Potter Professions

Harry used the time until dinner for some grading, a task for which he still felt inadequate. The essays he'd received from his English courses were miserable in general and pathetic in detail. More than once, he felt seriously tempted to draw a big red 'X' across the sheet and write below, 'Try again.' But these were his own students, and if they couldn't write a reasonable essay, then was there anyone else but himself to blame?

Maybe not after just a few short weeks. For sure he would blame himself a few months from now, should his task keep him that long at this school. Harry was painfully aware that his capabilities for teaching Sports were considerably better than those for English. Not that anyone bothered; with the overall quality of education at this school, even his English courses ranked above average - so much he knew already. But this pitiful state wasn't extraordinary in any sense; inadequate teachers were a common problem, and he hadn't taken the job for matters of pedagogic improvement.

He hadn't taken the job to cure handicapped little witches either, but he was going to do it anyway, right after dinner. As often before, he regretted that teachers and students didn't share the same dining hall. This outdated separation prevented him from having a look at his patient, or client, or whatever was the proper term for the girl in this situation.

He wasn't that hungry, but decided to join dinner in the teachers' hall at least for a few minutes. Maybe he was watched, maybe even by Chloé; he didn't know. Sitting alone in a corner, he ate almost nothing, only made some baguette sandwiches to take with him; later in the evening, they'd be more than welcome.

Not the healthiest mode of nourishment. He was aware of it while he fixed them, remembering well that a man his age should take a bit more care, especially after having lost weight so successfully in the past weeks. But damn if he cared about that too, in addition to anything else on his agenda.

---

It was still five minutes to the agreed time when he heard the knock at his door.

"Come in!"

The door opened, and Chloé entered hesitantly.

Harry, who'd been sitting behind his desk, stood up to welcome her with a smile and to escort her to the only halfway convenient chair. "Sit down here," he said, pointing, "and make yourself comfortable as if you'd prepare for an evening of TV."

The girl just stared at him with confusion in her face.

"Sit down," repeated Harry. "When the booster takes effect, for a few minutes you won't be able to keep yourself upright. But we don't need a hospital bed for that; this chair will do just fine."

She sat down like the book example of the decent student after hours.

"Relax," he urged. "Your position's right if you can fall asleep without moving a muscle, not even a lolling of your head."

She tried. "How ... how does it work?"

Harry went to his desk and came back with the small bottle. "Look here, that's the booster. You'll drink it. The effect kicks in instantly, it'll feel like - " He interrupted himself. "Did you ever try liquor?"

Chloé shook her head. "I sipped some wine, once."

"Well, the booster will feel as though someone had filled you with hot liquid. It doesn't take long - like a very short but very strong fever. I'll be - "

"Fever? Like the one Carlos had?"

"Carlos?" For a second, Harry's eyes grew as big as those of Chloé a moment ago. "Carlos Garcia?"

"Yes, him. He said he lost his magic in a fever."

"Oh, did he?" Harry admonished himself and made a mental note to talk with his spy son. "Well, whatever that was, the booster effect isn't a real fever, it only feels like that for a few minutes. Say, did you ever have trouble with a weak heart?"

"No - er, I don't think so," responded Chloe timidly, "but I'm not sure. Why, is it dangerous?"

"It could cause some trouble for people with a weak heart. Buf if your heart was that weak, you'd know for sure because you couldn't even run more than a few steps. From what I could see earlier this afternoon, you have breath in your lungs for ten miles, right?"

A tentative smile appeared in the girl's face, only to be replaced quickly by new concern.

"If - if it works, if it makes me a real witch, how long will it take until I have magic?"

"When you come awake, everything's done - provided it works, but I have little doubt."

Obviously, Chloé had more. Then her eyes widened again. "Oh - I forgot my wand in my dormitory. Can I just go and fetch it?"

Harry smiled more broadly. "Don't you worry about your wand now, because I have a little surprise for you - that is, if the booster works, but as I said, I'm very confident."

