The High Priestess

Harry's call from the Crusader castle reached Cho around eleven. She had been sitting at her desk, officially to work on the replacement for Jesamine. But this task wasn't likely to bear results soon, so it wouldn't hurt if right now she felt too absent-minded. Or too fearful, truth be told.

Hearing that the strange power had been located gave Cho leeway enough to concentrate on her work. She decided to continue with what she had started, only this time seriously. Her first step was to make a phone call - a phony call, to be precise - and to fix a lunch date. Her next move let her reach the door to the neighbour office.

"Hey, Chrissy, can we talk?"

"Sure, boss."

"Don't boss me!"

In a good imitation of a Southern Louisiana slave, Chrissy sang, "Yassuh, ma'm, suh."

Cho smiled, then turned serious again. "It's about the new Bio CEO. I'm going to make some suggestions, and I want to hear your comment - uncensored, if possible, I mean as prejudiced as you can. Okay?"

The Muggle woman with the witch daughter leaned back. "Shoot."

"Well, then ... I assign you CEO of Biochemicals, and I get me a new assistant."

"Gaah."

"Why not?"

Chrissy grimaced. "That's a relegation, isn't it?"

"It's a matter of perspective ... Someone once said, rather the top guy in a small town than number two in Rome."

"Yeah - only, when the guy said that, he was number one in Rome, and that's a good position to spread bullshit like that." Chrissy wrinkled her nose. "If you'd ask me to do it, I figure I wouldn't turn you down - "

"But I won't; it was just a question." Cho hadn't expected any other answer. "Okay, number two: Bill Weasley isn't going to get his magic back, and for him that's reason enough to accept the offer."

Chrissy smiled. "Nice idea, no matter which state he is. But I don't think you'll win him over."

"Why not?"

"He's that tight with the Goblins." The woman put thumb and index finger together. "Aside from that, Fleur had to agree to it, which is unlikely because from Paris to Santa Monica, that's really a decline."

Cho thought for a moment. "Could he do it from Paris?"

The number two in Groucho shook her head, although hesitantly. "Probably not; the time difference's too big - unless the whole branch is moved over, which would mean quite a bunch of new contractors. No - either here or no deal."

"Shall I ask him?"

"It's your family, you should know better than I. Ask Fleur - if she tells you to go to hell with Bio, which I think she will, you can save the embarrassment of asking him."

Which was a good advice, and quite an obvious one, now that Cho thought about it. Only people tended to miss the obvious when relatives were involved - actually one of the reasons for this conversation.

---

"Okay, then let's come to the next idea - Fred and George Weasley. Their business instinct - "

"Is such that they have built up a nice business of their own. What makes you think they won't laugh into your face?"

Chrissy's question was only natural - over the past years, Swashbuckle Sweets had developed from a single shop with a mail order branch in the back room to a global player, with customers worldwide and a chain of franchise shops - so far only in Europe. However, Cho saw a possibility.

"Because they don't have to give up the sweets, quite the opposite. We create a new branch - Groucho Sweets - and one of them takes over that, while the other takes over Biochemicals ... Or we run it all under Biochemicals, and they share the CEO position."

Chrissy's eyes widened admiringly. "That'd be a coup!"

"Yeah. Problem is, they really prefer to be top in small-town - and what's worse, Swashbuckle isn't that small."

Chrissy's face showed excitement. "And what if you go still a step further? If the prophet won't come to the mountain, why not moving the mountain to the prophet?"

"Huh?" Hearing about prophets, Cho's mind filled with an imaginary picture of a small town in Israel, and a castle near some lake.

"Move Biochemicals to England. Put it together with Swashbuckle, and offer them the European branch of Groucho - with these two companies first, and room for expansion later. Isn't that top enough?"

It would drive Groucho to the limits of their financial capacity - maybe the idea came a bit early, only they were short of a competent CEO now, and if Chrissy made a suggestion like that, she had at least a rough estimation that it could be mastered.

"It would solve another problem," added her assistant. "We're near bursting point here. If we don't move something out, we have to expand."

Cho nodded. "That's a brilliant idea ... I'll tell your boss to remember that, when you come next time for a better salary."

The woman sighed theatrically. "Only she won't listen."

They both grinned. Chrissy would not come - as for all members of Groucho's higher management, her salary was a respectable fixum which didn't change, while a significant part of their income required a profit at the end of the year. Jesamine's premium correlated to the success of Biochemicals and Triple-A, while Chrissy - like Cho herself - would earn a premium if Groucho altogether made a profit. Cho's influence on the amount was limited because this decision would be taken by more people. Even so, everybody knew about her good memory - for favours as well as for insults, or threats.

Chrissy asked, "Some more candidates?"

"Maybe one." Cho smiled. "I'll learn more about our chances during lunch."

* * *

The man sat alone at the bar of the Luiz Pereira, a restaurant that had opened not too long ago and therefore was still an insider tip. Pretty soon, everybody would know about the excellent food they served here, and then it would be difficult to get a table at such a short notice. But Luiz' fame hadn't spread yet, so right now, shortly before lunch time, it was almost empty.

The man liked these quiet minutes a great deal. He wished Luiz all the best, only he wouldn't help spreading, for quite egoistic motives. Maybe also because he was more of an insider, could have told about more than the delicious food and this bar, in which the barkeeper knew when to keep silent and how to serve a cold beer.

