Potter Professions

There had been no warning. Or maybe there had, but without Harry paying attention. It seemed funny, in a cruel sort of way, because he'd heard or read his share of predictions, just counting those concerned with his own fate.

Mostly ill, they'd said.

Mostly wrong, they'd been.

But no matter how bad the prediction, whether in announcement or accuracy, none of them had forecast anything close to his current state. Yes, there had been the unavoidable Cassandra songs about the dreadful days people should expect once past their forties. But it seemed a bit early to to expect him listen to them; and besides, most likely he wouldn't believe them anyway.

Yet with every day it became more difficult to ignore the signs, which had been unmistakable for a while already. Being honest should begin with being honest toward oneself, shouldn't it? Well, in this case:

A neutral observer might have called it midlife crisis.

At the age of thirty-seven, Harry had reason to believe this neutral observer's diagnosis was partly wrong. Mid-life should come a little later, hopefully.

About the rest ... calling it a "crisis" sounded a bit harsh. Or was it simply that he recoiled from the term?

A Harry Potter shouldn't recoil from anything, least of all his own problems, in particular since he seemed to be the only one having them. His loving wife Cho, a year closer to the roaring forties than Harry himself, showed no comparable signs: she was the personified self-confidence, always knew what to do next, and barely found the time for doing half of what she planned.

At least, this was the picture she presented to other people, with Harry at the top of the list. Maybe in her innermost thoughts - but Cho had been a bit reluctant to reveal her innermost thoughts lately. And this was part of Harry's crisis, unless he confused cause and effect here, which he doubted very much.

But whatever it was that clouded things between him and Cho, it represented only a minor part of his troubles. Something else worried him more, and now, with everyone else gone, this question felt more disquieting than ever.

What was his purpose in life?

A lot of people would have answered, "Defeating Voldemort, what else?" To any such person, he would have screamed, "But that was twenty years ago! What am I supposed to do now? Today? Tomorrow? Next year?"

He was yesterday's hero, in dire need of a job. Yesterday's fame had faded away - maybe not quite as fast as the proverb said, but he welcomed every grain of anonymity he could get. And to make him completely normal, he needed a profession. Not exactly for financial reasons, not with the royalties from the movies in which he had played either a kung fu fighter in his human shape or a dragon in his Animagus shape, and not with Cho's wealth as backup in cases of emergency. No, he wanted something to help the time pass, something challenging, something demanding. More than just a hobby.

Of course, he hadn't suffered from unemployment for the last twenty years. But, unlike everybody else he knew, he never had found a profession that would last for a lifetime.

---

Mostly with the intention to think hard about his problems, Harry hadn't made any holiday plans. The result was that for the past three days, he'd been the only resident in Carron Lough, the castle twenty miles north of Dublin which served as the home of the Potter family. Even Bolo, the dog, had left the castle to follow his mistress, Esmeralda, to the south of France. Dobby and Winky, the house-elves, were the only other souls left here, but they did their jobs so unobtrusively that Harry found it hard not to count them as part of the furniture.

Now he was paying dearly for this mistake. Children and wife spread across the world while he was alone at home, staring at the walls, slowly but surely going mad.

He had to find a solution, and soon - preferably today, before really getting lost in screaming madness. Visit some people, hear thoughts that weren't his own.

The first candidate that crossed his mind was Fleur. She had given him excellent advice often enough in the past. This time, though, he felt reluctant to follow this impulse. Bill and Fleur might already be in Egypt, their planned holiday destination, and Harry certainly didn't feel like apparating through the world in search of a sympathetic soul.

There was a second reason for his reluctance, perhaps weighing more. In a crisis of an emotional nature, Fleur's first recommendation would be to get laid. While Harry thought this good advice in general, he didn't consider it helpful for finding long-term occupation.

He dismissed some other names, including Hermione's. Visiting Hermione to ask for advice sounded just bizarre; too often, she gave it for free.

This left his old friend Ron plus family, despite the fact that they had discussed the issue not so long ago. Ron, much-disputed politician and successful writer of non-fiction books about the ongoing merger between Muggles and Magicals, had recommended to Harry that he do the same - write books. An autobiography, for example.

"With a yearly update?" Harry had asked sardonically. "Or do I have to commit suicide right on the spot afterwards?"

In the course of this discussion, several people had assured him that his attitude could only be called ignorance. After all, the bookstores were full of biographies of very young people - singers, actors, sports stars and other celebrities. But Harry didn't feel the power of the written word inside himself.

The spoken word was a different matter. Desperate to find something for him, Cho had suggested another movie role. When Harry had replied that this idea felt like betraying Tony, his friend and director, who had died six years ago, Cho had sneered that Tony would have been the first to point out what nonsense this was. Harry had growled back, "But only if it's not kung fu - and what director in his right mind would offer me a role as something else?"

"I could find you one," Cho had said.

"Sure. Money buys everything," Harry had replied, ending this particular discussion forever though not for good.

