The High Priestess

Clemens felt stunned. Wrong - he felt empty. No, he didn't feel at all. He had killed someone, a young man by the name of Krasimir something. His potion had killed him.

He wasn't entirely stunned either. He could feel a bit - Rahewa's hand stroking over his head. She was trying to console him, to tell him he shouldn't blame himself.

But who else?

Hermione, because she had been the one who did the injection? Nonsense. There was no one to blame but himself. His potion was no cure, it was a poison.

The door opened. Someone said, "Here you are - I was looking for you."

This someone had Harry's voice. Glancing up, Clemens saw him standing there, Harry's face not revealing anything.

Rahewa said, "Harry - Clemens thinks he killed this Krasimir. Please tell him it's not true."

"But he did, didn't he?"

Watching the exchange, Clemens saw how the words struck Rahewa like a blow in the face. Staring speechlessly at her godfather, the girl's eyes started to fill with tears. For himself, though, Clemens felt relief - the first real feeling in a while. Someone had said it, someone who refused to lie, no matter what reason.

Harry made a step forward, grabbed Rahewa, hugged her.

Clemens saw her going rigid, then twist, then relax, all in a quick succession. Probably some mind wave - Harry and his helpful tricks. But then, maybe Clemens himself wouldn't mind such a wave, right now.

Guided by a gentle push, Rahewa sat down at his side again. She was still looking at Harry while her hand, as if on reflex, was searching for Clemens' own.

Harry sat down opposite. "I have to tell you a story. It's nothing new for Rahewa because she was present when it happened, but somehow I have to tell the story for her as much as for you, Clemens. It's the story how I killed a man because I had no other solution. His name was Gérard, Gérard Pouilly."

Stunned again, only in a different style, Clemens listened to a story of love and betrayal, affection and hate - a story of sex and crime that involved Harry, Cho, Marie-Christine, and Gérard. The story ended with a green flash: it erupted from Harry's closed fingertips and transformed this Gérard from a madly sneering lunatic to a dead corpse.

"I killed him to save her," finished Harry. "Now tell me, Clemens, what's the difference between this story and your own here?"

Clemens swallowed. "It's ... there are ... no, just some minor details. There's no important difference."

"Very good." Harry's face didn't change. "This Krasimir would have lived a few hours longer. But he died from your potion ... Would you do it again?"

What an unfair question! How could he ... And this merciless stare! But next instant, Clemens became aware of what Harry meant.

"Er - I want to know exactly what happened, and what to change before using it ever again. But then, if you come with another patient, I'm ready to try."

"Good. Tomorrow morning, some people will arrive here at Hogwarts. One of them is a pathologist from the Law Enforcement Squad; he'll examine the corpse to figure out what happened. Another one's the chief of the Squad - he'll interrogate you about this killing ..."

Clemens twisted, more from Harry's choice of words than from the prospect of meeting a police officer in the higher ranks. Killing - not accident, not fatal treatment, not lethal outcome ..."

Rahewa pressed his hand. "Don't worry - that's Sirius Black; he's Harry's godfather."

Harry grimaced. "You shouldn't have told him, Rahewa - aside from the official aspects, it was planned to have some cathartic effect, like what this Commissaire Domingieux did with me afterwards. But it'll work all right; Sirius's impressive enough for that."

Clemens nodded. "And then?"

"A bit later, Beatrice will arrive. The three of you - Hermione, Beatrice, and you - will stay together until you come up with a potion that works."

Clemens nodded again. "Yes."

Harry looked at Rahewa, with an expression that had changed completely in the fraction of a second. "Still mad at me?"

Her head was shaking.

"Good." Harry looked at Clemens again. "You'll have a bad night, do you know that?"

"Er - I'm not sure."

"It's the after-shock. I hope it'll kick in soon, because the sooner the better - we need you with a clear mind tomorrow. At least" - Harry smiled - "you're in the best hands I can imagine." He stood up, about to go.

Clemens stopped him. "Wait a second! You've been - you were sensing him, when ... when he died. What did you feel?"

"When the effect started, it was as if you'd set a prairie on fire. He was quite astonished; it came so totally unexpected. A moment later, when he died, the surprise was still bigger."

It sounded like bitter sarcasm, only that Harry quite obviously tried to report as precisely as he could.

"He hadn't even time to be disappointed. Don't get me wrong, Clemens - I think you're on the right track with that potion, except that it would be helpful if the patient can survive the cure."

Clemens felt his jaws clenching.

Harry hesitated a moment, then came over. "We have little time - sorry if I'm pushing you through the fast-forward ..."

Clemens felt two hands at his temples. Next instant, a wave was rushing through his mind - not a comforting one, quite the opposite, and it took him a second before he knew what it meant: a hellish burning, although not painful, a presence utterly surprised - a very short moment of piercing pain, followed by a fading into blackness.

Without another word, Harry turned, reached the door, and was gone.

By then, Clemens already felt the tears well up in his eyes.

* * *

Cass was in bed, having fallen asleep before Cho had finished the first sentence of her good-night story. Small wonder, after such a long and eventful day - she'd nearly fallen asleep in the bathtub, which was why Harry had bathed with her, preferring his own support rather than that of Nagini.

Cho had watched, had watched afterwards when Harry had oiled and dressed the girl, without bothering to dress himself first.

