The High Priestess

Looking around in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Harry found no nostalgic feelings inside himself. Maybe he was too young, maybe the time since he finished Hogwarts was too short, but what he saw seemed totally different from where he'd lived for seven years.

Yes, every single stone was still the same, the Headmaster still the same, and Harry could trace each of the new developments back to their origins, since most of them had started when he was a student here. But now they were in full swing, and it made a hell of a difference.

He had grown up in a climate in which no contrast was drawn sharper than between Muggles and Magicals. In his last year, the two worlds had met in a clash. Now they got along.

True, all people in Harry's view were Magicals. But from the look of things, they might as well have been Muggles. Jeans, for example - the most ordinary piece of clothing here. The students had walkmen, ghetto blasters, personal computers, and mobile phones. Getting caught with a beeping mobile in class meant a week social service, so Harry had been told by Almyra, a week during which the mobile stayed confiscated.

The remark had made him grin - first, because social service looked pretty harmless, anything other than hard work. The house-elves still did the real work and weren't interested in getting their routine confused by clumsy students. So the culprits would do errands, travelling through the linkport network that connected Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Drachenfels. It didn't surprise Harry to hear that what was supposed to count as punishment had quite some attraction.

His grin had still another reason - Cho. She was a very active sponsor of Hogwarts; she donated each year a certain quota of phonies plus one spector - to be used as awards for excellent performance. It was nice, the students worked hard to win such a premium, and it was first-rate marketing. There had been some opposition in the beginning, fading quickly when Cho had donated a phony for each teacher.

Sure, phonies didn't beep in class; they could inform the caller that right now was a bad time. But a student could forget this lock on his phony as easily as he could forget switching off the beeper on a simple mobile.

Almyra, at Harry's side, bent closer. "Look at our daughter. Something has happened."

Suppressing another grin - he'd recognized the change already before sitting down at the teachers' table - Harry asked, "What do you mean?"

"As if you didn't know. Yesterday, this young man visits you in Santa Monica, and today, the two have found the words that were stuck in their mouths all the time. Purely coincidence, huh?"

Looking totally innocent, Harry said, "Maybe not. Beatrice doped him a bit."

"What??"

Harry feigned surprise. "Yes, sure - the brain booster, so he could check his potion design better. I guess clear thinking helps in more romantic matters, too."

Remus Lupin, Almyra's husband, who was sitting at her other side, started to chuckle.

Almyra looked at him, then back at Harry. "I can't help thinking you two are laughing about me, and trying to squeeze me for a comment that's totally out of place here."

"What makes you think so?" asked Remus. "We're just happy for our daughter."

"Hrmpf." Almyra wasn't stupid enough to believe him, except that any further remark would put her too close to the comment she tried to avoid. "What did Cho say about him?"

"She thinks, if we want to see Rahewa in the near future, we have to invite him too. Which is fine with me," Harry looked totally expressionless, "there's room enough in this - er, house."

Almyra snorted. "Of course - right what you should expect from your oldest friends. But the day will come, when Sandy's in this age, and then - "

"Why - Sandy's exactly what Cho had in mind, and me too." Harry's face showed almost genuine astonishment. "You know how it's between Sandy and Rahewa; we can't afford having them separated for such a long time. And besides, the other day, when you talked with Laila, your view of things was somehow totally different - do I detect a certain double morale there?"

Remus asked, "Did I miss something then? What did she say?"

"Ohh - just girl's talk." It was Almyra's turn to look expressionless. "Harry must be confusing what he heard with what he thought."

Remus nodded. "Probably so. Everybody knows, he's famous for that."

---

The hall started to empty. From the spot at the Gryffindor table which had been the focus of their attention, a girl came closer. A moment later, Harry could recognize her; it was Vanessa, Rahewa's friend. Once or twice, she had also been a guest in Santa Monica - not more often because Vanessa didn't like to "mess around in other people's family," as Rahewa had reported.

The girl reached the table and greeted the teachers with a nod. Then she turned to Harry.

"Good evening, Mr Pot - er, Harry. I came to ask - er, if you'd lend me your daughter for a while."

This request was something unexpected. During her visits in the Potter-Chang house, Vanessa's habit toward Sandy had been natural enough, but it hadn't struck Harry as a case of mutual attraction.

Seeing his glance, Vanessa added, "Er - actually, I know why you're here, and that it's still a while before it's time to reach the forest, and maybe you'd like to meet some people while Sandy's outside, or doing a tour through Gryffindor Tower ..."

Harry waited a moment if the sentence would finish, which wasn't the case. Then he said, "It comes as a bit of a surprise, Vanessa - but yes, why not, if Sandy agrees?"

The girl with the lion's mane blushed a bit. "Well, to be honest, there's still another reason: right now I need something to cuddle; must have to do with some people around and their effect toward others, if you know what I mean."

A perfectly understandable motivation, although Harry felt sure that Vanessa had confessed it only as a precaution - to him and his snake, people were quite careful in avoiding half-truths.

He smiled. "Yes, I know what you mean. Go ahead - it's your job to convince Sandy."

Vanessa bent closer to the little girl. "Hi, Sandy - do you remember me?"

"Vanes-sa."

"Right you are. Do you want to come with me for a while? We can say hello to Rahewa, and meet other girls, or hear some music."

Probably quite on purpose, Vanessa had mentioned two magic words. After a short moment of hesitation, Sandra nodded and came into Vanessa's arms.

Harry said, "Just keep in mind - if she says, Shit, be quick to reach a toilet."

