The High Priestess

Hermione Krum sighed in her sleep, unwilling to lend an ear to this urgent whisper, not in that precious early morning hour before her alarm clock would set off.

A hissing snarl. "Stupid know-it-all! Someone needs you."

That was her phony, with the codeword for truly urgent, established by herself, except for the voice which was Cho's - nobody could hiss as malevolent as her.

Except Hermione herself, of course, but who'd wake from his own command?

"Who'ssit?" Her eyes still glued from sleep, Hermione felt for the torture box so it would reduce the volume; Viktor nextbed mustn't wake up.

"Poppy Pomfrey."

The doctor witch ... Poppy wouldn't wake her unless for bad reason, and with Poppy's skill, the reason had to be quite bad.

"Comin'."

Sufficiently awake, Hermione moved her legs to the floor and heading for the bathroom. Some minutes later, she reached Poppy's office. "Mornin'."

The doctor witch of Hogwarts, the British school of wizardry and witchcraft, didn't waste time with apologies.

"Thanks, Hermione. Blood, urine, and sweat."

Hermione, potions witch of Hogwarts with a reputation spanning far beyond the school and its cooperated houses in other European countries, used to play the lab technician for Poppy in cases that couldn't be cured with one of Poppy's own mixtures. Poppy never had found a taste for Muggle technology, while Hermione lacked any such prejudice. Her laboratory contained everything modern bio-medical technology could offer, and Poppy's aversion didn't go so far as not to ask for help.

Poppy's attempts not showing a satisfying effect - invariably this indicated some rare disease, normally a serious one. And by agreed habit, to prevent Hermione from any premature conclusion, Poppy wouldn't tell her anything until she asked by herself.

They went into the laboratory. Hermione took the urine first and started to work. Then she asked, "Symptoms?"

"Fever, heavy sweating. No vomiting, no diarrhoea, actually no bowel activity at all. The wife's been clever enough to catch the urine."

"Hmm ..." Hermione stared at the display of her diagnostic computer. "The urine shows nothing, except for the signs of the heavy sweating. Quite high, the fever, huh?"

"Forty-one five."

"What??"

"Sorry, that's been Celsius. Er - hundred and six seven."

Hermione smiled admiringly. Nobody could convert between Celsius and Fahrenheit as quickly as Poppy, whose clientele was found not only at Hogwarts but also in Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Drachenfels, the three other schools associated with Hogwarts.

The sweat didn't tell Hermione anything new. She took the blood sample and filled a tube for her diagnostic miracle machine.

Two minutes later, she stared with bafflement at the display. "According to the blood count, the guy's healthy. Not a single leukocyte more than normal."

So it was nothing inflammatory, no viral attack, none of the diseases against which Poppy would fail. That left poisoning, except it couldn't; Poppy would have detected that.

Hermione looked up. "Either it's a disease which totally bypasses the immune system - something I never heard of - or it's a poison you couldn't detect, which I think is impossible ..."

Poppy just nodded.

"... or it's Voodoo." Which was Hermione's term for anything being as much bad as inexplicable.

"Then it's Voodoo."

"Did he travel recently?"

"Yes, and came back with the fever."

"Where from?"

"Egypt."

Which wasn't exactly famous for Voodoo, in contrast to Jamaica, Almyra's realm, or Haiti, Hermione's own playground at some time in the past. Who'd travel to ... Hermione stared at Poppy. "Who is it?"

"Bill Weasley."

So her premonition had been right. Well, big deal, Hermione didn't know anyone else working in that part of the world. Fleur was probably quite desperate, although - better Bill than any of the children; Fleur had a tendency to panic if one of her precious brats turned sick.

"He's at home?"

"Yes, and I wouldn't like to move him."

It could mean Poppy wasn't going to expose the patient to the stress, or she wasn't going to expose herself to a screaming Fleur ... Probably both.

But they needed a short cut between the patient and the rooms here, and Hermione knew someone who would provide the short cut. This early in the morning British time, he still should be awake, which didn't exclude the risk of calling him in bed ...

There was just one way of finding out. Hermione grabbed her phony and pressed a button. Moments later, she heard Harry's voice.

"Hello, Hermione - did you fall out of your bed?"

"Something like that. I hope you didn't fall into yours yet."

She heard the grin through the voice. "Answer denied. What's up?"

"I need a portkey, Harry. From here to Bill's bedroom."

"Messing with a Veela's a bad idea - " Harry interrupted himself, suddenly serious. "He's ill and can't move? Is he hurt?"

"No - just fever. Problem is, Potty and I don't know why."

* * *

"Okay, Harry. Jump minus two minutes."

Cho gulped the last of her tea, stood up from the breakfast table and went heading for her purse, phony, and whatever else a businesswoman might need in the office. At the same time, Harry prepared himself by mounting his daughter in the sling at his chest, and catching his snake, which was supposed to mount herself at his back, with her head wherever suitable.