Maybe it was a desperate measure, visiting Ron again. But at least his friend wouldn't pity him. And the two youngest in this branch of the Weasley tribe, Elaine at five and little Felix at three, were great fun to play with, now that his own children were so much older. His own youngest two, Carlos and Esmeralda, could be found there, too; they had accepted this invitation as being the most attractive one in terms of company and location. In contrast to his older children, they wouldn't feel stalked when seeing their father appear.

The region was another argument. Ron and Janine's holiday home could be found in the Camargue, near Sète in the south of France. A good place for sun, baguette, and red wine, none of which was available in quantities here at Carron Lough.

Harry checked his watch. Early afternoon, probably siesta time down there. Whatever - ten more minutes here, and he would start screaming.

He apparated, aiming his jump for the spacious garden behind the Weasley bungalow.

* * *

Cho Chang-Potter stood in the entrance hall of the main building and looked around with mixed feelings. In a hotel, the hall simply would have been called a lobby. But although the building very much resembled a hotel of the expensive category, and although the entrance hall very much looked like a hotel lobby, with reception and everything, none of the employees would ever use that term.

That was, if they wanted to keep their jobs.

Speaking of employees - none of them were within sight, which was the reason for the bad part of Cho's mixed feelings. Even now, two days before the planned arrival of the first guests, no one should be able to enter the entrance hall undetected. The things she could see, in contrast, contributed to the good part of her feelings about this newest achievement in the MABEL organization.

In a few days, the buildings here would host thirty guests for a four-week seminar, in addition to housing the employees who provided the services of a luxury hotel - the minimum level of comfort the guests could expect, after having paid astronomic fees.

Then there were the moderators, and guest speakers like Cho herself. She was one of the hidden forces behind the MABEL program, but this fact would remain hidden, at least from the guests.

The buildings were new and splendid. They stood on a very quiet and isolated spot on Vancouver Island in the southwestern corner of Canada, about fifteen miles north of the Campbell River. Quiet places, well separated from the next town, were a trademark of the resorts owned by MABEL.

When stepping out of the main building, you could see the shoreline of the Queen Charlotte Strait, which separated the island from mainland Canada. This geographical fact had caused the first suggestion, Queen Charlotte Resort, as the name for this location. Then someone had argued that a Muggle queen wasn't the best choice for a symbol or a name in the MABEL program, which emphasized a strong connection to nature in general and the original roots of humankind in particular.

After some discussion, the place was dubbed Vancouver Resort. A perfect choice, in Cho's eyes, because somehow this name appeared as misleading as the entire MABEL program.

With the name Vancouver alone, someone could search forever before finding the place: in addition to Vancouver Island, there was a large city Vancouver on the mainland just across the island, directly at the border to the States, and there was a smaller city Vancouver in the south of the Washington state, almost at the border to Oregon.

But then, nobody would search for a MABEL resort unless he was invited, either as a paying guest or as a guest with a scholarship. In either case, the travelling route would be fixed to the proper destination.

The MABEL seminar program was a small hoax in the aftermath of the bigger hoax known as The Great Plot. For insiders, it was a very funny joke to find Cho at the steering wheel of this organization, at least when taking into account who was simultaneously the biggest beneficiary and the biggest benefactor of the MABEL program - the High Priestess, once Cho's worst enemy.

MABEL, to begin with the most obvious though least important detail, stood for Magical Abilities Evaluation Labour. It was the official name of a growing organization that appeared determined to convert every remaining Muggle to a Magical, by inviting them to a four-week seminar during which hidden magical abilities would be trained until, hopefully, the former Muggle ended up as a wizard or witch.

Except it wasn't quite true. And it was hard to accept the term invitation after having put a look into the price list: the official seminar price was almost one hundred thousand US dollars.

---

Cho looked around once more. Just when she felt sure the staff of Vancouver Resort was in for a very bad surprise, a man came through a door and smiled at her without the slightest trace of surprise.

"You must be Cho Chang. Welcome to Vancouver Resort, and please excuse my being late. I was held up by a phone call I couldn't cancel quickly."

The man had addressed her with the name she used in her MABEL activities. Chang for short, as part of her real name, and to avoid unnecessary questions that might be triggered by her full name, Chang-Potter.

She examined the newcomer. Tall, broad-shouldered figure, who would have looked more natural when found in the forests outside, wearing a chequered shirt and with a chainsaw in his hands. Blonde hair, indicating a direct line of English or Scandinavian ancestors. And no matter how fast his reaction, the total lack of surprise left only one possibility. Again she glanced around, this time with renewed attention.

"Where is it?"

"Yes, you're right, there is a surveillance camera, and I could already examine you while talking on the phone ..."

The man's smile had something of a boy caught in a childish trick, and something that touched her as not childish at all, something that matched well with his choice of words. Examine - rather than something as simple as, I could see you.

