Potter Professions

Esmeralda wondered if she should feel guilty. Her own judgment said no, and what she could see from Carlos indicated the same answer, but there were more people involved. Among them were their parents, who had discussed the issue vehemently and with very different opinions. And now, after all the hassle she'd caused, she shouldn't care any longer?

The topic in question was the closeness to her brother, the same closeness which had been challenged by the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts, causing Esmeralda to raise a hellstorm in complaints. But truth be told, currently she felt farther apart from Carlos than she had ever been while at Hogwarts.

And, although she had no one to whom she could confess it, she enjoyed a feeling of freedom and easiness.

It had started with ... had it really been her dog? Or had Bolo simply accelerated a process that would have started anyway? She didn't know, but just counting the facts, she could say that the four girls in room 217 of the St.-Nazaire building had formed a group within hours, if not minutes.

Dominique Lombard, a blonde girl with curly hair from Rouen, had already been in the room when Esmeralda walked through the door. Dominique hardly found the time to send a glance toward the newcomer when Bolo entered the room, winning Dominique's heart at once.

"Oh, what a cute dog!" the girl exclaimed. Then she hurried over to bend down, hug Bolo and beam at Esmeralda for having such a cool pet.

Esmeralda wouldn't have dreamed of calling Bolo cute, wouldn't have thought that she could like anyone who did that either. But Dominique had a way of simplifying things. Like, she didn't ask Esmeralda for permission. She didn't ask Bolo either, she just knelt down and stroked the German shepherd and didn't stop.

Bolo found it great. Try as she might, Esmeralda couldn't detect visible objections in his stance to being called cute.

Into this harmonic scene burst Natalie, last name Bouquet, from a small town near Angers. She wasn't as crazy about dogs as Dominique but she had a strong group instinct, and where two girls were alternately cuddling a dog, a third one wouldn't hurt, would it?

They had come as far as exchanging names while kneeling more or less at eye level with Bolo when a voice from behind said, "Yeah, of course - I knew it! The last bed in the dirtiest corner is mine, and what's left of that dog is the rear end, right?"

Looking up, the three girls - plus dog - got their first impression of Odile, from the Mélichords in Paris. She was very Parisienne in her style but otherwise as magicless as the others. And when Esmeralda said that the darkest corner was fine with her because Bolo liked dark corners, Odile gave a quick smile and a shrugh and said, "Well, that about saves the day, doesn't it?" before joining the group. Stroking a dog, even the rear end, was apparently better than sitting on a bedside and fighting the tears.

Bolo, as it turned out, settled for two corners. One was indeed next to Esmeralda's bed and became the place where Bolo slept. The other spot was almost in the opposite corner of the room. From there, Bolo could watch the two bunk beds as well as the door. The first time that the door opened unannounced - the concièrge, an unpleasant woman, was checking the girls in their rooms - Bolo's ears went flat while his teeth became visible, emitting a low growl. After this, and after the low-voiced but nonetheless excited chat it caused across the room, their group was complete.

Of course Esmeralda introduced Carlos to her new roommates, and vice versa. They nodded, said hello, the girls found it cool to have a brother around, but he was a boy, they had a lot of girl things to talk about, and for that nobody needed a boy, in addition to the well-known fact that boys didn't need the girl things, either.

Carlos lived up to this reputation, somewhat to Esmeralda's unspoken astonishment. From what she could judge, he witnessed his sister's emancipation from his exclusive protection with a suspicious lack of jealousy or uneasiness. True, they were sitting side by side in classes, and this wordless proximity marked one of the big differences between Hogwarts and this school. But the meals, for instance - the four girls chatted between bites, totally ignoring Carlos, who was sitting nearby.

Then he sat somewhere else, and Esmeralda still felt no urge to leave the other girls' company in favour of her brother's.

Then he found his own chat mate, as much as Esmeralda could see from far away, because when she glanced over to her brother's seat, he didn't look up, but instead continued to talk to someone opposite. And, checking at several meals, Esmeralda realized that this someone opposite not only was a girl but always the same girl.

As she became aware of this change, for a short moment she felt betrayed. But she had made the first step in this separation, hadn't she?

---

After a few seconds, she turned her attention back to the discourse that was running mostly between Odile and Dominique, as so often about how much things in Paris were better than anywhere else in France. Usually she listened to such a debate with a partly hidden, partly open amusement while contributing little, and mainly questions. On this occasion, though, she kept quiet, forcing herself not to check every ten seconds whether her brother was still talking with that girl.

A small thing ... Had she triggered Carlos' protection instinct, which had been a bit unemployed recently? That would be an explanation.

After lunch, Esmeralda walked over to Carlos' table. "Hi," she said, "are you going to join me and Bolo in the park? But you should come with your kitten, before Bolo starts missing her." After these words, she sent a casual glance across the table to the other girl before fixing her gaze on Carlos again.

"Yeah, sure," he said, and then, pointing, "She'll join us too - Esmeralda, this is Chloé. Chloé, this is my sister Esmeralda."

Esmeralda didn't bother with a smile. "Hello."

Chloé looked a bit awestruck, however not by Esmeralda's cool welcome, as her words made clear. "It must be great to have a brother here at the school, and even in the same class."