"Yes, okay." Something in his face had calmed her down, and maybe she had an idea what kind of surprise that might be, because for the first time he could feel something akin to joyful expectation in her.

"I'll be here with you all the time. If you feel something on your shoulders, these are my hands - to support you so you won't fall to the side ... Ready?"

She inhaled deeply. "Yes."

He put a stool behind the chair, sat down, and gave her the opened bottle. "Here - drink steady; the taste's nothing spectacular."

From her movements, he could see how she tasted the first drops before dropping her reluctance and emptying the bottle.

Sitting on the stool behind her, his left hand already on her shoulder, he took the bottle from her hands to put it down at his side. "How did it taste?"

"Erm - a bit oily, like something that - "

Chloé's reply ended in a short gasp, followed by heavy breathing. Harry put his other hand on her right shoulder and made contact at mental level. He just had time to send the message, It's all right, I'm with you, when the booster reached its full power.

---

Groucho Biochemicals had done a lot since the days of the first booster. Their engineers had made sure that even a person with a weak constitution would survive the medicine. The time of uproar had been shortened to something between three and five minutes. They had, as far as they knew, even reduced the force at which the heat inside the body kicked in, something that was difficult to measure because any patient would undergo such a cure only once.

But it was still a frightening experience. Harry sent another wave of encouragement and a message that said, Everything proceeds as expected, although not in words, and the girl's mind responded with a message to tell him that this was far from pleasant but tolerable.

Two minutes passed. Chloé's state was stable despite the uproar in her body and mind when Harry heard a knock at the door.

He had no idea who that might be, but he didn't need anyone now, and he didn't need three more knocks, either, while holding contact with the girl. "Not now!" he called. "Come back in half an hour!"

There was no response, no sound either. But a second later, the door opened. The figure of Agnès Serafini came into view - the colleague who had seen him and Chloé leaving this building some days ago.

She looked very determined while marching straight toward Harry and the girl. And in addition to her tense expression, she had her wand ready. This wand was now pointing at Harry's head.

"What are you doing there? Stop it - tout de suite!"

Agnès' voice was a bit shrill but not rising; Harry could feel that she had made her decision, and taken her courage to intervene.

"Hello, Agnès," he said. "Please get yourself a chair and sit down for a moment."

"I said stop it! I'll count to three. One ..."

"You're putting the girl at risk!"

"The girl?" Agnès looked at Chloé and her closed eyes. "For all I know, she's more at risk with you than with anything else!"

Harry could hear the first doubt in the woman's accusation. "This will take still two minutes or so," he said, using the most pacifying voice he could muster, "then we can talk. So please ..."

While Agnès was busy fetching Harry's desk chair - the last one his apartment offered - and sitting down out of his reach but with her wand still at the ready, Harry had to calm down two minds. The first was Chloé's, who hadn't responded well to the short interruption in his mental support, and the other was his own, where a terrible temptation to disarm and frighten Agnès had to be fought down. He could have sent the spell with his bare hands, only it wouldn't improve matters much, aside from his own mood.

Maybe it was Chloé's natural female curiosity, which only had registered that there was something new in the room. Sooner than expected, Harry could feel that she was coming fully awake.

An instant later, she opened her eyes. "Phew, that was hot," she croaked.

Deep mistrust sprang up in Agnès eyes. Again pointing her wand at Harry, she snarled, "What was this? Did you dope her?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Harry.

"No, he didn't," said Chloé, her voice almost back to normal. "He gave me a drink - er, Madame Serafini."

The word drink did no good to Agnès' ease of mind. She turned to the girl. Hardly friendlier than before, she asked, "What did he give you? What are you doing here?"

Before the girl could answer, Harry said, "Chloé, Madame Serafini came in without being invited because she thought I'd do something very indecent with you."

Chloé giggled, then giggled again.

With some relief, Harry noticed that these silvery sounds calmed Agnès down much better than any short explanation he might have given. Taking his hands off the girl's shoulders, he grabbed the bottle from the floor and presented it to Agnès.

"Here, that's what she got, to make her a complete witch."