"... but if you can't detect the camera, it means we found the right place for it, and I'd prefer to keep it a secret." He bowed slightly, not looking the least bit apologetic. "I forgot to introduce myself. My name - "

"You're Reuben Timball, the Resort Manager," interrupted Cho fully on purpose. Maybe this piece of male meat was God's gift to the women, and maybe she wouldn't disagree with this definition, but for sure she disagreed with someone who found it wiser not to answer a question she'd asked.

To emphasize the different roles in this game, she asked, "And who was on the phone, that you couldn't cancel earlier?"

"The Canadian Minister of Culture and Education. She's planning to appear at our opening."

Reuben Timball held his smile. It did not grow more triumphant, to have defeated this sudden attack so successfully. Nor did it change to a grin, to indicate that he knew about the motivation behind the attack.

Even so, Cho felt pretty sure he knew. She also felt sure that it was time for smiling back. She would have to talk with him a lot, because he was new in the MABEL organization and didn't know yet about certain things. Initating a newcomer was her greatest joy, something which didn't happen very often.

And so she smiled.

* * *

Sandra Catherine Potter lifted her head and glanced at a scene close to the waterline. The scene included a boy of twelve and a girl of nine, the reasons for Sandra getting up. She was in charge of keeping an eye on them, and a second ago, the two had stirred something in Sandra's half-conscious mental guard.

Apparently, the short uproar was caused by some controversy in the kids' group, which the two had been full members of for some days. However, when the noise level didn't increase significantly and nobody showed the preliminary signs of a fist fight, she sank down again.

"Wassamatter?" asked a sleepy voice from the neighbouring mat, just a foot away from Sandra's own.

"Nothing," she answered. "Just the kids."

The kids were Donovan and Deirdre Lupin, the children of Remus and Almyra, friends of Sandra's own parents for an eternity. Almyra had been a classmate of Sandra's mother. She was also the one who had organized these holidays as a deal for mutual benefit.

Almyra came from Jamaica originally. Her mother, a Voodoo priestess, still lived there, reason enough to spend the summer break on this lovely island with its magnificent beaches. This year, Almyra had invited Sandra and her friend Héloise to join them - as long as they wanted, provided they would keep an eye on the two children during the week in which Almyra and Remus made holidays from the holidays - a seven-day trip to a destination unknown to anyone else, at least in advance.

To Sandra, it looked like a late honeymoon. For sure it gave them a few days alone - no mother, no mother-in-law, no children, nobody. And since Almyra's mother was a bit too old - and, to be honest, a bit too fat - to tend a boy of twelve and a girl of nine from morning till evening, Sandra and Héloise were more than welcome at this place on the outskirts of Savanna-la-Mar in the southwest of Jamaica.

Everybody knew that the task of guarding the children was left mostly to Sandra, because Héloise had a bad reputation as a babysitter. But nobody objected, least of all Sandra herself, who was better equipped for the task than most others. The technique she used was a sub-conscious mental watching.

Very few people could do the same. Only two, for all Sandra knew: her brother Gabriel and her father, from whom Sandra and Gabriel had copied the technique, like many other tricks, whether magical or mental.

Sandra rolled over to lie on her stomach, like Héloise had been since they were there. An indignant grunt from the other mat told her that she might stop making such a racket at this time of the day, when everybody with a working brain was having siesta.

Of course they were lying in the shadow of some palm trees. Even so, their tans would make their classmates envious when they returned to Beauxbatons. Héloise, who didn't care much about Donovan and Deirdre this way or the other, developed deep feelings of envy at the sight of their skin - small wonder with a mother whose natural complexion was a dark bronze, and with an even darker grandmother.

Héloise used the siesta time to tan her back. Later, she would turn around to tan her front - about the same time the first boys would appear. These boys would settle down somewhere close, only to jump up a moment later in some stupid macho game that gave them an excellent excuse to show their muscles.

---

Sandra felt as if she was the only one without anything to show. The boys came because of Héloise, no question about that. Fleur, Héloise's mother, was a quarter Veela. That made Héloise one-eighth Veela - a small fraction of Veela genes, one might think, except that these genes apparently were quite strong, certainly enough to give Héloise the same long, silvery hair as her mother, and a lot of other attractive attributes - long legs, for instance.

Sandra, with a mother who could only be called small, and with a father of average height, wished she had such legs. Still worse, there was one year difference between her and Héloise, and here at the beach, with both of them wearing bikinis, this year showed.

Other people would have assured her that she had no reason to complain about her looks. When asked, these boys would have sworn every oath that the taller girl was not the only reason for them to gather every afternoon at the same spot of the beach. For Sandra, though, it made no difference.

Sometimes she felt as if someone had stolen this year - which was, of course, nonsense; Sandra herself had whole-heartedly supported the decision to skip a class in elementary school in order to join her friend Héloise from the very first day in Beauxbatons. But at that time, it had looked as if magical power was the most important factor in school, a factor in which Sandra didn't feel any shortage.

As it turned out, age was a factor every day of the week. At least recently. At least around boys.

