The High Priestess

In retrospect, Hermione praised herself lucky that everything was happening so fast. She simply found no time to die of shame. She couldn't even find the time to realize that this wouldn't have been her style anyway - dying of shame.

Something was shaking her, pretty roughly. When she didn't react instantly, someone shot a bucket of ice water right through her mind.

She came up with a gasp.

Harry was standing there, his face cold, his eyes almost black. Seeing his expression, Hermione was convinced he knew what had happened and was here to confront her, mad as hell. For a fleeting instant, she felt like a little girl, caught at something very naughty - a scene that had never happened. But she was no little girl, was a big one, and the rush that went through her belly and deeper was more than anxiety and shame.

"Get dressed. Now. We're waiting in your laboratory."

For another terrible instant, Hermione expected him to wait there until she was out of the bed. Impossible that he'd miss the signs ...

But he turned and was gone.

Once more feeling like a child wishing the impossible, knowing for sure it was beyond reach, Hermione wished there had been time to shower, getting rid of sleep and sweat and - most of all - smell. Only she remembered other occasions when she had heard Harry speaking with this voice. Now, he'd said.

She reached the laboratory two minutes later, definitely her personal record - as if anyone cared about that. Harry was there, Viktor was there, Clemens was there, showing a sleepiness Hermione had lost moments before. She looked around.

"You have a patient? Where is he?"

"Yes, we have a patient." Harry's face hadn't changed.

"Where ..." Hermione's voice died, her glance flicked between Harry and Viktor, stopped at Harry. "No. Please, no."

He was at her, took her, hugged her, his mouth at her ear. "C'mon, steady - we're here, we're going to do this together, and that's all that matters now." Another wave flooded her mind - gentle this time, encouraging, commanding nonetheless.

Hermione nodded. "Okay. I'm okay." She looked at Viktor, her Viktor, suppressed any impulse of guilt, any thought of mean gods punishing sins so quickly, reached him, and bent down.

"How do you feel?"

"Bit dizzy."

He felt hot, too - which seemed impossible, after such a short time. Hermione turned to Harry. "What happened?"

"We were looking for a patient. Couldn't find one - nobody was ready to give us someone. But the power found us."

"Oh my God."

"No - only the High Priestess."

"What?"

"Later." Harry came over. "Viktor - we have two alternatives. Sandy and I, we can help you through the fever, only then you have to quit your magic ... Or you take the new potion, developed today after Clemens and Hermione found the mistake that killed the other patient with the weak heart. What do you say?"

Viktor grimaced. "I'm a wizard, I have no intention to change that now. And my heart's as healthy as it can be; Bulgarians are tough."

"Can I take this Bulgarian bullshit as a yes?"

Viktor grinned wryly. "Give me that stuff, that I feel better and can give you the answer you deserve for this remark."

Harry looked at Hermione. "You checked it through. No more hidden mistakes?"

Her mind, to some degree still at high gear, raced through the memory of this conversation between two geniuses under dope and found no flaw. She swallowed.

"No more."

Harry turned to Clemens. "Sorry to put you under such a pressure. Do you recommend your cure?"

The young man looked pale. "I'm ready to try it first."

"Fine, but that's not the issue now. Are you ready to give it Viktor first?"

Clemens closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Yes."

Harry smiled. "I'm going to fetch Sandy - just in case." He walked out.

---

Hermione took Viktor's face, feeling his sweat at her palms. She kissed him. "Come, let's get you ready."

He was already so weak, he couldn't even reply with a whispered comment, or a naughty grin, his normal habit after such a remark. He laid down on the padded table, his eyes closed when Hermione attached the sensors from the monitor.

Harry returned with his daughter and placed himself behind Viktor, Sandy in his lap.

Clemens had the cup ready. Hermione took it, went to Viktor, and held his neck when he came up to drink. When he had emptied the cup, she gently levered him down again.

For a long, long minute, nothing happened. Hermione's glance switched around and around - monitor, Viktor, Harry plus daughter, and again. Then pulse and blood pressure rose, dramatically.

