Potter Professions

Harry greeted Sirius, then stepped aside to let his godfather and Ron shake hands and say hallo. The two men hadn't met for quite a few years, but neither of them had felt a painful gap in their lives. Today they had come together only because he had asked them.

They were in Sirius' house. Choosing this location for their meeting was perhaps an act of politeness from Harry's side, a reference to Sirius' age. Or maybe Harry had simply wanted to have the greatest distance possible between himself and Brest when discussing the only topic on the agenda. Carron Lough was still farther off, true, but that place would have felt odd because these days, Harry didn't see himself as the host in that castle.

They followed Sirius into the room he called his office, with a desk and with several comfortable-looking chairs around a table just big enough to deposit cups but not files. When they all had glasses of something in front of them, Sirius asked, "Okay, Harry, what's up?"

Harry had rehearsed his speech in advance, knowing that otherwise his emotions might get the better of him. So he didn't need time to select his words.

"You know that I'm playing teacher at that school in Brest for magically handicapped children. You also know that I'm doing it because we want to find out why more boys than usual committed suicide there in the last year."

Sirius nodded.

"Well, I found a lot of things that are going awfully wrong at that school, but nothing like what we're looking for. Nothing special, just bad teachers. At least that was the state until the day before yesterday."

Harry took a sip from his drink, mostly to consider one last time how to present what he'd learned. Not finding a better choice than before, he went on.

"Then I had a long conversation with a colleague of mine. A woman - her name's Agnès, and she's been teaching there for years. Erm - from what she said, I guess I have an outline of what's really going wrong there."

"And what's really going wrong there?"

While the question seemed perfectly normal, the tone of Sirius' voice made Harry look sharply at his godfather before answering.

"She's pretty sure that there's a lot of sexual assault going on."

Ron didn't react, which was understandable because he'd heard a summary from Harry the previous evening. When Sirius showed a similar lack of emotion, though, Harry said, "You seem not the least bit surprised."

"Should I?"

"What's more," said Harry by way of an answer, "you look as if that's exactly what you'd expected to hear."

"Small wonder," replied Sirius, "because that is exactly what I expected to hear."

Harry felt his anger rising. "I remember another conversation before I started this plot. I told you everything I knew, but I don't remember any hints in that direction from your side."

Sirius sighed. "Right, and that was fully on purpose, because I didn't want to feed your open mind with my own prejudice. Although, to be honest, it's not a prejudice but hard fact. Harry, for children this age, sexual assault and misuse of any kind represent the majority of all troubles - from a cop's perspective, that is, but ask him" - a jerk of Sirius' head pointed to Ron - "whether it's any different from a teacher's perspective."

A faint colour rose in Ron's cheeks. "Teachers are hardly confronted with the crimes that fill the newspapers - about children that are abducted, raped, and murdered. For compensation, to misuse a word for a change, they learn a lot about all the crimes that never make it into criminal records."

"Which are?" asked Harry. The menace in his voice promised his friend a few unpleasant moments when they were alone again, for not telling him before this meeting.

"Sexual assault in the family," replied Ron unimpressed, "which represents about ninety-five percent of all assaults that occur. Such cases in public are a minority but make better headlines." As if in defiance to Harry's look, he added, "If you read about something like that at a school, usually it's a sports teacher."

Harry swallowed his first reply. After giving himself a few seconds to calm down, he asked Ron, "Did you have the same suspicion as Sirius from the beginning?"

Ron exhaled, which sounded more like a snort. "Yes."

"And you didn't say a word when we sent Carlos and Esmeralda to that school?"

The colour in Ron's face deepened. "It wasn't my idea! You didn't say a word about that when we discussed the plan. The first time I heard about it was much later. And when I heard how tightly supervised they are ..."

When it became obvious that Ron wouldn't finish his sentence, Harry opened his mouth to give the reply he had in mind, but just then his godfather spoke again.