Compared to her friend, Sandra felt young, inexperienced, and childish. Young she was, inexperienced for sure, despite the fact that she had had a boyfriend since her first year in Beauxbatons - Frédéric. But lately it had cooled a bit between them, for no obvious reason at all. Or maybe it was because they felt unsure what to do, or more exactly, when to do it - and whether at all together. Strangely enough, when it came to sex, a long-standing friendship could be a barrier.

However, Sandra was fighting more fights, and discussing more questions than that about when to lose her virginity. These questions were prominent at home and in Beauxbatons while not here in Jamaica, and this was the reason why these holidays, which otherwise might have been slightly boring, gave her an opportunity to relax completely.

And then of course the children, who were really sweet.

Her friend Héloise found these holidays quite entertaining. This certainly had to do with all these boys one could meet, on the beach and otherwise. But as Sandra remembered, Héloise had been scheduled to meet some other boys, much more familiar and thus maybe less interesting - the other members of the student band in which Héloise played her Goblin harp.

Her membership in this band seemed quite irregular, which was a joke, considering the band history: it had been Héloise's music that triggered the musical careers first of Gabriel, Sandra's brother, and shortly afterwards Michel, Héloise's own brother.

This irregularity was also responsible for the question that preyed on Sandra's mind. She turned her head to the side on which her friend's admirable body was stretched. "Hély?"

An exasperated grunt marked the answer. From bad experience, Héloise knew that there was no sense in pretending to be deaf - "that damned super witch" noticed the short twist the question raised in other people's minds.

"Say, aren't you supposed to rehearse with the band?"

"No, why?"

Why? Because they had a completely new set of amps and loudspeakers. Because they were trying to change their appearance into something more professional than just a simple student group. Because Ireen, self-nominated band manager, had asked, ordered, begged ...

As if she had heard Sandra's mental outcry, Héloise added, "Oh, they know how I play. And Tomas on a twelve-string is close enough to the Felison - he can take my part."

The Felison was the Goblin harp, a priceless instrument, one of six in the world. Calling it Héloise's instrument was only correct in the sense of her being the player - nobody owned a Felison; these instruments were loans from the Goblin community, for a lifetime unless the player decided otherwise.

And Tomas, full name Tomas Alejandro Serrano, was the guitar player in the band. As a gypsy with a Spanish background, Tomas preferred the flamenco guitar. To say he hated the twelve-string steel guitar probably went too far, simply because Tomas couldn't hate a musical instrument, but it was somehow typical for Héloise to demand such a favour just because she didn't feel like interrupting her own holidays.

"Is it simple laziness?" asked Sandra. "Or is there something deeply fascinating here, and I'm just too stupid to recognize it?"

Héloise's face came around, a cool glance hit Sandra. "You might be not that far from the truth."

Contrary to her own words, Sandra wasn't famous for her stupidity. So she needed only a few seconds to come to the only conclusion left, and to stare at her friend in disbelief. "You cannot possibly mean those boys!"

A smug grin appeared in Héloise's face. "No? Why not?"

"Because ..." Sandra seemed speechless, at a loss to find the words for the meaninglessness of a few Jamaican beach boys, even if some of them might be tourists from somewhere else.

"Oh my, you're never going to get it, are you?" Héloise came around, her face the living example of patience in desperation. "Those boys are for free, you twit!"

"For free?" Sandra's eyebrows knit in concentration.

"Yes, for free." Héloise fell down on her back, the rhetorical equivalent of giving up hope. "Because they'll be gone in a few days, or even if not, you'll be gone in a few days. No obligation, no investment, no regret. Get it? ... You can do with them what you want, they can do with you what you want, and two weeks from now, all these names and faces are shadows of the past."

Listening, watching, Sandra saw how Héloise emphasized her explanations with a languid, sensual movement of her body. As if she had needed confirmation - there was no doubt, her friend with this one year additional age was also leading in experience.

Damn Veela.

* * *

The name of the band was "Dragonfly." Aside from its reminiscence of majestic animals, with wings for flying and fire for breathing, the name brought images to mind that resembled the band's music: quickly changing directions, floating sound, and an element of something from out of time.

Like a survivor from antediluvian times, although the band was pretty young. As were its members.

Giving the band an English name didn't really fit, since all band members were students in French schools. France was also the leading country when counting their origins, although none could be assigned to a single place or culture.

Gabriel Uriah Potter, half English and half Chinese by parents' origin, half Californian and half Irish by the places he'd called home at times, played the flute and occasionally the accordion, concertina, harmonica, xylophone, or keyboard. At fourteen, Gabriel was the youngest member but one of the driving forces, together with the band manager.

Michel Weasley, half English and half French by parents' origin, French by environment yet with Veela and Goblin attributes by nature and education, played the drums and other percussion instruments. He also played the famous four-bodied tubular drums that were manufactured by Miyikura. Together with Gabriel, Michel represented the nucleus from which the band had developed.