Harry watched how the label on the bottle shut up Agnès completely, in particular since she seemed to know what it meant. Then he turned to his patient.

"Can you stand?"

Chloé tried and, after a moment's staggering, steadied. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Then wait a second ..."

Harry stepped behind his desk, dived down, and came up with a cardboard box.

"Here, have a look - these are some second-hand wands, but they're still in good shape. I want you to pick the one you like best and keep it. You can try all of them; just find out which of them feels most comfortable."

Chloé's eyes lighted up. "That's what I thought a few minutes ago, when you said something about a surprise," she confessed, "only somehow I couldn't ..."

Seeing Harry's grin, she didn't bother to finish her sentence, and instead concentrated on the cardboard box and its contents.

---

Harry used the time to exchange a long but silent look with Agnès, then the girl straightened again. By now she held a light-coloured wand with a reddish tinge in her hand. The awe in her face, and her movements when coming up from the box, as if going through slow motion, indicated something like love at first sight.

"Try it," said Harry.

Chloé whooshed the wand through the air, leaving a sparkling ribbon of colours that faded an instant later.

"That looks to me as if witch and wand have met." Harry pointed at the box. "Do you want to try the others?"

Chloé shook her head, stared at her new wand, and looked up again, all in quick succession.

"I'm a witch? I'm really a witch who can do magic?"

"Didn't you see what just happened?" Harry smiled at her by way of reply. "Do it again."

Chloé did, and did so a third time. She stared at the colours, at the fading sparks, and seemed unsure whether to jump in the air or start crying. She looked at Harry, obviously at a loss.

"That's it," he said. "An overwhelming feeling, isn't it?"

She nodded.

Harry took a step forward. Then, unable to suppress an ironic glance to Agnès first, he said, "Since Madame Serafini is here to watch, it's okay if you want to hug me instead of all your friends who aren't here."

Yes, that was more or less what the girl had needed. She slung her arms around him and hid her face in his shirt for a long moment. Then she freed herself just enough to murmur, "Thank you," before hugging him once more.

"It was a pleasure," said Harry. "There's one duty left - if you'll let me go to my desk ..."

The girl let go of him. He felt her stare following him when he stepped around his desk to look into a list. After a short examination and a cross-check into the box, he looked up. "The wand you've chosen is birchwood, ten inches."

"And the core?"

"Unicorn hair."

"Unicorn hair ..." It was an awestruck whisper. Next moment, Chloé looked alarmed. "Do I have to leave the school now?"

"That's up to you," explained Harry. "You can stay, or you can return to the school where you were before. Whatever you do, take your time and give it a few days - and if you want to learn a spell or two, ask me, or Madame Serafini ..."

Agnès, who looked about as thunderstruck as the girl a moment ago, managed a nod.

"So, if there isn't anything else you want to know, you're done here," finished Harry.

"Erm - Prof, could you please show me the spell to make light? I think it's called Lumos ..."

If Chloé had planned to say something more, she forgot it at the sight of her wand, whose tip had started glowing - maybe not particularlary impressive, but there was a stable glow.

Harry laughed. "See? You can practise that by yourself. All you need is the finishing spell. It's Finite incantatem. Say it."

Chloé had to ask again, then she was able to switch off her wand successfully. She said, "Thank you, Prof," and started toward the door.

Agnès came awake. "I think I'll accompany you to your building," she said and stood up, about to follow Chloé.

Harry took a few quick steps. "Chloé can find her way alone, but the two of us have to talk a bit." His hands pressed the woman back onto her chair, and what he sensed in this moment, as a happy witch girl waved goodbye to them, was a kind of desperate embarrassment.

---

When the door was closed, Harry said, "This would be the right time for offering a drink, except that I'm poorly equipped in that regard. So - "

"No, it's okay. Please - I'm awfully sorry for suspecting you - er, the way I did, and barging into your apartment. I wasn't aware of what was going on, but who'd expect something like that? This bottle - I've heard about these potions, and according to what I've heard, they're incredibly expensive. I mean - "

Harry grinned. "You're suspecting me again, except you don't know of what, and in addition, you're too embarrassed to admit it. Am I right?"