She closed the door of Cass' room. A glance into the living room told her that Harry, meanwhile in shorts, was sitting in chair and staring aimlessly ahead - just what he'd done for the past few minutes, and would do for the next two hours, unless something prevented him from that.

Cho went into the chamber behind the bedroom that served as a large-scale wardrobe. When she came out, her dress matched exactly her mood. She approached Harry's chair from behind and put her arms around his neck.

"How do you feel?"

"Kind of sad ... because of a young man who died, and another young man who - " Harry tensed for an instant and sniffed. "What I can sense and smell here has little to do with sorrow."

"Quite the opposite: it's the Chinese mourning ceremony." Cho's right hand trailed down his chest, over his stomach, and reached the waistband of his shorts. She opened the button, and halfway the zip, then moved her hand inside.

"Is it widespread in China?"

With satisfaction, Cho recognized him respond to her attack: his voice was a bit breathless, and his flesh in her palm was hardening under her grip, which was one moment soft, hard and piercing the next second.

"Its knowledge is limited to an elitarian circle." While answering, she opened the zip completely to release him from the pressure, only to squeeze him in her own hand.

His moaning was just the audible echo of her own sensation.

Cho moved around, to strip down his shorts and to present herself in this special dress - a cheong-sam of thin silk, red, in a way quite traditional, except that the slits were longer than usual, and more to the front than at the sides.

She spread her legs, exposing them in full length, separating the rest of the cheong-sam from a broad ribbon that was dangling right in front of him, hiding and promising at the same time. Then, slowly, just once, she thrust her hips forward.

His reaction was a single twist - from the part of his body which filled her vision so prominently, showing a glistening sign of his arousal.

Her own state was very much the same, but hidden beneath the ribbon. From experience she knew that this chair was just too narrow for both of them together. So she grabbed him, gently this time. "Follow me."

Walking toward the bedroom, Cho felt him twitch in her hand and heard him gasp, "Be careful, or we have an accident before we reach the bed."

This confession sent a wave of triumph and pleasure through her body. She let him go - what she had in mind wouldn't take long either way, but there was no need for unnecessary risk. In the bedroom, she turned and let him pass.

"Lie down - on your back, arms to your side, and don't move."

He obeyed, his eyes wide open, very dark, following her movements.

She climbed onto the bed, stood over him, her legs spread and visible again, the broad ribbon playing over his expectant flesh.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, breathing hard.

She sank down, slowly, inch by inch, the thin fabric folding in waves on his stomach. Her hands disappeared under the silk, taking him, opening herself, guiding him toward the waiting entrance.

Her own sigh drowned in his ragged breathing.

She dipped down once, twice, for teasing as much as for smoothing the path. Then, pressing hard, she moved herself onto him fullsize. And up again, and down with full force.

Harry arched up, only she didn't pause, kept moving while she felt his spasms, heard him issuing a choked groan, his face distorted in a grimace of torture and ecstasy.

She was racing toward her own orgasm, ignoring - no, savouring the sounds from his mouth, in these seconds he would have spent motionlessly, had it been his choice, in the short timespan until she stopped suddenly, her body rigid to the outside, twisting only inwardly at the waves of heat and lust that spread from her center upward and outward, pressing a short cry from her lips.

She fell down on his chest, powerless.

When her breathing had calmed a bit, Cho glanced up. What she would have liked to do now was to kiss him, to nibble at his throat or his ear - only then she would lose him. This was one of the rare moments when her limited height bothered her a bit, while her economic sense prevailed. Sitting up, she kept him safely and softly caught - nibbling she could do any time.

---

Harry looked at her. "Some mourning."

"Certainly. The only breach of etiquette is the colour of this piece - of course it should have been white, except this is the only one I have in this special design."

Harry's hands moved along her thighs, trying to reach under the garment, and probably to reach the spot where they were still tightly connected. She stopped him.

"You're supposed to mourn, not to play."

"There's more to celebrate than death ..."

Holding his hands at his sides, Cho moved a bit, raising a small gasp. "Sure, you told me - those young lovers, for instance. Although they still have way to go until they can celebrate like us." She moved again, hearing another sigh and feeling first signs of new spirit in this particular prisoner.

"There's more ..." His voice was a bit unsteady. "I didn't tell you all."

"Oh, really?" She swayed carefully back and forth. "Then why don't you do it now?"

"It's hard to concentrate in this position."

"Is it?" For a change, Cho moved a bit from side to side. "Then please tell me how come you feel more concentrated by the second?"

"Not guilty, your honour! Some devil's riding me, red and black and ..." Harry's words ended in another gasp as she had moved again, slightly upward and forcefully downward.

This game was quite to her taste, only that her own control wasn't unlimited either. "Tell me - what else happened today?"

"It's not so much what happened but what did not happen. This Michael, for example ..." Harry didn't continue, rather kept looking at her expectantly.

"What about him?" She moved again to send new encouragement.

"He - ahh ... He loves more than music, only his other love's kept still more confidential." Harry grinned. "But of course, nobody can control his emotions."

Of course. Her husband, currently serving as a mustang - and savouring it as much as Cho herself - had detected this with his haragei.

"Whom? Rage?"

"No, much better - the one that called for help to get some music, Vanessa ... For him, it must have been like a dream come true. I told him he might expect some invitation - including himself, his guitar, and some other people from Hogwarts."