The longing in her voice had a disarming quality. Despite herself, Esmeralda replied, "We sit in classes side by side, like we did before." And then, with some impatience, she turned again to Carlos and asked, "Are you coming?"

"Yes. Go ahead, we'll meet you and Bolo in the park, I have to fetch Dona Gata." Carlos stood up, and as Esmeralda watched, Chloé stood up on her own side of the table and followed him as if this was the most natural thing of the world - escorting Carlos on his way to fetch his pet.

Esmeralda snorted, more to herself than to anyone not present.

Any plan to be alone with her brother and their pets wouldn't have worked anyway. Her own new friends were eager to join, for reasons in which the weather, the park, and Bolo ranked much higher than her brother and his girlfriend. Dona Gata, on the other hand, raised some squeals of delight from the three girls, in particular as they watched how the kitten was treated by the German shepherd.

Esmeralda learned that Chloé was of the same age but in a parallel class. There were four classes with new students, called Five-One, Five-Two, Five-Three, and Five-Four. Chloé was a student in Five-One while Carlos and Esmeralda were in Five-Two.

She further learned that the other girl resided in the same building. She couldn't remember having seen her there; but then, since getting acquainted with her three roommates had kept her quite busy, this didn't mean anything. The school was large; she could be just as slow at registering other faces as she had been quick in making friends with her roommates.

The long lunch break was followed by two more classes. After the bell had signaled the end of the second class, Esmeralda was about to leave the classroom when the teacher, a Madame Coteau, stopped her.

"Our Headmaster asked me to send you over," she said. "Now should be a good time, so why don't you go to Madame Clouzot and let her announce you?"

"What is it?" asked Esmeralda with some uneasiness.

"Probably some administrative task or other." The teacher smiled. "Do you want me to escort you to that office?"

Esmeralda nodded, and a minute later, she followed Madame Coteau from Lorient, the classroom building, to Brest, the administration building.

When they reached the school secretary's office, the teacher said, "Jeannette, this girl's called for report by the Headmaster," pushed her gently inside, and left.

Madame Clouzot looked up, lacking hostility as much as friendliness. "What's your name?"

"Er - Esmeralda Garcia."

Without answering, the school secretary talked into an intercom, apparently with the Headmaster. After listening for a moment, she cancelled the connection and seized for the telephone. Her first attempt wasn't answered. Dialling another number, she got an answer almost instantly. From the few words that were exchanged, Esmeralda could only hear that she'd talked with a Marguerite and that this woman should come over.

After putting down the receiver, the school secretary looked up. "Madame Laval will be here in a minute. Why don't you sit down meanwhile?"

Esmeralda didn't know a Madame Laval. All she knew was that this couldn't be the Headmaster, who was a man and whose name was Fresnel. She would have asked, but asking the back of a woman at a desk required a bit more urgency than she felt.

---

Madame Laval wasn't there in a minute. She wasn't there after five minutes. The large clock at the wall told Esmeralda that it took twelve minutes before another woman entered the room with a casual, "Salut, Jeannette," toward the school secretary.

The newcomer was large, thin at both ends, but carrying a disproportional belly in the middle. She examined Esmeralda.

"So you're the Garcia girl? All right then, come on, let's get it over with this ceremony."

Her words didn't clarify things, but from her gestures, Esmeralda could deduct that she should follow the woman into the Headmaster's office. So she did.

The Headmaster greeted the woman with a smile and Esmeralda with a look she didn't see often but could recognize without any trouble: that of a still-friendly authority at the border of impatience. "Good afternoon," he said. "So you're Esmeralda Garcia, then."

It didn't really sound like a question, but Esmeralda nodded nevertheless.

The Headmaster gave her a smile that hardly reached his eyes. "You may call me 'Monsieur le Directeur,' Esmeralda."

"Yes, Monsieur le Directeur." It crossed Esmeralda's mind how the teachers at Hogwarts, who were satisfied at being addressed with a simple 'Prof,' had called her 'Miss Garcia,' while the titles here were long and tedious but, in contrast, this woman could call her 'the Garcia girl.'

"Now, Esmeralda, this is about a formality. You're an orphan - "

Esmeralda's impulse to scream No I'm not! was swallowed, tasting like medicine.

" - for whom we need a kind of controlling authority. The lady who delivered you here made clear that from her side it's a mere administrative task to be responsible for you, so she shouldn't be concerned with routine matters."

Esmeralda stared at him. The lady had been her mother, not the biological one, granted, but her mother nonetheless and ... With more effort than required before, she settled back to her role at this school.

"So we decided to make things simple and pick someone from our own circle who can represent you in matters of parental authority. This is Madame Laval," the Headmaster's arm pointed toward the bellied woman, who nodded gravely, "and she'll take over that role as of today. I'm sure you will agree to that, won't you?"

"What does it mean - er, Monsieur le Directeur?"

A crease sprung on the Headmaster's forehead due to this unexpected delay. "She's entitled to sign papers in your name, that's all. Your daily life here won't change a bit because of that."

"Ah, yes, okay."

"Splendid." The crease disappeared.