"Er - yes." Agnès looked guilty but again determined. "Where did you get it?"

"From a sponsoring organization. I can't buy that stuff, and stealing it is impossible." He grinned inwardly at these words, which were closer to the truth than Agnès would ever know.

"And why? Why for Chloé?"

"Well, I could just say what you saw some minutes ago is the best answer. But what you probably mean is, why me, and why Chloé, right? Then I can only say that I stumbled upon her in the first few days of the school year, and one thing led to another."

Judging by appearances, he had told her the truth, but Agnès still seemed dissatisfied with his explanation. She glanced at the box on Harry's desk and said, "These wands there ... second-hand wands, eh? There's no such thing as a second-hand wand. Chloé didn't know because she wasn't a witch before, but I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Harry went to his desk and looked into the box. He shuffled playfully through the wands in it, then looked at Agnès again.

"Okay, so maybe there's no such thing as a second-hand wand, and maybe all these wands were carefully selected by a wandmaker who'll receive the others back. But for all Chloé knows, it wasn't expensive, and that's exactly how I want it to be. What's wrong with that?"

"Maybe nothing, maybe everything ... Why would you do that? What's your own profit?"

Harry remembered a scene more than twenty-five years ago, when an untidy half-giant by the name of Hagrid had pulled him into a shop with a weird wandmaker, and a while later, a stunned-looking boy had left the shop, thrilled to the hairtips at the prospect of working with the wand in his hand. But he couldn't explain that to Agnès.

"My profit? Let's say I pay back to someone who's long dead, and the beneficiary is a girl who was found crying her soul out in a dark staircase ... And besides, what's your business with this issue? How come you came storming into my office just now?"

Agnès' face coloured vividly. "I had - I had the wrong suspicion, pretty much exactly what you told the girl. I'm sorry for that, but - well, at this school you don't expect to meet someone who does what you did for Chloé. And - erm, you were the last person of whom I'd expect such altruism."

She stood up, her face dark red. "I'm very sorry, and I apologize for my bad judgment. Can I go now?"

Harry grinned. "I'm very pleased to hear that I fooled you so successfully. But I want to hear a bit more about what to expect at this school. It seems to me that you know things and stories, and I want to hear them. If you promise me not to leave, I'll go for a bottle of wine, because that talk might take a bit longer."

Agnès stared at him. "Who are you?"

"Someone who came to this school to hear the stories you obviously know."

"That's - " Agnès stepped forward, grabbed the empty booster bottle and held it up. "Where does this come from?"

"From Groucho Biochemicals, the only manufacturer."

She made another step toward the box. "And these wands?"

"From a shop that's called Ollivander's. Tomorrow I'll return the others and tell Mr Ollivander how it went. He refused to be paid, but I think he'll be very pleased because the birchwood piece was what he'd guessed."

"Mister? Is this an English shop?"

"Actually, yes. After all, I'm English."

"Are you? Then what do you have to do with a school in France where things happen that shouldn't happen?"

Harry smiled. "That's a long story, and you seem to be an expert in asking one question after the other, but it's been your turn for quite a while already to tell a tale. But let me fetch a bottle first - is red wine okay?"

"Yes." A first smile appeared in Agnès face.

Harry apparated into Carron Lough, directly into the basement where his stock of wines could be found. For a second, he pondered the idea of summoning Agnès into the castle, but dismissed it. That would come later, when they knew a bit more about each other than a shared interest - or, more exactly, a shared disgust.

* * *

Gabriel had left the rehearsal in a mood that alterned between strong satisfaction and disquieting doubt. The news from Ireen was the satisfying part; if the band members played their cards right and delivered a reasonable performance at these ten concerts, Dragonfly would make a quantum leap in their development. But there were some nagging doubts.