But not alarmingly, not after Hermione had learned getting used to seeing hundred and sixty for longer periods. And the amplitude was strong and regular, giving her a feeling of pride for her husband's strong heart.

How long would it take?

She decided to wait fifteen minutes before starting with infusions. Meanwhile, she busied herself wiping the sweat from Viktor's forehead and temples, always careful not to touch the hands at his throat - two strong ones and two others which seemed too small for the power they brought.

If she only could ask him ... The monitor was fine and well, but - she had left aside the EEG sensors on purpose, knowing from experience that the graphs were beyond any regular pattern, just good to scare her still more.

Clemens was sitting there, hands clenched, his breath not much different from Viktor's. It crossed Hermione's mind that she should be the one to help him through these minutes. At the same moment, their eyes met.

Clemens said, "The only question left is whether he's kept his magic."

"How ..."

"If - if there was still a risk, he'd be dead already. But he's doing fine."

Clemens was right. Hermione stood up to fix the first infusion. She had made a step to the bench when the beep changed. She froze, staring at the monitor.

Hundred-and-twenty - hundred - ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, the perfectly normal relaxing phase of a well-trained body.

Harry's eyes came open, an instant later Sandy's. Harry smiled. "We just watched - your wizard did all by himself."

Hermione exhaled, then giggled, then started crying.

Viktor's eyes opened. "Give me my wand."

Harry was quicker, fetched Viktor's wand and put it between sweaty fingers.

"Lumos."

The tip of the wand was shining - dim in the harsh light of the laboratory, but even so the most brilliant light Hermione had ever seen.

Viktor grinned. "Great ... See you later." With his next breathing, he was already asleep.

Hermione looked at Clemens. "Thank you."

The young man smiled, blushed, then his face distorted. Hermione, feeling sufficiently recovered, grabbed him and hugged him. "It's okay - you're a brave wizard."

Harry's voice came from behind. "There's someone waiting outside who can do that much better. Clemens, would you take Sandy with you?"

The brave wizard nodded and took the girl while carefully avoiding to look up, then he hurried out.

Harry touched Viktor's face. Apparently satisfied with what he sensed, he looked at Hermione, smiling, his head shaking slowly from side to side. "You're crazy."

She darkened, then - for concern as much as for changing the subject, she asked, "What about you? Didn't you catch the fever?"

Harry came over and took her face in his hands. "No. I'm fine - not infected, not doped, and sufficiently recovered from last night's - er, gymnastics."

"I'm sorry."

Harry chuckled. "Don't - I'm not blaming you, just wondering - and if I hadn't had my share last night, I might have a little problem just from the thought that you and Beatrice ..."

Hermione felt pleased, hearing this confession.

"Did she confuse the dope?"

"No, but if all your senses are revved up - and for me, a sharp brain always has been something erotical. When you took the dope, didn't you feel any effect in that direction?"

"Hmm ... I think there was no opportunity, and too much at stake. But otherwise, who knows?" Harry grinned.

"Well, it wasn't the dope alone. True, it was me who ... Let's say I was provoked."

"Yeah, that sounds familiar." Harry's eyes were sparkling.

"Harry - please, don't tell Cho."

He stared at her. "The last time we had such an agreement, it failed miserably. Not that I had reason to complain; I was awfully glad to learn that Viktor knew ... Will you tell him?"

"Maybe not as the hottest news, but - yes, certainly."

"Will he be mad at you?"

Hermione smiled. "Definitely - but he will also have a little problem, or maybe a bigger one, and I'll help him with that."

* * *

Walking at Harry's side to the Hogwarts Express platform, from where they would apparate home, Cho was trying to find an unsuspicious question - for starters. Her husband felt too quiet for her taste. He hadn't even asked what she and Almyra had been talking about. More precisely, he hadn't mustered a single joke.

So they had met the power - inevitably so, Cho had known from the beginning. Not quite inevitably, Harry came out unharmed, while Viktor, in his own style as indestructible as Harry, had got his infection, his cure, and was healthy and magical as before. And young Clemens was today's hero.

So what was wrong?