"An - ah, even number of people, I assume."

"What else?"

Cho moved again - doing conversation had a softening effect on Harry - maybe a partial one, only this was the part that mattered. "Can it be that you try to seduce some young people?"

"Quite impossible. I'm seducing nobody, it's more the opposite as it - ah, feels right now ... I've been blamed to seduce older women, still more to be seduced by them myself ..."

Something in Harry's eyes made Cho suspicious. "Anyone I don't know about? Maybe some military rank?"

His grin was devious. "Nope."

Too late, Cho realized that she had asked two questions but received only one answer - still worse, she didn't know which one he had answered. Pride forbade her to ask again, which didn't mean she had no other means.

She stopped her slight rocking. "Go ahead - then I'll go ahead."

"There was an owl sitting on my shoulder ... Pecking at my ear - a sharp beak stroking your throat, the effect's terrible ..."

"What??"

Her best friend, trying to ... For a moment, Cho lost her concentration, in particular since this was her weak spot - a thought that made her defenseless and vulnerable. By the time the moment was over, she had lost her position too and now was lying on her stomach, her arms tied to her side by strong hands, Harry's weight pressing onto her.

Apparently, he had sensed her startling. "She's been teasing me - the return for Remus and myself teasing her about Rahewa, at supper. And of course she had been flying for a while - did she ever tell you about this - er, exciting side-effect?"

"Did she tell you?"

"No she didn't. Didn't have to, though, because it's unmistakable - well, not for everyone."

His damned haragei. "That was unfair - you know how delicate this issue's for me."

Harry's lips played with her ear. "Yes I know, that's why I told you. There'll never be anything, but setting each other on fire is such a nice game ..."

Which only proved there was a sexual element in their relationship - well, nothing particularly new ...

Harry's weight was released from her. Next moment, Cho felt how the cheong-sam was shifted upward, somehow wrapped around her wrists so she couldn't move her arms while his own hands were free.

Maybe the manacling wasn't as tight as it felt. Or maybe the fabric would split when trying. Or maybe Cho wasn't interested to find out. At any rate, Harry's hands pulled her backward, spread her legs, moved them onto his thighs. She felt him at her entrance, resting there, next moment starting a short visit, only to leave again.

"You know what's still a better game? Setting you on fire." Cho felt his hands stroking her, teasing her, pressing her most sensitive spot, while the visitor from moments ago came snooping again.

She was trembling uncontrollably, helplessly exposed to his cruel, pleasurable treatment. Into this burning sensation, his mind wave found her totally unprepared - his own arousal, reflected, deflected into herself. She climaxed instantly.

Regaining full consciousness, she expected him to follow, to meet this playful visitor for a serious converstation, waited impatiently to be pressed down by Harry's full weight. But he didn't move.

"What are you waiting for? C'mon!"

His hands released the cheong-sam from her shoulders, pulled it downward, exposing her breasts, cupping them, then squeezing hard. She moaned.

The hands moved back to her shoulders, pressed them onto the mattress, She felt his first hard thrust, shaking her entire body.

"That's better."

The thrusts continued, accelerated. Then she felt a new wave flooding her mind, raising new flames out of the afterglow.

She wanted to protest. There was a short moment in which she was still master of her thinking, in which she would have been able to shout and tell him it was his turn alone, with her watching attentively.

Somehow, she missed that point. Then she didn't care any longer, about anything else.

* * *

Beatrice Chagrin, acknowledged master of psycho drugs, wished she had ever come up with a potion which, when put into the morning coffee, would bring her truly awake.

Four o'clock in the morning, said her inner clock, while here at Hogwarts it was ten o'clock, with the people around Beatrice running their ordinary day rhythm, although this wasn't an ordinary day. The sharp creases in the face of Hermione, sitting opposite her, gave testimony of that.

Beatrice suppressed a yawn. In a moment, Clemens would enter the room, the meeting would start, and the unchallenged drug of mother nature would solve the problem: adrenaline. She studied the pathologist's short summary - pretty clear, in a way, pretty clear also what had to be done, and that it involved her own specialty.

Not quite as clear, though, was the way how to achieve the effect.

Beatrice looked at Hermione. "Are you blaming yourself?"

The response was a piercing stare, tempered instantly, the voice however still snappish. "You're not really awake yet, that's why I'll forgive you this question."

"Well, that's answer enough. You, Clemens, probably 'arry too - is there anyone who doesn't blame himself? Normally it's the other way around - success has many parents, while a failure - "

"You know, we're all so noble here."

Beatrice chuckled, raising a short twist of Hermione's lips. Then she said, "I take it you realized already how lucky we were."

It earned her a wondering look, then a snorting. "Yeah, sure, it's quite obvious; after all, it could have been someone important - "

Beatrice shook her head. "You're not your own self either - normally, you're quicker. Imagine the test patient would have been someone with perfect health, and strong. Then the first fatal cases would have occurred during the subsequent treatment campaign - there would have been many of them before we'd recognized what's going on."

Hermione stared at her, slightly blushing. "You're right, and I didn't see it. Please tell nobody."

"No. In particular because it's fairly obvious to everyone who wasn't busy blaming himself, or herself."

"Okay, okay - I know, self-reproaches, like self-pity, are a particularly pervert form of wasting mental energy, so I'll stop right now."

Beatrice smiled. "Who said that? 'arry?"