"Calm down, Harry. Ron's probably at least as much an expert in such matters as I, and with respect to the typical crime profile, I'd agree with him. I mean, nobody with such knowledge would recommend sending your children to that school, but now that they're there, and you make check-ups as much as you do, there's no need to run off and rescue them."

"A-ha. So, just for my ease of mind, would you please explain to me what you're talking about?"

---

Sirius exchanged a glance with an unhappy-looking Ron. There was some amusement on Sirius' side, who probably hadn't expected to come to Ron's defence.

"The significant aspect in these cases," he began, "is that the crimes are committed in a climate of confidence. The victims, the children, are fed and lured into a trusting relationship, and often enough you can take the word 'fed' literally."

"You mean," asked Harry while trying to relax, "these crimes aren't committed out of the blue?"

"Right. That isn't true for a potential rapist and murderer who's fighting for control of himself all the time but will lose that fight quite suddenly due to an event or a sight or whatever. If there'd been any such case in Ron's file, the situation would be totally different. This is about perpetrators who commit their assaults after careful planning to make sure they get away with it."

Harry looked incredulous. "Are you trying to tell me I shouldn't worry about Carlos and Esmeralda?"

"Listen, Harry," said Sirius with some sharpness in his voice, "you started a plot, and somehow you managed to send your two younger children to that school while for yourself keeping a naivety that's almost unworldly, as far as I'm concerned. Don't blame us for this situation, okay? And don't accuse us of dragging your feet in any direction."

Harry stared at him with thin lips.

Calmer than before, Sirius continued, "My understanding was that you came to ask for advice so you could better plan your next steps. If there's a good opportunity to send them to another school, fine, do it. But they aren't at any immediate risk while you're sitting here. As is true so often in criminal cases, it's really helpful to stop getting upset and instead have a good look at the simple facts."

Harry turned to Ron. "And you? What's your comment?"

Ron stared back. "I'm a father as much as you are, and I have the same impulses, so I couldn't blame you if you pulled them out of a classroom there. But I'm also in charge of many more children on a professional level. If our suspicion is right, there are some children at that school who have been misused, and will be misused again. Not our children, granted, but those of other parents."

Seeing Harry's look, Ron changed his tone. "You think I sound like a politician? Then let's get to the point. I see a chance to uncover a rotten nest of pederasts, and I would bloody regret seeing that chance spoiled. Esmeralda's at that school with her dog, and that's more protection than you realise. Looking at it from the outside, Carlos is more at risk."

"Isn't he anyway? The suicides were all boys, weren't they?"

"Yes, but that shouldn't be misinterpreted in the sense that only boys are misused there. That's very unlikely. It's just that in our society girls are more drilled in the role of victims, so they're less prone to suicide, that's all."

As if regaining his administrative composure, Ron added, "At least for that reason - in the complete statistics, girl suicides rank higher."

Harry eyed his friend with renewed suspicion. "Did you get that from the same psychologist who explained all the other things? I guess I just heard about the rest much earlier?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders in a way that looked very French to Harry's eyes. "What I just said is basic knowledge for anyone in the education business, just like the statistics about sexual abuse within the family. But yes, the psychologist I consulted reminded me of these facts." Almost casully, Ron added, "I guess he wanted to make sure that I didn't follow the common pattern of public misinformation."

"Of which I'm the best example, huh?"

"Yes," confirmed Ron, "of which you're the best example. And now that you - in all your innocence - come and report that this Agnès is convinced that sexual assault is taking place in that school, we can take it as a given."

Harry fell back in his chair, suddenly feeling tired. "All right, please enlighten me. Tell me the sad facts."

"Why?" asked Sirius. "Why bother with general statistics? Why not just concentrate on the situation at hand?"

"Maybe I'm really too naive," sighed Harry, "because right now I don't know what you mean."

