the little devil's head and hummed something. An instant later, Ismène relaxed and rested her right cheek at Harry's left shoulder, nuzzling his skin closest to her mouth.

"The main problem," he said, "is that she's at her time limit."

As much as Fleur was used to this habit of Harry - skipping all the obvious and thus unnecessary remarks in a conversation - she still felt startled. "Damn, you really deserve all this beating, did you know that? It's very impolite to prevent a woman from saying what's on her mind, especially after she asked so nicely."

Harry smiled. "All right then, for the slow of mind: no."

Fleur sighed. "You've spoiled it. Now it feels ridiculous to say it, and I had prepared myself so carefully - "

"Like - say, what about you and Cho? Wouldn't you like to come on a par with us regarding our number of children? Sure, Ron and Janine are beyond reach, now that they've started producing them in pairs, but ..."

Fleur felt pleased. "Exactly, 'arry - not quite my choice of words, but still no complaint."

"And I would have said, yes we would, basically speaking, only there are two problems, a minor one and a major one. Then you'd have said - "

"May I take my part by myself, if you please?" Fleur's faked hissing would have passed most exams, of course with Cho out of competition. "So I'd have said, what's the minor problem?"

Harry nodded, his faked glance of angelic patience scoring equally well, in particular since Fleur wouldn't know of any competition, maybe except for the two boys still in school.

"And I then, well, the minor problem is that Cho doesn't warm up too much for another pregnancy - it's not the most agreeable state, it takes her out of the play too long - "

Fleur couldn't resist. "What play?"

"The business, what else?" Harry looked innocent. "This problem is minor because - well, first we don't feel a serious urge to confront this world with another magic monster, and then - we never recoiled from the idea of adopting a child, as you can imagine."

Yes, Fleur could. Harry, whose parents were killed by Voldemort when Harry was one year old, had been raised by relatives. At the age of sixteen, Harry was adopted by the Weasley family - legally, to be correct, because the emotional adoption had taken place five years earlier. Harry himself had failed to adopt Rahewa only because he'd been too young. As a replacement, he had taken the role of her godfather.

Fleur became aware that Harry was waiting for her next sentence and hurried to say, "Er - yes, and I then, so what's the major problem?"

"Right - that's were we've been a moment ago, so we can change to present tense ..."

Looking concerned, Harry pointed at Ismène, indicating that Fleur wouldn't hit him with her own daughter at his shoulder, would she?

"... well, the major problem is that any additional child would rob some essential quota of time - from Sandy, from Gabe, or from Groucho, in whatever sequence and priority. And for an adopted child, the effect might be even worse." Harry smiled lightly, which told Fleur better than anything else that he was dead serious. Then he added, "And she's right, Fleur - as simple as that."

Fleur knew, Harry wasn't going to challenge Cho's business. He had done so once, in the past, for totally different reasons, with disastrous effects. Since then, he knew better. The movement from California to Ireland had been a stress test, but it had worked ... just barely.

Fleur also knew that, despite her remark about a private question, this information wasn't really confidential. She hadn't known about Cho discarding another pregnancy so completely, although she felt little surprise. This fact, like the others, could be passed further, provided the other conversation partner met the implicit qualifications.

First, he or she wouldn't find the bad sense of pitying Harry, or Cho. Second, this person wouldn't play judge against Cho and her motives, which would be still worse, so the second should be first. Third and last, this conversation partner would treat the information like Fleur herself did.

That left still some people, while not Ma Weasley, her mother-in-law and Harry's mother by adoption. Molly Weasley wasn't the person to keep her mouth shut - certainly to Cho, while not to Harry. Not her, mother of seven children, who had taken measures to adopt Harry the day after her second-oldest son Charlie had died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

---

"... come along any time, and ..."

"Huh?" Fleur twitched, feeling guilty because she just had committed the first crime - pitying Harry, and of course he'd sensed it.

"I was trying to say, there's no shortage of children." Harry's broad grin confirmed her embarrassing suspicion, and his forgiving, too. "If it's not this little power bundle here, I can come to Janine any time."

He did so anyway. Janine was the mother in the second branch of the Weasley tribe, counting only those found in Paris. Ron and Janine, called 'the child factory,' were subject to many jokes, and for several reasons.

The names, for example. They said they chose the names in perfect balance between English and French, so everybody, with the children themselves in first place, could pick his choice in preference. Other people, however, with Rahewa as an experienced dog breeder in first place, said they'd just run the alphabet, as well as a time table.