Harry and Cho had developed this NASAese after realizing that a countdown provided a perfect method of avoiding those useless, nerve-racking two minutes - one waiting for the other, tapping impatient feet, just for the lack of a signal. And Sandy liked the ritual.

"Jump minus one."

Harry stood ready and watched as Cho spoke with the house-elves, then stored the phony, and finally looked at him to indicate that the last forty seconds could be skipped. He bent down, and his lips touched the head of his daughter, like every morning sitting with her back to him, ready to face new horizons.

"Okay, Shorty - shoot us down."

The girl's body straightened with this important job. "Five - four - three - two - one - zero."

The last word finished in Cho's office, with Cho appearing a split second later. She kissed her daughter, then Harry. "Okay, you gangsta - off with you."

"Gangsta," echoed Sandra with great enthusiasm. It was her newest acquisition, and woe Cho, should she forget to use the word when sending them off.

Harry said hello to Chrissy, then headed for the Triple-A floor, for a change using his legs. It should calm him down a bit, he felt jumpy enough; when calling Fleur this morning, the news had been no news, Bill was unchanged with high fever, and Harry had to suppress the urge of apparating to Paris and stressing people's nerves still more.

Sally, Jesamine's assistant for Triple-A, greeted them. "Morning, Harry, Sandy, Nagini. Jesamine's in Bio, to start her clean-up, as she said."

"Yes, I heard she'll come over permanently - which'll make your own job a dead end, somehow. You should make up your mind about what's more important for you, animals or career."

Before the young woman could answer, her long hair started to move, without any breeze going through the room, then the foremost strings closed over her face.

Sally blew her mouth free, showing a smile. "We'll see. I really want to be around when this pitch witch there in front of me's going to have her first role in a movie. Harry, there's a buck with two zeroes, says she's going to hit the stage within the next three years."

"A sure bet - if you find someone who'd hold it."

The long hair fell back. Harry couldn't see his daughter's face, yet he could feel her beaming.

"Anything new for me, Sally?"

"Not really." The young woman looked at a pile of scriptbooks. "Everybody wants a dragon, but the scripts are - er, crap." She quickly glanced at Sandra, after this near miss of another four-letter word. "The offer for the cornflakes ad's still pending, and the salary's climbing toward truly obscene numbers, only Jesamine's right with her judgement; it'd burn you forever."

A burnt dragon - today, Harry didn't feel like grinning about the joke. He left Sally, aiming for the next office.

It was the administration wing of Groucho Triple-P, and a better joke than the previous one because this smallest of all Groucho daughter companies filled one office room and a large workshop in the basement. Triple-P stood for Personal Portkey Programming. Its chief executive officer was Ray Purcell, and calling him with his title would be understood as an invitation to a fistfight - he was an engineer, period.

About a year ago, Harry had finally managed the art of person-specific portkeys. Cho had taken the opportunity - no, not to have her own link between office and home, she liked the luxury of a summoning assistant by the name of Harry too much, but she had started a new branch.

At that occasion, Cho had also taken the opportunity to tell Harry that she could collect daughters much quicker than he, even though just daughter companies. Harry's answer had indicated something about alternative contractors for this purpose, if that rubbing-in came once too often, or at the wrong moment. About to search his nose for a good one, Cho had stopped - remembering just in time that her husband had mentioned the issue of another child several times, and quite carefully. Since then, Cho kept the presence of mind not to joke about daughters and sons.

At any rate - the new branch sold personal portkeys, very few of them, at mind-numbing fees. Such a portkey represented the ultimate luxury item; money alone wasn't enough to get one, and Cho used them as a bribe in negotiations with great deviousness - however only after making sure that Harry would honour such an obligation. He was quite picky with his customers.

Ray did a bit more. He sold normal portkeys for private customers. In his spare time, Ray worked at Harry's trick, with Harry's full support. The engineer was near his goal and had already managed a portkey that worked for people close to each other, like siblings or long-married couples. While this seemed a good candidate for another article in the Triple-P portfolio, these portkeys were still too unreliable.

Harry found the office empty. So Ray would be in the workshop or on a business trip. Well - even if an order was waiting, a day more or less wouldn't matter, would make the piece just more precious to the customer.

Checking his watch, Harry realized that it was time to change dress without untidy haste, and then to reach his appointment with Tony, his regular training partner in aikido and kenjutsu.

* * *

Tony Chee, movie director and producer, had executed his profession also in Harry's first three movies, those in which Harry had played in his human shape, as an aikido fighter. As predicted earlier by several people, the first movie presented a story about a young man, falling in love with the sister of his worst enemy. Except that they put an eagle into the story, for good measure, to stand out from the usual crap of Eastern movies, and most of all because the eagle had been quite intrigued by the idea of playing with Harry in a movie. So the title had been The Man with the Eagle.

