Potter Professions

Carlos had earned his first reward for services provided to a girls tent. Naturally, his choice had fallen on tent number seventeen, and so he'd finally met Chloé's roommates - Aimée, Fabienne, and Ariane, an indistinguishable bunch of giggleheads, as far as Carlos was concerned. Even so, he'd have carried their water anyway - and truth be told, Chloé with her family background would have had no trouble carrying it by herself - but he saw no reason to reject the payment when it was offered: a black tag, something that was only found on tag rings for girls. In the big white tent, he could trade it for two red ones, meaning two sweets.

Or he could keep it and pay someone else for some other services, although he wouldn't know which. Sweets sounded just right, and the exchange ratio too.

Carrying the water had only been a minor part of his service work. He'd spent quite some time in fetching and delivering the tent's daily quota in firewood for today's campfire, which would take place in the evening. For Carlos, who considered the products and services of Groucho Transports and Security as part of everyday life, there was no question that two adults with a portable portkey gate would have finished the task in hardly more than five minutes, but he agreed with the way it was done here. Watching students handle the three feet long pieces was fun, and having them on his own shoulder, smelling the sun-soaked wood, feeling the cracked bark cut softly into his skin, was even more fun.

Arriving at his own tent, he found Serge moving outside. The bulky figure looked as sweaty as Carlos felt.

Serge stopped in his track and stared at him. "Where have you been?"

"I've been doing social work, and now I could do with a swim. What about you?"

"Social work, huh?" Serge seemed not having heard the question at all. "Must have been the tent your girl is in, I bet it was."

"Yep, and it earned me a black tag. Ever seen any of them? It gets you two red ones."

"Black tag? There aren't any black ones."

"Yes, there are, but only girls have got them. Look here!" Carlos held his reward up, careful to keep out of Serge's reach. He already regretted having mentioned his payment, but at least he wasn't stupid enough to give it out of his hands, not to Serge.

For an instant, it looked as if next moment Serge was going to try and take it by force, but they both knew that Carlos was too fast to let it happen that way.

"What a crap - two red ones for a black one." Serge almost spat the words out. "Why don't they use two red ones in first place?"

"Because anyone could get sweets with red ones, even the girls themselves. But boys haven't got black ones of their own, and girls can't trade them. So it needs a cooperation, working for them, and that's what I did. And now I'm going for a swim."

Carlos wanted to go inside the tent to change into his swimsuit, but Serge blocked the entrance - fully on purpose, as it seemed.

Carlos said, "Let me go inside."

"I've been working four our tent."

"So?" Carlos looked uncomprehending, which wasn't really true. "Then why don't you join me swimming?"

"I did as much as you did, or maybe even more, but nobody offered me a tag. One of the two red ones you got is rightfully mine."

Carlos shook his head. "No way. If you worked for our tent today, tomorrow it'll be me or Mathieu or Roland, and you can go and earn your own black tag, and keep it all to yourself."

"Tomorrow, yes - tomorrow's another day, isn't that a Spanish proverb?" Serge gave him a sneer. "But now it's today, and if you want to go inside, first you have to pay me a red one."

Carlos sighed. "You've been looking for a fight all the time, haven't you? This story about half of my reward being yours is just pretense."

"No pretense. The fight was due anyway; this is something else. It's about payment for my work." Serge's smirk changed to an expression of righteousness. "I didn't say I want it all, only half of it, just what's my share."

"Your share?" Carlos held his temper and swallowed the remark about the share he thought appropriate for this bonehead in front of him. "Listen, let's go to the swimming pool, there's room enough for the fight you need so urgently, and if you win, you get the full tag - what about that?"

"No. We'll see what I get after I've won the fight, but for now, it'll cost you a red one to get inside ... And if I have to tell you again, it'll cost you two red ones."

---

Carlos felt trapped. Giving in would mean being bullied all the time and at every opportunity, a prospect he wasn't ready to accept. Fighting and losing meant pretty much the same, except that it would hurt more. Fighting and winning - a goal within reach, for all Carlos knew about the skill he'd achieved from his father - added the need to watch his back not only from some unknown, evil people but also from his stupid and dangerous roommate.

The last alternative, avoiding the confrontation now and waiting for another opportunity to reach his swimsuit, was dismissed at once; Carlos' own pride forbade such a cheap escape. Besides, probably Serge was stubborn enough to guard the entrance all day long.

"Now?"

Carlos' father had told him the two golden rules about fights. The first was, don't start a fight if you aren't willing to come out winner. The second rule said that, contrary to what you could watch in the movies, the first real hit settled the fight in favour of the one who'd scored. Aside from that, Harry had taught his son mostly defense, but that was enough, for Serge would be the attacker anyway.

Carlos stepped forward.

Serge had the presence of mind not to try any wrestling grips, or the typical pushing and pulling a boy his size would normally use against someone like Carlos with his slim build. Apparently, Carlos' warning about his aikido skill had been taken seriously. Serge's stance and his balled fists made clear: he saw his chance in boxing.

The idea was correct, and in an infight, Carlos would have been in trouble, provided Serge took care of his cover. But Serge couldn't wait for his first strike any more than he'd been able to wait for a better place.