Cho asked, "This power - didn't Nagini warn you?"

"Yes, she did, only it was too late - or maybe it was my mistake, because I didn't jump and run instantly."

"Oh, you didn't? That's quite unusual."

No grin. No reply. Something was terribly wrong. "Why don't you tell me in full detail what happened?"

"We were sitting in a café. Nagini said, the power's there. Then I looked around, but saw just a woman. When I tried to check her, she looked at me, and from that moment on, I was unable to move, to do - "

"A woman?"

"Yes - the High Priestess, she called herself."

"And then?"

"Then we talked, and she put an Imperius on me, only it wasn't a normal Imperius. But it didn't work, my immunity held: the moment I said no, the spell broke, and I could move. I jumped off - to that hospital, and then back to fetch Viktor, and off again. Then we made sure she isn't following, came to Hogwarts and - well, then Viktor got his cure ... The fever rose incredibly fast in him - maybe because he was longer in contact, I don't know."

"This woman - how did she look?" As if it mattered how this damned bitch looked, but wasn't this the most natural question another woman would ask?

"Very - attractive. No - seductive."

"Sexy?"

"That's the wrong word. She didn't smile once. Solemn ... But you had the feeling she could do with you what she wanted."

Cho hated her more with every second passing. "Only she couldn't, could she? Was it because she was too young, or did she make the wrong suggestion?"

Shit! She'd asked two questions.

"She wasn't young. She was - she must be incredibly old, but she doesn't need a beauty surgeon, trust my word ..."

Older women - to hell with them. Fury was boiling up in Cho. "What did she want from you? A good - " With difficulty, she stopped herself.

Nonetheless, Harry showed the first grin. "No. But thanks for your faith - I mean, that she'd need an Imperius for that."

"Who knows? In full public, maybe - sorry, that was very bad taste, but I could kill her with my bare hands!"

"Most unlikely." Harry no longer smiled.

"Yeah, probably so. Am I glad Sandy wasn't with you."

"Me too."

Something in his voice made Cho stop in mid-step and grab him. "Harry, please, tell me what happened there."

"Wait a minute - I'll do it at home, after I've called two people to come over and listen too."

"Who?"

"Ramon and Marie-Christine."

Walking the last steps to the platform, Cho had a moment to think about why Harry wanted to tell them the story as well. It seemed natural enough, with Ramon as the project manager and Marie-Christine as an expert for dark magic. But why not telling her first? Was it such a long story?

No, it wasn't. It was because this way, she'd hear it first with Marie-Christine around.

"It's about Cass, right?"

He kissed her. "You're a clever girl, just a bit impatient."

Harry's voice was light, almost joyful - and flat, and he didn't smile. Her husband, father of her daughter, was in his most dangerous mood.

Not dangerous for herself. But he wouldn't tell her more now.

---

In Santa Monica it was early afternoon. Cho put the sleeping Cass to bed, not bothering to undress her more than just taking off her shoes. Returning into the living room, she heard Harry say, "... please come over. Now."

He rose. "They'll be here any second. I'll be back in ten minutes."

Cho stared at the spot where the air filled the empty space with a soft pop. Before she had time to worry more, the doorbell rang.

Ramon and Marie-Christine stood there, their faces expectant, anxious. "Hi, Cho - what's going on?"

"I wish I knew. I know a bit - come in so I can tell you. Harry said he'll be back in a few minutes - and please don't ask me what he's doing, and where, otherwise I'll scream at you that I don't know because he didn't - "

Marie-Christine had reached her and hugged her. "Now, now - you look terrific if you're as mad as that, but ..."

They were sitting in the living room, with Cho reporting the scarce facts about that bitch of a High Priestess, when suddenly Harry stood in the room. Into Ramon's gasp, he showed the shortest smile ever.

"Thanks for your coming. Did Cho tell you the facts?"

Cho glared at him. "Yassuh, cap'n, suh - twice, because I had so much to tell."

His hand came up. "Here's the rest - a mind-recording, not the best quality, but it'll do."

A spector cassette.