It might have reappeared on Esmeralda's own forehead, because all she had intended to express with her remark was her understanding, not her agreement. But it would have gone unnoticed anyway; the Headmaster didn't look while busying himself to sign and exchange papers with Madame Laval.

A moment later, her new parental authority said, "That's all, Esmeralda. You may go."

"Yes, madame." Esmeralda stood up, despite her rage quite relieved to leave the uncomfortable chair, this large office, and these two people behind.

---

Arriving in her dormitory, of course she was asked by the other three girls about her business with the headmaster. When she told them that it was about a parental authority because she was an orphan, she earned an "Oh" from Dominique and only embarrassed silence from Natalie and Odile - none of them had learned yet to handle this topic with a bit casualness.

Once more, Esmeralda had to fight the temptation to shout her true family status, still more so as she realized that the other girls' embarrassment was owed mostly to her own reaction at the topic of orphans.

"Forget it," she snapped. "Let's go visit Bolo. He must be quite impatient already."

If Bolo was impatient, it had more to do with a bitch almost in heat than with his mistress held back by stupid school authorities, and to call him distracted was a polite understatement.

It didn't improve Esmeralda's mood either. She felt so upset that she almost forgot her daily appointment, which today was pretty early. So she had to excuse herself with an urgent demand, earning curious glances from the other girls and the distinct feeling that they hadn't bought the story. "Urgent demand" was true, although for unusual reasons. As soon as she pressed the button on her porty to signal she was ready, her father summoned her from a toilet stall.

"Hello, Prof," she said, her voice as gruff as she felt. Not calling him Daddy was an agreement they'd made to avoid being uncovered by an accidental passer-by.

"Hello, Esmeralda." Her father looked wondering. "You sound so upset today. What happened to you?"

"I met the headmaster." She looked at Carlos, who had arrived a moment ago. "Did you meet him too?"

"No, why?"

"Then am I the only one who needs that blasted parental authority? Is this because of something Mu - Madame Chang said?"

She had involuntarily raised her voice beyond the usual level of low-voiced murmur they used during their short meetings. Before she found even time to look guilty, her father had reached her. His hands cupping her cheeks, he said, "Now, now - just tell us what happened, won't you?"

She could feel the mental flow through his hands into her head. For an instant she felt like protesting - she wanted to be upset, she had reason to - then the wave took effect and calmed her down. Quieter than before, she told the other two about Madame Laval and her new function.

Her father turned to her brother. "And there wasn't anything similar with you?"

Carlos shook his head. "No. Perhaps they'll call me tomorrow."

"Could be," said Harry. "Maybe it's because they weren't built for so much hard work on the same day ..."

The remark brought a smile to Esmeralda's face, a moment later mirrored by Carlos.

But Harry didn't join them. "I don't like this news at all," he said. "I can tell you for sure that there wasn't any such remark from - from Madame Chang when she delivered you, so there's no question that the authorities here have overstepped their mark."

Esmeralda hadn't really believed that her mother had abandoned them the way the headmaster's announcement had suggested. Still, it felt good to have that confirmed. For a short moment she dwelled on an image of Cho shouting at those people, this time for real, then she remembered why they were there.

Next instant, a beaming smile started to spread across her face. "We've scored a hit, haven't we?"

"Could be," said Harry, "but I'm not sure yet. It might be just their way of dealing with stupid administrative stuff. But whatever it is, I don't want to find out by letting you stay another day longer in that authority."

Esmeralda stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's time - " Seeing his daughter's determined face, Harry interrupted himself. "At least I could notify - erm, Madam Chang that she should pay a visit to this school and tell them a few words about authorities."

Esmeralda smiled, hearing exactly the words she had thought a moment ago. Then she sobered up again. "This Madame Laval hasn't done anything yet. Let her do something first, so she's really guilty of something she wasn't supposed to do."

"That something concerns you, and we don't know what it is."

Esmeralda grinned. "Even if she's going to sell me to the slave market, that'll take a few minutes - enough time to call you."

Harry didn't smile back. "Do you remember the story of Sandra and Gabriel, how they were kidnapped?"

"Oh." Feeling less secure than she had a minute earlier, Esmeralda nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Then you know how quickly it can go." Harry's eyes fixed on her own. "Can you promise to alert me the moment this Madame Laval contacts you? For whatever it is?"

Esmeralda nodded. "Yes. I don't like her at all, so I won't forget it."

"And if, after such an alert, I don't get an all-clear within fifteen minutes, I'm going to raise hell in here." Her father looked grim. "I'll get you a signal device, maybe in the shape of a wristwatch, to make sure you have it always with you, even if your porty is - well, confiscated."

Recovering in her spy role, Esmeralda said, "A new wristwatch? That could be a bit complicated, because then I have to explain it to Dominique and Natalie and Odile."

"Right - and anyone else might also have second thoughts about this watch. That's why I'll make it something you can wear around your ankles - out of everyone's sight."

It gave Esmeralda some relief in her inner thoughts, a place where she had allowed herself to be more scared than she showed to the outside. At the same time, this kind of bracelet reminded her of the story of her father's friend Tony Chee. He'd been killed when another bracelet, for comparable purposes, had sent his daughter Tanitha out of reach from some kidnappers.

One look at her father's face told her that, right at this moment, he was fighting the same memory.