The straight punch from Serge's right fist would have done the job, had Carlos' head still been were it was an instant earlier. Hitting empty air pulled Serge's body forward and opened his wide open cover still more, at least where it mattered.

Carlos made his right hand a spade and drove it into Serge's solar plexus.

The boy coughed. Then, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on dry ground, he sank down on his knees. With his hands pressing his stomach, he tried to catch breath. After a few seconds, short moaning sounds indicated that he was making progress.

The entrance to the tent came open, and Carlos could see two faces - Mathieu looking scared, and Roland showing a mix of satisfaction and worry.

"Wait ..." Serge could only whisper. "Till I ... can ... move again."

That was exactly what Carlos had feared - the larger boy looking for revenge, a time bomb right next to him in the tent. He had to settle the issue now, while he was still in the lead.

A scene resurfaced in his memory, a scene that had taken place in the school park, between his father and a mean old teacher who was out of combat since then.

With two steps, Carlos stood behind Serge. He bent forward and pressed his fingertips into the slight encaving behind Serge's earlobes. "Want me to make your lights go out?"

"What - "

"If I press hard enough, you're unconscious in five seconds. Want me to do it?"

"No!"

From his position, Carlos couldn't see his opponent's face, but the fearful tone in Serge's voice told him that his threat had been acknowledged. This was just good, because Carlos didn't think he knew where exactly his pressing would block the blood support to Serge's brain.

He stepped back and then around to stand in front of Serge. "I've warned you, wiseass. But some people prefer to learn the hard way. Well, there's another proverb: pain is a good teacher."

"Yes, but I still think half of your black tag should be rightfully mine."

Carlos felt amazed at the sight of stubbornness in grand style, or was it stupidity?

"If I give you the full tag, will you do the work tomorrow too?"

"Er ... yes."

There was undeniably relief in Serge's voice, and Carlos had a fair guess what it meant. Afraid or not, beaten or not, this boy saw a chance to keep his face in an acceptable way, and would hopefully give it a rest.

Carlos fished in his pocket for the black tag and offered it to his opponent. "Here - we have a deal."

* * *

Esmeralda sat in the grass, legs crossed, Bolo to her side, and watched the scene in front of her. A boy had just finished his work for their tent and now got his reward, a black tag, from Odile. He also got a beaming smile from her, apparently inspiring him as much as the tag. Esmeralda, in sharp contrast, had a scowl on her face, a scowl on her soul, and little inclination to change either.

The boy wasn't to blame. His name was Olivier so-and-so; he belonged to a tent in the neighbor island and had been talked into delivering the wood quota for their own tent by Odile - after Esmeralda's brother had failed to show up for this task. The neglect from Carlos was one of the reasons for Esmeralda's bad mood, so watching the boy did nothing to improve matters.

But it had started earlier - the evening before, to be precise, resembling very much a chain reaction in which the effect grew stronger from one step to the next.

Her father's inability to reach them inside the Chateau MiraLuc had been the launching event. Already feeling disappointed, and humiliated in front of her friends, hearing the authoritative tone from that MiraLuc woman during their tour had struck the wrong chord in Esmeralda. Lacking the nerve for open rebellion, she had sulked silently, only to feel humiliated by herself too.

The tour had been boring, absolutely boring. Who cared for ancient furniture ... ancient carpets ... ancient pictures ... ancient silverware? The only part that might have been interesting, an exercise in menuet dancing, was cancelled when some uproar rose in the chateau, apparently because of something that had started burning in the basement, close to where they'd changed dresses. The stink had been so bad, they'd wanted to change clothes in their tent, only the woman hadn't allowed them to leave with the ancient dresses still on.

Afterwards, Esmeralda had gotten her share of remarks from the other girls, of course with Odile orchestrating the chorus. Almost too late, Esmeralda had remembered that a detailed knowledge about apparition locks, manufactured exclusively by Groucho Transports and Security, was totally out of place for the girl she was supposed to be, and her suspicion that the fire and the damage in the chateau were the results of her father's work had met sneering replies from Odile - especially after her father had called Esmeralda to ask about the tour while not losing a single word about what he'd done instead during that time.

The singing in the circle around the campfire should have eased Esmeralda's mood. But she'd still been mad, which cast a shadow over the first songs, which heated up her anger toward herself, which spoiled the next songs ... Returning to their tent, she'd felt like crying. Only a walk to the riverbanks, with Bolo and no one else, sitting there for a quarter of an hour, had restored her self-esteem sufficiently.

This morning, when Carlos didn't show up and Odile had said, "Your family's just good for a bunch of empty promises, eh?" Esmeralda had kept her mouth shut. Silence was her only weapon, rather second-rated, in her opinion - except that it seemed to bother the other girl more than any reply.

Well, yes, keeping her mouth shut was about the only thing Odile couldn't manage, and she knew it. But it wasn't enough to draw a smile from Esmeralda.

---

The boy named Olivier strolled off. Odile watched him leave for a second, then turned and walked toward the spot where Esmeralda and Bolo were resting. Seeing her come closer, Esmeralda stiffened inwardly while anticipating the next round of snide remarks.

"Olivier's willing to do the woodwork for us tomorrow too."

"Okay."