Vanessa nodded. "I know the drill from Rage, and I've seen some baby shit before."

She had made a step when Sandra became aware that the invitation didn't extend to more than herself, reason enough to protest.

"Nagini!"

Vanessa stopped and looked first at the table on which the snake was curled, then back at Sandra. "She's too heavy for me, Sandy - I'm not as strong as Harry. And besides, if you want to play with the poodles, we can leave Nagini here. Okay?"

Another moment of hesitation, while Vanessa had the wisdom not to argue more. Then she had won and walked with her prey back to the Gryffindor table, where their arrival raised some squeaks from other girls.

Harry wasn't even sure if Rahewa had been one of them.

* * *

The small room looked really uninspiring.

Ron Weasley, glancing over his nominal office, noticed this sad fact not for the first time, only that most often it didn't bother him much. He used to be outdoors a lot - which meant indoors in some wizard schools. But today, facing a severe problem, trying to come up with a solution, the dismal picture before his eyes had a depressing effect.

He might have walked through the streets of Paris instead; they were inspiring enough. Only Ron needed papers, and information, and his magical map with its nice zoom functions, so he was fixed to this place.

The only alternative would have been to do it at home. However, Ron preferred separating office hours from after hours, and as long as he hadn't cleared his mind about what to do next, sitting at home while not answering Janine's remarks was an invitation for trouble.

She was a bit touchy - naturally enough in her state of pregnancy, not her usual habit, while Janine's quickly changing wishes and desires were just an extension of her normal behaviour. Recently, arriving at home was always good for a surprise. What would she present as today's supper?

Would she wait for him in the kitchen with something to eat? Or was she waiting with nothing but herself, impatient to pull him toward the bedroom right after he'd crossed the door?

Not that Ron had objections against such a welcome, no sir ... Only that, eventually, some food would rank on top of his priorities.

Survival of the self, survival of the race ... His current problem also had to do with survival, that of some wizards. The wizard fever had reached Istanbul, had caused quite some casualties, and was entering Greece. While the public attention here in Western Europe was still limited, not much different from that toward other diseases in some third-world countries, Ron's own attention climbed to red alert.

A short look onto a map of Europe explained why.

Depending on how this strange epidemic would spread, the next target might be Bulgaria. And there, not too far from the border to Greece, you would find Durmstrang - one of the four schools which represented Ron's working territory.

In his best-case scenario, the path of infections would miss Durmstrang. Some students might catch the fever during a visit at home, but it was certified knowledge that the victims weren't contagious. They were only bound to die.

In this case, Ron would have time until the fever had crossed the Balkan countries, with Germany and Drachenfels as the next station to worry about.

The realistic-case scenario found Durmstrang right in the middle of the infection path - realistic because this fever seemed attracted to places with a high concentration of Magicals. In this case - Ron didn't want to think about this case. Would Durmstrang still exist afterwards?

Aside from the walls, that was.

And then, at bad last, there was his worst-case scenario, and this one really gave him the creeps. In this scenario, Durmstrang was hit broadside, and the fever took the opportunity and the short cut to reach Drachenfels, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts: through the linkport network.

---

If this would happen ... Ron had talked with Drilencu, the Headmaster of Durmstrang. He had asked him to close the school and send the students home until the fever was somewhere else, and - most of all - discharge the linkports.

Failing to reach an agreement, Ron had asked Drilencu to close Durmstrang against any contact to the outside, of course including the linkports.

Failing again, Ron had pleaded to shut down the linkports, if nothing else.

This stupid Bulgarian ... "What's the sense?" Drilencu had asked. "Even if we do all that - a week later, maybe two, the fever will reach the other places anyway."

Ron had explained that two weeks might make a difference.

"If you think Durmstrang is an affordable loss, think again," had been the answer. "By some accident, the frontier's here in our neighbourhood. Well - if there is a chance at all, if there's a cure within reach, then you might forgive me if I keep the pressure equally high for all of us in the European Council."

Which was understandable, in some way even the best strategy Drilencu could take. Except that Ron might not forgive him. He was EMEC only in second place - for him, losses in Durmstrang were, if not affordable, then preferable over losses in his own neighbourhood.

Clever Drilencu knew that. Nobody could stay completely objective in such a situation. Ron could admire the Durmstrang Headmaster - between waves of hate and frustration. He would have preferred to direct his feelings toward the real culprit, if there was any, but Drilencu represented all he had.

And some hope. That the Groucho people found an antidote. Or someone else did.

Ron stored his map away and shut his computer down. There was nothing to make up his mind about. Cutting the connections with Durmstrang from the other side was no solution. Either the same fate hit all of them, or the survivors in Durmstrang would break with the EMEC first thing afterwards.

Ron apparated to his home, an old building in Argenteuil at the outskirts of Paris. Born and raised in The Burrow, easily the craziest piece of architecture you might ever find, Ron had never developed a taste for bungalows and other house forms without a decent amount of staircases. And Janine thought the same.

His apparition jump brought him to the outer door. Ron couldn't warm up too much for those point-to-point jumps that were the habit of his friend Harry - from the spot near the desk to the corner where to drop the coat, only with something like fifty or five thousand miles in-between. And besides, Ron liked climbing staircases.

Janine waited for him in the kitchen, with some food under construction, which in Ron's current state felt like the better alternative. And someone else was there, chatting with Janine in quick French, although still with her accent which wasn't going to fade ever.

Ginny, his sister.