Actually - the eagle, usually known as Almyra Lupin, covered two jobs. The first, public one was being an eagle while the camera was on, while the second job had come from the eagle's best friend: to watch Harry and that girl, his movie love.

The inevitable sequel hit the movie theaters under the title In Search for Freedom, and the fan community grew very upset because at the end, the young man set his eagle free. Naturally enough, movie number three was called The Eagle Returns, with the title alone calling back all those who had watched the other two.

Tony would have liked more. But first Harry had been busy with roles for Triple-A, and then Sandra had arrived. In a year or so, Sandra would be old enough to accompany her father to the set without demanding too much of his attention for simple but urgent body functions.

Most people found the girl extremely demanding, Which was somehow funny - as Tony knew, Harry couldn't imagine anything as simple as the task of entertaining Sandra from dawn till dusk, minus siesta time. All he had to do was taking her with him, by just assuming that whatever they did together was okay. And it was.

Like this training ... Harry and Tony alternated between Harry's own training hall in the basement and Tony's training hall. About half a year ago, this had been a training hall all right while not Tony's own, just a public one. The arrangement had changed quite suddenly.

When coming into the hall, Harry used to drop snake first and daughter then, knowing that Sandra would talk Nagini into curling so that she could sit or lie comfortably - on the snake, of course - while watching the scene. A moment later, all of Harry's attention would be with his training opponent.

Then, one day, in the middle of an action sequence, Harry felt a yelling in his haragei, rolled out of Tony's kicking range and sprinted down the hall where he knew Sandra and Nagini.

Tony reached them a moment later, finding Harry with Sandra on his arm, a snake that strongly resembled a cobra in her stance, and a man Tony knew from the set. The man was lying on the floor, twisting in spasms, and his right shoulder and upper arm were swelling by the second.

"Harry - what ..."

"This man - he was seizing for Sandra, and what Nagini felt made her get up and bite him."

"Bite? I didn't know she's poisonous."

"Me neither."

Tony wasn't likely to forget the look in Harry's face. "What kind? Is there an antidote?"

"Nagini says no, there isn't."

Tony recovered quicker than Harry. "Trust your snake - and besides, she saved me from a problem - since you're my guest here, Harry, it would have been my duty to kill him, and I'm not high enough on the social scale to get away with murder."

Two minutes later, the man was dead.

Tony felt deeply embarrassed, although not for this reason. "Harry, I can't forgive myself for having put your daughter at such a risk. Please accept my apologies." With a short bow, he turned, about to leave.

"No - wait!" Harry stopped him, knowing well that this was the last chance to stay in touch with his friend. "You will get rid of that corpse. Then you will spread the story all over - everybody must know what to expect from Nagini when she's protecting Sandra. If you get in trouble from that - tough. When the story's around, you'll come to me ... Then we'll finish today's training."

Tony Chee bowed again. "In your hall, Harry."

---

At the second training after this episode, Harry said, "We're out of balance, Tony. You need a hall of your own."

"Yes, I know."

"Why not building one in the basement of your house?"

Tony laughed. "Because it's impossible. There's solid rock underneath. You know, it's not really a problem, except that they would blow the house on top together with the rock."

Grinning, Harry replied, "You stupid Muggle. Let me show you how a wizard's going to carve a training hall - what do you think how this one's been made?"

Since then, Harry's training felt balanced again, and Tony's almost - for him, the story still had left some ob, but that was okay, nothing to bother with when Harry came closer on the large dojo. In aikido, Tony felt on a par, while kenjutsu ...

Although, today, Harry seemed a bit absent-minded. Tony stepped back and dropped his bokken.

"What's your problem, Harry? Did your bank call and tell you the last million wouldn't fit into the safe?"

Harry's smile came and went. "Er - yes. I gave them your address."

Tony nodded. "I'm your friend in such a dire need." He walked to the bundle of snake plus girl and crouched down. "Hey, little dragon, can you tell me what's Harry's problem?"

The girl studied the Chinese face in front of her with great seriousness, then said, "Dunno" - her answer to all questions she didn't quite understand, without feeling in the mood of admitting this embarrassing state.

Harry had reached them. "It's Bill, my brother by adoption. He was - "

"Fever!" caroled the girl, looking pleased to have found the keyword.

Harry nodded to her. "You're right, my angel." He turned to his friend. "It's a bit high, and our medicine witches can't find the reason." He explained what he'd done the previous evening to make two rooms adjacent to each other, one in the north of England, the other in the French capital.

Tony came up. "Why don't you go and try your luck?"

"Me? Tony, I'm good for some bruises, stuff like that. There's Poppy and Hermione - I'd just hang around and waste space."

The movie director with a knack for bizarre Eastern skills nodded. "Only that's exactly what you want to do - and besides, I've heard about some strange bruises you healt."

"So, did you? From whom?"

Despite Harry's hard stare, Tony grinned. "Must have been some bird, although it wasn't that little."