Only after a second, in which she could note a flash of barely suppressed impatience crossing Odile's face, and listen to the brief snort that seemed a specialty of Paris-bred people in moments of anger, Esmeralda became aware that this remark had been the unspoken question whether they should accept the offer, for example because chances were little that a certain Carlos might do it, and perhaps for free.

"But tomorrow's payment won't come from my tag ring. Someone else has to pay him for a change - you, for instance."

"Okay."

"Maybe you should let me do the transfer. If Olivier has to see your face, he might ask for two tags."

Esmeralda saved any reply even as short as the previous ones. She fumbled a black tag from her own ring and held it up.

Odile took it. "There are people easier to insult than you. You can thank your dog - if it wasn't for Bolo here, I would have added a kick or two, just to get something I'd call a response from you."

Esmeralda, who already felt her strained neck from looking upward to the girl in front of her, lowered her head and looked at the German shepherd. "Thanks, Bolo."

Odile threw her arms up as if in desperation. Noticing Bolo's watchful stare at this movement, obviously unaware that Bolo was only on the lookout for tennis balls thrown, Odile dropped on her knees and took the dog's head in both hands.

"No, no, I won't do it, I won't touch your girl, but maybe I can coax you into biting her for me, what do you think? Would you consider this? There's a nice piece of sausage in store for you. No need to cut deep, just so that she squeaks."

Bolo rolled onto his back and drew all four legs into the air, thereby exposing his belly for a fondling. This had to be done with care, especially around his prominent genitals. Avoiding a painful push was easy, avoiding an untimely arousal a bit more difficult.

"That's what I needed," muttered Odile, although not hesitating to fondle the dog. "I ask you to do a bit of shepherding, and what happens? You show me your privates. Somehow that just fits into the pattern of that family lately, although this special offer - "

Odile stopped in her speech as well as in her movements, because Bolo had turned around to lie on his legs, ears erect, ready to sit or stand or jump.

An instant later, both girls could see - and hear - the reason for the dog's sudden alertness. A group of four adults was coming around the corner. One of them was Alain, the young man who ran the camp together with Juliette. The other three were two men and a woman, all of them unknown to Esmeralda.

---

When the four people noticed the dog, they stopped in their tracks for a moment, with signs of astonishment on their faces. The only exception was Alain; he'd seen the dog before, and now he seemed a bit uneasy, as if he'd preferred Bolo were hidden in the tent.

Then one of the two men stepped forward.

For Esmeralda, who watched them with the same unblinking stare as her dog, except for reasons of guilt rather than guard, there was no doubt that this man had the saying. Maybe not officially, maybe he'd leave it to Alain to give orders here in the camp, but Esmeralda had had enough opportunities to watch people in the Groucho Enterprise when her mother was around - how they trailed a step behind, how they almost imperceptibly related every movement to the leader.

The man stopped at a distance that hinted experience with dogs, or simply respect, at any rate outside the invisible line at which an intruder would make Bolo's ears go flat.

"What dog is this?" the man asked quietly and to no one in particular.

"He's mine," answered Esmeralda.

Her reply instantly put her into the focus of the other two adults. For a very short moment, the woman looked as if she was going to tell Esmeralda something about how to answer a bit more politely, by standing up and adding a "Monsieur" ad the end. But it didn't happen, no more than anyone in Groucho would interrupt a conversation of Esmeralda's mother without being asked for.

"That much I might have figured out by myself," said the man, "just from looking at how close you two are sitting together. How did he come here?"

"Through the gate, together with us."

Esmeralda would have liked to add, "how else?" Failing that, she would have liked to give the answer with an expression that hinted on a stupid question about the obvious. But she couldn't, and the fact that perhaps it wasn't obvious at all was only part of the reasons. The man didn't sound threatening, but then, his remark hadn't been an attempt of joking either, because there was no smile anywhere close to his face. He didn't even look directly at Esmeralda, or so it felt - yes, he looked at her, but he seemed not to register what his eyes were telling him, as if the picture of her sitting in the grass reached his mind as something totally different. It gave Esmeralda an uneasy feeling. She wished her hand were close enough to the bracelet that she could have pressed the alarm button any time.

"That's strange. I had expected the gates being open only for you, the students. Wasn't there a guide at the gate that told you so?"

Esmeralda nodded. "Yes, there was. But it wasn't true, Bolo went through just like us."

"So Bolo is the name of this dog, who can't be stopped from escorting his young lady. And your name?"

"Esmeralda, Monsieur ... Esmeralda Chang."

At these words, the second man in the group looked at a clipboard, obviously checking her name in a list. He seemed to have found it, because next moment, he leaned close to the other man and murmured something Esmeralda couldn't understand.

The man in charge listened, then said, "So you're well protected here, Esmeralda, and in more than one regard, as it seems. And your brother, does he protect you too?"

Esmeralda stared in bafflement, not knowing what to answer.

"Somehow, that rings a bell, a very distant one. I wonder ... is all this protection healthy?" The man had continued speaking without waiting for an answer from Esmeralda; he seemed almost absent-minded, using her only as something on which a memory condensed to a picture like steam to a drop of water.

Suddenly he looked directly at her, for the first time in this conversation. "But then, you seem to have a firm grasp on reality, so there's little risk, I'd guess." He almost smiled. "I'm sure you told me the truth about how you and the dog arrived here, but I'm equally sure you left out a few details of how this took place. This tells me that your head isn't lost in the clouds. Am I right, Esmeralda?"