Frédéric had raised them, with his remark about a keyboard player. No, that wasn't true; Frédéric had only said aloud what Gabriel had thought several times before while working on the new songs for Caitlin - wrong again, Caitlin and Moira. Gabriel had played the keyboard occasionally, but he'd never planned to give up the flute. He saw his natural expansion field in other wind instruments like harmonica, and maybe close relatives like an accordion or a concertina. Still, he knew better than anyone else in the band that they were short of the instrument which, in many other groups, created the underlying texture.

For a short moment after Frédéric's remark, Gabriel had been determined to close that gap as quickly as possible. Then Ireen had arrived and had announced her news, making it clear that Dragonfly had four weeks to complete their concert program. For that alone, the time frame was already dangerously tight, so any idea of incorporating a keyboard player could only be called madness.

But this was a crucial moment in their musical career. They had to do it right, they had to present a complete performance on stage. And the time frame was chokingly tight only for the first two concerts; after them they'd have another week.

And the keyboard wasn't needed in every song. Well, except that his ideas for the new songs, which placed the singer in the centre, had a tendency to demand a background that could best be provided by a keyboard.

Had his father been available, Gabriel would have presented his dilemma and asked for advice. But Harry was playing teacher in the northwest corner of France. Gabriel's mother was in Canada, and his sister - but he wouldn't ask Sandra; she was much too involved in her own things.

Alone with the house-elves in Carron Lough, he imagined what his father would have said. I'm not a musician, son, would have been his words, so you must tell me whether it's true that Dragonfly needs a keyboard player.

"Yes, it's true. And most of all for the new songs."

Then his father would have asked, How short are four weeks?

"Incredibly short." After all, they were students and had a bit more to do than rehearse day and night.

His father would have thought for a moment. Then he would have said something like, What's worse? To be on the right track but desperately short of time? Or to be on time but incomplete? And to know it all the time, at the end of each rehearsal asking yourself whether it was really the better choice?

That did it.

The growing calmness inside himself told Gabriel that he'd made up his mind. It was still an open question because someone else would be involved who might have the same concerns - who would have them for sure - but at least he knew what he himself wanted.

---

The next day, he used the first long break between classes to call Frédéric. When the expected voice in his phony asked what was the matter, he said, "Hi, Frédéric, I'd like to talk with you about what you said yesterday at the rehearsal, after the one song. Can we meet?"

"Sure, any time after classes," came the reply, slightly astonished. "Just jump to your sister, you'll find me somewhere in her trail."

Frédéric's words conjured up a picture of a horde of young men following Sandra's every step, with him being one of them. Gabriel knew for sure that this picture was wrong, but he also knew - and maybe better than the two people directly involved - why the mood of Frédéric's reply came closer to the truth than it looked. But that wasn't his problem.

"Actually, I wanted to meet you without anyone else around."

There were a few seconds pause, probably more to figure out why Gabriel didn't want witnesses rather than to find a meeting place and time. Then Frédéric said, "Four o'clock in the park in front of the school entrance? Then we can decide where to go from there."

Gabriel said that was fine with him, and for the remaining classes of the day, his concentration on the topics on the agenda was severely limited. When he reached the park, Frédéric wasn't visible yet but arrived only minutes later.

"Hi, Gabriel," he said. "Where do you want to talk?"

At this time of the day, meeting at the Goblin Weasleys, which meant Héloise and Michel's parents' house in the Goblin quarter, for coffee and sweet cake would have been a common pattern. While the house was out of the question for the talk Gabriel had planned, the picture of some cake started to fill his mind quite dominantly.

"Some place where we can find something to eat," he said. "I can offer Carron Lough, but if you know a nice bistro here - it'd still be on me, I was told you've learned a lot of good places recently."

"Oh, were you?" Frédéric eyed him with some suspicion. "Well, it's true, only there isn't a place that beats Dobby and Winky when it comes to cake."

"Then let's go."

They had to walk farther through the park to leave the protection field around the school building before they could apparate. When Frédéric announced that he would apparate into the castle yard, as he'd just learned the skill and still wouldn't trust his accuracy, Gabriel followed suit out of politeness.