Alan, or Alain, was the oldest, eight years and therefore one class below Michel and Gabriel. Two years later, Bernhard had arrived, or Bernard for the French. Two years later, like a damn clockwork, Janine had been pregnant again. When everybody was convinced this would be a Charles, equal writing in both languages, Janine had given birth to twins - girls, Carole and Diane, once and forever killing the myth Ron could do only boys.

It was a major surprise for everyone, with one exception, not counting the parents themselves: Janine had asked Harry to let his snake Nagini determine the sex as soon as possible, and after she had mastered her own surprise, she had made him promise to keep the secret until everybody could inspect the result.

That was four years ago. Two years later, everybody said yes, this is a skip, twins count for two, don't they? And this year, Ron and Janine were truly fed up from hearing the question time and again whether they'd lost interest.

For Bernard, today was the first day in school, which meant Janine would find more time for the girl twins, Weasleys down to the bone, who could drive a saint nuts. So Janine had welcomed Harry's help whenever it was offered and wouldn't object it in the future.

Fleur's head came up again when a low chuckling was rising in Harry. For an instant, she suspected her daughter, halfway asleep, sending the childish version of Veela power toward him, then Harry registered her movement and said, "Remember the Deirdre disaster?"

"Like yesterday."

Fleur grinned at the memory of the scene Harry had mentioned. Calling it disaster was perhaps a bit strong, but then, Almyra might not agree, not at all, he he.

Almyra was the mother of said Deirdre, now at the age of three, and also of Donovan, who was three years older. About two years ago, after the renovation of the Potter castle, Harry and Cho had invited all of their friends. When the party had settled a bit, all people sitting together, chatting lightly, the discussion had turned to the issue of Ireland, of all places, as the location for the Potter residence.

Responding to a teasing remark from her friend Almyra, Cho had snarled, "Didn't Harry tell you why?"

"No."

"Yeah, of course not, so it's me to break the news to you. Remember that he once lost a daughter to you and that werewolf of yours, just because he was too young?"

That werewolf of hers was Remus, Almyra's husband.

"Well, and now he's old enough, and it just so happens you have a daughter with such a nice Irish name - to make a long story short, Al, he's going to come and claim it from you."

There'd been a gasp in the round. The laughter, ready to rise, died in anyone's mouth at the sight of a chalk-white Almyra and her horrified glance to the scene in front of her - Harry with a sleeping Deirdre in his arms.

Nobody remembered seeing him move. But next instant, Harry had reached his sister-in-spirit, deposited the girl in her lap, and whispered something into her ears, probably also sending a calming mind wave, because Almyra recovered immediately - to watch how Harry, this time at a traceable speed, had walked over to Cho, to stand in front of her, trembling visibly.

"Please ... I'm ... don't ..." Nobody could see much of Cho's face at that moment, with Harry obscuring most of it, however it seemed a duplicate of Almyra's expression a moment ago.

Calming down, Harry had murmured something like, "Can't believe it," shaking his head, and had returned to his seat. A few seconds later, Cho had come over to Almyra, to whisper something in her ear before trying to leave the room.

Remus had saved the scene. Giving a nice example of good memory and quick movement, he'd caught Cho. "Okay, young lady. Say, 'I won't do it again'!"

It took Cho a second or two to recognize what was going on. "I won't do it again."

"I feel deep regret and - er, yes, bitter shame."

Still very subdued, Cho had repeated, "I feel deep regret and bitter shame."

Hugging her, Remus had looked around. "Okay, folks, in case you didn't notice - that's been the Chinese pardon ritual, the short version." When the laughter didn't come yet, Remus had guided Cho to Harry and asked him whether Harry would like to claim a little Chinese devil instead.

And Harry had said yes, he would.

It had been Ron's job to muster the courage of dubbing this scene the Deirdre disaster. He did so the same evening, taking the opportunity while Cho still felt too embarrassed for protesting much. While nobody used this name in public, which meant in some public including Cho, since then Ron could stop bad remarks from her side quickly by shaking his head and murmuring, "Dee dee dee ...", thereby raising an alarmed look in Cho's face.