Ron greeted his wife, then his sister. "Are you looking for something more solid than shrimps, salmon, and caviar?"

"This wasn't the first thing on my mind coming over, but since sitting here with Janine, the smell's enough to corrupt all my good intentions."

Ron inspected his sister with eyes as critical as those of fashion editors, only from a different perspective. "If Mum would see you like that, she'd start crying."

Ginny shrugged. "Life's a compromise. I'll accept your invitation, and after the meal, if Henri would see me like that, he'd start crying."

Without turning from her pot, Janine asked, "Henri?"

Hearing the interest in her voice, seeing the look in her brother's face, Ginny grinned. "Henri's the photographer in the session we had today - and to answer your obvious question, he's crying easily, if you get my drift."

"A gay," muttered Janine, "what a bloody waste."

"But otherwise quite conservative," explained Ginny. "Always the Seine and the churchs of Paris - other people are luckier, they'd shoot in Athens, at the Parthenon, or at some temple on Crete ... I mean, we shoot the autumn collection, which would look weird under palms, agreed, but ... At least it's the setting sun, thank God for small favours."

"Huh?"

"Yes - as I said, Henri's a traditionalist. For the autumn collection, it must be the setting sun, which means you can have a decent amount of sleep, while for the spring collection, it must be the rising sun. Getting up five o'clock on a winter morning, then you ask yourself what you're doing there. Other people just place a battery of spotlights and don't give a damn for the sun."

Ron asked, "Then why don't you tell your agent to make contracts only with them?"

"Unfortunately, this a - artist of Henri's better than the others. And of course he's right, you can't beat sunlight, no matter how many spotlights."

---

Thinking about the places his sister might have preferred, Ron drew a face. "You're lucky to be here, rather than in Athens. Crete might be clean, but Athens - if the wizard fever's not already there, it will arrive any day now."

Ginny wasn't impressed. "Even if I'd catch it - true, it's essential to survive, but otherwise? For me, to be a witch is more of a burden than a help. The agencies are somewhat prejudiced in this matter ... And for the survival, I know who'd help me."

"Is this your only comment?" Ron stared at her in disbelief. "Maybe you've lost contact with reality, there in your fashion world - people are dying, within the next days Durmstrang might be caught, soon afterwards the other schools, and you're sitting there chirping, Even if I'd catch it!"

"I have lost contact with reality? People are dying in car accidents, in terror attacks, of AIDS, of the unlucky fate to be in a war zone, and simply of hunger! A few hundred wizards don't even make a dent in the statistics - that's reality, my dear Ron! If you think I'm egocentric and narrow-minded, then think again - maybe I am, but I'm not alone with that."

Janine said, "If you two want to have some food, you better cool your temper." She started to fill dishes.

Ginny looked at her brother. "Okay - for Janine's food, you can call me everything."

Ron, feeling hungry himself and knowing his wife well enough, didn't accept the offer. However, he didn't stop looking sour either.

Janine turned to her sister-in-law. "What do the Muggles think about this fever? Did you hear any comments?"

"Sure. In my fashion world, Henri isn't the only gay, as you know. And for them - remember how it was when AIDS came up? People said, what do I care, I'm not homosexual; only the homosexuals had a totally different perspective. And now there's something that's dangerous for Magicals. So you can imagine what the Muggles think - some of them are gloating, some of them say, poor Magicals, am I glad I'm none, and most of them don't care this way or the other." Ginny looked at her brother. "Of course, I can only quote my fashion world."

Seeing his wife's grin, Ron answered, "Yeah, okay, I take it back - or better, I confess to be narrow-minded in my own way. Only - by some accident, I am a wizard, who deals with some wizard schools across Europe - and if the fever catches Durmstrang - these idiots won't agree to close the linkports - then next day it's in Beauxbatons and Hogwarts and Drachenfels. And two days afterwards, I can look for another job."

"Oh ..." Ginny looked startled.

Ron found no taste in savouring his small victory in this discussion. "It's a race against time - Groucho Biochemicals is working to find an antidote."

"What's the state?"

"Harry said they have an idea, and it looks promising. He didn't say more, which probably was the best he could do ... They know what's at stake, and Harry knows for sure. That's why I try not to call them more often than once a day."

Janine said, "If 'arry calls it promising, then I'm sure it looks really good. He's learned to be careful with his promises."

Ginny nodded. "You can say that."

"I know, but ..." Ron's expression grew sombre. "A new potion - normally it takes months. They have to be quicker than quick this time."

* * *

Having finished a longer conversation with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry walked down the staircase to notify Almyra that it was about time. She had promised him to help finding Firenze. Almyra would sail across the Forbidden Forest - as a falcon or as an owl, whatever suitable - and look for the Centaurs. Then she would either fly to the border of the forest, where he would be waiting, or simply run a circle around Firenze to give him a message. The Centaur could read such messages quite well.

But first, Harry had to find his daughter. Having her with him when meeting Firenze was essential.

It had been a new experience, to know Sandy somewhere else while first going through a lesson in some medical treatment with Hermione and then sitting with Dumbledore. Maybe Fawkes - Dumbledore's phoenix - had been a bit disappointed to find him without the girl, yet still with the snake. Fawkes and Nagini, this would never be a close friendship. But they got along, probably something like mutual respect.

So where was Sandy?

Harry knew - to find her, all he had to do was switching off his conscious thinking. Nothing in the Great Hall. Nothing in the Entrance Hall. Reaching the outside, he could see them in some distance.