* * *

Thinking about the device he had in mind for his spy daughter, Harry decided to visit Ray Purcell, his old friend with whom he had developed several new portkey techniques. In this case, however, he didn't plan more than a signal device, just something to send an alert.

He decided against a built-in portkey. He also decided against a built-in tracking device. He had his reasons, fully aware that someone else might call them superstition. But he'd learned to trust his superstition.

Six years ago, he'd used all these things. A built-in portkey for little Tanitha, with the result that his friend Tony was killed. A tracking device for Ramon Garcia on his way to some kidnappers, a way that ended abruptly at a small boat house.

The boat house had left a few fragments larger than splinters, in contrast to Ramon. True, it had been the twenty pounds of explosives that had blown up, rather than the tracking device, but since then, Harry had maintained a deep mistrust of all automatic functions that did more than send a cry for help.

Ray Purcell was no longer chief technician of Groucho Transports and Security, the job he'd held for many years. He stayed in touch with his old colleagues, occasionally played the technical consultant, and spent his time with a growing amount of hobbies and a shrinking amount of research in the tricky areas of portkeys and apparition.

But he would start working on Harry's device right on the spot. This had to do not only with their friendship but also with the fact that Harry had flatly refused to accept any of the royalties that came from Magical Tours, the payment for his and Ray's inventions to make portkey cabins work also for Muggles. That left only Ray at the receiving end, a fate the engineer carried with dignity.

Harry met him in Ray's old laboratory at Groucho. Ray had suggested this location - from Harry's call, he knew already that it was for something that couldn't be bought around the corner.

Ray asked only a few questions, another reason why Harry couldn't imagine any other person to ask for help. When Harry explained what he wanted, and that it should be shaped as something that could be worn around the ankles, Ray only wanted to know if Harry had considered additional features.

"Yes I did, and no, I don't want them. They didn't help the last time we tried, that's why."

Ray nodded, understanding Harry's remark without further explanation. Then he said, "You'll need a new phony that can receive these signals. Otherwise - give me a few days, then I'll know more. Until then, if you call me, the only answer will be, 'Not finished yet.' Just wait for my call."

Harry promised to do that, then left. Checking into Clara's office, he was told that yes, his booster was ready but no, he couldn't take it with him because it would be brought to Carron Lough by a personal messenger.

Clara, guessing the messenger right but totally unaware of the implicit meaning, smiled at these words.

Harry, fully aware of the implicit meaning, smiled back, said goodbye, and immediately started to rearrange today's schedule in his mind. He would meet this particular messenger in the evening, and this meeting would take quite a while, probably the full night. Until then, he had some more tasks to do.

---

One of the tasks brought him to Diagon Alley and into a shop he'd last visited with his two spy children, who couldn't benefit much from those purchases for a while.

The shop owner, Mr Ollivander, looked a bit astonished when he saw Harry and nobody else. "Good afternoon, Mr Potter," he said, "you didn't come because of your own wand, did you?"

"Oh, no, my wand is fine, thanks for asking." Harry drew his wand and passed it over to the wandmaker, knowing perfectly well that this was more an act of admiration than a necessary examination.

Mr Ollivander's fingers caressed the wand with the differently coloured tip. "Wonderful, simply wonderful," he said after a moment. Then he passed the wand back and asked, "So what can I do for you, Mr Potter?"

"There is a young girl, the same age as my daughter Esmeralda who got her wand here a few weeks ago. This girl will receive a magic booster to cure her magical handicap. The moment she recovers from that drink, her wand should be ready to be used with success."

Mr Ollivander gave an almost imperceptible smile. "You have a talent for meeting such people, Mr Potter. I remember a young lady you brought here, while not her name - "

"Clara Stein, yes." Harry smiled back. "But this case is a bit more complicated, because the girl isn't supposed to know that I'm sponsoring her. It's not even her first wand but ... Mr Ollivander, if you'd seen that wand - the thought that she had to use it with her magical power fully activated, that's just too much."

Harry described the cheapest, most pathetic wand he'd ever seen. This description and his genuine disgust won the battle; Mr Ollivander, a minute ago very reluctant to accept a customer he might never see, suddenly showed determination. "It's a shame, yes, Mr Potter. But what exactly do you have in mind?"

"Well, erm ..." After a moment's hesitation, Harry confessed that he planned to appear with a small collection of used wands, ahem, except that these wands weren't used at all and that, after the girl had found the wand of her choice, he would return the others and pay for the one.

The shop owner stared at him. Just when Harry asked himself where else he might get wands worth the name, Mr Ollivander started to smile broader. "A real challenge, indeed, Mr Potter. Please tell me everything you know about that girl, every word she said ... And don't stop talking if you see me rummaging through the shelves."

"Well, then ..." It took Harry a few seconds to confirm to himself that he could talk openly with the wandmaker without risking his undercover role. Then he started telling the story, leaving out only the reason why he was playing teacher at a school in the north of France.

Mr Ollivander listened for several minutes before he started to scan his shelves for wands. During this time, he interrupted Harry only once, telling him that there was no need to translate the conversations from French to English, n'est-ce pas.