---

Sirius inched closer on his chair. "Look. If, say, there was a boy who shows signs of sexual assault, medical proof, my first suspect would be the father, and then the uncle, and then any adult male who's good friends with the family and popular with the children. That's general statistics. But in our case here, we know already that the perpetrators can be found in the school, and most likely in the faculty."

"So it wasn't the caretaker?" asked Harry in a weak attempt of joking.

"No," replied Sirius without even noticing the failed irony. "You need a certain amount of authority for that, that's why janitors or cleaning people are quite unlikely candidates."

"Okay. Based on the known facts, who would be your suspect?"

"Probably several people," replied Sirius without missing a beat. "They'll be working together, covering up for each other, and - what's quite important - they'll assure each other that what they're doing isn't as bad as it looks and that they're still human ... The scale of sexual abuse is quite large - for example, child pornography is quite common these days, except that for suicide - " He stopped because he'd seen Harry react. "What is it?"

"I might have gotten in contact with them," Harry said, then told the other two about the conversation he'd had some days ago at lunch, about making money with little girls dancing to music.

"That's a trail worth following for sure," agreed Sirius, "but be careful. A common mistake in such investigations is to suspect someone just because he's made certain remarks in public, in the presence of witnesses. On the other hand, most likely you'll find various degrees of guilt and involvement, borderline figures and those pulling the strings. So even if they aren't culprits themselves, they probably know names ... By the way, could your colleague really tell you no names or was she just not ready to give you names? What do you think?"

"I'm not sure," confessed Harry. "I came here to get advice on how to proceed. I'll talk with her again, and if we can trust each other more than we did so far - "

"Because you know," interrupted Sirius, "she could be dirty herself. A renegade, maybe, or still an active gang member who was sent out to test you and recruit you, if possible, or to see whether you were trying to establish an independent competition."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, you're right. But at least I feel competent enough to find out whether I can trust her."

Sirius smiled for the first time since the meeting had begun. "Yes, that should be possible." Then he sobered up again. "Because you can't ask the children themselves."

"Yes, I had that feeling, but I won't mind learning a bit more about the psychological background."

Ron signaled Sirius that he wanted to answer, then said, "Concerning the general reluctance of a rape or assault victim to confirm what happened, there's little difference between children and adults, and for that an old cop like Sirius is probably a better source than a psychologist. But for children in particular, there are two major barriers that prevent them from being useful witnesses, and these are the same reasons that cause such heavy traumas. First of all, those children blame themselves for what happened, or is happening again and again. It takes an awful lot of self-esteem to realize that the blame's on the other side, on the adults and persons of authority - and here comes the second trauma. In order to escape the first trap of self-guilt, those children have to admit to themselves that their authorities are rotten pederasts. Confronted with that choice, most of them fall back on their first option - if you'll pardon that expression in this context."

"Is this dilemma the reason for the suicides?" asked Harry.

---

Rather than answering, Ron looked at Sirius.

"Judging from my experience, suicide is atypical," said Sirius. "Actually that was another reason why I didn't want to hint at anything the first time you came to me. It can happen, yes, but normally only after years of perpetual abuse. So if you ask me for my gut feeling, I'd say there's still a factor in the game we don't know yet."

"Yeah, sure," snorted Harry. "It would have been much too simple otherwise."

"It could be something as simple as the additional awareness of being a failure at magic," said Sirius, again not reacting to the sarcasm, which gave Harry the impression that Sirius had attended too many meetings during his active time, had heard too many similar remarks on the prospect of human misbehaviour to respond to them. "But I still think it's something else."

Harry turned to Ron. "What did the psychologist say?"

Ron smiled thinly. "He said that each case is different. Then I asked him if he could drop the professional bullshit for a second and just tell me his opinion, and then he said this number was much too high for his taste, which translates to, 'I haven't got the foggiest why they did it'."