And he could hear them.

What he heard was guitar music. Walking closer, Harry recognized the melody - Greensleeves, that old traditional, and someone singing. Was there one guitar or more?

Reaching the spot, actually quite close to Hagrid's grave, Harry saw that the playing and the singing came from just one person, a student, except he played a twelve-string guitar, creating an incredibly rich sound for a single instrument.

The other people sitting there in the grass were Rahewa and Clemens, side by side and arm in arm, Vanessa and Sandy, placed on a blanket, and two other students, a boy and a girl, also holding to each other.

And the two poodles - on the blanket, of course, one at each side of Harry's daughter. Sandy herself sat motionless, mesmerized staring at the singer and his instrument.

The young man had finished Greensleeves a moment ago. Now he played and sung a a song unknown to Harry - a vivid march song, which felt somehow strange because the story was quite sad: something about some old grey goose who'd died, and that someone should tell Aunt Rhodie, and how the goose's husband and children were weeping and crying.

From what Harry could sense, his daughter wasn't the only one sitting transfixed. He bent down to Vanessa, who was sitting with her back to him. Close to her ears, he whispered, "Very cuddlesome."

"Gawk!"

Thanks to gravity, the girl didn't jump, but almost. Vanessa exhaled deeply. "My God, can you scare people."

The song had finished. Only now, Harry's daughter turned to look at him, not showing any surprise. "Michael music."

"Hello, everybody." Harry looked at the young man. "Hello, Michael - who's found whom?"

Vanessa hurried to explain. "Well, you know, after Sandy had said hello to quite some people, she really wanted to have music - after I'd promised her. First we tried with a walkman, only that wasn't what she wanted. Then Aileen here - by the way, that's Aileen and Jeremy - so Aileen said, if we have to compete with a harp, there's only one who can do that, and she asked Michael, and so we're here." Vanessa looked at the singer, some wondering in her face. "I didn't know - I never before heard him play like that, and sing."

Harry said, "Must be Sandy's effect."

---

The young man didn't reply. Instead, he blushed.

This wasn't what Harry had intended with his remark, so he quickly asked, "The way you can handle this guitar, I think that's more than enough for public performances. How come you do it so secretly?"

"It's no secret" - Michael showed a short grin - "because you can't play a twelve-string secretly, that's impossible. But my style is folksong, traditionals, and that's kind of exotic these days." He looked into Harry's face. "You know when it started? When the Muggle camp was around Hogwarts - with the campfires in the evenings, and people playing guitar. That's where I got my addiction."

Harry examined the face. "I'm sorry - I don't remember you."

"Of course not. I was a first-year then and had trouble reaching the camp without getting caught." Michael smiled. "But I remember you" - he turned - "and of course Rage: the Squad patrol nobody could beat."

Rahewa looked pleased, and Clemens seemed very interested to hear more.

Someone else couldn't care less about old stories. With some impatience in her voice, Sandra said, "Music."

Harry bent forward. "Sandy, we have to go. We must find Firenze and talk with him."

"No. Michael music."

There he was, caught in a trap. Visiting Firenze had to do with healing Bill, sure, which in turn had to do with music. But suddenly, Sandra had an alternative, in case Hely's music would be at risk.

The young man saved him. "I'll play two more songs - a German one for Clemens, and a Canadian one for Rage - and when we meet again, I'll play more for you. Okay, Sandy?"

With great relief, Harry saw his daughter nod. Some more minutes wouldn't make much of a difference. He looked into the sky to see whether he could detect Almyra - how embarrassing to be late for a meeting with a Centaur. But the sky was empty.

Well - she certainly wouldn't mind flying through a warm evening's air.

Michael's first song was the German one. Harry didn't understand a word, but with the young man's explanation that this was about two king's children who couldn't come together and died in trying, and with the slow, sad melody, he felt touched even so.

Having finished this song, Michael said, "And this is the tribute to Rage and to Canada - Summertime Dream."

This song was very rhythmic, quite joyful, apparently selected also as a tribute to a young love. Michael finished with the last lines:

He cut the last chord with his hand over the strings and stood up. "That's it for today. You were a great audience." Toward Harry, he added, "It's as if a circle closes - I heard my first serious guitar when you and Rage were running Muggles patrol, and today I played for your daughter - and for those two." He made the slightest movement with his head, winking toward Rahewa and Clemens.

Harry took his daughter, then looked at the young philosopher. "Only for them?"

Before Michael could answer, which was unlikely anyway, Harry asked, "Would you accept an invitation even if you have to sing and play for your supper?"

"Erm ..."

"Think it over. At least, you wouldn't be the only student from Hogwarts invited for such an occasion."

Michael smiled. "That's fairly obvious."

"Is it?" Harry returned the smile. "If you mean Rahewa, she's family for me, and if you mean Clemens, he's a student from Drachenfels in my counting, so maybe obvious isn't quite what you thought it was. But anyway - thanks for your music, and your help a moment ago.

Walking toward the borderline of the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt the young man's stare follow him. Still smiling, he suppressed an impulse to turn and wave. Heroes of ex-first-years were obliged to keep their reputation.

A moment later, the task ahead started to occupy his mind.

* * *

Almyra felt this borderless rush of excitement and joy, carried by her wings across the Forbidden Forest. Free like a bird ... Although gravity kept pulling at her like at anyone else - there was no thermic here over the cool forest - the sense of freedom still intensified as she could climb thanks to her own power.