Rising from the player, Harry smiled at her. "Open your eyes and watch, oh my Fury Queen ..."

Ramon's and Marie-Christine's laughter was a bit hysterical, but the tension was broken. Cho felt better herself - for a moment; then she watched the shortest and scariest horror movie she had ever seen.

Harry was sitting on the armrest of her chair, an arm around her shoulder. He said, "Well, that's it. What's your comment?"

Ramon was the quickest. "That's a mean old lady, that is. But in good shape, for her age."

Marie-Christine turned to Harry. "What did you feel while you were talking with her?"

"Not much, aside from rage. But it was my own - she didn't show much emotion, no more than what you could see in her face. I wasn't able to sense anything, and I was busy preparing for my escape."

Cho grabbed his hand. "And you did it. That's ..." She stopped before her voice was breaking, and felt at the same moment his support - at her hand and in her mind.

Ramon's voice sounded awe-struck. "You can say that. Harry, I just found out your secret: you're simply too fast to be scared."

"Be serious - tell me, did she make any attempt to stop me when I came back?"

"Serious? You're there for less than a second, then you're gone, and Viktor with you - this isn't a western movie, normal people need three thirds of a second to register an event, another half second to react, and - "

"But she isn't normal." Harry shook his head. "No - she didn't try."

Marie-Christine asked, "And what does that mean?"

Harry looked at Ramon. "What's your answer, cop?"

"If you're right - if she wasn't just too baffled from seeing Speedy Gonzales in action, then because she figured out that there's new data unknown to her, and that she needs a fresh-up on the latest developments in fashion and table manners ... which doesn't mean I'd object her dress, or her haircut."

Men! Even now, they hadn't anything better to do than admiring a good figure, and two, admittedly well-formed, breasts.

Her own man asked, "Who's Speedy Gonzales?"

Ramon's hands came up as if holding two six-shooters. "Fastest mouse in town."

Still smiling, Marie-Christine asked, "Is she evil?"

"Erm - no ..." Harry hesitated. "Determined, merciless in a way; she can feel pity, but she's bound by her rule so much, she accepts that people are dying."

Cho snapped, "This woman wants Cass! What does she want from her?"

Marie-Christine glanced at her, then looked away.

Ramon asked, "Harry, does she know that she wants to meet a two-year-old?"

"Beats me. She was talking about a spirit - maybe she knows, maybe for herself it doesn't matter."

Cho looked at Ramon. "Wants to meet? It's more than that - need her for a purpose, she said." Watching again Marie-Christine, she said, "You have an idea - c'mon, tell us, for God's sake!"

Marie-Christine sighed. "She's not looking for a human sacrifice, that much is clear. She's been in touch with Cass and has sensed her power - since then, she's looking for her. Punishing unfaithful wizards is just a by-product, not her most important - "

Cho lost patience. "Damn you, stop sugar-coating it - tell us!"

"I think she's tired of her job ... she's looking for a new High Priestess."

* * *

Ron Weasley pressed the Off button and suppressed the impulse to throw his phony at the opposite wall - not because it would crash, only to avoid the hassle of walking over and fetching it again.

For the last four hours, he'd been calling around, in search of unicorn blood. He'd got results, oh yes. But no blood.

He was no vampire. He was no paederast. No necrophiliac. Least of all, he was a child molester - if there was a scaling possible, which Ron doubted while not being entirely sure after these conversations. Because they had treated him like all that, hearing his request.

There was no unicorn blood. Or if there was, they wouldn't tell him.

At the beginning, Ron had prepared himself to be ready for the first negotiation about the price, trying not to feel like a crack dealer at his first steps into the cocaine market. He shouldn't have worried, because it never came that far.

Still - he felt convinced there were sources. Only they couldn't be reached by phone.

Maybe he should try jungle drums.

Or a good register of wizards and witches, living in isolation, dealing with animals, or potions, preferably both ... Such a register was a contradiction in itself; only hearsay would offer him a chance.

Then Ron smiled, because he knew whom to ask. Yes - free association, spiced with a good dash of anger and frustration, always brought him the best ideas. He pressed the Ask button of his phony, feeling grateful to find it still in his hand.