"Erm, yes, Monsieur."

"In this case, did you already think about how you and the dog might return?"

Into Esmeralda's flabbergasted stare, he added, "Only joking. Enjoy your stay in this camp, and let me assure you, the guide who told you this particular non-truth won't be there when you arrive at the return gate."

Then man turned and walked in the direction of the next tent, the other two unknown people in his trail. Alain lingered still a moment to give Esmeralda a smile and the thumbs-up sign before he turned to follow them.

---

Esmeralda watched the group leave. She hadn't returned Alain's smile, still busy recovering from the encounter and not prone to automatic smiles anyway, but mostly because Alain's own smile had been rather unconvincing.

A second later, Natalie and Dominique came out of the tent. Apparently they'd waited inside, staying hidden as long as this embarrassing interrogation about the scene at the portkey gate went on.

"Who was this?" asked Natalie.

"Monsieur MiraLuc personally, I guess." Odile snorted. "He didn't bother to introduce himself. So either he's an asshole with bad manners, or he's so important that he thinks everybody should know who he is - "

"Or he's a coward," finished Dominique the sentence. "He didn't come within reach of Bolo, did he?"

"No," replied Esmeralda. "But that's just common sense, especially if he knows a bit about dogs, and I'm sure he does. I don't think he's a coward."

"Me neither," confirmed Odile. Then, with a look at Esmeralda, she added, "And here's someone else who meets the qualification as badly as you can imagine. The way she stood his questions - rather cool, really! A few minutes ago, I wanted to kill her, but now I can see, this would have been a mistake - aside from the question how far I'd come, of course."

Natalie and Dominique rewarded the joke with the expected laughter, while Esmeralda just stared, still suspicious of how Odile might continue.

"So after all, maybe this family's really more than hot steam and thin air." Odile's inviting smile seemed to signal that her last remark was supposed to take back a previous one about the same topic, only from a different opinion.

"We can find out together," replied Esmeralda and reached for her porty. "I'm going to call my - erm, I mean, someone who'll be quite interested in hearing about this man and what he said."

She gestured to Odile. "Let's do it together. He'll ask me for a verbal report, and I'm not sure if I can remember all the man said."

She pressed a button and held the porty to her ear. Looking at the other girls, she said, "Except for what he said about the guide. There I can quote him literally, and I don't think I will forget it soon."

* * *

If you want to hide something, place it where everybody can see it. The advice from Poe's story about the purloined letter was well known to Harry, and he'd followed it more than once with great success. Yet he still felt astonished at the extent to which the statement was true, especially when using the method with a dash of imagination - yes, and magic.

The object to hide was he himself, during his guard at the Chateau MiraLuc. He didn't trust his Invisibility Cloak any longer, not after the people inside had encountered something they'd call sabotage, the same people who'd given proof that they employed state-of-the-art technology as needed. And so Harry had decided to use an ability he'd acquired when his children were small.

He was a pony, calmly standing under a single tree in the middle of the small meadow behind the chateau. Everybody could see him, even now, after dusk had fallen. He calculated that anyone in the chateau who might wonder where this pony came from would attribute it to the camp, while someone from the camp wouldn't know better anyway.

From his position, he could see every person walking from the chateau to the camp, or vice versa. A pony was no cat, but he could see much better than in his human shape, while the loss of colours after sundown didn't matter at all: ponies weren't good at recognizing colours. In contrast, their ears were excellent.

All these measures were of course relative. His fellow guard could probably outperform him in both vision and hearing. It was Almyra, currently in her shape as an owl. This night bird was simply perfect for the task - considerably better than the dog Almyra could offer as well. People noticed dogs, for example because they moved at the same level, rather than twenty yards above their heads.

Later in the course of Harry's shift, Almyra would be replaced by Rahewa, Harry's goddaughter just five years his junior. Rahewa could only be a dog, and the same was true for Remus, Harry's old teacher and friend and Almyra's husband, who would take over after Harry's shift. They ran their guards in overlapping patterns, thereby avoiding the short periods of inattention during the changes of a complete team, with four hours per shift in favour of some decent sleep. None of them could have slept soundly with a duty roster of two hour shifts.

From the camp, Harry could hear the sound of singing voices. The camp fires were burning, three circles of singing students just like the evening before, but today the songs sounded better, and more vivid. It had taken them one evening to learn a few songs and shake off the hesitancy when asked to sing really loud. Today, they adapted new songs as presented by the lead singer, the same who played the guitar or banjo, with amazing speed.

There was no coming and going from the circles. The visiting tours to the castle had been completely cancelled, officially with respect to the damage from the fire and for reasons of security. Harry wondered what the true reason might be. Did these people think the next act of sabotage would occur otherwise? Did they feel uncovered? Or was it simply impossible to get a quick replacement for the damaged cameras? Because so much was certain, nobody in the castle needed visiting students if not for the recordings.

Since his discovery, Harry felt every hour that the camp went on like a pain that could only be sustained by keeping the castle under a tight watch around the clock. He wasn't ready to believe that the recordings were the only hidden purpose - there had to be more, there had to be something which eventually led to a boy committing suicide.