"Okay, then." Harry used his left hand to count with the fingers of his right. "One - there's sexual abuse on a broad scale at that school. Two - there's something else, if an old cop's gut is right. Three - I can't ask the students directly. I might find a child who appears distraught, then I can try to track down recent events, but I can't ask what happened. Four - I can't ask the adults either, because they might be involved."

He rose a hand in which one finger was left for counting. "Then what's five? What can I do? How to proceed?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows as if to say, What did you expect after such a short time? It reminded Harry of how much regular police work was a tedious job, without the weekly miracle.

Aloud, Sirius said, "Keep your eyes out. Collect evidence or anything that might be evidence. Look for patterns, and look for the uncommon, too. Keep the practical details in mind, then you can rule out a lot."

"Practical details?"

Sirius grimaced. "If the goal is child pornography, a hidden camera in a bathroom is all you need to get into business. If the goal is a full-blown, er, penetration, you need a place and a time and nobody around - "

"Or only people with the same goal," interrupted Ron. "Or with a business interest - I remember cases where parents sold their children for hourly - "

"Okay, okay, thanks," interrupted Harry, feeling slightly sick. "I know that I have to do a little homework with reports and case studies and so, but if I feel like throwing up then, at least I'll be alone."

"Right," replied Ron, "that's number six. As good ol' Hermione used to say, 'Go to the library and look it up'."

Harry nodded, showing as little amusement at this remark as Ron. Inwardly, however, he wondered whether he shouldn't prefer a short cut and ask Hermione directly. With her laboratory work and her medical connections, she might have some recommendations of which the two men opposite him hadn't dreamed.

He hadn't told them that Hermione knew. As this conversation had shown, not telling everything was quite a habit in their small task force.

* * *

Sandra walked down the staircase and steered toward the practicing room she knew so well from two different projects, her own Theatre Group and her brother's band. She had joined them, yes, but only for a while and only for a special purpose, certainly not enough to think of Dragonfly as her own band, which would mean considering herself a regular member.

Gabriel had increased the pace of rehearsals, so much so that only specific schedules and tasks were accepted as a reason not to have a rehearsal every day. The other band members - the real band members, Sandra corrected herself - didn't mind, or else complained only when joking about Gabriel the slave-driver. Her own feelings were quite mixed, or maybe not mixed at all but definitely on the less pleased side, but she'd agreed to the task, and she would keep her promise.

Reaching the room, she was greeted with a small movement of the head from Tomas, who was only gradually losing his feelings of resentment against the tambourine - at the same speed, she suspected, which she managed to play the instrument at the right times and with the proper force. Her friend Héloise greeted her as always, with a brief smile that took place more at mental level than on the outside, and only Moira gave a beaming smile that was almost enough to compensate for the efforts. Small wonder; Moira had reached a point where Sandra's presence alone was enough to let her sing without the previous restraints.

I'm a walking placebo, Sandra thought, somewhat morosely.

Moments later, Michel and Caitlin arrived together.

Sandra spent a few seconds musing idly whether this was anything more than a coincidence, and came to the conclusion that, at least for Caitlin, the answer was no. The difference in age was too great.

Then, in rapid succession, three more figures appeared.

The first of them was Frédéric.

Sandra stared at him, her anger rising because she hadn't planned on him watching her at every rehearsal just because she had invited him to accompany her a few days ago. The look on his face, as if to say, What can I do? didn't improve her mood.

"Are you here to play audience?" she asked, rather unfriendly.

She didn't receive an answer because just then another shape appeared in the entrance. It was something that floated a few inches above the floor, obviously under a levitation charm.

Next instant, the one who'd cast that spell came into view. It was Gabriel, with his wand directing the thing toward the stage.

It took Sandra a moment to identify the item, and when she finally recognized it as a keyboard, she wheeled around to stare again at Frédéric, who once more responded with an expression of helplessness, except that suddenly it had a totally different meaning.