"Yes, sir?"

"Paul Sillitoe. He's a freelance journalist and investigator, works with the Daily Prophet."

"Very well sir ... Yes, sir, the number is recorded. May I connect you, sir?"

"Yes." It crossed Ron's mind that he should suggest a change in phony answer style to Cho - after the previous voices and the words they'd used, this one sounded like sneering sarcasm with its overarticulated politeness.

"Sillitoe."

"Hello, Paul, this is Ron Weasley, the - "

"Ron - how are you? And what's more important, how's Janine? Everything going fine?"

Ron felt his belief in human communication return. "Yes, she's doing great - hey, you surprised me, I wasn't even sure whether you'd remember my name."

"Are you trying to insult me?" Laughter came over the phony. "And now you'd like to know from which society column I know when Janine's due, right?"

"Er, yes."

"Can you keep a secret?"

Ron didn't fall for this old trick, instead let his thoughts race - of course. "It's Deborah, who else?"

"I'm listening to you."

There had been a very short pause - as if Paul had dismissed a simple "Yes" at the last instant. Ron stored this information for later.

"Paul, can I talk with you? Now?"

"What - oh, you mean coming over to me?"

"Yes."

"Not even over a phony - wow, that must be ... yes, sure; I'm in my office."

"Great. See you in a moment. Bye."

Ron apparated to the Daily Prophet building. Walking up the stairs, memories resurfaced - how Paul had delivered his masterpiece of journalistic investigation, which finally led to the uncovering of Voldemort, how - Ron stopped in mid-step. Then, grinning, he climbed the last stairs.

It wasn't a Yes what Paul had dismissed a split second too late.

---

They shook hands and examined each other, Paul's glance a bit careful - as expected, with the new knowledge. Ron grinned. "How's Deborah?"

"Er - fine, why? You - "

Ron started to laugh, still more when registering the self-conscious expression in the other face. "Paul," he said, "I had no idea. When we met the other day, she was laying false tracks quite expertly."

The journalist blushed. "Erm - it's nothing solid. Ginny and I, we see each other every now and then; that's all."

Paul and Ginny had been together some years ago. It hadn't lasted, to Ron's - and Harry's - deep regret. To hear that these two were seeing each other again, if only occasionally ... Then Ron knew why Paul was looking so uneasy - the two were running a fuck-and-breakfast relationship. He smiled. "If it's what I think it is, then I'm really glad to hear that - that's really good news."

Paul's face still showed a bit watchfulness.

"I mean it - I don't care with whom she's having a drink in a bar, while ... I wouldn't mind if it's more ..."

"Me either."

Which didn't surprise Ron, or not much. It hadn't been Paul's initiative to break off the relationship, and for what Ron could sense, Ginny wasn't filling an accidental vacuum in Paul's life.

"I'd like to help, but - you know how touchy she is."

"Yeah, I know."

Calling Ginny touchy in this issue was an euphemism. To say she went ballistic would be a more accurate description. There was only one who could talk with her about that - unfortunately, he was also part of the problem, actually the major part.

"Paul, I've been doing phone calls all day long, trying to find something. I got answers - well, they gave me names ..."

"Dope? Slave girls? Maybe slave boys?"

"Worse."

"Really? Then I'm about to learn something new."

"Unicorn blood."

Paul whistled. "That's why." Then he looked expectantly. "Does it have to do with the wizard fever?"

"Hey - you haven't lost your style, really."

The journalist looked pleased. "Things happen in clusters."

"Huh?"

"By some accident, I'm investigating the wizard fever, and then you come to me in this regard. Also, I haven't seen a Weasley in years, or heard, and then two of them - well, never mind."

Ron grinned. "Sounds promising - well, never mind."

"We talk too." Paul grinned back. "Ginny told me about Groucho's efforts, so it wasn't that difficult. But there's something you don't know yet, and this might be the solution to your problem."

"What do you mean?"

"During the last two days, or maybe three, there was no new infection."

Ron stared at Paul, thunderstruck.