When Harry reached the point at which he didn't know what else to tell about Chloé, the shop owner had gathered seven wands, a collection that covered Harry's expectations well. But apparently Mr Ollivander himself was not yet satisfied.

Eventually, he returned with five more of the long, narrow boxes. Depositing them on top of the other seven, he said, "It's quite unprecise in one aspect, Mr Potter, but then, my ordinary customer is much more unknown to me than this girl you've just painted for me. So I feel confident that one of these will suffice."

"Certainly, Mr Ollivander." Harry eyed the boxes. "Erm, does it matter which wand is in which box? You know, I must present them as second-hand wands."

Rather than answering, the wandmaker quickly opened one box after the other and dropped the wands in Harry's lap, obviously having more fun with this encounter by the second.

When Harry asked how they should handle the payment, the answer was, "You may leave that to me, Mr Potter. Maybe what you told me about this sponsorship was addictive ..."

With some astonishment, Harry heard the man chuckle - a sound he'd never expected to hear in this shop.

"... I made a bet with myself about which of these wands will make it. So my only request is to satisfy my curiosity and to return the other wands in due time."

"That's kind of you," replied Harry, "and with that I'm referring more to the large number of selections offered, but of course also to the wand itself. And I'll come and tell you how she looked when she created her first sparks or coloured ribbons."

---

Armed with a dozen wands in addition to his own, Harry left the shop and apparated home, which in this case was meant literally - to Carron Lough. When he arrived there, he found the messenger, who looked quite Chinese.

The messenger had a few questions about the wands. Then she had to wait for Harry's return because he apparated to Brest for his daily appointment with his children. Coming back to Carron Lough, he had to answer more question, this time about the children, who happened to be also the messenger's children.

A while later, she had more non-verbal demands, and very much as expected, it took until dawn before Harry could return to the Cayenne building in Brest. This time, he apparated into the park and walked the rest, to get some fresh air as well as to give an early observer the opportunity to confirm the picture everybody had of the new Sports teacher and his social habits.

Taking advantage of his unusual awakeness at such an early morning hour, Harry decided to stress the social track a bit more and visit the Brest building for some administrative issues. Arriving there, he saw that he wasn't the first: Jeannette was already at work, and she had news for him.

Bad news, from the perspective of a normal teacher with some ambition for a private life: a colleague had called in sick, and Harry had to stand in for that woman for several more Sports classes. Still worse, rumour had it that this calling in sick was just the forerunner of an official leaving notice, due to irreparable differences between that woman and the headmaster. This would mean that Harry's new schedule would last longer than a few days or weeks.

Checking the amount of additional classes, Harry didn't waste his breath asking how the rest had been split between his remaining colleagues. There was little doubt that both the school secretary and the headmaster had done their bit to give him more than his share. True, schedules were administered by Jean-Paul and Valerie, who normally handled their difficult job well, but why shouldn't they be open to suggestions from their boss?

So what, there was a natural upper limit - he couldn't teach more than one class at a time.

Wrong. He could teach two classes at a time, as he realized when studying the lists he'd received from Jeannette. However, these were just the female parts of two classes which were put together only in Sports. First-years, in his terminology, and only when examining the lists in more detail, he became aware that he'd inherited two students in which he had a special interest: One was his own daughter, and the other, from the parallel class, was Chloé.

He would teach them that afternoon, which answered the question of how to contact Chloé and tell her about the booster - or so he thought until he tried to imagine how to make an appointment with her while thirty other girls were watching with maximum attention, among them Esmeralda.

Walking back to the Cayenne building, still with plenty of time before his first morning course was due to start, he tried to find a way to pass the information to the girl. It seemed ridiculous to fail at such minor details, but then, as he remembered, the minor details formed the traps in which spies were caught.

A good spy did it in public, so much for sure. That meant, if he wanted to pass a sheet to Chloé, he had to do it before the eyes of the entire class, which would only be possible if every girl received a sheet, which sounded like a very absurd idea ... And while he was pondering such thoughts, his wife Cho was still asleep in Carron Lough because she had even more time before the MABEL seminar was due, another big hoax in full public, with its seminar members who -

Harry's step almost froze in mid-air when suddenly an idea crossed his mind. As he resumed his walk, he smiled broadly because his thoughts had been correct in every detail. It seemed a bit crazy and kind of overkill, but a little boasting to an audience of eleven-year-old girls wasn't the worst method of gaining their cooperation.

He didn't know for sure who could provide him with the required items within the next hours, because he wasn't too familiar with the minutiae of the MABEL administration. But Cho would know.

From his apartment, Harry apparated to Carron Lough once more because he didn't want to ask her through the phony - not at such an early hour.

As it turned out, his personal appearance caused another complication of a delaying nature, but by reference to his first English course, due to start in half an hour, he was able to successfully suggest another time.

---

Shortly before lunch, he got a phony call that his order had been carried out and that the items were waiting for him at the reception desk of the Groucho Headquarters, exactly as required.

Apparating to that building and back into his apartment, he realized that such tight schedules would be impossible in a school like Hogwarts, simply because each apparition jump required a walk out of the protection field and back. The same went for Beauxbatons and other schools of that kind, but nobody felt it necessary to establish such a protection at the school here.