Harry envied her for that, as he had frankly confessed. In his dragon shape, the best he could muster was a flight of little more than five minutes, ten at the most. While for Almyra, as a falcon, one hour meant easy play. And as an owl, shortly after dusk, when the trees still released the accumulated heat of the day, she could sail soundlessly, effortlessly, sail and sail.

Even so, Almyra had something in common with her brother in spirit. Returning into human shape, they both used to be ravenous, greedy for food, piles of food.

Did he feel the other desire too, after a flight? Almyra had never asked.

Falcons didn't grin. Otherwise she would have done so now.

Almyra had already passed several unicorns. This was another experience offered only to her bird shape. The beautiful creatures stayed calm, provided she kept some distance in height. Did they recognize her as a human?

The Centaurs did, Almyra felt sure of that. She had passed them occasionally in the past, and each time she'd seen their glances follow her ... not unfriendly, not inviting either.

Well, today she would be a bit more pushy, once she had found them.

Checking the places where she had seen them before, Almyra found the first one empty, the second too, and the third as well. And now?

She turned in a wide arc. Memorizing all the openings she could remember, she flew back toward the school, criss-crossing from one spot to the other. They couldn't afford a failure, time was running short. Maybe it was a bit too early in the evening - if not now, they would try it deep into the night, and Harry would have to find a means to comfort his daughter in the dark forest.

That was, assuming Sandy reacted like other little girls in the darkness under - there!

A light figure, from the distance easily confused with a unicorn. Bit it wasn't; it was a Centaur, and Almyra knew only one of such a light colour.

He stood under the treeline at the end of an opening - as if he'd known for a while already and had been waiting there, close to the border of the forest, close to the point where Almyra would have been forced to give up hope.

And right next to him, she saw a half-dead tree on which she could touch down easily. This was hardly coincidence. She came to rest on the selected branch, folded her wings, and stared at him.

He just stared back.

Nearly perfect. The only ones missing were Harry and his daughter. About to rise again, Almyra stopped. Her sharp eyes had noticed a movement - a second Centaur, closing in rapidly, surprisingly light too, only ...

Too quiet to be real. Too golden.

Almyra watched the phenomenon she had seen twice before - Harry's Golden Patronus, today apparently sent in search for Firenze. It broke soundlessly through the underbrush and circled around Firenze, who kept waiting motionlessly. An instant later, the golden Centaur disappeared.

---

They didn't have to wait long until light steps could be heard. Then Harry came out into the opening, with Sandra in front.

Was this supposed to be a private conversation? Nobody had indicated it, and Almyra's claws felt glued around the branch.

"Harry Potter, the boy who lived ... Now you're a man, and you come in quite some company."

"Good evening, Firenze. In spite of my company - seeing you, somehow it feels as if nothing has changed."

"But things have changed, haven't they? Here you are, living proof that my people can fail in reading the stars properly."

"Except for yourself."

"What makes you think so? I didn't read them any different from Bane, or Ronan, and the others."

"But ..."

Almyra watched Harry swallow a needless remark while registering the implicit information - Firenze had done what he'd done in full knowledge that it seemed bound to be useless, according to what the stars predicted. This was certainly something to remain speechless for an instant.

What if Harry had known from the beginning? Which role had the thought played for him that there was a Centaur not ready to consider him doomed?

Although - wasn't it true? Regardless of his knowledge, this Centaur hadn't accepted the fate of doom.

It looked as if Harry had come to the same conclusion. He pointed toward her position.

"Almyra over there helped me to find you; I think you know her already. And this here's Sandy, the daughter of Cho Chang and myself."

The Centaur looked at the girl with the jet-black hair. "Was this name your wife's choice, Harry Potter? She likes playing games with names and hair colours."

Almyra knew what the Centaur was hinting at. Cho had met Firenze once - at that occasion, drugged from a heavy concussion of the head and still more from a Veela shawl, Cho had said, "Fiery Firenze, fair-haired fairy horse." Watching for Harry's reply, she could see his lips twist.

"Maybe so, but that's just short for Sandra, which was our compromise because Cho didn't like the name Cassandra - although she calls her Cass, which is short for Catherine, her second name."

"So you share the playing with names, you and your wife - up to a point."

Harry didn't respond.

His daughter did. After having stared at the Centaur all the time, she said, "Fi-ren-ze. Man. Horse."

The Centaur made a step to her. "Little girl with the many names, I've been waiting to meet you. Now that we have met, I'll wait to see which name you'll make of yourself."

"Unicorn."

Firenze waited a second for more, but Sandra didn't bother providing details. So the Centaur looked at Harry, who explained, "This is an evening of closing circles, Firenze. On my way here, I met a student who was a first-year when we met the last time. Maybe you've heard his guitar music - "

"Michael music." About this topic, Sandra could contribute more.

"Yes, his name's Michael. And there's another young man, whose name is Clemens; he's the reason that I'm here, and the topic's the same as when we met for the first time - unicorns, and their blood. We're in desperate need of some unicorn blood, Firenze, and I'm here to ask for your help."

Harry gave a short explanation of the situation. He finished, "Clemens is waiting outside the forest, in case you want to ask him some questions."

The Centaur studied the girl again. "Why did you come with your daughter, Harry Potter?"

"I felt it mandatory to come with her. She sensed that magical power, and someone thinks the power started to move because it sensed her. I can't explain it better, but it was more than for reasons of courtesy toward you."

"Then trust your instincts still further." Firenze raised his arms. "Sandy, come with me to find a unicorn."