---

Harry made a movement and looked at Fleur. Next moment, she could hear noises downstairs. These had to be their sons. Gabriel could apparate as well as summon Michel, and in addition there was a direct portkey link which accepted only Weasleys and Potters, but the boys liked walking the streets, particularly so because then they could pass the Goblin twin guard down the street and exchange a few remarks.

The noise grew louder, then the door at the staircase was rattling, and a second later the two boys came storming into the kitchen. And as expected, after the welcomes, Michel was sitting next to Harry, equally close to Ismène, while Gabriel had taken a seat at Fleur's side.

Asked about the news, the boys said there weren't much; apparently they were more interested in their café au lait and the sweet bread Fleur had prepared. When the first pieces were wolfed down, however, it became obvious that there was indeed something new. It was Gabriel who started.

"Dad?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Today we had music."

Listening to the kid, one could think his father had a terrible temper, and the only method of talking with him unhurt would require sending the words a piece a time. This was utter nonsense. However, Fleur knew that she could follow only the audible part of the conversation, and that she couldn't even guess what her own son was registering of the unspoken part.

Harry, apparently not feeling the need for any encouragement, at least none Fleur would hear, kept silent.

"Well, and Monsieur Préssard, er - he showed us something new."

Harry nodded. "An instrument."

"Yes."

In a month or so, Fleur thought, these two might have reached the full topic of their conversation, and decided to satisfy her curiosity somewhat earlier.

"What kind?"

"A xylophone." The answer was given by Michel.

"A xylophone?" Fleur looked at her son in bewilderment. "But don't we have one already?" From what she remembered, it had to be somewhere in this house, maybe in Héloise's room, one of those pieces with a dozen or so metal bars, and a small -

"No we haven't any." Gabriel looked at her. "Monsieur Préssard showed us a real one, made of wood, and altogether a bit bigger than this table here."

"Ah, of course." Fleur felt slightly embarrassed about her stupid remark, but was consoled quickly by the smile that came and went in the face of her nephew-in-law-by-adoption.

Harry turned to the boy at his side. "So where would such a xylophone rank, Michel, closer to a keyboard or closer to a drum?"

Michel, not famous for shying off from answering his godfather, shot a glance to Gabriel, who reacted instantly.

"That's what we asked the teacher ourselves, Dad. And he showed us something else - in a catalogue, that is, and then in a spector with real playing. You know, there's something similar to the outside, only it's made of metal, and then there's another one with electronic support, and as it seems, this one's more percussion, while the xylophone itself, that's more like a keyboard."

As Gabriel explained further, the metal version of a xylophone existed in different versions and with different names - glockenspiel, Turkish crescent, what in French was called pavillon chinois, raising a smile in everybody at the thought of another Chinese, while the electronically enhanced version was the only one with the bars arranged like on a table, and this instrument was called vibraphone.

Harry had listened attentively. "And what would you two like to try first?"

"Well," answered his son hesitantly, "for playing together with Hély, it'd be the xylophone, I think that would fit great. But for Michel and me - er, me with the flute, we think the vibraphone would be really cool - you know, it's not as dry as the drums, much more resonant."

"Like a twelve-string guitar, for example."

Gabriel smiled and nodded. "Yes."

---

Harry's remark had been a reference to another music player - Michael, a former schoolmate of Rahewa, now living in the States and therefore out of reach most of the time. It told Fleur that the remark was already part of the negotiating between father and son, and could be translated to, If you can't manage to have Michael around when we need him, you're obliged to buy us a vibraphone.

And this was the reason why Fleur suppressed her urge to cut in and offer a shared deal - the xylophone from Harry, the vibraphone from herself. As much as Harry enjoyed the ping-pong conversation between the boys and the parents - once the serious part had started, he'd turn furious in an instant if someone else was pushing in ... of course with the notable exception of his wife. Cho was the only one who could do that without risking her peace of mind.

Although, come to think of it - did Cho know at all what that meant, peace of mind?

"Does Héloise have a saying?" Harry's voice was neutral.

The two boys exchanged another glance, then answered in unison, "Yes."

This meant the xylophone was as much as a given, while the vibraphone - suddenly, Fleur realized that the argumentation so far lacked a significant detail and decided to ask.

"Say, wouldn't you need two of them?"

"Yes, probably."

Michel had answered her question, while the lack of any surprise in the other three faces told Fleur, they'd known all the time, something as obvious as that wasn't worth mentioning, only that her son was too polite for answering Of course, you dummy, what else?.