The exact cause-and-effect sequence was as unknown to him as on the day he'd agreed to his undercover task. But it didn't matter much; as Paul Sillitoe had said, once this nest was smoked out, the suicides would stop.

Concerning the way how to catch the people who'd installed the cameras, Harry had already developed a general idea. This idea, extremely promising otherwise, had one shortcoming: he had to avoid any sign that the people inside were under surveillance.

But then, Harry wasn't ready to avoid attention at any cost. Unfortunately he had no clear idea of how to steer a course between these two conflicting goals. What if it looked as if one or several students were lured inside?

A single voice could be heard in the camp, speaking rather than singing. Even with his current set of large ears, Harry was unable to understand the words, but he knew what it meant. The three circles would gather to sing a last song, or maybe two, and this would mark the end of the evening for the students. Probably it was close to midnight; in his pony shape, Harry had little sense of the passing of time.

A sound from the chateau made him turn his ears and concentrate his listening toward the building. Someone closed a door and started to walk along the path to the camp. Moments later, this someone came into view.

It was a woman. She walked with a determined stride.

Harry wasn't sure whether she'd glanced in his direction, and if so, whether she'd noticed him, the pony under the tree. At any rate, she didn't stop, didn't even stare at this unexpected animal. Perhaps it meant that she was no member of the household and stable staff in the chateau.

In this case ... Harry's instincts, unchanged even in his four-legged shape, told him that a few minutes from now he'd be forced to answer the question that had not been asked yet: how far to go in avoiding attention.

---

As soon as the woman was out of sight, Harry changed back into his human shape. He had to strike alarm by calling Remus, and as a pony, he was unable to make a phone call with his porty. But first he had to send Almyra the owl as his airborne spy on that woman.

He walked a few steps toward the tree in which he knew Almyra sitting high on a branch. When he was sure she'd seen him coming closer, he apparated onto another branch in the same tree, lower because the branches at Almyra's level wouldn't carry his weight.

In a voice little more than a whisper, he asked, "Almyra, can you hear me?"

A brief low-key hooting was the answer. As long as he didn't ask for it, Almyra wasn't going to change her shape just for receiving an instruction, because it would have meant changing her position as well - to a branch strong enough for her human body.

"Please follow that woman and watch from above what she's doing. I'm not sure yet what I'll do if she really goes into the camp, but I'm going to call Remus so he can position himself somewhere close, probably just inside the tree line. Okay?"

The only answer was an almost inaudible swoosh; then, for a short moment, Harry saw a black shadow against the sky that shimmered through the twigs: the owl was gaining height.

He pulled his porty out of his pocket and pressed the button for Remus, who was in the Chateau Saumur. Around midnight, he still should be awake, enjoying the company of two women in addition to Rahewa, his adopted daughter.

"Yes?"

"Remus, it's me; I'm okay, and Almyra too. I just sent her on air patrol to follow a woman that left the chateau in the direction of the camp a few minutes ago. I'm not sure yet how to respond, but I'd like you being close to the camp."

"Doing what?"

Remus' voice indicated neither protest nor unwillingness; his question simply meant he wasn't any wiser, not right after having heard the news, and wanted to know what ideas Harry could offer.

"Staying hidden, and be ready to answer the phone."

Which meant, Remus had to keep his human shape, rather than being a dog, which he preferred in such situations. Thinking about a dog at the camp reminded Harry of a real dog, and at this instant, the forerunners of an idea crept into his mind. He was about to end the conversation when Remus' voice stopped him.

"Rahewa wants to know what she's supposed to do."

Wait in the wings, was the answer Harry had on his lips, but he dismissed it at once. Rahewa wasn't the teammate to wait patiently and feel glad for not being called. And besides, he might be forced to leave his position at the chateau any time.

"Be ready to take over guard duty here any time. She can do it ready on call where she's now, or she can come here, except that she has to do it now, while it's still - "

"Save your breath, Harry." A chuckle came through the speaker. "She's gone off right from the chair. I'll take the time and empty my glass first; anything else would be a crime. Expect me to be in position two minutes from now ... Over."

Any moment now, Harry would see a black-coloured dog strolling on the ground, sniffing here and there, waiting for a sign from him that revealed his position. But he hadn't even these few seconds to waste - the idea had formed in his mind, and the distance from the Chateau MiraLuc to the camp was too short for any further delay. He pressed the button for Esmeralda's porty.

"Yes?"

"Hi, sweetie, it's me. Are you and your friends still awake?"

"Yes."

"Are you alone? Can we talk?"

"Yes, we'd just reached the tent after coming from the camp fire. Why?"

"Can you go inside and then switch on the loudspeaker so your friends can listen to what I'm saying without anyone else listening?"

"Er, yes ... Just a second."

Harry could hear the noises of four girls entering a tent, while a dog was eager to join, causing half-suppressed shouts to get out of someone's feet. Already in Esmeralda's last words, he'd heard the excitement and anticipation of what he might say.

Meanwhile, the expected black dog had reached the spot at the foot of Harry's tree and, after a short glance upward, had sat down there.

"Ssssst! ... Up with you."

The hissed whisper had been enough. The dog moved further into the underbrush, obviously to be hidden from view when changing shape. Seconds later, Rahewa stood on a branch almost at level with his own, only at the other side of the tree trunk. He just had time to greet her with a hand raised briefly, then Esmeralda could be heard again.