Even a falcon could be startled - Almyra had trouble to keep her wings calm, although it looked as if she was the only one afraid of this idea.

Sandy came into Firenze's arms. After a moment, in which the two looked at each other eye to eye, the girl was placed on Firenze's back, close to his neck so she could grab his mane. Harry had conjured up a ribbon and had tied it around her chest on one side and Firenze's neck on the other.

A moment later, the Centaur with the girl on his back stepped into the forest.

* * *

Harry felt something to which he was considerably less used than most other people - the nervous tension of someone who can only sit and wait, praying he took the right decision ... hoping he wasn't going to feel sorry soon.

He trusted Firenze. Absolutely. The Centaur had saved his life, had saved him and Cho in an patrol exam. He knew what he did. He was careful. Still ...

Things could happen to two-year-olds. And to them, they happened fast.

The least of his worries was that Sandy might panic. She was too young for that. She was even too young to know how to get frightened. Darkness had never been a reason to imprison her in some lighted room - not with their many travels through time zones.

The moment when she and Firenze had looked at each other - it had been like a flash of mutual understanding, something that could drive parents into jealousy.

Other parents, that was. Although, Harry felt grateful that Cho wasn't around at this moment, for more than one reason. That reminded him ... He looked up and winked at Almyra.

The falcon sailed down to the ground. For a fleeting instant, a young woman stood there, then an owl appeared on the same spot. She made a kind of fluttering jump and landed on Harry's free shoulder, the one opposite Nagini's head.

"Hi, Al. You're probably right to keep that shape; too many humans might scare the unicorn when it comes ... if it comes, although, somehow, I've little doubt ... What a strange conversation, me running a monologue and you just sitting there - "

Harry felt a gentle peck at his earlobe. This, togoether with his nervousness, made him giggle.

"Hey - you're playin' the perfect owl, okay, only for me that feels very much like my sister in spirit nibbling at my ear, and this is a bit more than Cho and Remus would agree upon - "

Another peck.

"You're teasing me, that's unfair." Harry kept his voice low, which only increased the atmosphere of a forbidden intimacy in the Forbidden Forest. "I know why you do that; it's the revenge for my remarks at supper."

A beak, designed to cut pieces of meat from a body, stroked the skin at Harry's neck.

"Stop it! You don't know what you're doing, or still worse, you know exactly what you're doing. Maybe owls don't feel shame, but imagine, later - we look at each other, turning red - I'd never be able to explain!"

The bird stopped.

"Whew ... Did you hear how Firenze said he's been waiting for her? As much as it seems to help now, I'm not sure whether I like the implications. It would mean, they read stars about Sandy like they did about me, and this ..." Harry's voice trailed off.

Before he could say more, there was a pressure on his shoulder when the owl took off to reach a branch overhead.

Had she heard something?

Moments later, Harry heard hooves on the ground. Then Firenze appeared, with Sandy on his back, exactly where she'd been placed a while before, and in his trail ...

A unicorn. White, delicate, beautiful.

Harry rose, slowly and carefully. He made a step; then, his voice as low as before, he asked, "Sandy, will the unicorn help us?"

A nod.

He made another step and sent a careful mind wave. With his arms halfway raised, he reached the head. A first touch ... another mind wave of calmness, thankfulness, building trust. His next step brought him to the animal's flank.

Harry stroked its neck, sending more waves, suppressing the feeling of treachery - his fingertips were not only caressing the creature, they sensed for the veins. There ... and he had the syringe ready.

Without further hesitation, he pushed the needle through the skin. He could feel a very slight tensing in the unicorn, so he sent another message with his mind before he pressed the piston down. It injected a small amount of salty solution. Then - steadily, Hermione had said, slowly but steadily - he pulled the piston up.

The small cylinder filled with a fluid that looked black in the dim light.

Harry pulled the needle out, put his finger onto the microscopic wound, and sent another wave. "Thank you, my unicorn. You've been so helpful."

He looked at his daughter. "That's it. You can send it home."

The girl simply raised her arm and said, "Goodbye, unicorn."

A step backward, another, then the white body made a half-turn and moved forward. Seconds later, it was gone.

* * *

Clemens sat in the grass, Rahewa at his side, and felt wonderful, more alive than ever, excited, thrilled - and so tired. The longest day of his life, it seemed. After one of the shortest nights, due to the time difference between California and Hogwarts.

After Harry had disappeared in the forest, the group had faded quickly. Jeremy and Aileen had thanked Michael, who'd just nodded absent-mindedly, still musing about Harry's remark. Then they'd left.

Coming awake, Michael had said, "See you," and had started walking toward the lake.

"Mind some company?" Vanessa had asked him. Not awaiting an answer, which never came, she had followed.

Which was the signal for Clemens to do a bit non-verbal small talk. As inviting as this summer evening was - with the task ahead, this felt just like the proper amount, not to mention his tiredness. And with these poodles around ...

Then Rahewa said, "I could get used to such evenings, sitting outside, listening to a guitar. Add a campfire - "

"Maybe a beer or two ..."

Rahewa giggled. "Campfires and beer - the Muggle camp Michael spoke about, for me it was as attractive as for him, only that I didn't start playing guitar. But it was there that I got drunk for the first time in my life - and for the last."

She told him the story how Harry had sobered her up, sending her into the lake. "I was so ashamed, and embarrassed - "

"For being drunk? That's unusual."