Gabriel had reached the stage. With a faint thud, the large instrument came to rest on the stage floor. While Gabriel busied himself connecting the keyboard to the amplifiers, the other band members gathered to examine the shiny piece.

White lacquer? Sandra could swear she hadn't seen it before. This was none of the instruments Gabriel had stored in his own rooms in Carron Lough. It had to be brand new; the smell and the spotless surface seemed to confirm her guess. "Yamaha" was written in gold letters that extended almost across the entire instrument. Not quite as large as a piano but with keys that looked very much the same to Sandra's unprofessional eye, it had several additional rows of switches and controls. A padded player's stool had been fixed to while Gabriel's spell carried it; now, the seat could be moved independently.

"Hi, folks," said Gabriel into the admiring silence. "This is our new keyboard."

"Now that really takes me by surprise," said Michel in mock astonishment, "because to me it looked like a sausage grill."

Sandra couldn't muster the patience to honour this joke of immature quality. She asked, "And who's the player?"

"What a ques- " Héloise didn't get any further with her unsolicited reply because she had automatically turned toward Gabriel and therefore could see him gesturing to the newcomer.

"Here's the one who'll play the keyboard," said Gabriel. "Frédéric Pouilly."

"Enchanté," said Frédéric with an ironic smile into the new silence, which could have been called baffled, or expectant, but definitely not admiring. "I'll be keeping this role till the end of your tour - oops, I mean, our tour in Sweden, and before you ask me why, I always wanted to see the midnight sun, and this is my chance."

---

Michel asked, "Does it matter much that the midnight sun can only be viewed north of the polar circle? And only earlier in the year?"

"No, it doesn't," answered his sister before Frédéric or Gabriel had a chance for a reply. "And stop showing off all that geography! Who needs precocious little brothers?"

"Not me," said Sandra, "I already have my own."

A moment later, seeing the looks from Gabriel and Frédéric, she said, "Sorry, I just couldn't resist the temptation ... But you really took me by surprise."

"Yeah, that's what we had in mind," said Gabriel. On a private channel he added, Please, show a bit more encouragement!

Encouragement? Trancing Moira and playing the tambourine and singing chorus, and now encouraging a seemingly inadequate keyboard player, and no doubt, next time they'd expect her to go and fetch the sandwiches!

After a few seconds, the hot eruption of fury inside her faded, but not enough to muster any encouragement for the new keyboard player.

Frédéric had difficulties, so much even Sandra knew shortly after they'd started playing. She didn't know why - maybe it was the new instrument, quite different from the Steinway grand piano in the Pouilly library, maybe the totally different style of music, hardly comparable to his usual Chopin études ... And truth be told, she didn't care. Frédéric appearing here had caught her on the wrong foot.

After a few more minutes, during which Frédéric's desperation grew visibly, Gabriel announced a break.

"Fifteen minutes minimum," he called. "If you want to go for a drink in the cafeteria, this is the right time." Then he looked at his sister, his expression blank, and only Sandra herself could recognize that he was holding the pokerface even at mental level.

It hurt a bit, such treatment from her brother so shortly after she'd agreed to join them in a ten concert tour. Growing defiant, she decided to stay and watch.

Gabriel walked to Frédéric, who was sitting like a solid piece of misery at the gleaming instrument. They talked for a moment, and as Sandra watched, Gabriel also touched him on the shoulders, which probably meant that he'd sent his own encouragement.

After a few seconds, Frédéric started to play. It wasn't Dragonfly stuff; it was Chopin or Rachmaninoff or whatever, just his usual playing but on the Yamaha keyboard rather than the Steinway.

No doubt, he could play piano. Could he play the keyboard, too?

After several minutes of warming up, Frédéric seemed to explore techniques not available on a piano, to get an initial feeling for the nearly unlimited capabilities of the new instrument. And while Sandra watched, Caitlin walked over to tell Frédéric that she was looking forward to his playing because it could carry her singing much better than the other instruments, and maybe they should try something simple now.