"I'm in touch with a bunch of regulars - I mean newspaper journalists doing a normal job for tomorrow's news. They provide me with news, and I provide them with analysis results in return. We've been tracking this fever as closely as we could, or dared. And some days ago, this crazy pattern changed."

"Saturday?"

Paul's eyes widened, then a wolfish grin appeared on his face. "That's my lucky day - I get encouragement where I might have expected it last, and I get a story where - "

"Hold it - I have no story for you."

"No? Then the story must be somewhere near you - either in one of the schools or ..." Paul smiled. "Weasley sounds so incomplete, if you know what I mean."

Yes, Ron knew. The Potter-Weasley gang, they'd called themselves, only Harry had called it the Weasley-Potter gang.

"If I was in your place, Paul, I would call an old friend who's happy about each favour he can do to you. Then I would tell him what you just told me. He'll listen to you very, very attentively. That's all I'm saying."

The journalist who hadn't made it to a brother-in-law beamed. "Thanks, Ron - you've just inserted yourself in my short list of - "

"I know something better - even if the demand is dramatically less than expected, we need some unicorn blood. My great toe tells me you have some contacts."

"Your great toe is admirably well informed. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll try. Shall I call you?"

"Call Hermione, at Hogwarts, if you can come up with something."

Writing onto a notepad, Paul asked, "By the way, how did you get the first sample? You did some tests already, didn't you?" He looked up, showing polite interest.

Ron chuckled. "Find some unicorn blood, then call Hermione. Talk with her."

"Hogwarts, huh? There's this forest - aren't there unicorns in that forest, too?"

"You're just too greedy, Paul."

"And this from a Weasley, after - well, never mind."

Laughing, Ron left the office.

* * *

The party was already running, although today's guest of honour hadn't arrived yet. This seemed particularly strange because Rahewa was here since a while - not showing any sign of disappointment, quite the opposite.

The guest of honour should of course be Clemens. Fleur - after recovering from her surprise to see Rahewa coming without him - had simultaneously tried to figure out which plot they were playing and stop the other guests from celebrating at full force, without being impolite.

After all, she had learned from her parents that a little formality was a proper means at such an opportunity - a toast for the hero, the one whose potion had brought Bill's magic back.

But the present mix of guests and residents had showed little patience. True, the living room was almost empty - small wonder, after Héloise and Sandra had made unmistakably clear that it was music time, and a crowd had followed them, since then listening to a sound never heard before in this old house: a Goblin harp and a twelve-string guitar.

The girls had left Bill no choice. Not that he would have resisted much - the Weasleys didn't go well with ceremonies, and formalities - but Fleur felt pretty sure that otherwise Sandra would have summoned him.

And little Michel rested on Harry's arm, where else, mostly sleeping, while the bigger Michael - almost instantly - had managed to overcome the short moment of jealousy from Héloise's side. Since then, Fleur was sitting with the three guests who seemed content to stay with her in the living room - Cho, Janine, and Ron.

With them, Fleur had made a last attempt to be prepared for the surprise. But Ron and Janine didn't know, and Cho didn't tell.

The doorbell chimed.

Fleur had pressed the button when a slim figure passed her, racing - no, flying downstairs: Rahewa, ignoring any etiquette.

Fleur smiled and waited the few seconds until the murmur was coming upstairs. Then she saw three people appearing in her view - a beaming Rahewa first, followed by a young man, obviously Clemens. The third person was a young woman ...

Fleur felt her eyes widen. This young woman looked like the female counterpart of Clemens!

"Fleur," said Rahewa, "this is Clemens ..."

"Good evening, Madame Weasley."

"Just Fleur - hello, Clemens."

"Er, Fleur - this is my sister Clara - please excuse this unplanned - er, the others persuaded me - "

"But of course, what a wonderful idea! Hello, Clara - it's truly amazing to see you and your brother side by side."

The young woman stared at Fleur, admiration in her look.

After a moment, Fleur became aware why. She laughed. "Come in, then we have more room to stare at each other. I'm a Veela - quarter-Veela, to be correct. Didn't they tell you?"