Tomas Alejandro Serrano, gypsy by blood and Spanish by location, played the guitar and other instruments with strings to pluck, even if the techniques were quite different - acoustic guitar, electric guitar, banjo, mandolin, whatever suited a particular song best. Being the oldest member with his eighteen years, Tomas could have played a leading role in the band, except he was no leader, not voluntarily. And besides, there were two adults within the band's periphery who might find a taste for this job.

Finally, there was Héloise Weasley, representing the same mix as her brother, and undeniably the one who had started the musical obsession when, at the age of three, she had received her Felison harp from her godfather Wynor the Whistler. Héloise's music had caused an overwhelming effect on Sandra, whom nobody would have called the Veela's friend at that time. It was a safe bet to assume that Gabriel had started playing out of respect for Sandra's vulnerability - Héloise would play or not play as she felt like it, generally using music as a currency for trading and blackmailing in any suitable order.

To ease the tension between the two musicians - Gabriel, the stubborn one, Héloise the hot-tempered - Michel had started playing the drums, to balance.

With her history, Héloise and her Goblin harp might have been the spiritual - or musical - centre of the band. But she wasn't, because of competing interests in other things. And for the same reason, Héloise was the only band member missing today, the days before, and the days to come.

Her absence annoyed Gabriel a great deal. Probably he wasn't alone with these feelings, but nobody expected Michel to complain about his sister in public, and Tomas - well, one might call him a victim of a seventeen-year-old with Veela genes.

Truth be told, Tomas would play music in any congregation of instruments, and solo guitar if nobody else was around. The concept of a band seemed somewhat alien to him.

They were rehearsing as much as experimenting with their new concert equipment: microphones for input, loudspeakers for output, mixers and amplifiers in-between. The complete set, enough for halls the size Dragonfly could fill, came as a present from the manufacturer, Groucho Technomagic. Even if Groucho's major stockholder had been someone other than Gabriel's mother, this company might have sponsored them for marketing reasons - the loudspeakers, sixteen boxes altogether, could float in mid-air, pretty close to an audience, thus allowing for an excellent sound mix without drowning anyone in a deafening noise level.

---

Playing the pieces in their repertoire, again and again, was the fun part in these rehearsals. Mixing the sound by adjusting the microphones and amplifiers was the hard part, also the reason why they did it here, in the Great Hall of a deserted school in a godforsaken place called Durmstrang.

To create realistic conditions, Gabriel had conjured up first as many chairs as fit in this hall, and then wool blankets to cover them. In terms of acoustics, these surfaces came close to a hall filled by an audience.

It worked, and the charms required for all these chairs and blankets did not cause Gabriel much trouble. The mixing, on the other hand, was an art by itself - they'd found out as much already, and were more than glad to welcome the band's official sound engineer.

His name was Desmond Floury, an Irishman who made a living by mixing sound in recording studios for professional bands and soloists. As Desmond had considerably fewer holidays than schoolboys and girls, it seemed strange to expect him, in these most precious days of the year, to use his professional skill in favour of a widely unknown student band.

The linking element was Ireen.

Ireen Chee, widow of Tony Chee, former movie producer and director in the kung fu category, had arrived in Ireland six years ago, after her husband was murdered by kidnappers only minutes before his friend Harry Potter arrived at the scene. Once in Ireland, Ireen somehow had never found the way back to their splendid bungalow with swimming pool on the wrong side of Santa Monica, California. Instead, she had found reasons to stay.

The first reason was Ireen's self-nomination as band manager. It had probably been her doing that had turned Dragonfly into a musical group one could send on tour, at least to single concerts. So far, these concerts mostly took place in schools, although it seemed only a question of time until Dragonfly would perform in larger halls.

In the course of putting the band together, Ireen had managed to create a CD album. It served as a linking element between the four difficult individuals more than as a product, because nobody could have lived off the sales. Ireen met an important prerequisite for this manager job - she had a steady income from her late husband's movie royalties.

However, as so often, things happened in clusters. In the process of producing this CD, Ireen met Desmond. They fell in love. They forced Dragonfly to record a second album, hardly more widespread than the first. They shared the conviction that Dragonfly was at the eve of a great career, reason enough for Desmond to lend a helping hand in sound mixing.

That was, if he found the time, which would mean recoding public performances, not spending day after day in rural Bulgaria.

Of course, they could have installed the equipment once and left it in place for the next day, except that the idea was to practise stage installation for the performances to come. Desmond had told them that this would make the difference between a performer and a band member - the musician only cared about his music and his instrument, while the band member also felt in charge of equipment, installation, transport, logistics, sound ... and maybe groupies, some years from now.

Héloise, apparently, considered herself a performer only.

Gabriel knew that this wasn't really true. Under different circumstances, Héloise would have found pleasure in rehearsing with the three boys. It was just that, in this summer break before Héloise's last year in Beauxbatons, the band members were scattered around the globe. Perhaps Héloise was enjoying Jamaica too much to come over.

---

After receiving the new equipment for the band, Ireen had looked around for places - school halls - where they could rehearse their skills and get used to the gear. After conversations with various headmasters, headmistresses, and teachers, she came back with an offer that seemed a perfect match because it included everything.