She laughed. "Thanks for your patience with my slow brain." Then a thought struck her. "But you know, if it's that big, it counts as furniture, right?"

"Wha ..." The two boys looked uncomprehending, only Harry's half-suppressed grin told her that he could follow.

"What it means? Isn't that obvious? If its's furniture - well, you don't think I'd accept furniture in this house that's bought by anyone outside, would you?"

Gabriel looked at her with some reproach. "Is Dad an outsider?"

Before Fleur could answer, there was a slight stirring in the air, as though a window had been opened or closed. At the same instant, three faces turned to the door, just in time to save her from twisting.

"Hi, everybody." That was Sandra.

"Salut, copains." That was Héloise.

Michel shot a warning glance to his mother, this way telling her that the topic of the last minutes was banned until they knew for sure about his sister's mood, and maybe even longer. So Fleur went for more cups while the kids started asking each other about this first day in the new school year.

Back on the table, Fleur asked Sandra, "Wasn't it boring for you, in Magique Générale?"

"Er - no."

The girl was looking under herself, the glances of her brother and her father resting on her. Before Fleur could ask further, her daughter blurted out, "That teacher - he's an asshole, that's what - "

"Héloise!"

"But really, maman, he is - know what he did? No, he didn't, but he tried, only it didn't work ..." And Héloise spread the news about a failed expelling, to the great delight of the two boys, while not to that of Sandra, nor her father's.

When Héloise had finished her report, enhanced by some more remarks expressing her opinion, Fleur patted Sandra's arm. "Save it, my dear, something like that happens. At least, he can't pester you because you won't be up to the task, can he?"

As impossible as the thought was, Sandra's face seemed to indicate just that. Then she said, "I've got a letter."

Her remark had been directed to Fleur. But now Sandra turned to her father, and after a moment's hesitation, she passed an envelope to him.

Harry opened the letter and started reading. Waiting for his reaction and for information about what was written there, Fleur became aware that her own daughter's genuine outrage might not have been genuine at all, presented only for preparing the ground to some parents ... one, in particular.

This one looked up. "He's asking for one of the parents to visit him in that matter." And then, no doubt fully on purpose, Harry muttered, "That asshole."

"'arry!"

"Sorry, Fleur - won't happen again." To his beaming daughter, Harry added, "I hope it won't happen again, if you get my bearing."

Oh yes she did, nodding, looking not totally happy yet, however much relieved.

* * *

Harry gave his children a few more minutes. Then, after returning Ismène to her mother, he said, "I'm pretty sure there's someone waiting in Carron Lough, so - shall we go?"

His son hesitated a second, probably because the delicate topic of the xylophone had not been discussed yet with Héloise, and mentioning it with Harry around was certainly more agreeable than alone. But then Gabriel nodded, looking pleased - time with his mother was precious, and losing some of it even involuntarily counted as nearly intolerable.

Sandra probably could have waited longer, only at the current state of things, what with this letter, she didn't even suggest a split. So they said goodbye to the Weasleys, then Harry nodded to his daughter because it was Sandra's task to count them down.

Sandra looked at her brother and said, "C'mon, shorty." Having gained his attention, she counted, "Three ... two ... one ... go!"

Registering the contours of their dining room around him, Harry had to grin inwardly. Was Fleur cursing them right now? Because that kind of formation apparition caused quite some air movement - once, they'd done it right into Cho's office, with the sudden air pressure sending papers everywhere. Since then, they were ordered to use only the dining room as target - for triples, that was, while a single person could apparate anywhere in the castle ... provided it worked.

Failing to reach the planned destination didn't indicate a lack of expertise. Both Sandra and Gabriel could apparate, which was fine with Harry, and both of them could pursue and summon, the latter of which wasn't quite as fine with him, only what could he do? And besides, they claimed it necessary to carry their friends.

No, the failure would be caused by a protector field which created a kind of patterned wave that blocked all these techniques within the field sphere. Groucho Transport & Security, Cho's newest daughter, was the sole manufacturer of these protectors. True, other wizards could create them locally, but there was a significant difference, aside from the fact that the GTS pieces could be installed anywhere: they could be switched on and off. This capability was wasted on the two models which protected Cho's offices, one in the Groucho headquarters and the other here in the castle; Cho wouldn't dream of switching them ever off.