The man wouldn't tell - a fair deal in his opinion, keeping his mouth shut about Luiz' history, and letting other people sing his praise. He also used to pay for his drinks, with one exception: when Luiz saw him, the host would invite him to a single glass of red wine. Politeness demanded to accept and exchange a few words of small talk. The invitation was Luiz' way to tell him the restaurant was clean, and accepting it could be understood as his own way of telling Luiz that this was just fine, and better kept that way. In addition, it could be seen as a way to tell himself he was clean, too, and better kept that way.

The man's name was Ramon Garcia. He was a lieutenant in the LAPD, the Los Angeles Police Department.

Lieutenant had been Ramon's rank for quite a while already. He no longer thought he would ever make captain. The odds were against him, would always be. His refusal to howl with the wolves wasn't the worst - every now and then, the police department needed someone as captain who couldn't be bought, if only as a showcase. But there was another reason.

Ramon was a wizard in the Muggle police.

Eventually, they had found out, simply because Ramon had shown his magical power during an operation, when using magic had been the only way of saving a life. Naturally enough, the saved life had told about. It had earned Ramon a special award, and the eternal mistrust from his fellow detectives, and the saved one in first place.

The first lunch guests entered the restaurant. Through a mirror across, Ramon could check every newcomer without looking directly at them. After all those years with the police, it was difficult to look like the average barfly when glancing at someone. Most people felt startled when he looked at them.

A few didn't. One of them had just entered the room, stood there for a moment to look around, then marched straight to Ramon's stool. He turned to meet the visitor's eyes directly, rather than through the mirror.

"Hello, Cho. Let me buy you a drink, so I can say it wasn't a bribe, treating me for lunch."

"Hello, Ramon." Cho climbed on the stool next to him, looked at his glass, and ordered the same. Then she raised her own glass. "To the bad old times." She took a long gulp.

"To a better future." Ramon followed her example.

"I'll take you by your word."

"Uh-oh. But while on the subject - you look better than ever."

Cho smiled. "You look better than the last time."

That was Cho all right - never shy of reminding people that the last time they'd met he had looked at her through the bottom of a liquor bottle, more or less. Next moment, Ramon realized that she did with him much the same he was doing with Luiz, and the thought made him grin.

Cho looked at him with a question in her eyes - understandably so, it hadn't been funny the last time. So he explained, "I was just thinking, you'd be a good cop, Cho, you have a nice way of telling people to stay at the good side of the street. How's your family?"

"Jumping through the world, and scaring the - well, they're doing okay."

Ramon could sense a story behind Cho's words, but she wasn't going to tell - not now, at least. And obviously, this wasn't the reason for her invitation, which reduced his guesses to half. For a detective, this should count as progress, only that the other half was hardly the topic Ramon would like to discuss during lunch.

But he would discuss it, should the topic arise. Because that was the least he could do, and because that was all he could do regarding this topic, after what had happened about a year ago.

It had been a bad time, at the end of which his girlfriend had told him she could deal with a cop, or she could deal with a drinker, but only with one of them at a time, and that's why she would leave him. Which she did.

Her name was Marie-Christine. She was an actor, famous enough to be mentioned every now and then in some magazine or other. Ramon didn't need those magazines to think about her, he could do that quite by himself.

And Cho was a friend of Marie-Christine, at least had been. Ramon wasn't sure whether Cho was still in contact with her, but if so, this might be Cho's reason to talk with him - for all he found in the magazines, Marie-Christine's private life left almost as much room for improvement as his own. And other than that, he wouldn't know why Cho wanted to talk with him.

---

"Shall we sit down? I'm hungry."

The waiter guided them to their table.

Ramon said, "I have to make a confession. I took the liberty to order for both of us - because its paella, because it's the best in the valley, because you can't make paella for a single person, because it takes a while, and because I know that you don't like waiting that long for your food."

Cho smiled. "You're a caring guy, Ramon. You're totally right, and it's a shame how this talent is wasted, not finding a target, month after month."

So he had guessed right.

"Although there's a target that would suit perfectly."

"Except maybe the target has a different opinion - unless I'm totally mistaken in what you're heading at."

Cho grinned - quite deviously, which should make him as suspicious as toward a crackhead telling him where to look for the culprit. Only that hope and desire were allying to drown his mistrust.

"You stopped drinking, didn't you?"

He nodded.

"And you can have a beer - which is quite remarkable, according to what I've heard. I was told the only way of keeping clean is not a single drop."

Ramon smiled. "Basically, that's correct. Sometimes, Luiz offers me a glass of wine, and I accept for a certain reason. And sometimes, I get myself a beer for showing off."

Cho looked pleased. "Which means you won't be more than someone can stand at the same time, right?"

"You know how it is with the drop too much. What's spilling over is more than this particular drop, quite a lot more actually."

Cho looked triumphant, definitely a reason to feel worried.

"You're totally right once more. So the solution is obvious, isn't it? You must stop being a cop."

"Yeah, sure, no problem - does it have time till after lunch? Because - "

"Ramon." Cho's voice, not snappish at all, stopped his bad joke. "You don't have a future in the LAPD, we both know that quite well. What's more important - you've done your share, this job's more than someone can stand a lifetime. When did you stare at your service revolver the last time, thinking it over?"