Chopin or whatever came to a sudden stop. Moments later, first Caitlin and then Moira as well sang Sur le pont d'Avignon, accompanied by first the keyboard, then the flute, and then the other instruments shortly afterwards.

The tambourine in Sandra's hand was the last to join - out of embarrassment, rather than defiance.

"Okay, it works," said Gabriel. "Now let's try our own music."

It worked considerably better than before. Sandra guessed that Frédéric was only at the bottom end of an acceptable skill range in more than one regard, but it was a start. His tension had made room for determination, and she knew that he wouldn't stop short of being brilliant, the common Pouilly trademark.

When Gabriel called it a day, Sandra deposited the tambourine in the small storage room next door and went back. She intended to talk with Frédéric about this new development. Coming to the entrance of the practice room, however, she saw that he was still sitting at the keyboard, and that Caitlin was at his side, apparently ready for an extra rehearsal for keyboard and voice only.

Well, then ... At the sight of so much musical ambition, Sandra didn't want to disturb the harmony. And if the ambition went further from either side, that was fine with her too.

Yes, definitely so. The odd feeling in her stomach could only be hunger.

* * *

Esmeralda was sitting in Geography, listening to Madame Rappeneau but with limited attention. This changed quite suddenly when the teacher said, "Well, that's enough for today about the French coasts, because I have to tell you about our school trip, which we'll be going on in three weeks."

School trip? Esmeralda shifted a bit closer to Carlos at her side and whispered, "Do you know what she's talking about?"

A shaking head told her that Carlos wasn't any wiser.

Esmeralda glanced over to the corner where Natalie and Dominique were sitting. Natalie shrugged to indicate that she didn't know more either, then turned her attention back to the teacher.

Madame Rappeneau had walked to the large map that hung from the ceiling. "Here," she said, "that's where your camp will be ..."

The long pointer was tapping at a spot in the upper left half of France, which was all Esmeralda could see from where she was sitting.

"... in the Loire valley, such a magnificent spot, the Parc MiraLuc, and the season's just right, no longer too hot during the day and not yet really cold in the night, so you'll have fun in these tents, with campfires in the evening, and some people play guitar, and you'll sing songs ..."

Madame Rappeneau told them that this school trip was a tradition for new classes, sponsored by MiraLuc, a popular manufacturer for outdoor equipment, which explained why everything took place in a camp with tents. The Parc MiraLuc was located directly at the Loire waterfront. The next big city was Angers.

When the teacher mentioned this, Esmeralda turned again to look at Natalie, who came from there, and who seemed to have mixed emotions about a campsite so close to her home town. But the Parc MiraLuc was between Angers and Saumur, with the small town Le Thoureil as the nearest village.

"It'll start on Thursday, in the early afternoon," said Madame Rappeneau, "and you'll be back on Sunday evening. MiraLuc takes care of everything; all you need are solid clothes - oh yes, and a permit from your parents that you are allowed to participate in this school trip."

The teacher glanced into a file, looked up again and sent a smile in the direction of Esmeralda. "For you, Esmeralda, the permission's already granted by Madame Laval. This covers you as well, Carlos."

Esmeralda turned to her brother. "Has she been announced as your - er, parental guide too?"

"No!" Carlos accompanied his response to her outraged question with an indignant look, which sufficiently replaced a longer exchange of words. She had suspected him of having omitted to tell about such a short meeting with the headmaster, and Carlos had sensed her suspicion, had interpreted it correctly, and answered with the proper reproach.

Well, this was something to discuss with their father, but for the time being, the news about this unexpected change in the school routine dominated everybody's thoughts. In the few minutes left until the break, Madame Rappeneau was faced with many questions, but in summary, her answers came always down to the point that MiraLuc was the sponsor for everything, that there would be experienced camp guides, and that probably no more than two teachers would be there to supervise the four classes together.