"No - Samantha. She said she found out after setting the world record in that discipline."

Beatrice remembered the teacher from Texas, doubted very much that Samantha had set a world record. Probably she had made this confession as a nice wrapping for an advice she gave.

The door opened.

Beatrice watched Clemens enter the room and sit down. He looked self-contained, determined, clear-eyed. She said, "Hi, Clemens. Sirius must have done a miracle on you."

A quick smile. "Hi, Beatrice. He did okay, but I got my brain-washing already before."

Probably Harry. Beatrice pointed at the report sheet. "Did Sirius tell you what the pathologist found out?"

"No."

"Heart failure. An atrophy of the left chamber, nothing serious under normal conditions, turned critical and then fatal under a massive stress attack."

Clemens nodded. "That fits. The potion's too strong."

"It's not," said Hermione. "It's too strong at once, which isn't the same. We have to slow it down, but only a bit."

Clemens shook his head. "No. It's too strong."

Hermione's head snapped up, glaring at him. "Read the autopsy report, then you'll see that I'm right."

"Yeah, sure - if a matchstick's not enough to carry the weight, then two will do the job, huh? Except the weight's a ton, even ten matchsticks - "

"Why don't you read the report? It's - "

"Because I got something better than this report!"

"Something - what?" Hermione looked flabbergasted.

Much calmer, Clemens said, "Harry played the last seconds of that guy for me - I mean, what he felt sensing him. There was something - we made a mistake, somewhere."

"Of course we made a mistake, but everybody agrees that we're basically right, so ..."

Beatrice interrupted her. "Arrows."

They both stared at her. "What?"

"The picture Clemens used - it reminded me of an American Indian tale, about arrows."

Hermione's face expressed serious doubt whether Beatrice was truly awake and a real contribution to this meeting. Clemens looked expectantly. "Tell us."

"There was an old chief, about to die. He called his sons and showed them a bundle of arrows. He said, the one who can break this bundle will be the new chief. So they tried - the oldest son first, the second, the third. Nobody could break the bundle. Then they said, it's impossible. The old chief took the bundle, reached for the first arrow, and broke it, then the next. Ahh, said his sons, this way it's simple of course. Yes, said the chief, that's the lesson - united you're strong."

Hermione looked at her. "And then?"

"Then the old chief died with his mind at peace."

Clemens chuckled. "Nice tale - and like all good lessons, it lets the essential question unanswered."

Beatrice presented two small flasks. "These are my arrows - which doesn't mean I'm playing chief here."

The other two stared at the flasks with widening eyes.

"It's the brain booster - undiluted, this time; one for each of you. You'll drink it, and then you'll examine the recipe again, together."

"And you?" Hermione's expression was suspicious.

"If it's just about slowing down the effect, I know how to do it, then I don't need a boost. If it's something else, I'm chanceless ... and one of us should remain sober, if I have to wake you up later when you'll pay the price because there's some urgency."

Clemens reached for a flask and turned to Hermione. "Why did you grin so madly when I took this stuff the last time?"

"Did I?" Looking innocent, Hermione took the other flask. "I can't remember."

Beatrice watched the young man's face turn around to herself. "But you remember."

A nice, clean blackmailing. Clemens wasn't going to drink unless someone told him. Beatrice asked, "Isn't it a German tale, the one about the wizard apprentice who wanted to know too much?"

"Der Zauberlehrling." Clemens nodded. "Yes, it is."

Beatrice waited a moment, watching two faces, both looking at her expectantly, only with different hopes. Then she said, "Once I developed another booster - not for the brain, more the opposite. The field test involved myself as well as Hermione, but I was the only one who knew in advance." Beatrice presented her most seductive smile. "Shall I continue, Zauberlehrling?"

Poor Clemens, his face dark red, didn't know where to look. "Er, no ... Sorry." He quickly emptied the flask.

Hermione followed his example, her own face showing satisfaction about an instructive lesson, a bit of embarrassment about her own role in this story, and a bit more of something that had little to do with embarrassment.

Moments later, the two doped potions experts looked normal again - to the outside. Only their way of talking sounded quite unusual - rapid, short remarks, incomplete sentences, little more than keywords. They had left Beatrice behind within seconds.

---

After a while, the clipped speech, together with the short, sharp gestures, had a hypnotizing effect on Beatrice. Her mind drifted off, back to the time when the field test of her other potion had taken place.

Her own test had taken place with the undiluted version - something never to forget. Then she had developed the retard version, in which the ecstasy potion showed all qualities of an addictive drug, maybe not physiologically but addictive nonetheless ... Hermione, involuntary test candidate, was the best example. They had an unspoken agreement - once a year, around Christmas, Beatrice sent her a small bottle.

Every once in a while, Beatrice wondered if she should send the same present to the one who had played the male role in both tests. She had seen it in Clemens' eyes - the instant when he completed the story by himself, when he knew what was the linking element between Beatrice and Hermione, between the undiluted and the retard version ... Well, what Clemens didn't know was the dark side of the story, which involved Cho, and Voldemort - they had the wisdom not to treat it as a dark secret, and the people knowing the story had the decency not to spread it wider than necessary. Someone would tell Clemens eventually, just to prevent skeletons from growing in the basement. This someone would probably be Rahewa - but not before the two had investigated the topic a bit more, and together ...