Ramon twitched, not daring to answer. It had been two days ago.

"And she's not doing well. She needs a caring hand."

He swallowed. "Cho, maybe I could give up being a cop. And then? What should I do? I didn't learn anything else, and in my age, it's not - "

"Work for Groucho."

"What? As a security officer? No thanks. I mean, nothing against Francesco and what he's doing, but that's no job for me."

Francesco Lopez, an ex-Pinkerton detective, was the Chief Security Officer of Groucho Industries.

"Who said you should do security?"

"Then what else? Sales? Marketing? Administration?" The way he listed the alternatives, they sounded like insults - Ramon was aware of that while unable to change it.

Cho stared at him. "No. CEO of Groucho Biochemicals."

His laugh was short and bitter. "I'm sorry, Cho. I didn't mean to sound like that."

"I did."

---

Ramon stared at her, slowly coming to the only possible conclusion, that she was serious.

"That's ridiculous."

"Why?"

Cho moved the next fork of paella into her mouth and started chewing, sure sign that she felt quite on track, in contrast to himself, who had lost ground contact.

"Because I don't know zilch about manufacturing, that's why. The idea is downright crazy - I can't read a balance sheet, I can't distinguish between - "

"Ramon!" Cho's voice grew a bit sharper. "Assume for a moment the police chief would be a good chief - what does he know about catching criminals, about forensics, ballistics, or whatever?"

"He's good at politics, which I'm not."

"The moment you'd start doing politics, Chrissy would have you by the balls. If you'd ever fall back to the booze, I personally would have you by your privates." Cho didn't grin at these words. "Aside from that, there's room for a mistake or two."

Ramon tried to steady himself. "Cho, did I ever tell you that three of the five people who can scare me respond to the name Potter? And right now - "

Cho looked simultaneously flattered and insulted. "Who are the other two?"

"One is Marie-Christine, and the fifth's someone we don't need to discuss here, in particular since he's locked away. It's too big a step at once - be realistic, Cho, I'd be bound to fail."

She stared at him, chewing, then she gulped the bite. "If I could offer a smaller size, maybe I'd do it, only we need someone for Biochemicals ... Are you ready to answer me four questions?"

"Sure."

"Can you deal with people, yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Can you distinguish between crap and cranky, yes or no?"

"Er - yes."

"Can you work in a team and take an advice?"

"Yes."

"Would you give your left ball to have this job?"

"Erm - I'm not ... no."

"But you would give it for mastering the challenge and having Marie-Christine back."

Four questions, she'd said. But then, this hadn't been a question, had it? Whatever - he nodded.

"Good. You get it for free, because I can hardly imagine Marie-Christine would appreciate such a deal."

Ramon looked alarmed. "Wait a sec - I didn't hear myself saying yes already. Cho, please, give me a day - that's a lifetime decision, it's certainly worth a bit of thinking. Your offer comes a bit suddenly."

Her glance wasn't exactly disappointed, not approving either. Why, of course, in the Potter household lifetime decisions were taken in the fraction of a second, everybody knew that ...

In his current state, Ramon could have done with a stiff brandy, except that this would have been a decision by itself. He looked at Cho.

"Is it appropriate for the CEO of Groucho Biochemicals to be scared shitless?"

"The question didn't come up so far, which means there is no rule yet. Why?"

What a stupid question, only she looked quite solemn.

"Because ... no, forget it. I know already what would happen, if I came back tomorrow to say no, and that mustn't happen, won't happen again - you promised me to watch about that, right?" Ramon bowed. "Cho Chang-Potter, I'm your man."

She nodded. "You'll regret it twice a day, but not when coming home."

Ramon knew what she meant, only that in his imagination this home suddenly seemed to fill with someone else - not every day, with her own job, but ... He glanced at a beaming witch.

"Are you in touch with her?"

"No. For some reason, it cooled a bit recently - and this deal gives me a handle to change it."

So she was about to kill two birds with one stone - quite typical of her, although Ramon had no reason to complain since he was doing exactly the same, was even sharing one of the birds with her ... Well, not quite - certainly Marie-Christine had a different meaning for Cho, although he'd speculated more than once in the past about the exact nature of the relationship between -

"Yes."

"Huh?"

Cho smiled at him. "I answered a question that would never come. It was Harry I learned that from."

"Learned what?" With some desperation, Ramon felt his cheeks colouring.

"To anticipate delicate questions, and answer them honestly. The effect's disastrous" - now Cho grinned - "but only at the first moment." Her face turned serious. "But that's been long ago, while something else is still valid: we owe her, and this obligation stares into my face whenever I look at Cass."

Ramon knew what she was talking about. It had to do with their child, and a gruesome plot from a time before Sandra Catherine was born; Marie-Christine had been the one to uncover the plot as the first step in making it fail.

Thank God, his face had steadied again - strange how much a cop with so many years in the service could feel embarrassed about something like that.

"I'll write my resignment. Does it have time till after lunch?"

"That's early enough." They laughed both. "And for the other half - let me make the first moves; it might come as a little surprise for some people."

That would probably include himself - not the announcement, or whom he was bound to see again, but the day and time and location. Compared to today's surprise, this would be a small one, in some sense, only that the thought was enough to make Ramon's bones feel like jelly.