The stare softened. "Of course - who else?"

"C'mon, Harry - the training's over anyway. Trust your instincts - " Tony stopped and looked at Sandra. "Or is it contagious?"

"No, Hermione's sure about that."

"Well, then - bye, Harry." Tony bowed.

His young friend showed the flicker of a smile, then bowed back. "Bye, Tony." A moment later, he had reached that heap of animal and - well, human, or so they said.

Tony watched how the girl floated up and was stored in the slingseat, while the snake stretched upward to place herself around the muscular body. He still could remember a time when this view had given him the creeps.

Next instant, they were gone, and the air popped into the emptied space.

* * *

Fleur stared mindlessly at the scene in front of her. She was sitting on a chaiselongue in the baby room, adjacent to the bedroom. The double-wing door between both rooms had been removed some hours ago, so she could see the bed, the small table at its side, and the bio monitor on the table ... And Bill, lying in the bed, under a thin cover that was changed hourly. And Hermione, who had taken over the shift from Poppy a while ago, sitting, standing, watching, changing infusion bottles.

The bottles seemed to empty right into the blanket, passing Bill's body just as an unavoidable detour. The faint beeps from the monitor told Fleur that Bill's pulse wasn't slowing, not at all, oh God, would it at least keep steady?

Hundred and forty, something like that. If it climbed above hundred and sixty, Hermione had said, things would turn critical. All symptoms of a heavy infection - but only to the outside, while inside everything looked fine.

From the chemistry, that was. Except that Bill's curricular system was barely able to cope with the heat, the fever which was threatening to burn him alive. Fluid, fluid, fluid - first Poppy, then Hermione inserted fluid whichever way they found, infusion, injection, after having stopped the useless attempts with pulse-downers.

Because the pulse didn't go down. It climbed. For compensation, the amplitude of the green curve on the monitor was shrinking.

Héloise sat beside Fleur on the chaiselongue, subdued, silent, while Elienne, Fleur's mother, was taking care of a baby boy who issued a whimpering every now and then.

Please ... Don't let the pulse rise still more, please ...

There was a sound from downstairs. Fleur didn't recognize it, barely noticed when her mother headed for the door.

A moment later, her mother was back. In her trail came Harry with his usual luggage - daughter and snake. Harry being here was a comfortable thought, while his daughter wasn't exactly what Fleur had missed, not now, not with the two girls behaving as they did.

Harry dropped first his daughter and then his snake on the place next to Fleur, then he made a step toward her and grabbed her for the French welcome.

"Salut, Fleur - let me cheer you up."

Fleur jolted, feeling like hit by an electric sting, only it wasn't where Harry's lips had touched her cheeks - it was inside her, in her mind. Then she realized that he'd used one of his tricks on her.

It awakened her like a shot of pure energy. She watched Harry as welcomed Héloise and saw her daughter start, but smile an instant later - obviously from a similar treatment.

Fleur managed to speak. "Salut, 'arry ..."

Harry turned to her mother - Fleur recognized Elienne's expectant look, no doubt she'd been the target of a welcome wave already in the staircase. Now Harry took Michel from Elienne's arm. And right, as if a switch was turned, the child stopped whimpering.

Fleur looked at Sandra and saw the girl's eyes hang at father and boy, attentive - well, Sandra and Michel, that was how she'd like things between that girl and her own daughter -

Harry stood in front of her. "Hey, mother of this hungry young man! Has your milk turned sour, or what's up?"

Checking the time, Fleur flushed. "Oh my God ..." With surprise, she realized that the desperate crying she had felt in herself still a minute earlier wouldn't burst out. Quickly, she unbuttoned her blouse, took her son from Harry's arm, and could feel the sucking start instantly.

And now she had the full attention of the girl at her side. Sandra hardly noticed how her father took Nagini, walked over to the bed.

Elienne looked at the picture with her daughter and her grandson, flanked by a girl at each side, and found a short smile. "I'm in the kitchen."

Fleur nodded, her glance barely turning from the scene in the bedroom. Harry and Nagini, close to Bill, apparently touching him while hissing at each other. A moment later, Harry was up again and spoke with Hermione in a low tone.

Hermione nodded, said something to him, her face strained. Now both were looking at the monitor.

Harry dropped his snake on the bed, stepped behind Hermione, and took her shoulders. It seemed as though he was straightening her body.

For an instant, from Fleur's perspective, the two were looking like lovers - the woman leaning against Harry, her face coming up. Then Harry whispered something in her ear - when they separated, Fleur could see a brief smile in Hermione's face, instantly making room for fierce determination.

---

Fetching his snake, Harry came back to Fleur. "We checked him both, Nagini and I. Nagini says he feels somehow different, and I'd say pretty much the same, but it's nothing - er, special. His mind's working in high-speed gear - naturally so, with this fever. But there's nothing to worry about in his mind, Fleur - I mean, he isn't going insane or anything of that kind. All we have to worry about is the fever, nothing else."