A tingling between her legs told Beatrice that it wasn't the best idea to think about this topic in a state half-asleep, after a night lasting no longer than four hours - not in this meeting which was supposed to yield a result in matters of life or death.

The two were still rattling along.

This apprentice looked very handsome. Under different circumstances, it would have been quite enchanting to teach him a bit more - about some natural potions, using a natural cauldron ... Had Hermione played with the same idea? Not seriously, just in her fantasy? Most likely so - wasn't it an almost natural thought to fantasize about?

Damn! She quickly had to find something else to think about, before someone noticed her state of arousal. Only the thought was just too intriguing - sitting calmly here, already close to a climax, while the other two, heads together ... Beatrice felt her nipples stiffen, and a wave of heat rush through her wet core. This was madness. She -

The rattling stopped. The two looked at her. Hermione said, "We found it."

"Really?" Beatrice could only hope her flushed face counted for scientific excitement.

"A multiplier - works like a catapult. We shouldn't have simply added the unicorn blood to the standard anti-burnout stuff. Anyway, it seems as if there's no need for a slow-down."

"Well, then ..."

Clemens stood up. "I'm going to prepare the new combination." He left the room.

Hermione rose and came over, then stood behind Beatrice. "Did you have fun?"

"What?"

"Telling our young man naughty stories, and then sitting here and day-dreaming?"

"What are you talking about?" Next instant, Beatrice froze. Two hands touched her neck, stroking slightly, reaching her shoulders, moving deeper, caressing her breasts, raising a strong response from her nipples.

She couldn't suppress a trembling. There was a whisper in her ear. "The Zauberlehrling called the spirits, and they went out of control."

"Please - "

"Please what, my little witch? You forgot that I'm doped, that all my senses are working at peak level. Your scent's unbelievable."

Her eyes closed, unable to protest, Beatrice felt a hand trailing down, over her belly, reaching the skirt of her dress, moving between her thighs.

A ragged gasp - probably her own. Her legs felt powerless, barely mustering the strength to spread a bit wider.

"Ahh - just what I thought, a pussy as wet as dreams can go. Imagine" - the hand was moving under her panties - "right now, the door would open and Clemens would come back for something."

Feeling Hermione's finger pressing, Beatrice moaned, twisted, the first constrictions running up her thighs.

"You need some sleep. I'll bring you to a guest room."

It took Beatrice a moment to register the change, to realize that the hands had left her body, to be grateful and bitterly disappointed at the same time. She had compromised Hermione, apparently, and this had been the reply - well, nobody had to wait long ...

At least, Hermione guided her along some floors that were empty at this time of the day - unbearable the thought someone would see her now.

Hermione reached a door and opened it with a key card. She went inside without waiting for her.

Beatrice followed, closed the door, and looked around. It was a small salon - across, Hermione was passing another door. Following her again, Beatrice reached another room with a large double-bed, and a door leading to what had to be a bathroom.

Hermione turned around, closed the door, and looked at her with dark, pitiless eyes. "Did I scare you?"

"Er ..."

"Yes I did. Only that's not all I did - and I'm not finished yet."

Beatrice felt two hands move under her dress, stroke her thighs, which seemed unable to carry her much longer. The hands reached her panties and started to pull them down.

A gentle push was enough; she fell backward onto the bed.

The hands stripped her panties off, parted her legs, and slowly, ever so slowly, shifted her dress upward.

The pulsing and throbbing in her core was almost overwhelming. Glancing up, Beatrice saw Hermione's face - deep concentration, desire, hunger.

Now Hermione knelt down.

Beatrice closed her eyes, waiting impatiently to feel greedy lips and a shameless tongue devouring her succulent flesh.

* * *

Vanessa felt aptly tired of always being the one who drove the conversation forward. Now that these two had found together, couldn't they contribute a decent amount of table small talk at this Saturday lunch?

No, obviously not.

Clemens looked like death warmed over. He had explained why - a brain dope, taken this morning, only that it was the speedy version and that now, with the lunch almost over, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

Vanessa asked, "Why don't you go to bed?"

"Can't. Later."

His speech came strangely blurred. Vanessa looked at Rahewa. "He doesn't know what he's doing - let's take him into his room."

The suggestion made both of them blush, which was pretty ridiculous. Toward Clemens, Vanessa asked, "What are you waiting for?"

"Harry."

"He won't arrive before afternoon. What about Hermione?"

"Isn't off better ... worse."

"Damn." Vanessa looked at her friend and realized that she couldn't expect a decision from there. She turned back. "Clemens, that doesn't work. You need sleep - now."

"No ... maybe some fresh air."

Vanessa stood up. "All right, let's go."

For a moment, it seemed as if Rahewa was doped too. Vanessa had already reached the other side of the table and was trying to raise Clemens out of his chair, before Rahewa started to move.

"Need some help?"

Glancing up, Vanessa saw Michael standing there - for a change someone who looked normal and awake.

"Yes, please. This young man here needs fresh air, he says. What he really needs is some sleep, but for some reason he can't, so ..."

With Michael's help, they moved Clemens up. Once upright, the drugged potions wizard could walk by himself. Leaving the hall, Vanessa wondered what picture they might present to the other students. At least, nobody commented aloud.

Outside, Michael steered Clemens toward some trees. Reaching their shadow, he stopped him. "Sit down."

Clemens obeyed.