---

The excitement was addictive. The next class, which was Maths and the last one before lunch, for sure would have been a waste of time, but the teacher, a Monsieur Donlon, taught them a simple trick of triangulation to measure the approximative height of trees or towers by "folding the height" down to the ground and then measuring it with their steps.

Even better, their homework for the next day was to walk the length of the Brest building and to count their steps. Tomorrow, Monsieur Donlon would tell them the true length in meters, and with these two numbers, they would be able to determine their average step width as the basis for such measurements.

During lunch, she and her roommates had just one topic, the school trip, and what it would be like to sleep in a tent, and what it would be like in the Loire valley. Natalie had to answer questions until she grew impatient because for her, the Loire valley was quite an ordinary landscape. Forests forever, much tighter than those near Brest, and whoever wanted to know more had to wait until they would be there.

Coming out of the Brest building, they remembered their maths homework from Monsieur Donlon and went to the edge of the building to walk its front - together of course, with the unsurprising effect that they all had the same number of steps. So they had to do it again, and this time, the numbers were slightly different, with Odile, the tallest, getting the smallest answer. Not surprising either.

As they walked toward the public corral where Bolo was waiting for them, Esmeralda became aware that she didn't know whether pets were allowed in this camp, and that she'd forgotten to ask.

"Did Madame Rappeneau say anything about pets?" she asked.

"Erm ..."

Apparently not, although nobody knew for sure. The girls seemed similarly embarrassed not to have thought of this question, and hastened to assure each other that there was hardly any other possibility, what with the trip lasting more than three days.

"If we were travelling by bus or train, it might have been a problem," said Odile. "But with a portkey cabin here at the school ..."

This was a detail Esmeralda had forgotten. For a moment, she couldn't believe that something like that had slipped her attention in class, but then it became clear why: Madame Rappeneau had explained the travelling method just when Esmeralda had been busy asking Carlos about the parental guide he'd never met.

During the afternoon classes, the teachers didn't want to discuss the school trip, didn't know details of the organizations, and were determined to discuss their own course's topics, so Esmeralda had to wait until her next class with Madame Rappeneau. It was a small stain on the otherwise shiny anticipation, because she hadn't forgotten that four girls who kept assuring each other didn't make a majority if the teachers had different opinions.

Or the MiraLuc people, for that matter, because they were in charge of the trip according to Madame Rappeneau.

---

Then came the daily meeting with their father, and suddenly the question of Bolo coming along seemed rather unimportant, compared to what their father was planning.

It began as always. He summoned them and asked them what news they had.

Esmeralda and Carlos took turns delivering a report of the upcoming school trip, and how Esmeralda's parental guide, Madame Laval, had decided to take responsibility of Carlos without even being officially established as such.

"Hmmm ..." said their father. "A pity we can't investigate that any further, but now it's time to do what I wanted to do already before. You must leave the school."

"Now?? But why?" Esmeralda stared at her father in astonished disappointment. "Can't we wait until this school trip's over?"

"I'm sorry, no." He looked quite unhappy, though quite determined.

Esmeralda was just as determined. "Then convince us! That's what you always say - don't come shouting, 'You must!' but instead explain why it's necessary. Isn't it?"

Harry looked at her sourly, and she knew she'd quoted him correctly.

"Something has changed," he said after a moment. "I've got new information."

"Is the mystery solved?"

"No, but I have enough information to know that I don't want to expose you any day longer to the risks here."

Esmeralda could sense that there was something serious. But she wasn't ready to obey just because of some vague concerns.

"Which risks? What have you heard? Who told you?"

Harry's lips went very thin. He glared at her for a moment - a reaction that would have yielded more effect if he hadn't spent the last six years telling his children that parents weren't supposed to play dictators, in particular toward a girl who'd lost already two sets of them.

Maybe this fact had crossed his mind as Harry eventually sighed deeply, then said, "I have very good reasons to believe that children at this school are sexually mistreated. I don't know details, but my source of information has been at this school much longer than I, and she's quite reliable."