The offer came from Hermione Krum, Potions teacher and surgeon at Hogwarts, wife of Viktor Krum, who still had strong connections to his native country Bulgaria. The traditional wizarding school of Bulgaria, Durmstrang, would be deserted during holidays, in sharp contrast to Hogwarts. The Durmstrang Headmaster, Kristof Drilencu, old friend of Gabriel's parents, gave his permission immediately. So the location aspect was settled.

As was her habit, Hermione had killed two birds with the same stone. The second bird in this case was the family aspect. Hermione and Viktor's oldest daughter, Sophia, was seven. Ireen's only daughter, Tanitha, was eight. And it so happened that Ismène, Michel's younger sister, who adored her brother, was eight too and not yet scheduled for any holiday plans.

In such a large group, it was a piece of cake to find someone to take care of Hermione and Viktor's younger children at any time of the day. Alexandra was five, Timothy two.

Here in Bulgaria, however, the Slavic versions of these names would be more appropriate. Timothy became Timotei and Alexandra changed to Aleksandra - a spelling that pleased Gabriel no end, because suddenly his own sister's name was in it.

Maybe this was the reason why the girl hung around with him outside the rehearsals - like Ismène with Michel, or Sophia with Tomas, so that Viktor, suddenly bare of daughters clinging to his neck, invested the free time and emotions in Tanitha, who deeply enjoyed having a borrowed father for some weeks.

At the moment, however, Viktor and his wife were nowhere near while the girls filled some seats in the front row, together with Ireen, who held Timothy in her lap. The boy looked sleepy, totally unconcerned about the noise from the loudspeaker that floated some feet above his head. After a few days of music, electronically amplified but clearly below hazardous sound level, Timothy kept his sleeping schedule come blare or blessed silence.

Some other people in the small audience would notice a difference, Gabriel felt sure about that. They were playing a new piece in which he had to alternate between flute and accordion. Because there wasn't enough time to mount and dismount the large instrument on his shoulders, he had created a small rack on which the accordion could rest while he played. Altogether, this little artistry represented a totally new challenge - he'd done it before, but only in studio, where you could spend eons between the recording of different tracks.

While playing, he became aware of one aspect in which this rehearsal still was unrealistic - they could see the faces of their audience. In a real concert, with the spotlights on, this would be impossible. He saw that most eyes were hanging on him. It was only natural - he was the only one standing, even walking, while Michel sat behind his drums and Tomas, who played acoustic guitar in this piece, kept sitting on a tall stool, with his feet on a footrest.

Well - even when playing the electric guitar, Tomas was very reluctant to move or jump like a rock star.

The finale was the most difficult part for Gabriel - several quick changes between flute and accordion, slowly fading out, like two friends chatting animatedly while leaving a room. Today, for the first time, he was getting the hang of it.

So he felt quite satisfied when the last tune had faded away. He put down his flute, stepped from the low stage and asked, "How was it?"

"Good," answered Sophia, Tanitha, and Ismène almost in unison.

"Your changes are done in plenty of time," said Ireen. After a second, she started to smile and added, "All that's missing is the stage expression in your face - but I guess this will come by itself when the hall is full."

Gabriel had his doubts. Aloud, he asked, "And the balance?"

"Felt quite all right to me," replied Ireen. "Could be that the accordion should be toned down still a bit, so that it sounds smaller compared to the flute, but that's something only Desmond can do."

"Yeah ... High time he joins the crowd here."

He received a quick glance from Ireen. She had mastered apparition two years ago, after just four years as a witch, so she could have visited Desmond each evening. Or each night. But for all Gabriel knew, she stayed in their holiday resort all the time.

Maybe this was a trick to increase the passion. Or to reinforce it. Some years from now, Gabriel would know more about this topic. In the meantime, he knew better than asking stupid questions.

---

Just then, Alexandra asked, "Why does nobody sing?"

When she saw that she had Gabriel's attention, she explained, "In other music, there's always someone who sings. In your music is nobody who sings. Why not?"

Before answering, Gabriel exchanged another quick glance with Ireen. They had discussed the topic before, thoroughly, in particular after Desmond had told them that the lack of a voice in the band was a major roadblock on the way toward success at a larger scale. But first they didn't know a singer, at least none they'd accept, and there was a strong opposition against this idea. Mainly from Héloise, who declared she wasn't going to accompany some low quality vocal cords with her Felison.

At that time, nobody had dared to ask whether she could imagine doing so for high quality cords.

And today, Héloise was absent when she should have been here. And a girl of five, whose judgement had weight for Gabriel, raised this topic. He looked at Alexandra again.

"We have no singer, that's why."

"Then get one."

Gabriel examined her face, which showed great determination. "And what if we don't find any? Don't you like the music even without someone singing?"

"I like you playing flute," said Alexandra with seriousness. "And I like Tomas playing guitar. And Michel too. But why do you play together when no one sings?"