"No. What ... what is a Veela?"

"I'll explain inside - come with me." Fleur turned to Rahewa. "May I have him just for a minute? No longer than that - I promise."

With one twin in each arm, Fleur reached the living room. Dropping the last etiquette, she called, "Hey folks, look at what I've got here!"

A while later, Fleur had the first opportunity to talk with these two special guests. She said, "Clemens, what you have done for us - we're deeply in debt to you. I really hope you'll give us a chance to balance out a bit."

The young man smiled. "That's simple, because - er, do you know how it started, I mean with Clara?"

"Yes, 'arry told us."

"Well - now that everything's ready, Clara is afraid to - er, to make the transit. We argued, and then Rahewa had the idea to bring her with us - here, she can see all sorts of magical people ..."

Fleur smiled - Wynor the Whistler had been another spectacle for Clara, and by sheer numbering, if there had been a formal table, the Goblin would have been Clara's table partner.

"... so, er, I was hoping you could convince her that it's worth trying."

"I feel flattered." Fleur looked at the Muggle girl. "Although I think 'arry might be better suited for that - he knows the Muggle world much better than I."

"No," replied Clemens, "that's certainly true, but - you know, he's just such a super wizard - even Rahewa thought it better to talk with him not in first place. She said you were the right person for that."

---

Fleur nodded and turned to Clemens' sister. "It's quite a change, in a way. Is this your concern, Clara?"

"Yes, but there's more. I'm used to my environment, you know. I have my circle, my friend is nor - is a Muggle, I mean. Sorry." Clara blushed.

Fleur touched her arm. "No need to be embarrassed; we all think of our own appearance as normal. By the way, why didn't you come with him?"

"Er ..."

Rahewa came to help. "It was difficult enough to convince Clara that she's welcome here. And he doesn't speak French."

"This is of course nonsense. Anyway, what does he think of the idea?"

Clara smiled. "He's intrigued. But everybody seems so convinced that I just have to drink Clemens' mixture and then I'll be a - er, ..."

"A witch - really, for us there's no derogatory meaning in this word. And you? If you wouldn't believe it, too, you could drink it, and nothing would happen. Isn't that so?"

"Yes - no ..."

"Are you ready for a little test?"

A moment's hesitation. "Yes."

"Follow me."

Reaching her own chamber, Fleur saw that Clara seemed a bit startled. She said, "It doesn't hurt - it's just not suited for a public audience."

The girl looked even more startled.

Fleur smiled. "I'm not going to check you for witch signs ... Here - put it around your neck, please."

"A shawl?"

"I know it's summer - I'll explain in a moment."

Clara took the shawl and draped it around her neck. With satisfaction, Fleur noticed the change in the girl's look - almost instantly. She asked, "How does it feel?"

"Well - warm of course, soft ... very - er, delicate." The words ended in a giggle.

Fleur took the shawl off. When Clara's eyes were clear again, she asked, "What did you feel?"

"Erm ..."

"An erotic feeling, right?"

Blushing, Clara nodded.

"That's a Veela shawl - and that's also the quickest method of explaining what a Veela is." Noticing that Clara couldn't follow that quickly, Fleur explained, "Veela have this power - and this special hair, yes. Watch!"

She activated her own power for a few seconds, then stopped. "It was the same, right?"

Another nod.

"I could make it much stronger, but this was just a demonstration, I've no intention to seduce you."

Clara's face turned dark red.

Fleur laughed. "Veela have a very relaxed style regarding sexuality, and the French Veela even more."

"I'm not - normally I don't behave like a nun in a sex-shop, but this - er, power is quite impressive." Clara's face normalized quickly.

"I used the shawl first to make it less personal - and I used my own power then not only to make clear what a Veela is but also to give you a demonstration of a spell - that's what wizards and witches do," Fleur smiled. "Except that most of the spells are less pleasurable."

Clara nodded. "Yes, that's clear. But what about the test you mentioned?"

"Oh, I forgot: Veela power only works on magical people - Veela of both sexes, wizards, and witches. But not on Muggles."