Even so, minutes later they were sitting in the deep armchairs of the library, each of them with a dish in hand, munching chocolate cake. Gabriel had preferred this room over the dining room with the large round table; the atmosphere in the library seemed better suited for the conversation he had in mind.

"All right," said Frédéric after the first piece was wolfed down. "You made it quite mysterious. What's up?"

"You said we need a keyboard player."

"Well, yes, it's true, especially since you started to present normal songs - I mean, don't get me wrong - "

"I know what you mean," interrupted Gabriel. "I've had the same feeling before, while working on the new songs. And now that you've said it aloud - it's like déjà-vu. Some weeks ago Alexandra said we need a singer, and now you said we need a keyboard player."

Frédéric looked as though waiting for a punch line he dreaded. "If you agree with me, I don't need to explain why I said it. Then what am I doing here?"

Gabriel could sense how Frédéric's suspicion was already following the right track. So he made it short and simple. "We're here because I want to ask you ... Would you like to join Dragonfly as our keyboardist?"

"No."

---

Short, clear, and precise. But it didn't solve Gabriel's problem, so he asked, "Why not?"

"My God, there are so many reasons not to do it ..." Frédéric made an angry gesture. "Isn't it enough that I've said no?"

"There's a tour four weeks from now. If we do it right, it might be a kind of breakthrough. But to do it right, we need - "

"A keyboardist, yes, I can sing that song too. But this is your problem, not mine."

"Are you afraid you won't be up to the task?"

"I didn't ask that myself because I had no reason. I have no intention of doing it. Period." Frédéric's voice had turned cool; suddenly he was a Pouilly of seventeen who refused to follow the crazy imaginations of a fourteen-year-old.

"Just long enough for us to look for a replacement! To cover the tour," Gabriel pleaded. He would swallow much worse remarks in pursuit of his goal.

However, Frédéric seemed not inclined to make remarks of that kind or any other. He stood up. "Sorry if I didn't make myself clear, but before this conversation turns really embarrassing, I guess it's better that - "

"Sandra's joined for the tour."

Frédéric stopped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that she'll be there on that tour, every single concert."

"That's not an answer to my question! I'm aware of that, so why did you tell me again?"

Not responding to the slightly menacing undertone, Gabriel said calmly, "I wasn't sure whether you were fully aware of it."

Frédéric sat down again. "Is this a very polite form of blackmailing?" he asked.

"No, it isn't." Gabriel didn't grin. "At least not in the usual sense. If there's any such element, then it's only on your own side, and - well, maybe my remark was aimed at that, but - "

"Okay, okay, we both know exactly which string you're pulling." Frédéric leaned back in the armchair - a movement that expressed more resignation than relaxing. "But why should ... you can't offer me anything to change my mind."

"Actually, I think I can," replied Gabriel.

"And what should that be?"

"I think you're not fully aware of what it means to receive applause at the end of a concert," began Gabriel, "and how it makes a bond between the group members. That's one thing. Then - you know that Sandy wants to do theatre, but your own attitude toward the stage wasn't particularly friendly so far. Now, if you join her on the - "

"Are you trying to tell me how to win her heart?" Maybe Frédéric had planned to sound threatening, but if so, with little success.

"To be honest, all I'm pointing out is a possibility because I need a keyboard player urgently, and you're the only one I know." Gabriel gave a short grin. "There isn't anything I can tell you about Sandy's feelings for you, or nothing that she didn't tell you herself already. But maybe you underestimate the constraining force of the High Priestess issue ..."

Frédéric's grimace made clear how much he liked that topic.

"... or maybe you're just ahead of her and forgot that she's basically a year younger than you and Hély and Benoît. All I can tell you is another fact you know already."

Frédéric smiled ironically. "Then please tell me. I'm sure, it'll look great in today's collection of known facts."

"There's no one else around."

Frédéric opened the mouth for a reply, and the expression in his face made clear that he'd understood Gabriel's remark as, 'There's no other keyboard player around.' But an instant later he realized what Gabriel really had said, and closed his mouth rather abruptly.