"Not if you have a father who's killing himself with the bottle. But the worst moment was when I came out of the water, sober enough to realize what I'd done, standing there stark naked ..."

"How old have you been then?"

"Twelve. It was - after aikido, in the recreation room with hot and cold tub and the steam room, we'd seen each other naked, only there at the lake it was something totally different."

"Of course." For Clemens, this topic seemed - somehow - badly suited to be discussed further. "Well - beer's just one possibility. But I'm sure we can settle to such a habit - with us providing the drinks, and Michael the music ..."

Rahewa giggled again. "I bet - as long as it's not us alone."

"A personal troubadour?" The thought made Clemens smile. "No, that's not what I had in mind, as romantic as it sounds. But with - " He stopped himself. "Why are you grinning so madly?"

"Didn't you see it?"

"See what?"

"Well, maybe it's not that obvious for someone who hasn't seen him before, like me - even that, with all the other boys around ... Although, Harry saw it, or maybe he sneaked a bit."

Damn Harry and his big shadow. "Would you mind telling me what you're talking about?"

---

Rahewa's first answer was a kiss, then another. Then she said, "About Michael, you dummy. Drinks are okay, but what's more important is to come with Vanessa."

Clemens stared at her. "You sure? But he's one year younger!"

"So?"

"Well, ten years from now, it doesn't matter, but - "

"But now it matters, huh? Harry was a fifth-year when he fell in love with Cho, who was a sixth-year then."

"They're special anyway." Even though his remark could hardly be rated as derogatory, Clemens sensed in Rahewa's reaction that he was skidding over thin ice and hurried on to reach safer ground.

"I mean, for all I know, they were bound to love each other anyway, for a higher purpose - for them certainly no reason to complain. But here ... At any rate, even if he was a year older, it wouldn't help him much."

"In some sense, Van registered him today for the first time. She followed him, remember?"

"Yeah, well, big deal - she's a very gentle girl and was in a hurry to leave us alone, and he can really play guitar, and sing."

Rahewa kissed him on his cheek, then on his ear, which was thrilling enough to forget unicorns, and whispered, "You're a potions chauvi, you are."

"What?"

"Yes, you want to have a monopoly - girls are supposed to fall in love only with potions wizards, not musicians. But you said something nice about her, so I'll forgive you."

Clemens exhaled theatrically. "Whew - lucky me."

Next moment, he was lying flatly in the grass, a hand like a spade at his throat, another barely touching his solarplexus. "Watch your language, young man - don't challenge me!"

The poodles watched - unmoving, since Rahewa was on top.

For Clemens, the effect was quite different from what Rahewa might have expected. He closed his eyes and murmured, "I surrender - you can do with me what you want."

Next instant, the hands were gone. Opening his eyes for a moment, Clemens saw Rahewa sitting at his side, suddenly very composed. In a casual voice, she said, "She's been under siege from boys for years. And now there's someone who isn't storming forward shouting, look at me, look at me ... I could imagine that's just what she's been waiting for."

Maybe so. Clemens, for his part, could imagine many things, many scenes which all had in common that Vanessa was somewhere else.

"... super, Sandy, you're a genius girl!"

Clemens came awake with a jolt. Sitting up, he saw Rahewa standing there, the girl on her arm, and Harry with his snake.

The little girl looked at Clemens and beamed. "Dozy-dog!"

He rose quickly and looked at Harry, who smiled and said, "You're paying the price for Beatrice's dope."

"You - you have it? Did it work?"

"Here."

Harry's hand held up something, recognizable only by the metal parts which softly reflected the moonlight: a syringe, the glass cylinder totally black.

"You really did it." Clemens felt awe-struck.

"Sandy did it, the true fairy queen. She rode a Centaur and came back with a unicorn."

Clemens's emotions were so strong - somehow, he managed not to hug and kiss Harry, instead turned to the other two, and since Sandy was blocking his path, she was the one who earned his kiss.

The fairy queen's giggle sounded very much like that of a two-year-old.

* * *

Hermione wished she had something to do. Something senseful, better than moving things from left to right and then, at second thoughts, from right to left. But there was nothing; the potion was ready.

As ready as they could make it, with their current level of knowledge.

It had taken the most part of an hour, with Clemens and herself agreeing on the basics and compromising on the details - why not, one guess was as good as the other. The first patient would tell.

Hermione had thought she was used to waiting. Waiting at a patient's bed, waiting for slower people to grasp an idea. To her surprise, she was totally unprepared for waiting until Viktor and Harry would return with a patient from Bulgaria.

Because the two might come back as patients themselves.

True, it was unlikely. Harry had taken Nagini with him, leaving Sandy in the hands of Rahewa, who had muted the girl's protest by suggesting that they might look for Michael and his music. The snake should be sufficient to sense any dangerous spot.

Still, Hermione couldn't remember a comparable situation. So far, she had always been part of the action. Now she was sitting here, trying not to bite her nails.

She looked at the young man opposite the table - thinking of him as an apprentice seemed no longer suitable, which was fine with her because she welcomed a professional fellow as much as a new challenge.

"Assume it works; what are you planning to do next?"

"What I'm ... I think there are some more people in this project - you, Beatrice, Ramon - "

Hermione waved dismissively. "Cut the crap - this is your story, I'm the first to admit, beating Beatrice only because she's not around, and you know it too, so Ramon will do what you suggest. So then, what comes next?"

"Erm - first let me thank you, for your trust, and your help - you're very generous - "

"No I'm not!" Hermione's voice was a bit shrill. "Just fair, or realistic, although right here I feel at the edge of panic, but maybe that's realistic too. Will you now answer my question?"