When he entered the gymnasium, after having waited in his cubicle for the girls to get in their sports clothes, he was ready. To the outside, however, only a class file was visible, and a slight bulge of his breast pocket which might as well have been created by a stopwatch.

Apparently, all the girls had known was that someone else would replace their normal teacher. Harry saw a lot of small 'O's - mouths slightly agape from astonishment to meet him, of all Sports teachers, with the notable exception of two girls who were almost bursting with pleasure and pride.

Grinning inwardly because the two didn't know each other, he walked to his usual place, sensing how, with each of his steps, the expectation grew. The students saw the spheres floating in the air, and obviously they knew what it meant and what was about to follow.

"Bonjour, mesdemoiselles," he began, only to pause for another moment because this salutation had raised a wave of giggles. "You were probably told that Madame Resnais couldn't come today, and probably not tomorrow, or the day after, either. That's why I took over, and so I'll be your Sports teacher for the next weeks."

So much the girls had guessed by themselves. Nonetheless, the confirmation from Harry's side caused a mix of satisfied nods and expectant looks that moved between him and the spheres in the air.

"You've probably heard that I have my own way of warming up, and that music plays a role in this method, that's why all these loudspeakers are in the air." He started the music for a few seconds, then stopped it again. "But I was told that girls your age prefer to run around and around to warm up - "

Howls of protest interrupted him, while his grin came just in time to calm down a few horrified faces who'd taken his joke literally.

"Yeah, that's what I thought; it sounded wrong from the very first word. But before we start, let's do a little ceremony, something that'll help me to memorize your names as quickly as possible."

Disappointment, because they couldn't start dancing instantly, made room for a new kind of anticipation. They simply didn't know what to expect.

Harry seized for the first piece in his breast pocket and held it up. "My name is Terry Pritchard, or Thierry Pri'chard in French, but you can just call me 'Prof,' and that's why my own nameplate shows only this word."

What he called nameplate was a foil-like item twice the size of a business card, shining silkily and showing the word 'Prof' in slightly iridescent colours.

"It can be fixed everywhere, and it can be removed equally well, but it's not sticky, because there's a bit of magic in it to make it hold and not getting lost." Harry put his nameplate at the left side of his dress and pressed for a moment. "See? That's how it's done, and that's the right place for a nameplate. And now it's your turn. When I call your name, come to me to get your own nameplates."

He held the class file in the left hand while seizing for the next plate with the right. "Abérnard, Justine!"

A girl came forward, received her plate that showed the name 'Justine' in large letters and the name 'Abérnard' in smaller ones, and trundled back while examining the thing from all sides.

Despite his announcement, Harry had to repeat once more that no, there wasn't a foil to be removed from the sticky side - just pressing was enough.

By the time he called, "Broussard, Chloé!" the general attention had shifted to the few girls that already wore nameplates. So he could get the piece of paper he had prepared and say, "Could you please hold that for a second?" while rummaging in his pocket as if the next plate had decided to stick inside.

Chloé's eyes grew big for an instant because the paper she should hold for him showed this text:

Then she nodded in response to Harry's inquiring look, took her plate, returned the sheet, and walked back with the plate in her hand as if it was the most boring thing of the world.

Looking up, Harry could register just one face that had followed this quick exchange and that showed a bit of curiosity, and this face belonged to his own daughter. However, when he called, "Garcia, Esmeralda!" she looked normal again and was only interested in her own nameplate, beaming about this gimmick like all the other girls.

The warm-up that followed was just the introduction to more hip-hop steps, because nobody felt inclined to do somersaults or throw balls. When the double Sports was over, Madame Resnais and her conventional methods seemed gone for eons.

* * *

Sandra could hear the music through the closed door of the rehearsal space. An instant later, Caitlin's voice rose, unmistakable even through the muffling of the door. She stopped to listen. After a few seconds, she turned to Frédéric at her side and said, "Well, if the other girl has reached that point, my job here's done."

Frédéric gave no reply, though his face asked the silent question of whether the odds of that happening were really higher than those of hell freezing over.

Sandra grinned. "I'm only supposed to make her sing. Nobody asked me to hone her vocal cords."

"Oh, it's just a matter of time," predicted Frédéric gloomily.

"I don't think so, because from what I've heard, the contrast between the two voices creates a much more appealing sound than just two high sopranos."

"... said the crow to the nightingale," added Frédéric in mock agreement.

Sandra had a short fit of the chuckles. Steadying again, she said, "Don't make my job more difficult than it already is."

Frédéric looked slightly offended. "What do you take me for? I'd never say that in public."

"No, but now that you've told me, I only need to hear her singing for that remark to pop up in my mind, just when I'm busy keeping the trance ... Anyway, let's give it a try." Sandra pushed the handle.

The door refused to open. It was locked.

Sandra didn't even look to see whether there was a bell to signal their request for entering. She could have unlocked the door with the mental technique learned from her father, but there were more reasons to avoid such an act than simple politeness toward those who'd locked the door. By reflex, she avoided presenting superior magical powers in the presence of people outside her family, with Frédéric included and maybe even in first place. Instead, she simply intensified the loose mental contact to her brother that had been created by the proximity.