"Fine, fine. Lay down."

"No. Mustn't sleep."

"You won't." A gentle hand pressed Clemens' shoulder down, not finding much resistance. When his head reached the grass, Clemens was already asleep.

Vanessa watched Michael kneel over Clemens. He checked his pulse, sniffed his breath, and examined his complexion. Then Michael looked up.

"He's drugged. I don't know what it is, but it doesn't seem dangerous."

"No, it's not - a brain booster, he got it quite officially." Vanessa waited to see if Rahewa could sit down by herself, then followed her example. This done, she looked at Michael.

"You're quite helpful, in many ways, as it seems ... Thanks."

---

Michael glanced at Rahewa, then back at Vanessa, suspicion in his face. "I'd rather you'd tell me what's going on here."

"I'd like to know by myself - all I know is, we didn't poison him, and he's waiting for Harry."

Rahewa spoke, her voice miserable. "They had a session to redesign his potion, with him, Hermione, and Beatrice. Beatrice doped him for this purpose - she knows what she's doing."

Michael still looked sceptical. "Hopefully."

Something like defiance appeared in Rahewa's face. "Yes she does. Harry used this dope more than once."

"Great. Wonderful. Only that's not the best qualification I could imagine ..."

Vanessa waited for the inevitable - her friend attacking, maybe seriously hurting, Michael for this blasphemy. And yes, Rahewa's hands moved indeed - to cover her face, as she started crying.

Michael was closer, and quicker. He grabbed Rahewa's shoulders and pulled her to him. "Hey, c'mon, Rage, I just meant that Harry survives everything. If you're sure Clemens is okay ..."

A sob. "Yes."

"And what's so sad that you have to cry that much?"

Another sob. "Yesterday, they treated the first patient with his potion. He - he died."

"That's tough. And today they changed it? And now you're waiting for Harry to fetch another patient?"

The head under the short black mane nodded.

"What did Clemens say? Did they find the mistake?"

"Yes."

"Then stop worrying - the next patient will live, I'm pretty sure, because it's a matter of statistics - people make mistakes, but not twice in a row. Why don't you lie down and sleep a bit, too? We'll watch, and wake you when Harry comes."

Micheal looked up, his eyes signaling Vanessa to take over.

Rahewa didn't need much persuasion. After a moment of embarrassment, she was lying at Clemens' side, her arm over his chest. A minute later, her breathing showed the regular rise and fall of a sleeper.

Vanessa smiled at Michael. "It's impressive to watch you handle a crying girl. Most boys I know would have been frozen in horror - in particular with Rage."

Michael shrugged. "It would be too much to say I know her, but - well, she isn't a stranger to me. And anyway, handling a crying girl's fairly simple. Simpler than ..."

Vanessa waited a moment if his sentence would finish, then asked, "Where did you learn it?"

"I have two sisters. And I played in a band, for a while. Somehow, you find a lot of crying girls around a band. Girlfriends, groupies, that kind."

"Was it there that you learned about drugs?"

Michael looked pleased. "Yes."

"Was it a good time? Sex'n drugs'n rock'n roll?"

Michael's face closed like a mask. "Sure, that's why I left. You know - leaving when the party's at its best."

"Sorry - I didn't mean to be offensive. It was just - you looked so, er - delighted when I asked."

"Yes."

Vanessa waited for more. "Why?"

A short pause, then, reluctantly, came the answer. "It was your question."

"My question?" Vanessa stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind."

"But I mind, if you please."

Michael's face came up, showing a grin, then he looked at the grass again. "No. It's nothing."

Vanessa shifted herself at his side. "I'll count to three. Then I'll start crying - and then you must tell me."

Michael looked at her, his face expressionless. "You saw me checking him. Then you used your brain, skipping all the stupid remarks, and asked an intelligent question - oh, forget it."

"No I won't! What's so special about using your brain and asking an intelligent question?"

"Nothing, basically. Except ..." Michael sighed. "I don't want to be offensive either, but - you can act differently quite well, can't you?"

Vanessa felt speechless.

"I watched it often enough ... I hated it seeing you act like that, and at the same time, I felt pleased seeing you treat them that way." Michael's face was pinkish. "But you didn't treat me that way. That's all."

That was all? Certainly so. "How did you know it was play?"

"Guess what?"

"Sorry - at the risk of sounding stupid, but I can't."

A quick smile, gone. "There were a few situations that gave me a clue, or made me suspicious - as I said, in theory I'm kind of an expert regarding girls. Then, you were just too good. When I was with the band, I saw my share of really stupid girls: every once in a while, they have a single thought, and then they can't talk fast enough to blurt it out, beaming like a prize winner ..."

Vanessa started to giggle.

"... while you - you were always the perfect no-brainer, all the time. And then you and Rage together, that was the last proof."

After a moment of silence, Vanessa became aware that she was still beaming like a prize winner. It startled her a bit. Scanning for a more harmless remark, she reconsidered Michael's last words and found something that was hardly suited for calming down, but her question was out before she could stop. "And in practice?"

Some seconds passed. "Still improving."

"You ..." Vanessa swallowed. "You scared me a little."

"Why?"

"You know why, after you just made clear that I can count two and two ..." Vanessa tried to smile, but failed.

"You don't have to ... Being scared, I mean."