"Yes - treating patients, that's all what I have in mind. Getting the mass production organized, fine-tuning the stuff ... Anything else comes later."

"And your sister?"

"We've waited so long - a few days more won't hurt. Once the mass production is running, I'd like to test it with Bill Weasley first."

Hermione nodded. "Sounds reasonable ... Sorry for my edginess, but this waiting here's tearing at my nerves. Tell me a story or something, before I start screaming."

"You screaming? After you've encountered so many dangerous situations, with Harry and others?"

"That's something else - you're in the midst of trouble, you have no time to realize how scared you are, and" - Hermione grinned - "with Harry at your side, you just don't dare panic. It would be so embarrassing ..."

"Tell me - how is it with him at your side?"

This suggestion alone - to tell old stories - had a calming effect on Hermione. She smiled. "Why don't you ask Rahewa?"

"Because she's so prejudiced - if you don't say ah and oh at the right moment ..."

Hermione could laugh about that, realizing that Clemens' exaggeration had been on purpose.

"... and besides, I think you've experienced more dangerous situations with him than Rahewa."

"Is that what she said? Did she never tell you about this lunatic who shot at them when they were on patrol? Or how she saved him from a bad curse at the Beauxbatons ball - the little girl with the big knife?"

Clemens stared at her. "Rage?"

Hermione grinned. "You thought Rage is short for Rahewa, and simpler to pronounce, huh? Think again."

"Well - it already crossed my mind how much her nickname seems to fit. Say, how did these two come together, Harry and Rage?"

---

Hermione thought for a moment. "Harry must have been her hero long before she came to Hogwarts ... About this part, you may ask her yourself. Anyway - when she was in first year, the Gryffindor Quidditch team needed some new players. Harry decided to switch from Seeker to Beater, with Ron as his partner. Harry and Viktor made a test with the new class, and what he came back with was Rahewa ... In that year, they didn't win the cup only because Cho caught the Snitch, and only thanks to a superior broomstick. Since then - well, I think you know that she's still waiting to be beaten again in catching the Snitch."

"That's the background? Quidditch?"

"That's just how it started. Then came aikido - officially, Rahewa was much too young for that, but Harry found a way to bring her in. Then the Grass Dance group, the accident with Gérard, and finally the story with her mother and her father ..."

From Clemens' face, Hermione could see that all this was new to him. "Now you have some keywords, that should be good enough to get the stories from herself. I'll tell you just the part about her natural parents, because you mightn't hear that from her - at least not voluntarily."

Hermione told Clemens how Harry had organized the treatment of Rahewa's mother until her death of leukaemia, how he had bought Rahewa's freedom from her father, and how he had found step-parents for the girl.

Clemens looked thoughtful. "That explains a lot ... And for him? Why did he do all that?"

"Yes, why? It wasn't because he felt flattered, that's for sure. She was a loner - probably Harry sensed something in her that reminded him of his own situation. And then - one came to the other, resulting in a network of mutual obligation - they're both crazy about obligations - "

"Oh, really?"

Hermione laughed. "So you realized that already?"

"It's a bit hard to miss. As far as I can judge, Rage would kill for him - or die, whatever's suitable."

"Absolutely. But don't get that wrong; Harry would do the same for her. She found the house in which Voldemort and Wormtail were hiding, that's something he'll never forget."

"Hmm ... Maybe I should have found me a girl with a simpler family background."

Hermione chuckled. "As if you had a choice, after all. But you can take it easy - if your potion works, and you can cure Bill, then you'll find yourself on the same page in Harry's little book of names and events."

The prospect seemed more of a burden than a promise for Clemens, or maybe Hermione's remark brought them back to the present in which they were waiting, not knowing if the potion really was a cure. At any rate, they both fell silent for a while.

Then, returning from another memory trip, Hermione said, "Let me tell you how Harry met Firenze for the first time. It was my first experience with a dangerous situation, and Harry in the middle - quite typical actually because he has this talent of finding help at the worst moment, from a totally unexpected - "

She stopped, hearing noises outside. Next moment, the door opened, and the first person coming in was Harry - moving backward, carrying a stretcher with a young man on it, and Viktor at the other end.

Hermione's relief drowned in the wave of professional reflexes at seeing the patient they'd been waiting for in the last two hours. She directed Harry and Viktor while they moved the body up onto a table. Seconds later, she had the monitor sensors attached. Checking the data, she said, "There's no way to make him drink. We have to do it as an injection."

While Clemens prepared the syringe, Hermione found the time to kiss her husband and to say, "Am I glad to see you again! Who is it?"

"His name's Krasimir Valchev, that's almost all we know about him. An ex-student from Durmstrang, his younger brother is still in school - he was just the first we could catch."

Clemens had the syringe ready. "Hermione, would you - you're more experienced in that."

"Yes, of course." Hermione found the young man's vein and pierced the needle into the flesh. Then she slowly injected the fluid.

Harry had grabbed a chair and sat down behind the patient, his hands placed at the sweaty throat.

Checking the monitor, Hermione saw how the effect from the potion kicked in. The pulse accelerated, and the previously weak amplitude increased ... Was it just the potion, or did Harry something other than sensing?

The amplitude was still growing - actually more than Hermione liked to see. Before she had time to worry in earnest, the green line faltered, flashed once more, and then went flat.

Harry's eyes came open. "He didn't make it ... He's dead."