Basically, it was the same Hermione had said a while before, after doing an EEG on her husband. Still - hearing it confirmed from these two mind-readers, Fleur felt relief.

Harry bent down to Héloise. "How are you, my little Veela?"

"Papa is ill. Can you cure my papa?"

Fleur suppressed an impulse to answer her daughter. As natural as it might have been, trying to prevent a guest from some embarrassment - Harry used to go berserk if someone else answered a question that had been asked to him, from a child.

Harry said, "I'll be here, Hély. I'll help Hermione, and your maman - "

The half-quarter Veela had come to a decision. "Cure him, 'arry, please! Then I'll play for you - and Sandy."

Fleur had to suppress herself again, this time from a gasping. She was about to speak when she felt the light touch from Harry's hand, stopping her.

Harry looked at the girl. "You would do that?"

A nod. Héloise had thrown in everything she had.

"Then I'm sure it will work - your playing is so beautiful, nobody can resist or keep his fever if you're ready for that. Is it okay if Sandy helps me with your papa?"

A short moment of hesitation, then another nod, and a new look in the girl's face.

Fleur stared at him. "What do you have in mind, 'arry?"

Harry seemed genuinely surprised from the question. "Stabilizing him, what else? You heard it; this offer is - "

"Yes, but - Sandra?"

Harry knelt down. "Fleur, Sandy's a source of power against which I look pale - you know that. She can't use it properly, but together we can." He grinned. "She's going to earn her salary - except we have to wait a moment until you two have finished. If I'd take her away from that spectacle, she'd be very ungraceful."

Fleur looked at the power source, whose stare hung unwavering at her son, obnoxious to anything else around.

Harry had grabbed his snake and was back at Héloise. "Sandy and I, we'll be at your papa's bed. So Nagini is free. Do you want to sit with her?"

Expectantly, Fleur waited for the answer. The girl had done this in the past, but she had been quite young then - since Sandra was around, this would have been a very bad idea, even in the unlikely case of Nagini's agreement.

A hesitant nod.

"Then let's do it. Move a bit - okay." The snake was around Héloise, a view which might have sent most other mothers screaming. But not Fleur, and her daughter, comfortably supported like in a hand-tailored seat, Héloise's expression showing how the memory resurfaced.

Harry stepped over to Hermione and spoke with her. Fleur saw Hermione's head snap up, stare at Harry, then at Sandra, then at the monitor ... Then she nodded. Now Harry reached for his phony, probably to talk with Cho. What time was it in California, noon? Something like that.

Harry's voice kept low - first neutral, then soothing. Then, for a moment, it bore a steely sound. Next instant, the gentleness was back.

---

Harry stored the box and came to Fleur. "I told Cho that we're here, and that it may take a while."

"Yes, I heard you talking."

A brief grin. "She was a bit worried because of Sandy. By the way, Fleur, before I forget - when we'll be sitting there, don't interfere just because Sandy's peeing or whatever. I don't think she will, but it might happen."

Fleur stared at him. "Okay, 'arry. Can I remove it?"

Harry grinned again. "All you can do with a spell. But don't touch her."

Fleur nodded.

Then her son was done with feeding, and Harry had his daughter's attention back.

"Sandy," he said, "would you like Hély play music for you?"

Widening eyes, a nod - for an instant, Fleur felt something in her mind like the opening and closing of a furnace door.

"Then we must help Bill. Shall we do that?"

A very determined nod.

Harry grabbed his daughter and walked over to the bed. A moment later, the bed was moved more into the middle, with the headboard cut off to make room for the two of them. Harry sat down in lotus position, his daughter in his lap.

Fleur stood up to watch from inside.

Harry's eyes were closed, also those of the girl. The faces looked calm - not masklike at all, just quiet, unmoving, somewhere far away.

Fleur's glance met Hermione's, then both of them looked at the monitor, on which the pulse display had reached hundred and fifty-five.

The pulse rose - hundred and sixty-three, then it dropped, ever so slowly. Frozen in suspense, the two women stood watching - hundred and sixty, hundred and fifty, hundred and forty-five ...

After some more minutes, the segmented numbers had stopped changing. Hundred and twelve. And the amplitude was stronger than for the last four hours.

With a trembling sigh, Fleur turned to Hermione. "What about that?"

"Well, for Bill it's okay. He could hold that for weeks."

Only Harry couldn't, not to mention the girl.

Nor could Fleur herself.

Hermione started working at another infusion bottle. Apparently, she saw her chance for giving Bill a fluid stabilizer as well.

Fleur walked back to the chaiselongue and sat down beside her daughter. "They're doing it. The pulse is down."

"This is good, Maman?"

"Oh yes, it is. And it was your doing, my little one."

A nod. "I play for them."