A professional critic might have used more sophisticated terms, but even so, Gabriel found the girl's verdict very much to the point. He glanced over to Ireen, awaiting her comment on this coincidence of a vigorous demand in the absence of a certain opposition.

Only after a second, he became aware that Ireen would keep silent, although it hadn't failed her attention how Alexandra's criticism had fallen on fertile ground. But mostly thanks to her Japanese roots, she would not jeopardize the effect by issuing remarks like, Didn't I tell you? Instead, she looked at him expectantly.

He turned around. "Hey folks - Alexandra says we need a singer. She says, why do you play together if not for someone singing? What do you think?"

"I think she's right," said Michel. "But you know who thinks differently."

Of course Gabriel knew. He looked at Tomas - the oldest of them in age while the youngest in membership.

"Héloise and her harp have parts in less than half of our repertoire," said Tomas after a moment. "We have room for a voice even without violating her verdict."

Gabriel had pondered this sacrilegious idea already by himself. Hearing it expressed in words was all he needed to promote the idea to a plan. "Well, then - does anyone know a singer?"

Shrugs, shaking heads.

"Me neither," he confessed.

Next moment, a memory resurfaced in his mind - the memory of a voice he'd heard just once. A girl's voice. He almost giggled, so far-fetched seemed the idea of asking this girl - provided he could find her, after figuring out who she was.

Far-fetched or not, he couldn't think of anyone else.

* * *

Carlos watched the one of the twins whom he suspected to be Carole. However, he wouldn't be much surprised should this sun-burned, freckle-faced, red-haired girl turn out to be Diane. These two did what they could to confuse everyone, and now, with them being ten, it worked as well as six years ago when Carlos had met them for the first time.

Or as badly, depending on the perspective.

Every now and then, their parents tried to put markers on them. A kind of colour coding, like with their swimsuits: while preparing for these holidays, Janine, their mother, had tried to buy a green one and a red one. Not that she considered red as a particularly good choice, what with the Weasley hair and the freckles. But her twin daughters had a different opinion, and red ranked on top of their own charts.

Soon Janine realized that red was the only colour listed in the twins' charts, and that she could either buy a green swimsuit or just save the money and the hassle - they would not wear it, and she'd better have two red ones when leaving the shop.

More than once, Carlos had heard someone saying aloud what he himself thought occasionally - that these girls were devils in disguise, except that the disguises were wearing thin.

The remark referred to their merciless style. It did not imply a blemish in their character. Otherwise, they were quite pretty, especially in Carlos' eyes - even more so as he could remember occasions at which he felt the discrepancy between the twins' behaviour and their appearance with a nearly painful intensity.

During the recent days of his holiday with them at the Weasley summer residence, he had accumulated enough detailed knowledge about the twins to feel almost sure that it really was Carole he watched. The differences were hard to detect, so the name more than anything else made him select Carole as the object of his attention.

Carole and Carlos. Almost the same letters, only in a different arrangement.

Playing with names was a game Carlos had learned, not always voluntarily. His own name, for example: Carlos Garcia Potter. According to Spanish habit - or Mexican, for that matter - a man's name contained first his given name, then the family name of his father, and finally the family name of his mother.

Using this rule, his name would have been Carlos Garcia Théroux - son of his father Ramon Garcia and his mother Marie-Christine, born Théroux.

But his real parents were dead, and from his adopted parents he had gotten two more names. When asked during the adoption which name he would like for himself, Carlos had summarized the two old names and the two new names, coming up with Garcia Potter as the family names of his choice.

His sister Esmeralda had made it even simpler, using only the name Potter. Which was a wise decision, in one sense, because neither Garcia nor Théroux had anything to do with her real parents' names. What for him had been the first adoption had for her been the second - her first adoption, into Carlos' family, had taken place when they were both three, shortly after Esmeralda's biological parents had died in the course of an illegal immigration from Mexico to California.

Where Carlos played the game with last names, the Weasleys did it with first names: running the alphabet by age - Alain the oldest, Felix the youngest; balancing between English and French names and pronounciations - Ron, the father, was English, while Janine, the mother, was French, and the children could choose which version to use.

---

Here at the beach, while the Weasley parents were still in their house taking siesta, Alain's eyes were fixed on Elaine, the five-year-old. The youngest, Felix, had a total of three bodyguards. The one who kept the Weasley parents at ease, knowing their three-year-old was in these hands, was Esmeralda. Wherever Esmeralda was found, Bolo the German shepherd would not be far, so it had been just a natural extension of the dog's protection instincts to include Felix in his special guard. And during the recent days, Bernard, the second son of Ron and Janine, had developed a similar habit - to be found somewhere close to Esmeralda, accepting his brother as an unavoidable factor in this equation.

Today, they all were at the Etang de Thau, a lake that was separated from the Mediterranean Sea by a narrow strip of dry land. The lake did not really offer sweet water but the absence of surge waves made it a better choice for such small children. From Carlos' point of view, which was shaped by the Pacific Ocean on the California coast and the Irish Sea at Carron Lough, the waves of the Mediterranean were almost non-existent, so for him the lake wasn't any different.