"Who is it?" asked Carlos.

Esmeralda stared at him in surprise. She hadn't expected to find an ally in her brother, not at this moment of confrontation.

If Harry was surprised too, he didn't show. "A teacher," he said. "Madame Serafini."

Sexually mistreated - this was a topic with which Esmeralda felt quite unfamiliar. A moment ago, she still had felt secure in her argumentative position because of her own past, in which sudden death had struck twice. But sexual assault ... She knew the official term, wondered for an instant why her father hadn't used it when -

"Chloé!"

Father and daughter stared at Carlos and asked almost in unison, "What?"

"If we're at risk, she's at risk too, isn't she? She must come with us."

Harry started, "I can't take a girl out of school - "

"My friends, too," Esmeralda interrupted him. "Dominique, and Natalie, and Odile."

"I have no authority to take anyone else out of school," repeated Harry. "So my primary concern is your security - "

"You can't take us away and leave them here! You must - "

Esmeralda stopped herself, realizing that she was about to make the same mistake her father had made a moment ago. Judging by his expression, he'd been aware of it and had been waiting for it. After a second, she knew what to say.

"Those are our friends. I wouldn't be able to stand the thought that they ... that they were ... that someone did something to them because they didn't know, but we knew - "

"If you can't send them with us, then at least you must warn them," said Carlos. "There's no reason for Chloé to stay here any longer."

---

Esmeralda didn't know what he was talking about, but a look at her father's face told her that Harry knew, and that somehow Carlos had scored a hit with this argument, and that she could multiply the effect still by looking confusedly from one to the other. Yet before either of them could give her an explanation, or the opposite of it, she had her own brilliant idea.

"Didn't you want to give me an ankle bracelet for alerts? We need some more for our friends, at the very least."

Harry looked a bit desperate. "That would mean telling them, making them part of the conspiracy."

Yes of course, that was exactly what Esmeralda had in mind, although there was no doubt that it was the last thing their father had in mind and that -

"But Chloé is already part of the conspiracy, isn't she?"

Again, father and daughter stared at Carlos.

Registering their stares, Carlos sent a glance to his father, then turned to Esmeralda. "He made her a witch."

"Chloé?"

Carlos nodded.

Esmeralda stared at her father, whose cheeks were colouring. It wasn't entirely clear to her why, but there was no denying that he was becoming defensive. Instinctively, she took a step, put her arms around him and said, "Then you can do the same for Dominique and Natalie and Odile, yes? And then we can all leave together, and until then, we must stay together and wear those bracelets and watch out."

For a few seconds, Harry buried his face in his hands - not for crying, but for deep concentration. Then the hands moved downward, so at least his eyes were visible again. They were sparkling.

"Your mother'll kill me when she hears about this. But she'll kill me only after I've taken you out of school, so suddenly it looks as if I should wait ..."

Before Esmeralda could look pleased at what felt like a successful negotiation, he let his hands drop to reveal a face that was sober and serious.

"Let me check a few more things and talk with my source again, and with your mother too. Until then, not a word to your friends, you hear me? Maybe we have to tell them, and I'll try to get those bracelets quicker, but you keep our secret until I tell you otherwise. Are we clear on that?"

Solemn nods.

He sighed. "I was blind, so blind! Worse than a mole - but that's what Sirius told me ... Well, pride cometh before a fall."

Carlos, practical as ever, asked, "What can we do to protect ourselves as much as possible? Here at school, I mean?"

"Stay with your friends," was the prompt answer. "Keep company as much as possible. Don't start solo actions of any kind. Don't trust teachers you don't know well."

Carlos nodded, then grinned. "But we can trust Madame Serafini, right?"

Harry smiled. "Yes."

With relief, Esmeralda noticed that their father's smile was genuine. Then he sent them back because today's meeting had already been much longer than planned.