* * *

Harry did what he called delivering Cho - apparating into her office, of course with Sandra and Nagini, then summoning Cho, and finally saying goodbye after listening to the ritual statement without which Sandy wouldn't leave: "Okay, you gangsta - off with you."

This done, he apparated to Hogwarts for a similar purpose - to deliver a sergeant of the Israeli Army at her home base, or somewhere close. Cho knew what he was going to do, and had expressed mixed feelings more with glances than with words. From her view of things, the sooner that sergeant was off the better. Apparently, Almyra had also delivered - a report, no doubt quite detailed.

Harry came out at the Hogwarts Express platform - the closest point outside the school's protective zone, which made apparition impossible. Walking toward the buildings, he heard a shrill whistle from across the lake. Glancing over, he saw a figure wave. From that distance, all he recognized was, it could be Laila.

It was Laila - in a swimsuit lent by someone who was a bit slimmer, or just less muscular, especially around the chest.

"Hello, Laila - your eyes are quite good, and your whistle is truly remarkable."

"I'm an army sergeant, remember?"

Yes he did, and remembered also that she had told him not to confuse her with something else, which right now seemed more difficult than ever.

"And besides, how many people walk around with a girl in front and a snake on the back? Hello, Sandy."

"Laila. Swim."

The scarcely dressed sergeant looked at Harry. "Has this been a command?"

"There's room for interpretation. Mainly it means that Sandy's going to swim. It also means she noticed that you've been in the water, and perhaps will be in the water again soon - but you don't have to; Sandy respects a No thanks on a good day."

Harry started to undress his daughter. Moments later, the girl scurried to the water, followed by her snake.

Laila stared at the two, then back at Harry. "Are you going to let her jump into the water alone?"

"What do you mean, alone? She isn't alone; Nagini's with her. Just watch."

Harry could feel how startled Laila was. Probably her face would show it too, only his glance hung at the scene in the lake, where Nagini was playing snake scooter for Sandy.

There was a short laughter of relief at his side. "I've seen weird stuff this day, but trust me, this here beats it any time."

"Did you come around in the school?"

"Yes, I think so. I attended a Transfiguration class with Almyra, and a Potions class with Hermione, and a Charms class with this McGonagall woman. But the best was History."

"History?" Harry remembered how boring this had always been.

"Yes of course - imagine, a ghost as teacher. The first minutes, I really had to concentrate just for seeing him, then I got used to it."

"What did the students say?"

"Not much." Laila seemed to shrug. "Apparently they're quite used to visitors, Muggle or otherwise. I think in a kibbuz school I'd have got more attention."

Harry grinned without turning. "I think in seventh year you'd have got more attention too."

Laila laughed with pleasure. "That's where I've been, but I took a backseat."

"That's why. Did you see our training hall?"

"Yes, that too - I watched for a while, and realized that I'm not up to that level. Our army's more about guns than combat without weapons; that's a specialty of the Mossad."

Feeling Laila's glance at him, Harry nodded to indicate yes, he knew she was talking about the Israeli secret service.

"In the hall," explained Laila, ""I had the honour of watching the star among the students ..."

It was Harry's turn to feel pleased. The star could only be Rahewa, no question about that.

"... which was quite impressive, in particular after I've seen her blushing a day before. And I was told there's an ex-student against whom this Kenzo would be in serious trouble."

"That's exaggeration - I think we're on par." Being the result of a truly British education, Harry might have denied still more, but the bushido codex demanded being honest.

---

Maybe Laila had recognized it, at least she kept silent for a moment, examining him all the time, unscrupulously using the fact that Harry's gaze was stuck to his daughter in the lake. Then Laila said, "I heard the smaller half of a few stories - about this guy Voldemort."

"Then you should have heard how I came across all these weird skills, not to forget Nagini. Anyway, someone like you, who's fighting a battle all year long, shouldn't be too impressed about that. I mean, counting all the encounters together, my fight with Voldemort was less than a six-days war."

"So what? If I put all my minutes in combat together, I would come up with less."

Just then, Sandra was approaching the lakeside.

Harry made her float into his arms, quite swiftly, raising a gasp at his side. Then he drew his wand and covered the girl in a stream of warm air. Still holding it, he finally looked at the woman.

"I think this counting leads to nowhere. What I was trying to say - I certainly disagree with a lot of what's happening in your country, but I can distinguish between politics and military issues, and - well, I think it's a tough job, and I figure you're good at it."

"That's music to my ears. But Almyra warned me, she said watch out, Harry's great in talking girls into something."

Harry stared at her incredulously.

"Actually she was talking more about fighting than - er, other kinds of action, but little by little, I know what she meant."

"You must be joking." He busied himself with getting Sandra back into her clothes.

"Not at all. She told me how she became your first patient, She said, first he talks you into some stunt, then you get hurt, then he sort of saves your life, and as a result - er, you feel like jumping through fire rings for him."

Harry looked flabbergasted. "Did she really say that?"

"Not with these words ..." The woman's glance hung at Sandra. "What she really said was, then you feel like wax in his hands."

"That's nonsense. I'm not much of a sculptor, and besides, I wouldn't know how to improve this shape - "

"Thank you."

"So as far as I'm concerned, I'll take you back to Tiberias, and that's it. I wasn't planning to send you into some fight, I mean, at least not from my side. What's more, there's someone who'd give me hell if I tried."