A merciless sun shot its heat down on the beach. The air was motionless; not the slightest breeze disturbed the surface of the lake. Later in the afternoon, wind from the sea would send a bit of refreshment, but until then, swimming or diving in the lake was the only way to cool down.

None of their group were in the water. After the past days here in the Camargue, they were all used to the heat, and Janine had sped up their tanning by a little spell - she wouldn't trust the protection from the sun oil, leaving it to everybody's guess whether the untrustworthy factor could be found in the oil or in the children.

A large parasol offered the only shadow within view. It was intended primarily for Felix - and for Bolo, who preferred the shade, while Esmeralda wanted to sit in the sun. She was the only one not requiring Janine's help in tanning. Well, compared to Mexico, the Camargue offered a mild climate.

The other girls were building a sandcastle, a pretty large one. Little Elaine walked around in search of ornaments - shells, pebbles, anything that looked different from the sand. Bernard lent a helping hand but only half-heartedly, maybe because Esmeralda didn't take part in the construction. So most of the work was left to the twins.

The suspected Carole looked up and gave Carlos a cool glance. "I wish your brother had taught you how to do magic without a wand."

"You do? ... Why?"

"Because then you could help us here and reinforce the castle walls a bit - after all, you should be familiar enough with castle walls, shouldn't you?" The answer was given in a voice that indicated barely suppressed impatience toward such a stupid question, expecting the worst for the one asking.

Carlos had taken lessons from Gabriel for the last six years. And from Sandra. Not systematically, just on occasions, when they felt like it. But these lessons concentrated on mental arts - unspoken communication with his siblings, especially with Esmeralda, detecting the presence of people nearby but out of view, sensing the mood of conversation partners.

His skill level was way below that of his teachers - and that of his adoptive father - but similarly way above zero. In addition, he had learned never to trust anything the twins said, with the notable exception of holy promises.

Both experiences together made him reply, "Yes, Carole, probably so ..."

And right - he was rewarded with a beaming smile.

"... but I can at least help with my bare hands." Without waiting for an answer, he went over, knelt down, and started to elongate a wall support.

---

Carole's voice now held appreciation. "It's been a while since the last time you confused us. How come?"

Carlos felt like swelling of pride. "I did take lessons from my brother."

"Really?" The girl paused in her work. "Because of us?"

"Well ..."

Carlos' purpose in life was to protect his sister Esmeralda. This duty, which had started shortly after this sister arrived out of nowhere, encountered the most severe stress test when the two devilish twin girls and Esmeralda met for the first time, finding themselves in competition for Gabriel's attention and favour. Carlos' new father had found a way to hold him back and simultaneously channel the dispute to a happy ending. This experience rested at a prominent place in Carlos' memory.

"... not exactly, but I often thought of you when training with Gabriel."

Carole digested this confession silently while shaping her tower.

Carlos found this a good moment to confess a bit more, and to ask a difficult question. He said, "One of the things we trained was a kind of talking without words, what Gabriel and Sandra can do, because I wanted to do the same with Esmeralda. And you and Diane, you do the same, or something similar. Can you tell me how you do it?"

Carole thought for a moment, shook her head. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because ..." Carole shrugged. "I wouldn't know how to explain. And I don't know whether this is really the same as what Gabriel and Sandra can do."

"Hm."

Carole smiled apologetically. "I'm not holding back. It's - it's as if I had to explain how to think. Could you explain to someone how to think?"

Carlos laughed. "If this someone didn't know how to think, he'd be too stupid for sure to understand me."

"Ah - but you know what I mean." Carole didn't appreciate this unplanned joke effect. "And with Esmeralda - you know, when you come to Hogwarts after the holidays, there is this Sorting, where the new students are sorted into different houses. Wait until you see how you and Esmeralda are sorted. Maybe it won't be the same house, and then you'd know that there is something different between you and her - and this would explain why it doesn't work, your talking without words."

This frightening thought had crossed Carlos' mind before. He said, "That won't happen."

"How can you be sure?"

Carlos nearly jumped - the question was asked by Diane, some feet away, giving proof that she had been a silent participant in this conversation, held in a low voice.

Before he could answer, Diane added, "You can't be sure. Papa told us about twins there, girls - one a classmate of him and the other in the Ravenclaw house."

"Oh, yes," Carole smiled at the memory of an apparently funny story. "And one of them was Papa's first ball partner, and the other was Uncle Harry's first ball partner."

Carlos had heard the story too, but never in this context, never as such a threatening prospect. A cold knot seemed to form in his stomach. If this could happen to twins, what chances had he and Esmeralda, who didn't even share the same natural parents?

"We're not going to be separated into different houses." His fist damaged a piece of the wall he just had formed.

Looking up, his eyes met those of Esmeralda. Maybe she hadn't followed the entire conversation, but for sure she had heard his last remark, because he could see the suppressed worry in her face.