Some time during the next hour, the girl had fallen asleep. And Fleur herself too, only that she came awake now, maybe from the smell that hung around the bundle in her arm. Guiltily, she glanced at Nagini, but the snake showed no sign of anger, its unblinking stare toward the bed while its body served as the most comfortable armchair for a girl. Fleur rose to clean up her son and to take him to bed.

For the next two hours, nothing much changed. Elienne came with some food for Hermione, and the potions witch wolfed it down, between bites staring at the monitor, on which the pulse display was wavering around hundred and ten. Even Fleur managed a piece of baguette.

Then the pulse started to climb again.

When it lingered around hundred and forty, suddenly Cho stood in the bedroom. Obviously, she had taken the route to Hogwarts and from there through Harry's portkey. Cho stared at her husband, her daughter, then stepped over to Fleur. "How's it going?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"The pulse is rising again. For the last three hours, 'arry and Sandy could hold it down."

"Harry and Sand - " Cho stopped, looking alarmed. "Did it rise from me being here?"

"No, no - it started something like fifteen minutes ago. Hermione says it's the final battle."

---

Cho found a chair, placed it beside Fleur's, and sat down. After a moment, her hand searched for Fleur's hand, took it.

The display climbed to hundred and fifty, then hundred and sixty.

Hundred and sixty five.

Hundred and sixty eight, back to hundred and sixty three. Another flicker at the monitor - up, and down again.

A murmur from Hermione. "The amplitude ... look at the amplitude, it's unbelievable how strong it is."

Fleur glanced at her. "His heart - can it hold that?"

"Definitely. Look at the curve - so strong, doesn't shrink, isn't flurry at all ... He's not doing it alone." Hermione stood up to switch the infusion bottle. When her hand touched Bill's skin, she twitched and gasped.

Fleur felt alarmed. "What - "

"It's okay - I touched him by accident, and that got me a dash of what's playing inside him - them two, I mean." Hermione looked at Cho. "I can't help thinking it's been Harry who did the rising. As if he'd said, c'mon, Bill, get over with it."

Cho nodded, her eyes not leaving the two figures. "I wouldn't wonder."

A fine film of sweat covered the faces of father and daughter. Hermione had no intention of touching them. "I'll be back in a few minutes - my feeling is, within the next hour we'll need an anti-burnout drink. Two, actually."

Cho twisted. "That stuff? Cass won't drink it, burns like hell."

Hermione had the presence of mind to suppress her know-it-better face. "Yes, but only for people who have to drink it the normal way. The only problem is to tell her that she needs it."

"Then go tell it Nagini; her word's gospel for Cass."

Word? Maybe so. Hermione saved any reply and touched the portkey to Hogwarts, then she was gone.

Fleur pressed the sweaty hand in her own. "Did he tell you what Hély has promised?"

"No - what?"

Fleur told her.

Cho turned around to look at the sleeping girl, then turned back, smiling. "A Veela through and through, huh?"

Fleur wasn't sure whether it came as a compliment or a reproach. Anyway, this seemed quite common with Cho's remarks.

Hermione reappeared with two bottles. When she checked the monitor, her lips went thin. The display showed hundred and seventy two.

For the next fifteen minutes, nobody spoke. Then, almost simultaneously, there was a sigh from three mouths: the display was wandering ... downward.

Half an hour later - Bill's pulse was down to eighty five - Harry's eyes came open. A glassy look around, then his lips bent down onto the black hair before him and murmured something.

The girl's eyes opened. She showed a disoriented look, then her eyes steadied at her mother. "Mummy - music!"

Harry looked at his wife, his smile unsteady, his voice croaky. "Hi, beauty ... You've got some daughter."

Who would have to wait still a while for her music - seconds after Harry had sent the last small potion ball down her throat, Sandra had fallen asleep.

* * *

It was a sound that woke him. But next moment, Bill Weasley thought it had been his full bladder, or his dry mouth, or his back that was hurting as though he'd been lying in bed for days without moving.

Which wasn't unlikely, after all, as it dawned on him when he tried to remember what had happened. He'd come home, then ... Things had happened, maybe with him, and maybe he'd find them again in a brain that felt strange.

But first things first. Bill went for the bathroom, startled from his weak legs. Someone had stolen his springiness.

How far could a bladder stretch? Incredible - he couldn't press a bit, yet his water flew and flew. Bit dark, for his taste. And he had time to realize that feeling in his head - like a hangover from a first-rate booze, no headache at all, the stomach just a wee bit edgy, only that reality had these blurred contours.

He flushed. Emptying the second cup of tap water, Bill could hear someone outside coming in a hurry.

With his second step through the door, Fleur had reached him, for an instant frozen, looking at him, then she held him, quite carefully, quite unlike herself. "You're awake? How are you?"

Then she hung at him. "Oh, Bill, Bill ..."