The sergeant was reaching for her bag. "Do I get something to eat before we travel? That's the first thing you learn with the army - eat when there's food around, you never know what comes next."

"Yes, of course. It's funny, Cho - my wife - has exactly the same principle, about food, I mean."

"Really? In what army has she been?"

"None - from what I know, she learned that on her journey from China to England. But I guess she'd qualify as a sergeant easily - maybe except for the gun part."

"You mean she can whistle loud enough?"

"Definitely." Harry looked around. "Did you walk?"

"You got it. Those broomsticks weren't quite my taste, and this school's a bit short on jeeps."

Grinning, Harry took his wand and used it on a tree stump. "I know a short cut - touch this."

Laila stared at the trunk, back at him, suspicion in her face. "And then?"

"Then you'll find yourself on that train platform over there. It's less than half the distance from here."

"And the side effects?"

"There are none - it's a portkey, not summoning. We'll do the same when travelling back to Tiberias."

Still with some reluctance, Laila touched the stump, was gone.

With daughter and snake mounted, Harry followed, and found her glancing around like a soldier behind the enemy lines. "How was it?"

"Well, I figure I won't get used to that soon. A jeep's more like my choice."

"They're so bumpy."

---

Laila started to walk toward the building. "Once I'm a ghost like that history teacher, floating will be okay, I guess. Until then - a bump tells you that you're there, and that it's real."

"A jeep to Tiberias would take quite a while, what do you think?"

"Yeah, sure, you can kill every metaphor by driving it too far - and jeeps too, come to think of it. Anyway, if ..." Laila's voice trailed off.

Harry glanced at her, waiting for her sentence to finish.

She looked wondering. "I just - you know, there's this old saying, if God had wanted to make us fly, he'd given us wings, and I was about to say something similar about being here and there almost at the same time, and only then I realized you do that all the time. And it's not you alone. I'm asking myself - what do we Muggles have in compensation for the lack of magic?"

"Immunity to a certain fever, for instance."

The answer didn't satisfy Laila, only Harry had none better, nor had she. Having reached the school, the small excourse into metaphysics was stopped abruptly by something more handsome - a Hogwarts supper.

They were offered places at the teachers' table. So shortly after his breakfast, Harry restricted himself to some tea, while Sandra found the plates invitingly enough to try a bit here, a bit there. Of course, she had been swimming, but still it was interesting to see how her standard preferences seemed temporarily out of order. Still, it didn't mean Sandra would accept the same food at home.

Laila, in the meantime, did a serious job of refuelling.

Harry talked with his friends, however somewhat absent-mindedly, as he was watching the scene at the Gryffindor table, in particular that between some seventh-years, and musing idly whether the distance between some seats at the same table was really shorter than that between two tables. For what he could see, Rahewa's friend Vanessa was doing quite some conversation, between - and compensating for the lack of contribution from - Rahewa and this Clemens.

He remembered well how difficult it could be to cross certain bridges.

Eventually the supper was over. A few minutes later, his sergeant stood in front of him, sufficiently fed and having completed the task of exchanging goodbyes with several people. "I'm ready."

"We'll do it from the platform."

Walking to the place from which Harry had started the vast majority of all his travels, his companion had quite some questions about portkeys, and linkports, and why they didn't work in the school, and why linkports didn't work for Muggles, and why his portkeys did though.

Harry explained what he knew, that a magical wave pattern prevented apparition and all similar techniques in and around the school, for security reasons, and that he was at a loss to explain the origin of his monopoly. "I've inherited quite some weird stuff from Voldemort, that's all I know."

"Then why don't you travel around, building Muggle portkeys all over the world?"

"Why should I?"

"I can give you two reasons. An egoistic one, you'd become the richest man of the world. Or an altruistic one, since you're the only one who can do it, it's your obligation."

"Are you trying to provoke me?"

Laila's face showed astonishment. "No - why?"

"Then your naivety is the genuine article. What do you think how long I'd live?"

She wasn't following.

"Imagine - I'm the only person worldwide who could render all airlines obsolete, plus maybe bus drivers, railways, and whatnot. How many weeks would I have? How many attempts of killing me would I survive? Eight weeks maximum, that's my guess."

"Sorry - you're right. Stupid of me not to think of it." Laila's face had coloured.

"These phonies" - Harry pointed at his own device, then at hers - "are something similar. Only there's an industry behind, that's why killing a single person wouldn't save a dying technology. But even so, they do what they can to throw spanners in this work. If you're fighting against a billion dollar business, make sure the fight can't be won by killing you."

Then he grinned. "And for the other argument - I'm rich enough, not to mention my wife. The richest man of the world is a paranoid lunatic; challenging him is the last thing I have in mind."

---

They had reached the platform. Keeping to a tradition, Harry walked to the small plate which had served as portkey so often.

"Here, that's my standard item. I'd like to have another look at the castle - from there, I'll send you to the linkport. Is this okay with you?"

"Hmmm ... Would you be interested in meeting a nice captain, who happens to be my superior, and tell him what happened?"

"Well, not really - only if you'd be in trouble without that."

"I'll manage." Laila touched the plate and was gone.

Following, Harry came out just inside the portal gate of the Crusader castle, two steps away from the sergeant. The portal was closed, the castle yard empty, and the scene at the well looked unchanged - except for a sign that read 'Out of Order.'

Laila looked around, then at him. "That's it?"