Moments later, the music inside stopped. A faint Click could be heard from the door, and Gabriel's presence in Sandra's mind told her to come in. She opened the door.

"Damn super wizards," came a low-voiced remark from her side. Frédéric's glance toward the low stage at the other end of the room made clear who he meant: Gabriel stood there waiting, grinning like a little boy at the fun of having saved a walk to the door.

Sandra grabbed Frédéric's hand and marched to the stage. "Hi, folks," she said, "I'm here to get someone singing, and to make it a real test, I've brought a mini-audience with me."

"That's just his official justification," called Héloise from her place behind the Felison, "while in fact Frédéric came for his only chance ever to see you in high boots and hot pants ... By the way, where's your dress?"

"Yeah, right, just forget it," snorted Sandra into the general laughter, with cheeks more flushed than she would have liked. "I'm ready to play the tambourine. I'm ready to sing chorus or just to pretend singing, so that I look normal behind Moira. That's up to you - pick your choice."

"Chorus and tambourine," said Caitlin.

"Let's try tambourine first," said Gabriel. "Tomas had some objections, but then he's the one who brought one, so we can check whether it works." He went to a corner, came back with the instrument and gave it to Sandra. "Here. Try it."

Sandra inspected the instrument. Basically a single-sided drum with little bells around, the tambourine was played by holding it with one hand and beating it with the other in the rhythm of the music. It looked so simple - until there was a tambourine in your hand and eight people staring at you expectantly.

She looked up. "And how? Shall I just beat it?"

It was Michel who reacted first. "I'll beat my drums," he said, "just something to create a rhythm, and you beat your tambourine just where and when you think it makes sense. Okay?"

"Just a second." Sandra did a few tentative beats to get a first impression of how to hold the instrument, then she nodded. "Ready."

At this occasion, Michel played the four-bodied tubular drums. These were four wooden tubes of different sizes, the biggest of them one foot in diameter and about four feet long. They were open at both ends and floated inches above their normal rest, held in the air by a built-in spell so that no physical support would dampen the resonance.

Michel used solid steel bars as drumsticks. They were a bit too heavy for a quick drum roll, but this instrument from Miyikura wasn't intended for such percussion anyway.

For a minute or two, Sandra listened to the pounding from Michel and his four tubes, let herself be caught by the mesmerizing sounds while somewhere in the background of her mind, a presence assured her that there was no need to feel embarrassed and that music would develop from playing the tambourine. Then she started to beat the instrument.

---

The first dozen beats were spent getting used to it. The second dozen went for figuring out how she could vary something by beating the drum harder or more gently. Then she felt in sync with Michel's rhythms, and when the other instruments came to join - the flute first, followed by the harp, and finally Tomas with his guitar - it felt wonderful and the easiest thing of the world.

At first, it had sounded like a free improvisation in Sandra's ears. But suddenly the music around her sounded quite familiar, and a moment later, when Caitlin began to sing, Sandra realized that Dragonfly had given her a flying start into her first song on stage.

She smiled, feeling absolutely great, until Gabriel's wave in her mind and the desperate look from Moira told her that this was real, that she had to trance the second singer.

She sent the trancing wave with her free hand, still a bit clumsy and leaving much room for improvement from how it looked. But Moira started singing, and that was the purpose, wasn't it?

And Frédéric had been wrong with his remark. Yes, there was no doubt about Caitlin being the nightingale, but Moira wasn't the crow, or at least there was nothing discordant in the way how the second voice contributed to the song.

At the same time, Sandra became aware that less was more with the tambourine while the girls were singing. By the time the song ended, she had a fair guess how to handle it in the long run.

Somewhat breathlessly, she stepped forward to the border of the stage and looked down at her mini audience. "How was it?"

Frédéric stopped his applauding. "The truth or the polite version?"

"The truth!" called several voices at once.

"Well, then ..." Frédéric jumped upon the stage to be at eye level with the others. "First, I can confirm that the musical streak in the Potter family wasn't limited to Gabriel, which would have been strange anyway. The tambourine adds a nice touch, and with a bit more practising, you'll be ready for public performances."

Sandra bowed, feeling very pleased.

"Next" - Frédéric turned to Moira - "I have to take back what I said to Sandra outside, about the mix of the two voices. You two sound great together."

"What did you say?" asked Moira. "Tell me now, while the trance from Sandra still has some effect."

"It wasn't very nice, so I shouldn't - "

"Tell me!"

Frédéric would leave no such challenge unresponded. "I said something about the crow and the nightingale."

Moira waved with her arms and called, "Kraah, kraah," raising laughter from the others.

"Then where's the bitter truth?" asked Sandra.

"I was coming to that," replied Frédéric. He shifted his gaze to Tomas and Gabriel. "You need a keyboarder."

As Sandra watched, her brother bit his lips, which told her that he agreed with Frédéric. But Tomas asked, "How would you know?"

"Huh?" Frédéric looked uncomprehending. "I listened, didn't I?"

Sandra opened her mouth to explain but once more Héloise was quicker. "He plays the piano," she informed Tomas. "In a family such as the Pouilly's, a skill like that goes without saying."

"Whoa," said Tomas unimpressed. "Tell you what, join us!"

"Ha!" replied Frédéric.