The two children stormed ahead, having sensed their mother already. When Harry reached the group with a beaming Cho in the middle, Sandra felt a sudden hurry to say hello to her snake - Nagini, formerly Harry's snake and still calling him Master, but that was past, definitely so. The snake had stopped calling Sandra Missy a while ago, called her Mistress since then and would - some day - change once more to the final title: High Priestess.

---

This knowledge was also in Cho's eyes when she watched her daughter leave. Then she turned to Harry. "Hi, big dragon. Your timing's perfect - say, can you sense me waiting here across that distance?"

"Hi, beauty." He kissed her after suppressing a grin - by old habit, she should have called him beau, only that the presence of Gabriel at her side had raised a slight embarrassment.

"Yes of course," he replied then, "and not me alone, Gabe sensed it too. Isn't that so, son?"

"No."

Sometimes the boy was just too serious. True, at this age, Harry hadn't felt inclined for jokes either, but his own situation at that time, with the dreadful Dursleys, had been totally different.

"And you couldn't either," said Cho. "It was just guesswork, although a flawless one."

"Guessing, sensing - what's the difference? At least we're - "

"Yes there is," protested Gabriel. "Quite a lot, actually, because with guess - " He stopped, flush-faced, and bowed. "I'm sorry - I interrupted you."

Harry ruffled his hair. "That's okay, my little wizard, because it was a joke. Know what that is, a joke? I wonder when it'll appear on your class schedule, because then you'll improve quickly in that matter, no question about - "

"That's unfair - look at him, how embarrassed he feels." This interruption came from Cho, whose time table would crash instantly if she would apologize like her son, each time she did it.

Gabriel glanced at her. "No, it's not. That's another joke."

Harry grinned triumphantly. "Right you are - and what's more, you just made clear what's the difference between guessing and sensing. Because your mother guessed you were embarrassed, and wrong she was, while I - sensing the exact nature of your emotion - " He quickly dodged a blow from Cho and jumped out of reach, then shouted, "Although your mother just reminded me of what I missed to explain."

"What?" Cho, apparently at a loss to follow, whether physically or in thinking, stopped. "What reminder was that?"

Harry stepped forward in perfect combat stance, thus raising an admiring glance from his son and a pleased grin from his wife, until he had reached the two. Then he grabbed Gabriel, turned him around so they both could look at Cho, and held him tight.

"That's a living shield, but this is not the reminder I meant ..."

Harry could sense the pleasure in the boy, on top of a deep adoration for him, the reckless warrior Gabriel was protecting at this moment.

"... no, it's about interrupting in a joke." Harry bent closer to his son's ear, looking at Cho while speaking. "You must know, there's just one crime when someone tells a joke: blurting out the punch line."

When Cho's face still kept blank, Harry added, "Got it? Punching was the keyword."

Into his mother's chuckling, Gabriel turned to Harry and asked, "But Dad, didn't you do just that? Right now?"

Harry knew what was coming, so he blocked his mind as hard as he could and looked wondering. "Did I? How?"

Probably he could have saved his effort. Beaming of pride, Gabriel said, "You just interrupted her punch line."

Harry's own beaming was genuine. "Hey, Gabe - you can joke!" He made a step back and bowed, looking serious. "I'm sorry. I was too impatient with you."

His son's smile faded and made room for wondering. "Has ... has this been a joke?"

Harry shook his head, the smile only in his eyes. "Not really."

Looking up, he saw the expression in Cho's face, which hardly required any guesswork - not to mention his inner senses - after she had watched this exchange between her two men.

* * *

Sitting in the dining room - the same in which her family had arrived from the Weasleys - never failed to let Cho feel at peace with this castle which overlooked the Carron Lough Bay. The room was a perfect circle; it occupied an entire floor in the south tower, with the table as another perfect circle in the middle. Today they used the small version whereas with guests, this family size would be surrounded by a ring that triplicated the number of seats.

With its oak parquet, the room could also have served as a dance floor, or as an aikido training hall for Harry and Tony; removing the table and the large rug would have been a matter of seconds. But the castle wasn't quite as little as Cho used to think of it, and there was a dance hall in the main building and a training hall underground, carved into the solid rock first by Harry and then, after some careful instructions, by her two children as well.

One of them was chatting along between bites - Cass, having gained speed and joy pretty quickly, now that this story with the Charms teacher was out of the way. No, not Charms, but that's what it was, wasn't it? Cho felt little patience with the French pickiness regarding titles and names ... and language: Save French from being flattened out by English. Ha!