About to nod, an idea crossed Harry's mind. "Can you do me a favour? Would you take Nagini and walk with her to the well? If she hisses, stop and come back."

Laila didn't look excited. "All right - one has to be cooperative to someone who saved your life, right?"

Harry told Nagini what she was supposed to do, then turned to Laila. "Come to my side, so Nagini can move over."

Laila looked around. "Please don't ask why, and please don't comment on that, but I feel like doing something truly pervert in public."

Harry suppressed any comment while not his grin, in particular because, a moment later, he could hear the expected remark. "My God - it's incredible how heavy this snake is!"

Then Harry watched how the woman with the snake walked to the well, slowing down when coming nearer, slowing down more - but not stopping until they reached the wall around the opening. After a look into the shaft, Laila turned around and called, "She didn't hiss. What now?"

"Come back!"

When Laila stood in front of him, Harry asked Nagini, "What about the power? Didn't you feel it?"

"No, Master. There's nothing."

Harry took her back from the sergeant and walked already forward while the snake was still busy arranging herself around his body. Near the point where Sandra had sensed the power for the first time, he bent down to his daughter. "Sandy, can you feel the fever that caught Bill?"

The head in his view was shaking.

He made some steps. "Can you feel it now?"

"No."

He reached the well. "And now?"

"No." Almost impatient.

Harry looked down into the well shaft. All he could see was a circular wall which quickly faded into darkness. And he himself had destroyed the mechanism that might have carried him down for a closer look.

He walked back to Laila. "The power's gone ... They can send people down again - the sooner that crane's repaired the better, because then we can have a look by ourselves."

"The power's gone? You mean it doesn't exist any longer?"

Harry shook his head. "Most unlikely. I figure it's somewhere else, and that means it's not something local. It can move."

This statement sounded familiar to the sergeant. "If it can move, it's not something. Then it's someone."

* * *

The call reached Bill in his office at Gringotts. It was Hermione; she had found a recipe for a potion to cure wizards who had lost their magic power, and she wanted to know whether they should give it a try.

"Sure - that's exactly my problem. Now?"

Hermione sounded a bit hesitant. "Give me a day to collect the ingredients. And don't put too much hope on this attempt."

"Why not?"

"I'm not entirely sure whether that's a reliable description. It reminds me a bit of a drink to regain lost virility. But at least it doesn't look dangerous, so I thought it's worth trying."

Bill didn't know what to think of that. He learned more when he reached her laboratory next evening, after a cumbersome journey through some linkports. There was a book on Hermione's table that looked older than old. It even smelled of age. He asked, "Where did you find that?"

"In our library, where else? Must be among the oldest books you can find there - or in any other library, for that matter."

So Hermione, in her own style, hadn't accepted defeat. Probably she had started rummaging through dusty bookshelves right after her patient - meaning Bill himself - had been saved by someone else. Giving him back his magic would re-establish her reputation as the number one potions witch.

While Hermione started to prepare the brew, Bill tried to read the description in the book, with little success - due to the old typeface, due to the old grammar, and also because Potions never had been a course of his choice. Even so, he got a feeling what Hermione had meant when warning him in advance. Basically, he felt ready to believe that this stuff was at least unharmful - maybe not completely, but he would agree to take a little risk in order to regain his magic power.

Then Bill's glance fell onto an entry in the list of ingredients that was decipherable even for him. He stared at it incredulously, looked up at Hermione. "Say, do you take this list literally?"

She didn't punish him with contempt. "I know what you mean. But I have no choice - and besides, all this stuff's still in use."

"But - " Bill's finger pointed that particular entry. "Did I get this right? Tears of a lovesick virgin? I can't believe it."

Hermione's face showed a mix of amusement and embarrassment. "Yeah, sure ... If it doesn't work, I'd be grateful if you don't run around telling everybody what we tried here."

"Certainly not - they'd laugh about me still more than about you. But tell me, how did you come across that?"

Now Hermione grinned. "Tricks of the trade."

Bill's curiosity awakened. "Please - I just can't imagine how you managed to collect that. Did you beat a virgin until she was crying?"

"Of course not." Hermione chuckled. "Much simpler - I found me a lovesick virgin and told her a joke. When she stopped rolling around, I used a pipette. So you see - if someone doesn't want to tell you a trick, most often it's because the trick is so simple."

This wasn't entirely new to Bill. "I could do with a little laughter myself. Can you tell me that joke?"

Hermione glanced at the small cauldron, then turned back to him. "Sure. It's not a short one, but we still have to wait. It's the story of the bewitched frog."

"That old tale??"

"Well - maybe you know only the kid's version. I'm talking about the adult version."

---

Hermione had his full attention, because she was right - Bill had heard only the kid's version.

"A young witch is walking home. Suddenly she sees a frog sitting there in the grass. The frog says to her, 'Please take me with you, I'm a bewitched prince.' Well, she thinks, it's not out of the question, so she takes him home. There, the frog says, 'If you could kiss me, I could return into my human shape.' Well, she thinks, it's not out of the question, so she kisses him. And right - next moment, a handsome young man is standing in front of her. 'Oh, great,' she says, 'so it's really true.' Says he, 'Yes, but it only holds till midnight, then I have to change back into frog shape again. But if you would sleep with me, the spell could be broken forever.' Well, she thinks, it's not out of the question, and besides ... So she gets laid by him."