He held her, dizzied by the impact, by a familiar wave, although the effect was an unfamiliar nothing - well, nearly nothing. Unbelievable, how weak he felt.

A few minutes later, with a happy daughter in his lap, Bill heard the full story. By the time Fleur had finished, the bafflement had faded from his face though not from his mind. Fever ... Strange, that.

"... don't you remember anything?"

"There is ... some weird stuff, yes, although I don't remember any detail. Fever dreams, I think."

Just then, the patience of his daughter was running thin, and she had to tell him her version.

"So it's been you who cured me - you and your music, right?"

Savouring her father's hugging, the girl was too much Veela to accept such a statement without the shadow of a doubt, and too much French woman to question a compliment. Then the delicate nose crinkled. "Papa, you smell!"

Bill laughed. "Yes, my sweet little rose. Let me shower and dress, before you two claim a medal for bravery." Heading for the bathroom again, he heard his daughter ask her mother what kind of medal this was.

The hot water rinsed off the blurring from Bill's perception. It also brought back the memory of some thought, or feeling, during the past two days - something like the same idea rotating round and round, as if a thought had attempted to pop up in thick mud, too light for reaching the surface.

The cold water fully activated his senses - stepping out of the shower, he felt like starving. Shaving and dressing - he would survive three more minutes without food.

The mirror greeted him with a face that might look familiar, once the reddish fur was gone. He pointed his wand. "Tondobarba."

Huh?

Bill pointed again, articulating every syllable. "Ton-do-bar-ba."

The reddish didn't fade.

Bill stared at his wand, rushed it through the air. Nothing.

"Lumos! ... Accio slippers! ... Mergallato!"

It didn't work!!

Dammit ... What kind of fever could burn out a wand?

Bill quickly dressed, then went into the kitchen. "Fleur? My wand doesn't work any longer. May I have yours, just for shaving?"

His wife looked at his wand, at him, a strange expression in her face. She seized for his wand and struck it down with a sharp movement.

A rain of glittery sparkles faded in mid-air.

Bill stared at her, then he took Fleur's wand from an outstretched hand. A split second of hesitation, then he swung it in a half-arc from one side to the other.

Nothing.

Slumping down on a chair, Bill's hunger was forgotten. He had missed the scary show completely, although now he felt truly frightened.

* * *

Harry sat at another kitchen table, his daughter standing on his knees, her body halfway flung over the table plate, supported by his hands. Sandra worked hard at a miracle map that was touch-sensitive and offered a nice set of zoom functions. Harry felt leisurely lazy, while his daughter felt just great.

For good reason. Some minutes before, they still had been hopping through the Hogwarts park like Easter bunnies, together with Rahewa. Sandra's godmother was working at apparition, actually pretty close to her goal, and Harry had given her a demo lesson, apparating ten yards apiece while Rahewa had been trying to follow.

Another good reason was that tomorrow would be Saturday, and the girl, her father, her mother, and her snake - the one which everybody thought was Harry's - would visit the Weasleys, and then Sandra would hear music. Tomorrow was somehow terribly far away, but the girl knew it meant one more sleeping.

While the here and now was dedicated to far-away places. Sandra would touch the map, which would zoom into some region on earth, and Harry had to tell her the name of that area, or city, or country.

If this would give a lesson in geography, then only for Harry. At any rate, Sandra's work represented more than an entertaining game, because once a week the girl was entitled to select a place they would visit. She did so with great care, making sure the shape on the map in front of her, the colours, and the sound of what Harry said matched her current mood.

Then Harry had to find a way to reach that place, come hell or high water. As a result, his repertoire of places he could reach via apparition was growing quickly, his global network card for the linkports of Magical Tours could earn its value, and the time of father and daughter, on a Firebolt Magnum up in the air, covered a measurable fraction of the week.

All this counted just as preparation. The visit itself would be done with Cho in the summoned trail. Harry's collection of known places grew a bit faster than his list of memorizable remarks from Cho, coming out at the destination, though not much.

Touch. "Philippines ..."

Sandra liked the sound of that. Touch. "Mindanao."

What an ugly shape. Zoom out, zoom in. "Palawan."

Better - the island shaped like a snake, and a name like something to bite into.

Touch. "Porto Princesa - that's your place, Sandy, what with that name - "

Harry's phony chimed.

Holding the girl with one hand, Harry fumbled at his belt, came up with the box, and looked at the display. Toward a face which had turned, and into a challenging glare, he said, "It's Ron." Woe him if he'd start talking without first telling Sandra who called.

Ron Weasley was Harry's oldest living friend and his youngest brother by adoption, no matter which counting. Ron worked for the European Council, their expert for magical education, and he and his wife Janine, awaiting her first child come November, would be part of tomorrow's round in the Weasley house - in Paris, not to be confused with The Burrow, the family residence near London.

"Hi, Ron. How's your pen-pushing?"