"Michael" - Vanessa felt herself blush - "I don't know what - sorry, drop that, I know what to say, it's just a bit difficult. You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm serious."

"I feel so - unexperienced in this situation." She made a sound somewhere between a snort and a giggle. "It's crazy - all the time, I was playing the expert, telling Rage how to parade in front of the boys, and now ... I can't promise you anything - "

"I know."

"No you don't!" Seeing him start, Vanessa calmed down. "Sorry, but - right now, I'm too embarrassed even to touch you, it's just my pride that helps me telling you this, after all that talk about intelligence and cleverness."

---

Michael smiled. "I know exactly how you feel. For years, I tried to build up the courage - and here we are, prompting each other and changing roles every two minutes."

"And now? Are you courageous enough?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you say it?"

He looked her in the eyes. "There's a spell in words. Today, it's all new to you. You don't know what to think of me - "

"That's not true - I know very well what to think of you. You're the gentlest guy I ever met, each time we meet you reveal new qualities - "

"Okay - but you don't know what to feel. I'm not asking you for anything - well, maybe that's not quite true, but ... If you ask me again, tomorrow, day after tomorrow - if you come and say, tell me, I'll say it."

"It's a deal."

After a moment of silence, Vanessa said, "It's amazing ..."

"Yes. It's unreal."

"No - I mean, if that's your style with little experience, then I wonder ..." Vanessa shook her head. "That was unfair. Forget it."

He smiled. "Never."

Seconds passed, each of them building up more tension. It seemed impossible to say anything without triggering side-effects, without revealing hidden - or not so hidden - meanings. Vanessa asked herself whether she shouldn't grab him, but tensed still more just from the thought.

Then Michael asked, "Do you want me to play some music?"

An excellent idea, it seemed. Obviously, his thoughts had been running in a similar direction, and holding a guitar would prevent him from doing something else with his hands. Only that music had its own impact.

"No," she said. "You'd have me crying before the first song's finished, and that might give you the wrong impression. Let's talk. Tell me about you."

"What?" Michael looked disbelieving. "Me sitting here, running an endless monologue about my precious ego and its unique features?"

Vanessa laughed out loudly. "You're funny too. Yes, that's exactly what I want to hear - an endless monologue about your ego and its unique features - or about your sisters, your time in the band ..."

"And you? Isn't this a bit unbalanced?"

"Maybe so. But you've watched me for years, right? Well, Michael, you're pretty new to me - I wouldn't mind a few facts. By the way - do other people call you Mike?"

"Only once. A mike's a microphone, something like the front-end of a loudspeaker - that's not exactly the picture I have of myself. Okay, I don't think I'm an arch-angel either ..."

Listening, Vanessa wondered if she would ask him again, and when. Free of obligation, he'd said, but of course there was an obligation - at least to accept his feelings, if not more. She would have liked to return them, to feel on par with him.

She, Vanessa Parthcombe, acknowledged master of the courtship manoeuvers in all variations, felt like a third-year at her first date. But only in one sense.

* * *

Sitting on a bench in a small park, watching the entrance in some distance, Harry had a few minutes to relax, and to reconsider the events of this morning - morning for him, while here in Varna, at the Black Sea, it was already late afternoon.

The building in front represented a part of the Varna City Hospital. Some moments ago, Viktor had disappeared in the entrance, in search of some authority that might be willing to offer them a wizard fever patient.

As ridiculous as it seemed - they had trouble finding another test candidate. Durmstrang had none, didn't know anyone to fetch without the hassle of papers, and doctors, their deep mistrust against any outsider ... What a mess.

Well - it was understandable. We're looking for a wizard fever victim to treat him with a new cure ... No, it's not the first ... No, the other died. A normal doctor would call the police.

Only there was nothing normal in this situation. The wizard fever refused to follow any known medical pattern. Also, when arriving at Hogwarts, the scene had looked strange too.

Harry had arrived with Cho and Sandra. Cho wanted to visit Almyra - for some girl's talk, as she'd said, making Harry wonder if his ears would ring during that time. Cho would further take care of Sandy - in case nobody else volunteered, which was unlikely.

Outside, they had found a group of four young people - two sleeping, two awake. They had left a beaming Sandy with Michael and Vanessa, after instructing them to let the others sleep until further notice.

After Cho assured him she would find Almyra without his help, Harry had looked for the other people - finding Hermione asleep too, and Beatrice as the only team member awake, although looking a bit dazed. Well, she had been called in the midst of the night.

At least, Beatrice could tell him that a new sample stood ready to be tested. So Harry had met Viktor, and together they reached Durmstrang where their first task had been to deliver bad news.

A figure appeared in the entrance. Viktor.

He didn't wave, was instead heading toward Harry's bench, which could only mean, no luck, no candidate. When Viktor reached him, Harry asked, "What did they say?"

"In the short version, go to hell. In the long version, go to hell and don't come back." Viktor looked frustrated. "I'm ready to kidnap someone - what do you think?"

"I think that's not a good idea. This candidate might die too, and then? I escaped a prison before, but this time we wouldn't have an excuse."

"What now?"

"Is there another hospital?"

"Probably, except we can forget it. Call Ron to let him make an official request - without a form in triplicate, these schamanes aren't going to tell you the time of day."

"We can place an ad in the newspaper; I'm sure some desperate family is ready to give it a try."

Viktor nodded. "Let's jump downtown and have a coffee. This place here's depressing me."