Seeing Bill's expectant grin, Hermione continued, "When they're done, he says, 'That was great. But I wasn't entirely honest - I'm a wizard who does this frog trick just to have a little fun. But no hard feelings, okay?' And off he goes."

Bill was chuckling in amusement.

"Funny, huh?" Hermione glared at him. "Then wait and listen: the witch takes it very badly, to be treated like a simpleton, and she's looking for revenge. Well, some time later the frog's sitting there and sees a young woman comin' along. So he says, 'Please take me with you, I'm a bewitched prince." The woman does. In her house, he says, 'If you could kiss me, I could return into my human shape.' Without hesitation, the woman does, and he's standing there. She looks a bit familiar, but so what, so he says, 'It only holds till midnight, then I have to change back into frog shape again. But if you would sleep with me, the spell could be broken forever.' She agrees immediately, and they do it."

Hermione paused, looking malevolently at Bill. "When they're done, he says, 'I wasn't entirely honest - I'm a wizard who does this frog trick just to have a little fun. But no hard feelings, okay?' The woman smiles at him and says, 'That's only fair, because I wasn't quite honest either - when a man sleeps with me, his dick turns into a pretzel.' And as she speaks, he feels how just that's taking place."

Bill no longer chuckled. "Very funny," he said.

"Wait, wait - the story isn't over yet." Hermione's eyes were sparkling. "The wizard says, 'Please, please, make it straight again.' Says the witch, 'I'm sorry, but there's no counter spell. However, there's one last chance.' The wizard gains new hope. 'So please tell me, what do I have to do?' And the witch says, 'There's time till midnight - if, until then, you manage to fuck a woman, the spell's broken forever."

Despite himself, Bill started to giggle. Next moment, he started to laugh, couldn't stop. Each time he tried to calm down, the picture of the pretzeled wizard stood before his inner eye, sending him into another wave of chuckles.

Hermione looked satisfied. "That's a good one, isn't it? And can you imagine how the effect is on a girl not quite as familiar with the male anatomy as a little later in her life?"

Yes, Bill could. "Who is it?"

"That's confidential." But Hermione was grinning broadly.

Which gave him the feeling he knew the donor, leaving only a small list of candidates. Two, actually - his sister-in-law Gabrielle and Harry's goddaughter Rahewa. Except he didn't know which of them was still a virgin, which of them was lovesick, and besides, he had more important issues at stake.

---

Then the potion was ready, and Bill was ready too. The taste and the smell were unremarkable, nothing specific - at least not turning your stomach upside down. He emptied the cup. "And now?"

"The book says, the effect kicks in after a few minutes, and develops to full strength during the next two hours."

Bill sat down. "Then let's give it fifteen minutes. To be honest, I don't think it will work, but at least I've learned a good joke."

For the next minutes, they spoke about the visit in Tiberias. Bill told Hermione about what he had witnessed, and she told him about the operation that had taken place next door.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Hermione turned. "Come in."

Bill watched as a young man entered the room, said hello and, at he saw Hermione with a visitor, was about to retreat quickly.

Hermione stopped him. "Clemens, this is Bill Weasley, the man who lost his magic in a fever. Bill, this is Clemens Stein, my apprentice and some time soon a serious rival of Beatrice and myself."

They nodded toward each other. According to Hermione's face, Clemens was something else in addition, only Bill had no idea what, and whether this had any relevance.

The young man looked at the scene, apparently recognizing that a potions treatment had taken place. Then his glance fell onto the book. The effect was remarkable and almost like the transmigration of the frog in the joke - a second before still a slightly self-conscious young man who felt misplaced, this Clemens suddenly had the stance of a competent scientist, although not a day older than before. He turned to Hermione.

"You tried this medieval recipe, right?"

"Yes." With some effort, Hermione managed not to have her jaws fall down.

"Doesn't work." The young man looked at Bill. "How long since you took the potion?"

"Er - bit more than ten minutes."

"Try it."

Like a doctor, telling you to check whether your leg still was hurting. Without a word, Bill took his wand and rushed it sharply through the air.

Nothing.

Young Clemens nodded. "Don't hold your breath waiting for the effect. There's none."

"How do you know?" Hermione was staring at him in astonishment.

A shrug. "I tried it, even with a few variations."

Apparently, this was surprising news for Hermione, indicating that the young man had a background not completely revealed to his teacher. But she had a sense for priorities in her questions.

"So it's a fake?"

There was a short moment of hesitation before he replied, "Not necessarily - maybe it's just incomplete. At least, the most important stuff is missing in the list."

"Which is what?"

Clemens smiled at her. "Let me answer your question after I've found out for myself whether I'm right."

"Of course." Hermione smiled back. "And the author of this document left it out on purpose, to create a riddle for every witch and wizard to follow his tracks?"

Clemens surprised her again. "No, that's not how people thought at that time. When they wrote something down to publish it, they did it accurately. But he couldn't - otherwise they would have killed him right after the first publication."

Bill couldn't follow. If there was anything in which he felt still less expertise than Potions, then medieval history. But according to Hermione's face, this Clemens had given one hint too much for her genius brain.