"... and then, after lunch, we had Flying" - Sandra turned to her mother - "what they call Aerosport."

Look there - little missy was still on full alert, watching her mother's emotions with everything not required for talking. Cho couldn't help but feel admiration, raising a very short flush in her daughter's face.

"... these broomsticks, the finest you can find, they say, only you can fall asleep waiting for them getting speed. 'Omniair J,' they're called, and the 'J' stands for jeunesse, and Hély and I had ours ready at once, but some of the others - "

This part, as Cho knew for sure, was for her husband, giving proof that Cass still was taking pains to mollify her father. Because her daughter gave a damn for broomsticks, flying, or Quidditch. Yes, she could handle a Firebolt Lightning any time, not even worrying her mother because today, safety belts and helmets were standard among all broomsticks. This was thanks to the impact of the Muggle world on the magical community and, according to Cho's own opinion, just in time before this community would reveal its true size.

For the last eight years, the number of wizard children was growing every day. The growth was caused by a plot in which two people could be found right in the middle: young Potter the one. The High Priestess the other.

Cho preferred the title over the name. True, she called her Aram'chee when they met, which didn't happen frequently because Cho really could do without that woman. Too preoccupied with her goddamn job, to be taken over eventually by Cass. Too honest, too friendly - you just couldn't give her hell, no matter how you felt. And a bit too sexy for her taste regarding women near Harry.

"... next was Math. The teacher, that's a Madame Clairvaux, she's nice, younger than the other teachers, and there wasn't anything new because today, she wanted to figure out what we'd done in the other schools."

A shadow had fallen over Gabriel's face, and Cho knew why. Math was his weak spot. Had to be inherited from Harry, she never had felt trouble with that, too much her father's daughter. Next moment, Harry's voice, still more his words, made her start.

" ... didn't you pick her for that letter? Imagine, visiting this nice young teacher would probably be much more entertaining." Harry stopped and looked at Cho. "Wouldn't you say so?"

About to leave no doubt about what she would think of it, Cho stopped herself, avoiding a nasty trap just in time. Because it was a very skillful manoeuver - first to lift their son's spirit away from Math, with that obvious joke, and also to cut Cass a bit short. While Gabriel didn't mind keeping silent through his sister's chatting, Harry felt obliged to balance a bit.

So Cho asked her daughter, "Is she good-looking?"

Sandra shrugged. "So, so. Not compared to you."

Harry laughed. "That was great, Sandy - a perfect Zen joke."

The girl looked pleased, while Gabriel asked, "Dad, what is a Zen joke?"

"As you know, Zen is something like the impossible in itself, raising all kinds of contradictions. And what your sister just said - I'm sure it's true, but at the same time, it's shameless flattery because that little witch does what she can to make for good weather."

Sandra looked unimpressed. "So? I'm doing it for Gabby, too."

"Oh, really?" Cho met her daughter's eyes. "How kind of you! And for what purpose?"

"He - " Sandra stopped, looking nearly scared for an instant. And right she was - blurting out other people's business was an almost unforgivable crime in this household. Not Cho's own rule, of course not ... but Harry's.

Said ruler looked at his daughter and murmured, "Good timing, that." After being rewarded with a brief, apologetic smile, he turned to Cho. "Our son has something new," and finally nodded to the boy.

Cho listened to the story of xylophones and vibraphones, and who'd said what so far in this issue. Only when Gabriel reported that they hadn't asked Héloise yet, Cho couldn't hold her temper. "Don't tell me that little Veela has a saying about what's installed here!"

Gabriel twitched. "No."

Into the moment of silence, Harry started laughing out loudly, to the relief of two children, while not to Cho's own. "What's so funny about that?"

"Can't you see it?" Harry had trouble with his breath. "Gabe just made the second joke this evening, and an excellent one. You said 'Don't tell me,' and he didn't."

In spite of such praise, Gabriel looked more guilty than pleased, while Sandra's expression to her mother could be described with only one word - gloating.

Calming down, Harry added. "You didn't seriously expect him go cross with his musical partner, known also as that little Veela, did you?"

Beaten and disarmed, Cho sighed. "No, I didn't." Recovering, she grinned to her son. "But even so, sweetheart - mine wasn't a joke, if you know what I mean."

His "Yes" was enough to let the family join in laughter.