After a short silence, he said, "Yeah, could be that I didn't see the obvious. And as you said, there's no guarantee, but ..." He grinned. "Maybe I should give it a try. Where's the nearest keyboard?"

Gabriel exhaled deeply. "Upstairs," he said.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Carlos had a realistic feeling of what the word prison really meant. He felt trapped within the walls and fences of the Ecole des Etudiants Magiques Gênés, and this had to do with his new girlfriend.

Something had happened to Chloé. So much he knew for sure. Unfortunately, that was all he knew because she wouldn't tell him and, when asked, said there wasn't anything.

He'd noticed a change in her and had asked, "Is there something up? You're somehow different today." The furious denial, so obviously wrong, told him that the matter had to be approached more carefully.

Next he became aware that it was more than a mood, because the following day this particularly odd feeling was the same, if not worse. He could have sworn Chloé felt uneasy in his company, although that couldn't be the entire truth because she didn't show any ambition to leave him at the first opportunity.

In such a case - no, he didn't know of any comparable case, but still he would have asked one of his older siblings, Gabriel or Sandra, for advice. They weren't available, at least not for a conversation face-to-face, and discussing the matter over a phony didn't feel like an option.

He might have asked Esmeralda. She was within reach, but she wasn't a good candidate for a discussion about Chloé. It was certainly wrong to call Esmeralda jealous. It was similarly wrong to say she disliked the girl, in particular because Esmeralda herself had started the habit of making friends with other people at the school. She wouldn't be a burden concerning Chloé, but then she wouldn't be a help either.

So Carlos would have asked his father or his mother. His mother was out of reach like Gabriel and Sandra, and his father - he could talk with his father only during those short daily meetings, when Esmeralda was around, and altogether Carlos didn't think it was a good idea to raise the issue at these occasions.

This was the situation in which he became aware that a boarding school had all qualities of a prison.

But despite the last six years as a member of a family with many heads, he hadn't forgotten how it was to be left on his own. His first step, an almost natural reflex after his years with Esmeralda, was to watch still more closely for the tiniest reactions.

He scored his first hit pretty quickly. They were walking toward the park, Carlos with Dona Gata in his arms, when they passed Madame Serafini, who taught French to Carlos and Esmeralda's class. They greeted her, Chloé in a surprisingly joyful manner, with the astonishing effect that the teacher looked nearly embarrassed. And when they'd passed her, Chloé giggled.

"What's so funny?" asked Carlos, as casually as he could muster.

"Oh, that teacher," was the somewhat evasive answer.

"Funny? Madame Serafini?" In Carlos' opinion, the woman was certainly one of the nicer teachers, but trying to live off her jokes would mean starvation. "You have her for French too, don't you?"

"Yes, but it wasn't in class that she was so funny. It was something she said to our new Sports teacher."

"And what was it?"

"It - erm, I can't tell you, it's a bit embarrassing, you know."

The new Sports teacher happened to be Carlos' father. Moreover, this new class also included Carlos' sister, something Chloé seemed to have forgotten. Since Esmeralda hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary, Carlos could take it as a given that the funny scene hadn't happened in front of the entire class. That would mean they'd met somewhere else, and Madame Serafini had been there too, and she'd said something which made her embarrassed even in retrospect ... With some breathlessness, Carlos realised that he'd found a hook to pull and that spying wasn't that complicated after all.

---

They sat down on the grass in the park. In a few minutes, Esmeralda would arrive with her new friends and with Bolo, and cat and dog would play together while two parties would watch the scene from two different corners. This was the habit that they'd developed recently.

Carlos asked, "How is he, the new Sports teacher?"

"He's cool. Awfully cool."

The high praise pleased Carlos but didn't surprise him. Harry and his music from the floating loudspeakers had outperformed the rest of the faculty almost effortlessly. But even so, the dreamlike expression of adoration in Chloé's face somehow didn't fit.

Still casually, Carlos decided to test his hypothesis from a moment ago. "Have you been in his apartment?"