* * *

As small as the hall was compared to international standards, in the eyes of sergeant Laila Belezikijan, currently on guard duty here in the Tiberias Linkport, it looked quite spacious. This was of course an optical illusion, created by the absence of any passenger at this dull time of the day. Still, from an army perspective, which was accustomed to small huts and narrow buildings, the linkport was roomy.

While, considering some other halls she'd seen recently, it had to be called a rathole.

Today was her first duty here, after she'd been shot down and cured so astonishingly quick. And for good measure, she had taken Chaim again as her fellow guard. This should tell him something. While staring mindlessly at the other wall, she wondered if he had read the message properly.

Maybe so, maybe not - Chaim was still quite unexperienced, so the finer details might have slipped his attention. What the message meant, in the good old tradition of army command structure, was this - from an official standpoint, his bad mistake of shooting her had been forgiven and was no longer an issue, while on a private level, he still better watched his privates if they would meet somewhere with nobody else around.

The duty gave a good example for the complex nature of the finer details. There was nobody else around, only Laila had no intention to treat him now and here. Revenge resembled a delicate fruit which demanded some time to ripen.

The reaction of the others seemed to accelerate the ripening. An ignorant outsider might have expected that her superiors and her comrades would be happy to see her recovered so quickly, would congratulate her for her good luck after such bad luck, and express some awe, at least some admiration, for a surgery that had left no trace outside.

Ha!

Laila was no outsider, therefore, she hadn't been surprised at all when noticing the mistrust, the disbelief, and the mockery. The best she could expect was the unspoken suspicion that she and Chaim had plotted a crazy story to give her two days off duty. The worst were those who believed the story. Somehow, being cured by Magicals seemed more shameful than being killed by the enemy - or the own comrades, whatever.

To Laila's surprise, this reaction left a sting inside her. True, in a few days, weeks at the most, nobody would mention the accident again - unless as an invitation for a fistfight. But she couldn't come to terms with the way how things were looked at, not this time.

It was unfair. But there was something else. Most things were unfair, without anyone bothering about that. You got a meal if you reached the mess in time. You stayed alive if you kept out of the way bullets went - or explosives. You got awarded, maybe even promoted, if you stepped into the way bullets went - well, sometimes. All this had nothing to do with fairness - the concept itself was an invention of British colony officers to prevent others from treating them with their own medicine.

Laila had known that for quite some time. And then she had met some British people who exercised fairness without ever mentioning the term. As a result, she found herself infected with a deep desire of doing them justice, if only in conversations with her comrades.

Except this turned out impossible.

Had it been a simple British army hospital, for some reason, instead of an Israeli one, fine, nobody would have objected - well, except for herself, because with a bullet through your liver, you had less than an hour.

Again and again, the scenes in that wizard school resurfaced in her memory. These hands on her body - those of Hermione, the surgeon, those of Harry, the anaesthesist, and those of that girl Sandra, the scar healer.

The most accurate description was, she felt traumatized. Not by the accident, not by the bullet, just by the gentleness she had encountered afterwards. For a sergeant - no matter which army - this presented a difficult experience.

---

Figures appeared in the hall. They probably came from that small scientific congress - the quota of Magicals in such a meeting was certainly high enough to raise something like a rush hour here, still more so as they apparently thought better than staying overnight. After hours in Tiberias, if cities like Beirut or Cairo were a linkport jump away, nobody in his right mind would do that, provided the mind was a magical one and would be carried through a linkport.

Which made Laila aware of the other sting, the other unfairness. She was no Magical. She was no witch. The best she could muster was a bitch, ha ha.

One of the figures caught her attention. Not from a guard's view - a middle-aged man, business suit, Caucasian face, certainly no terrorist. But he looked as though he'd started the good life already during the congress: heated face, unsteady walk, barely keeping himself under control.

A moment later, Laila noticed something that made her step forward - without knowing exactly why, only that the man didn't fit the pattern of a drunken congress member. She reached him and saw the sweat on his forehead, at his temples.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"Well, not quite ..." The man's glance toward her was more thankful than annoyed. "I guess I've caught some infection - I feel like running a fever. Hopefully, a night's sleep ..."

Fever.

"Excuse me, sir - you're a wizard, right?"

"Huh? Yes, sure, what would I do here in a linkport otherwise? Now, if you have no objections, I'd like to reach my hotel as quickly as I can - "

"Just a moment, sir. I think I know what kind of infection you've got. Would you please sit down for a moment?"

The promise of a quick diagnosis calmed the passenger's mood. He followed Laila to a seat and slumped down, obviously more than ready to pass over responsibility to some expert in Middle East fevers.

Laila reached for the small device. She had carried it around all the time - in her pockets, not outside. Now was the time to use it. She pressed the last button in the last row.

Several seconds passed.

"Hello, Laila - that's a nice surprise, hearing from you." He sounded a bit breathlessly.

"Hello, Harry. I hope I didn't catch you at an untidy time."

Harry laughed. "I'm here in the training hall with Tony. We try to kick each other - that's why it took a moment, and that's why I may sound out of breath." Laila heard the grin through his voice. "It's eleven in the morning here. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks. But right at my side there's someone who seems not quite as fine."

"What's the problem?"

"He's a wizard, and he's caught a fever ... Oh, sorry - we're here in the Tiberias Linkport. It's a congress member. Could be something quite ordinary, but wizard and fever, here in Tiberias - "

All joy had lost his voice. "You're right. I'll be there in five minutes."