"Okay, we're inside. What's up?"

"Speaker on?"

"Yes, all four of us can hear you. Five, with Bolo."

"Good. Hello, girls, there isn't much time, so listen carefully. A woman's on her way from the Chateau MiraLuc to the camp. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it, not that late. I want all of you to be around the corner where the path from the chateau reaches the camp - together with Bolo and just as though you'd walk the dog before going to sleep. But you should do it with the porty in your hand, Esmeralda. It might look as if you were sent on a last patrol by the teacher - or maybe the other way around, you were allowed to walk the dog. All right so far?"

"Uhm, yes."

"When the woman arrives, you say hello and ask whether you can help, and you look as curious as four girls who want to know what this woman is doing late in the night. I guess Odile's best for this role."

"Me too," said a voice that had to be the girl from Paris.

"Keep the connection open, so I can listen to what's going on. If you talk with me in the woman's presence, address me as Monsieur Jeunet. And now get out and start your dog walk, so you're in place when the woman arrives."

While noises in the earpiece were telling Harry about four girls plus dog on their way, Rahewa leaned closer and whispered, "Not bad. Now that Bolo is publicly noticed, we can let him get in the way whenever it suits us."

"Yeah, maybe so," replied Harry. "But this was just the only idea I could manage in such a short time."

"I like your ideas best if you had no time at all to think them through." After a second, Rahewa added, "And none to inform Cho either."

Harry shrugged, a reaction invisible to Rahewa. "That reminds me," he said then, "can you call Remus and tell him what's going on? If I can say I was in phony touch with the girls for every single second of the stunt, I might get away with it unhurt."

---

For a short while, Harry could hear in his porty the murmurs of the four girls, as well as the sounds of other students on their way to the tents. His motionless waiting was interrupted by Rahewa's request to reach a branch where both of them could stand side by side and listen to the porty. Then Esmeralda's voice could be heard saying, "We can see someone coming that way."

"Start behaving as if you were reporting to Monsieur Jeunet."

With a slight change in tone, Esmeralda said, "Monsieur Jeunet? There's someone coming from the chateau."

"Who? A man? A woman? A student?"

"No, not a student ... Looks like a woman."

"Ask her what she wants - er, I mean, ask her whether you can help her."

Harry could hear Esmeralda saying something to Odile, then she called, "Bolo! Sit!" and an instant later, the other girl said, "Good evening, madam. Can we help you?"

"Are you the camp guards?"

The female voice revealed a mix of surprise, amusement at the edge of teasing, and displeasure from being bothered.

"Not officially." Odile was the one answering. "But when we walk the dog a last time before going to sleep, we do it in patrol style, and Esmeralda here" - a brief pause indicated some pointing - "is in contact with our teacher. He's the one who said we should ask you."

"I see." Another pause, similarly brief to the one in Odile's reply, except that the changed tone in the next words revealed a severe re-alignment in the woman's approach.

"Well," she continued, "I'm looking for a student who's got a phone call from home in the chateau. Something urgent, apparently."

"Did you hear, Monsieur?" asked Esmeralda into the porty. After listening to Harry's reply, she asked the woman, "Which student, madam?"

"It's - maybe it's simpler if I talk directly with - hey!"

A dog's growl, brief but unmistakingly a last warning before an attack, told Harry what had happened. The woman, obviously pissed off from being interrogated by a few eleven-year-olds, had tried to cut corners and speak with the teacher personally - had it really been Monsieur Jeunet on the phone, she might have shut him up with just a few reassuring words. Yet Bolo, friendly to the bone but equipped with a shepherd's fine sense for threats against the herd, had told her how much she would regret any further step toward Esmeralda.

"It's Robert Morneau, in tent nine," said the woman, suppressed fury in her voice. "And now either you let me do my errand, or I want to talk with your teacher."

"Er, Monsieur, could you listen?" asked Esmeralda.

"Yes," replied Harry. "You can tell her, a teacher is coming."

While Esmeralda was busy passing the message to the woman, Harry signaled to Rahewa to call Remus on her own phony.

Only seconds later, Rahewa handed him the device.

"Remus? It's about a Robert Morneau, tent nine. Go to them as a teacher who helps Monsieur Jeunet - er, Philippe's his first name. Our strategy is that we give Robert a phony so he can call back by himself - you could send Esmeralda directly to him. There's no time for more preparation. Over."

"On my way. Keep the line open."

Harry exhaled. Doing things through the phone and from the distance was an awful way of fighting the enemy, at least in his opinion, but since he knew his old friend on the way he felt better. Even in his human shape, Remus could appear out of the darkness quite unexpectedly.

"That was a brilliant idea," whispered Rahewa. "I mean, letting the boy call back by himself."

"Brilliant? If you forget for a second what this is all about, you can see that it's the most obvious response. I mean, why didn't the woman arrive with a portable by herself?"

"We know why."

"I wonder - do they know that the boy is poor and can't afford a portable? In a moment we'll know more, and how she responds to that."

---

A noise from Rahewa and the way how she held her porty told Harry that Remus had had the presence of mind to keep his connection to Rahewa open, so they could follow in listening. Seconds later, almost in a stereo effect from both connections being open, Remus' voice could be heard.