At this moment, someone was hammering at the door.

Sandra saw - and felt - her brother's short concentration. Watching the door, unsure whether the person outside had noticed the unlocking, she saw it open.

It was Ireen, the band manager. "What's this?" she called. "Why do you lock yourself in? I come to give you the big news, and all I find is a locked door?"

"Sorry," said Gabriel when Ireen had reached the group, "but if we leave the door unlocked, there's a constant coming and going of students who think that what we're doing here's something public."

Ireen looked from one to the other, with a short appreciative smile when she noticed the tambourine still in Sandra's hands. Then she said, "Now, who's going to do me the favour and ask me what news I have?"

---

Some Dragonfly members looked puzzled at this unfamiliar behaviour from their band manager, but Michel simply asked, "Well, Ireen, what are the big news you have for us?"

"I've got your first real tour settled."

"What? ... When? ... Where?"

Sandra hadn't joined in the uncoordinated chorus of questions. Feeling pleased in sympathy with the band in general and her brother in particular, she watched as Ireen put a magical map on the stage floor, which was the signal for the Dragonfly people to quickly form a circle with Ireen and the map in the middle.

A magical map was the size of a large book, looked like one of these flat computer monitors but without base, and could be zoomed to any scale from a world map to a small-town street map. Ireen activated the map, which presented a world map. Then she touched a spot to zoom in.

Sandra craned her neck, but all she could see from her position was that this spot belonged to Europe, a fact she didn't count as surprising news.

Ireen touched the map again and said, "There we go ... Sweden, more exactly the south of Sweden."

"Sweden?" People stared at each other to see whether someone might know more about Sweden.

"Five cities in as many weeks," said Ireen, who hadn't noticed the helpless looks because she was busy pointing a spot in the map. "Here it starts - Joenkoeping. Then comes Linkoeping, then Norrkoeping, then we visit Stockholm. And, finally, Uppsala for good measure."

"What names!" said Caitlin, and next moment she started to chant, "Wonkoeping, Donkoeping, Bongkoeping, Songkoeping - and what was the fifth? ... Oh yes, Uppsalabim - bam - baa - saladou - saladim."

To the amusement of several people but not including the band manager, she had fallen into the tune and the words of a well-known children's song about a cuckoo.

Ireen fixed the girl with her stare. "Listen, sweetheart, none of these cities is smaller than hundred thousand inhabitants, and there are two concerts in each of them, so you better get prepared - "

Caitlin knelt down besides Ireen and, by way of an apology, simply hugged the woman. "Bangin' cool! Awesome! Ten concerts!" She came up again, turned to Moira, grabbed her with both hands and tried to dance a ring-a-ring-o'roses, chanting, "Ten concerts! - Ten concerts!"

Moira said, "Oh, my God!"

"Now give it a rest and let her explain!" called Héloise, and toward Ireen, she asked, "Why just Sweden, of all places?"

Ireen came up, the precious map in her hand. "I tried here and there, and then it was one of Desmond's contacts who caught the hook, and offered a tour where the other side is in charge of most of the organization, with halls and everything."

"Which halls? What audience? Tell us more!"

Ireen explained, "The pattern is this, the first concert in each city is on Friday evening, that's when the older audience is expected. The second concert is the next day, that means on Saturday afternoon. It's planned for younger kids, but if some of the older ones didn't get tickets the day before, or if they couldn't make it, they'll get a second chance."

"Teeny-bopper disco!" called Michel, to the great amusement of those who were several years safer than Michel himself from being counted in this category.

"You're bloody ignorant," replied Ireen calmly. "You have no idea what a market's growing in that age group. And what's more, Dragonfly is a first-rate band for them - not only for your musical style, now that you have singers, but still more for family structures. Brother and sister wasn't bad before, but now we can claim brothers and sisters from two different families - "

"What?" Sandra took a step forward, incredulous.

Ireen pointed at the tambourine that rested forgotten in Sandra's hand. "You're in, aren't you? Trancing where required, and playing the tambourine otherwise."

"Hey, wait a sec!" Alarm was rapidly growing. "I hadn't planned to join a tour of ten concerts!"

Moira looked greenish. "But I need you! How else can I survive these concerts?"

"What's the problem?" asked Ireen.

"Well, I have my own schedules - the Theatre Group, in case you forgot. I'd planned to give Moira a kick start, and that was that, or so I thought."

"You can travel faster than anyone else," said Ireen, "with the exception of your brother. You can be back a minute after the curtain falls - I mean, you'd miss the best part, no denying that, but it would be possible."

"And what if - " Sandra interrupted herself. "When does this tour start?"

"In four weeks."

"That would mean the worst conflict is with some rehearsals, if any ..." Sandra felt the pleading look from Moira, the expectant look full of hope from Ireen, and the gentle mind presence of her brother, who didn't press in any way but left no doubt of his opinion.

Héloise grabbed her by the shoulders, "Gotcha, girl."

Sandra's deep sigh drowned in the applause of the other Dragonfly members, who had registered this surrender instantly. She smiled in a mix of resignation and anticipation.

Checking for the reaction of her brother at one side and Frédéric at the other, she saw that both of them were looking thoughtful, apparently planning ahead from two different perspectives.