Some minutes later, they were sitting in a garden café, trying to come up with something quicker than an advertisement in a newspaper. Viktor said, "I could try to call some people. Of course, my list of contacts is pretty short, after - "

Nagini hissed, "Master, the power is here."

"Where?" Harry felt his neck hair rise.

"Close - I can't locate it better."

Harry looked around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary - the same old woman as before sitting at the far end of the caf‚, another woman standing at her table.

There was ... a wave of something, gone.

He checked again, trying to locate its origin, no more successful than Nagini. What was different from before?

Only this woman, who now moved through the garden, coming closer. Harry tried to examine her with his haragei. At the same moment, she looked at him, and he froze.

---

He couldn't move a muscle, couldn't even glance over to Viktor. The woman filled his vision and his mind.

"You found me a while ago, wizard. Since then I was searching for you."

Harry wasn't sure whether these were words or thoughts. It didn't matter - as long as he could speak, or think. "Who are you?"

"I am the High Priestess."

It told him nothing, except that the woman looked quite different from the figure in the Tarot cards. Not brilliant, more solemn, however very sensual ... Ageless, with a body that would attract glances everywhere, with eyes that ... Harry tried to break the spell of these eyes, but couldn't.

"When we met the last time, you were in company of someone else, wizard. Where is she?"

"We didn't meet before. Anyway - you're the last I'm going to tell."

"You have no choice, wizard."

"Oh, really? I heard that before." Harry tried to do something more than giving sarcastic replies, but failed again.

"You strongly remind me of this other spirit. Why is that so?"

"It was me in disguise, that's why."

"Your answer makes no sense, wizard. It was not you. Why are you resisting my order?"

"Maybe I missed the word please." The reaction to his wisecracks was null. "You kill people - wizards, witches. I'm not going to tell you anything."

"I take their magic. They don't deserve it."

"And as a side-effect, they die. What do you mean, they don't deserve it? Who are you to decide about that?"

"I am the High Priestess; it is my purpose. They violated the rule. If they die, it is destiny."

"Some destiny! Which rule did they violate?"

"The magical world is supposed to stay hidden and separated. It is my duty to ensure this."

"You're a little late, huh? Where have you been some years ago when it started? It was the darkest wizard ever who broke the barriers between the two worlds - you may blame him, nobody else! Where have you been then?"

The ageless face looked sad. "I may have failed. Guide me to this dark wizard."

"Don't you listen? You're too late - I killed him." Harry felt a change, however not enough to break free.

Something like curiosity was showing in her face. "You are special, yes. There may be a purpose unknown to me, perhaps the reason for my failure ..."

When the woman hesitated, Harry went for his chance. "Maybe you're not quite as omniscient as you think."

"I am not omniscient. I am the High Priestess, bound by the rule. But the mystery may be solved when I meet this spirit who is so similar to you."

"What do you want from her?"

"I need her for a purpose."

"Very informative - actually, I heard that before too, only a bit more detailed."

The woman looked astonished. "Who said so?"

"Voldemort, this dark wizard. His idea - " Harry stopped, noticing that he was revealing too much. "Never mind - forget it."

"Was this the reason why you killed him? Then you did right. But my purpose is not evil. Now guide me to her."

"Certainly not."

Her eyes seemed to burn into Harry's mind. "Guide me, wizard."

---

The feeling was somehow familiar, strange only in its incredible power - an Imperius spell like he'd never felt before. Still, it was as if every ounce of pressure would increase his natural armour. His own free will, as if hidden in a shell, was inside him, undiminished, waiting for the right moment to break free.

Harry remembered a similar situation - when Cho had been captured in an unbreakable sphere, only that he'd been the intruder then, who had succeeded coming through by dropping the attack completely. He could only hope this woman didn't have the same idea.

Apparently not. All he felt was a still increased pressure. If there was a chance, then in the short instant of his refusal. There was a spell in words ...

"No!"

He had surprised her - really, he had. In this moment of astonishment, he felt free, master of his senses, muscles, magic.

Harry apparated, coming out at the hospital - just the first target that had crossed his mind, far away from all places more familiar. He wheeled around to see whether she had pursued him. There was nobody.

He was free. But he had left Viktor behind.

Next second, he realized that there was no time to think about clever plans for rescuing Viktor - as soon as this High Priestess had recovered from her surprise, she would interrogate him.

Harry inhaled, concentrated on the sequence of actions he had in mind, and apparated.

There was the garden café, Viktor sitting motionless, the woman standing there, motionless herself ... Harry touched Viktor, apparating, summoning at the same time, coming out at the hospital once more. Too close - where was a place to reach without revealing anything?

Of course. The second apparition with summoning took Harry and Viktor to the Crusader castle, where all this had started.

"Viktor? C'mon, wake up!" Harry sent the destunning spell, anxiously waiting to see his friend move, aware that any moment another figure might appear behind him.

Viktor moved. "Wha ... Where are we?"

"In the Crusader castle. I thought it better to leave quickly."

"Leave? Why - what happened?"

"We met the High Priestess."

The picture was not likely to fade - in the short moment when he had grabbed Viktor, looking up to see what she was doing, not finding the time to register it fully, to feel surprise ...

She had been standing there, not making any attempt to stop him, capture him again. Just looking at him.

Thoughtful. Wondering.