"Good evening, madam. How can I help you?"

"Who are you?" Almost too late, in particular after her harsh question, the woman added, "You aren't Monsieur Jeunet."

"No, I'm not. My name's Rémy Lupin, I'm a colleague of Philippe who helps him take care of this camp. And who are you?"

A wave of relief washed through Harry's mind. Remus had mastered hundred encounters like that, and much worse, during the war against the Dark Forces; he could tune his play as helpful and as uncompromising as he wanted, and his French was beyond suspicion.

"Madeleine Vasseur, from the MiraLuc Public Relations group, good evening, Monsieur. We've got a call for Robert Morneau in the castle, and I came over to fetch him so he can return the call. Seems to be something urgent."

"Well, in this case there's an even faster way." A slight pause after Remus' reply let Harry imagine how he was turning toward the group of girls plus dog. "Girls, can you go to Robert? Lend him your phony and tell him to call home."

"Yes, Monsieur."

Before any of the girls could have made the first step, the woman said with considerably more nervousness than before, "Er, wait a second! They didn't call from home, Robert's parents. I don't know if they mentioned vacation or a visit or whatever, at any rate they're somewhere on the road."

"Then what's the number?" asked Remus.

"Erm - I'm sorry, I didn't take it with me." The woman sounded more relieved than apologetic. "I didn't expect this kind of - er, support here," she added with the kind of brief giggle many women consider necessary for reasons of politeness.

"No problem. You can - "

Suddenly the connection on Rahewa's porty was dead, but Harry's own, much quieter, reported the rest of Remus' remark.

"... this one and ask someone in the castle for the number."

"Oh ... Erm, sorry again, but there isn't anyone I can ask at this time of the day. Now, can we just - "

Remus' quiet but authoritative voice, still heard only through the connection with Esmeralda, interrupted the woman. "In this case, madam, I suggest to return to the castle and wait for my call in, say, fifteen minutes? You'll give me the number to call back, and I'll be the one to inform Robert and lend him my porty."

"Monsieur, please!" Suddenly the woman sounded desperate. "I'm supposed to fetch the boy, and such orders aren't taken carelessly in our company. If you see reason to worry, you might escort us to the chateau, although I really feel competent enough to do it myself."

"Just a second, please."

Harry knew what was coming a fraction of a second before his porty buzzed. He pressed the Answer button.

"Philippe? It's me. Listen, MiraLuc seems unable to let that boy do his call from any place other than the chateau, so the lady and I'll accompany him there. I'll be back in a while. Okay?"

"Erm ... hold on a second." Harry's thoughts were racing - not for any idea what to do, only for the side-effects of what he had in mind since the conversation had shown that this woman wouldn't ease off without her prey. He couldn't foresee, not in such a short time, but it didn't matter.

"Esmeralda," he said into his own porty after activating the transmission from his side, "press the bracelet, will you?"

"Yes."

Next second, her alarm appeared on his porty, and an immeasurable instant later, he stood somewhere close to the camp, four girls and a dog in front of him and two adults to the left.

"You go to sleep," he told the girls, then turned to the woman. "Good evening, madam. We'll go to the chateau, except it's a tiny bit bigger, and the owner's different, too."

"What?"

Not bothering with an answer, Harry nodded toward Remus to confirm that his friend should follow. Then he apparated into the Chateau Saumur and immediately summoned the woman after him.

They stood in the hall before the library where Harry expected to find Cho and the Comtesse Marie-Claire. Still before the woman from MiraLuc had found the time to recover from her shock, Remus appeared a few feet away.

"All right," said Harry, "let's find a place to sit. Gently pushing the woman forward, he made a step toward the library, opened the door, and walked in, together with his involuntary guest.

The two women were sitting exactly where Harry had expected. They had stopped their conversation to look at the newcomers, curiosity in their faces.

"Good evening, myladies," he said. "We've got someone here I'd like to ask a few questions, and I thought, before using the thumbscrews, a chair and a glass of brandy might be a better start." He turned to the woman. "Because I'm not quite sure whether you're guilty or just stupid."

The woman looked seriously frightened. "Where ... where are we?"

Harry nodded toward the comtesse, who answered, "This is the Chateau Saumur, the new wing that's not public property but private - you won't believe how private we can be here. Please, have a seat."

The woman named Madeleine Vasseur sat heavily down, still trying to come to terms with her environment, a task to which Marie-Claire's insinuation hadn't helped.

"What happened?" asked Cho.

"This lady came to the camp, supposedly to fetch a boy who'd gotten a call from his parents to the chateau - MiraLuc, I mean. But when we offered phones plenty for all kinds of calling back, suddenly they weren't appropriate." Harry turned to the woman. "Was there ever a call?"

Rather than answering, Madeleine Vasseur buried her face in her hands and started to cry - almost silently; only the shaking of her shoulders revealed that a mental breakdown was taking place before their eyes.

* * *

Carlos threw a last tennis ball into the river and watched as Bolo swam out to fetch it. When the dog stood in front of him again, ball in his mouth and an expectant look in his eyes, Carlos said, "Now give it a rest! Lay down and get dry. You're so worn out, the next time we'd have to pull you out of the water."