Chloé stared at him as if frozen in shock, while a deep blush slowly filled her face. "What ... how do you ... what makes you think I've been there?"

"Was it there that Madame Serafini said something that was funny? At least funny to you, if not to her?"

"Er, yes ... She thought it was something else, me in his rooms, you know what I mean ..."

It seemed as if Chloé felt relieved to have an embarrassing fact she could confess in order to cover a still more embarrassing fact - a technique with which Carlos was quite familiar.

"But how do you know that? Did someone tell you?"

"No, but what you said about Madame Serafini - if it had been in Sports, Esmeralda would have told me - "

"Oh, yes, right."

"But if it wasn't what Madame Serafini had expected, what was it then?" Seeing the reaction on Chloé's face, Carlos decided to strike now. "Because I know that something happened, and I think it was there."

"Yes, you're right," replied a red-faced Chloé. "You're cleverer than I thought."

Carlos almost laughed. "Hey, stop buttering me up! Just tell me!"

"I really would like to tell you," said Chloé pleadingly, "only afterwards you'll be mad at me."

"Why should I?"

"If I tell you that, you already know."

Growing impatient, Carlos said, "I won't be mad at you. I swear by my dead mother's grave that I won't. And now tell me."

Had it really been this oath? To Carlos it felt more as if she'd been dying anyway to tell someone.

"He - he made me a witch, a real one! He had a drink, and it burned like hell but afterwards - he had wands, used ones, and I could pick one, and it worked! I could cast a spell! And since then ..."

Her voice trailed. She looked at him, apparently unable to understand why a broad grin was slowly spreading on Carlos' face.

"Why aren't you peeved now?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I can do magic and you can't! That's why."

"Oh."

Calmer than before, Chloé added, "You aren't as clever as I thought. Your guess must have been a lucky hit. Normally I should leave this school, but - uhm, I don't want to leave, but I want to learn spells, and with each spell I'll be more different from you."

"Show me your wand."

With reluctance in her face but like drawn by an inner force, Chloé pulled her wand out of its poach and offered it to Carlos.

He inspected it. "Really cool. What is it?"

"Birchwood."

"And the core?"

"Unicorn hair."

"Really?" Carlos beamed. "Mine too! Maybe it's even from the same - " He swallowed the last word, Unicorn, because it came close to revealing things that had to be kept confidential. Too late, he realized that any listener would add shop in his mind, with an even worse effect.

But Chloé wasn't in a state to notice such details. She seemed close to tears. "What does it matter? Mine works and yours doesn't, and you must be retarded not to see the problem! And stop grinning like an idiot! You and your cat - I didn't want to leave because of you, but I must have been blind not to notice what a stupid grin you have, so maybe ..." Her voice ended in a sob.

Carlos moved to her side and put an arm on her shoulders. "So this teacher made you a real witch? Then I'll ask him to make me a real wizard."

Chloé stared at him, new hope in her face. A moment later, Carlos could watch as the hope faded when she said, "Why should he do that?"

He chuckled. "You think he does it only for girls?"

She could smile. "No, that's not the point. But this stuff is so expensive, that - " Suddenly she looked wondering. "But he managed to get it for me, didn't he? And I wouldn't have believed it before, never!"

Giving his stupid grin again, Carlos said, "This teacher seems to know a lot of tricks. Asking doesn't hurt - "

He was interrupted by the arrival of a dog who gave him a stormy welcome, then presented more gentleness toward Chloé before he welcomed Dona Gata with a tender care that went to work in the shape of a long, rosy tongue.

Carlos had recovered from Bolo's attack. He waited still a moment until his sister and the other three girls were out of earshot. Then, keeping his voice low, he asked, "So how did it go? If I want to become a real wizard myself, I have to know."

This argument would hardly hold under closer examination. But Chloé wasn't interested in such scrutiny. All she'd been looking for was a living soul to tell her story to; this much Carlos could read from her face before she started to talk about staircases and a strange-looking school with a woman in a white coat.