Harry listened, his eyes widening. "Nothing? ... Did he check with Hermione? ... Yeah, I had the same thought, a burnout gone too far, so it needs ... Oh, did he? And? ... A full cup, and then just a few sparks? Doesn't sound nice ..."

Harry kept silent for a longer moment. "Yes, of course - I have little doubt about that, but a check won't hurt ... Bah, what a nonsense - it takes less than five ..." Harry stopped himself, studying the serious face in front of him. "No - might take some more minutes, here's someone who'll aim straight for her premium ... Yes, okay - see you tomorrow, and remember - gymnastics for a mother-to-be is not what you ... Yeah, sure, but I don't mind minding yours too."

Still smiling, Harry pressed another button. Just in time, he remembered. "That's Bill and Fleur, Sandy."

---

After some seconds, he heard Bill's voice.

"Hi, Bill, Harry here. Listen, Ron just told me you've got some trouble with your magic ... ah, c'mon, don't be ridiculous ... no, really - but our brother had a good idea, just to be sure. He thought we should let Nagini do a check on you - then you know if you're Muggle or wizard ... How good? Bill, if she says you're a gnome, then you're a gnome, no matter what Fleur thinks - but I'm pretty sure ... And besides, there's a young lady here who's playing fireworks in her brain since she heard your name ... Is your kitchen free? ... Okay, living room, then, I'm just going to fetch the two."

Harry clipped his phony. "C'mon, you traveller, let's go."

"Awler?"

Harry laughed. "Yes, this too. Trav-el-ler, we travel to Bill and Fleur and H‚ly and Michel."

"Music!"

"Hopefully." Harry snatched his daughter and went for sling and snake.

Moments later, he stood in the living room of the Weasley house, after having crossed an ocean and eight hours time difference.

Bill came in. "The unholy trinity." But his smile was weak.

Harry put his daughter on the floor. While he stepped toward Bill, the girl was already scurrying out of the door.

"Put your hands at her neck, Bill ... Okay."

When the hissing had stopped, Harry turned to his oldest adopted brother. "Well - the good news first: you're not a Muggle."

Relief in Bill's face, renewed concern. "And the bad ones?"

Harry's voice was expressionless. "She says you don't feel like a Muggle, but you don't feel like a wizard either. It's something new to her - but then, she never met someone with a burnout."

Harry tiptoed to the door, listened, and came back. "Bill, we need five minutes for a test. Ready for summoning?"

A worried nod.

"You'll need your Tours card."

Now Bill had understood. With new hope in his eyes, he went for his office and returned moments later. "Okay."

Next second, Harry stood in the Paris Linkport. He concentrated a moment, then Bill appeared in front of him and asked, "Harry, does this already count as a test?"

"Good question - so far, I summoned only wizards. C'mon."

The next port due had Lyon as destination. Showing their network cards, the two men entered the waiting room. Three minutes later, the line shuffled forward.

Harry saw Bill's lips pressed together, almost white. He kept behind, held his breath while Bill walked into the gate ...

... and disappeared.

He found him again in Lyon Linkport. Bill exhaled. "Whew, Harry - I'm so glad - for a moment ..."

"Yeah - to be honest, me too. C'mon, let's look after our daughters. Ready?"

Bill's nod finished in the Weasley living room. Checking around, they both heard the mesmerising sounds of a Goblin harp coming across the hall. Harry smiled. "Angel music ... Question is, which of the two is the angel?"

"Both of them, what else?"

"Then we shouldn't disturb them, in this precious state. Bill, did Hermione have any idea how you caught that fever?"

"No. She said - whatever it's been, it must have been in the days before - probably during my trip. She says, such a heavy attack can't linger inside you for weeks, or months."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, sounds reasonable. Listen, we both have a job till tomorrow, when half of the family comes together."

"Do we?"

"Yep. Yours - you'll reconstruct your route in every detail, so we can trace it back, or follow it again."

Bill's head jerked up. "You can't be serious! Imagine it's still there - "

"That's what I hope." Harry grimaced. "And that's why my job is a bit more difficult, because I have to find a good argument how to sell it to Cho."

"No, Harry - no way. For all I know, you'd even do it with Sandra, and - "

"Yes of course - she and Nagini together, the magical power isn't made yet these two won't detect."

Bill shook his head. "Forget it. Cho would kill me, and Fleur would help her."

Harry grinned. "That'd be the day ... And before you start getting stubborn, Bill - did you think about the alternative? I figure you want to be a wizard again, right?"

His brother looked sick, and started to inhale.

"Bill, you're not going to lecture me, are you? That'd be the first time, and once too often. C'mon, relax - I'm not going to play tough and stupid."

"No, you're not - why, stupid alone does the trick."

"That's better, because - I'll need you tomorrow, to take your share of the heat."

Bill grimaced. "Don't think I'm lecturing you, Harry, but you'll need something else, then."

"What?"

"A full-body armour, magic-proof."