It was true. The only tireless part of the dog was his mind, stubbornly set on fetching tennis balls. However, after another shaking that sent water spray everywhere, the German shepherd sat down. In a minute or so, he would lie down on all four legs.

Chloé said, "He'll miss the water, won't he?"

It was Sunday afternoon. An hour from now, the MiraLuc people would place the portkey gate at the riverbanks, not far from where Carlos and Chloé were savouring the last sun rays and the last minutes of this camp, and soon afterwards they'd be back in Brest.

When Carlos gave no reply, Chloé asked, "Is there much water where you come from? Bolo didn't swim here for the first time, so much's for sure."

"Course not. We live right at the sea shore - er, I mean that's where we're at home. But it's saltwater there; Bolo loves rivers and lakes where he can slurp water any time he wants."

"There's a small river at Nohanent - well, it's just a creek most of the time, but in spring during the snowmelt, it grows wild and dangerous. And it's cold as ice all year long."

Carlos felt tempted to talk about a lake in the Camargue, or a lake that looked dark, never heated up much, and was found right next to Hogwarts. But all these tales would lead into driftsand within seconds, metaphorically speaking. A slip of his tongue would be unavoidable, once he'd started any of these tales.

Chloé seemed to feel it, although she probably related his silence to her mentioning of Nohanent, as Carlos could see in her face when he quickly glanced up before lowering his look once more to the surface of the Loire.

After a few seconds of uneasiness, in what sounded like a forced attempt on changing the subject, Chloé asked, "Did you spend all your earnings?"

"You bet!" Carlos had a short laugh. "And all the same way."

"It didn't ever cross your mind to share, eh?" Chloé pouted, and it was hard to tell whether she faked or not.

"You think I ate all of them myself? Do you want to know what happened to the three black tags I earned with all this hard work? They went to Serge! I didn't want to tell you, but - "

"All three of them?"

Carlos grinned. "Yes, and that's the best I could do with them."

"But why? Did he bully you? Do you have to pay him to live in peace?"

Carlos grinned more, seeing an opportunity to ask a question he'd heard several times from his parents. "Last question first or in the order of asking?"

But Chloé was the wrong person, or in the wrong mood, for such rhetorical games. With concern in her voice, she said, "You don't have to be ashamed of that. It's quite common, and he's so much stronger ..."

She came to a halt in her speech for his defense because of his expression, and the ripples of laughter that went through his body. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"You aren't far off the track," he said, growing serious again. "When I came from your tent with my first tag, he really tried to bully me. Said half of it was rightfully his, and didn't let me go inside to change into my swimsuit. He'd been looking for a fight for a while already, so we did it right there and then."

"And?"

"And I won, but Serge's just too stupid to know when he's beaten. So I offered a deal - the entire tag if he'd do the work for our own tent the next day as well. And he agreed. At least he keeps to his promises."

"Hm."

"I gave him the second tag for doing the necessary work today as well, and the third and last one for taking over my share of the cleaning-up chores. It works great! He's hot for sweets, and since then all three of his brain cells are busy looking for other work he can do for me in exchange for something to eat."

"Hm."

Carlos stared at Chloé. "What are you hmming? Do you think I wasted the rewards?"

"No, not exactly. It just - well, I'm trying to figure out whether I like it if someone is as clever as that just to avoid a fight. And, erm, to be honest, I'm hot for sweets too."

"Like those?" Carlos' hand went into his pocket and came up with a candy bar, the equivalent of a red tag's value.

About to take it, Chloé hesitated. "And you?"

Instead of a reply, Carlos passed the candy bar over to her, so his hand was free to get the second one out - and a chewing stick for Bolo, because sweets as sticky as candy bars were taboo for the dog, while Carlos couldn't stand being stared at with such sad eyes when eating it by himself.

"I don't like to fight," he said after a first bite. "I'm not afraid, if that's what you mean. The fight with Serge took only seconds, then he was kneeling there and gasping for air. I'd warned him in advance that I know aikido, but as I said, he's too stupid to lose. Maybe that's what bothers me most. I mean, if it was a fight against evil, like the one your hero fought, I could imagine taking part, but what's the sense in fighting someone just because he's stupid?"

"My father says, stupid people are dangerous."

"Mine says the same, but he also says that dangerous and evil aren't the same."

"And what if this Serge were going to hurt someone?"

Carlos looked triumphant. "He tried to offer me his services as a bodyguard - for you, or Esmeralda. I told him there are other girls less protected, or boys, and that he could earn himself a lot of sweets and respect from people when working as bodyguard for them."

Chloé eyed him from the side. "I always guess you wrong. When I think you were clever, you just knew something I didn't know. When I think you cheated your way out of a tough corner, you tell me how you put a blockhead on the right track - and when I complain about wasted tags, you come up with a candy bar."

"It might have to do with this school - I mean, that we arrived under false pretense, and that we still can't play open, and that we still have to be careful."

"Could be." Chloé fumbled at her ankles and pulled her socks down to have a look at her bracelet. "But we didn't need them once here in the camp." She looked up. "Are we going to keep them?"

Carlos nodded. "All the time, until this thing is over."

There was a minor temptation in him to tell her about what he'd heard from Esmeralda, regardless of the fact that even his sister knew little about what really had taken place. But this temptation was easier to fight than the one concerning his true identity.