An open-mouthed Clara stared at her.

* * *

Vanessa enjoyed the party very much, more than any other she could remember. No chaos. No shrill voices. Nobody drunk. Nobody doped - except Clara, for that short moment.

Vanessa wished she too had been tested. She was a witch, there was no question about that; it was the test which intrigued her. Veela power ... That would be one way to answer her big question.

This question nested quite prominently in her mind, especially here with all these people who showed their mutual affection in a relaxed manner. Vanessa liked it a lot, while she wasn't used to it. Her own party experience was very different.

And Michael ... Playing tirelessly for the two girls, not even for the others, at least not in a conventional sense, because he hadn't played a single song, carefully avoiding to diminish Héloise. Chords, short picking sequences, the promise of a melody - restricting himself to instrumental music and adjusting his style to the girl's music.

Still, Vanessa felt his attention toward herself. Michael didn't look at her every few seconds, nothing of this stupid property game she had learned to hate, which had yielded only one good effect - her joining with Rage.

Vanessa experienced the freedom of setting near Michael and listen, or entering another room for a while without her stomach raising alarm only because she had talked too long with someone else. Her former partners ...

Something else was different too. She wasn't the beauty queen.

True, she looked as pretty as the day before. And she had - almost on reflex - classified Cho in a different league. But with Fleur in the same room ... It was quite instructive, while not painful.

This didn't mean the men had no eyes for her, but it was no longer a burden. Vanessa remembered well what other students at Hogwarts had called her and Rage - The beauty and the beast. When arriving here, Bill had examined her - openly, smiling - and had called, "Fleur, look, here's a new competition for you." Charming guy, that.

Fleur had examined her too, had sighed theatrically, and said, "All right, Bill - you get her and the children, I get the house and Michael." Next moment, Fleur had laughed out aloud and had greeted her, whispering, "He's right - in two years or so. And your Michael's proof that you've got brains, too."

This woman had class.

Vanessa left the room to wander around for a few minutes - inspecting the interior of this wonderful house, and thinking about her Michael. She passed Harry, who still had the boy on his arm, and stopped.

"Rage told me about you and this young man here. I thought - well, I didn't quite believe her, but her every word was true. It's amazing."

Harry smiled. It wasn't quite his first smile this evening, but one of few. "There's Veela in him, that makes it simple."

"Veela? Male Veela?"

"Yes - not as prominent as the female, but it's there ... And you? Tired of waiting till Sandy's got enough?"

"Oh no - no, really."

"You found him."

Vanessa almost jumped, staring wide-eyed at Harry.

"You were the one who brought Michael's music into Sandy's life, and in Hély's too. I owe you for that."

Still shaken, from what seemed an involuntary misunderstanding between two perspectives to the same person, Vanessa could only shake her head.

"I do," insisted Harry. "Would you allow me to deliver an instalment of this debt?"

"I - I don't know."

He just waited.

"Er - sorry, yes, sure."

"Please take my hand." Without removing an arm from Michel's support, Harry opened a palm.

Wondering, Vanessa took it, feeling the hard calluses at the edge, which in an involuntary reflex reminded her of the calluses on the fingertips of a guitar player. Only after a second, she felt a gentle wave in her mind, comforting, reassuring. Despite herself, she smiled.

"That was you, right?"

"Yes - that was my first instalment."

Still under the influence of this wonderfully peaceful emotion, Vanessa said, "It was beautiful. Now I know exactly what Rage meant when she tried to tell me how you helped her."

"My second instalment is a very short story. Some years ago, I was in a terrible state, because I had a problem I couldn't discuss with my friends. I went to Fleur, since I knew she could help me. It took me an arm and a leg to tell her - fighting Voldemort was simple in comparison, I'm not joking ..."

Vanessa stared at him, frozen, fascinated.

"... and she helped me. Well, right now, Fleur's upstairs. Why don't you go and ask her?"

Vanessa could barely suppress a trembling.

"She doesn't expect you. She doesn't know; it's your decision whether to ask her like I did. I'm sorry if - I didn't mean to spy on you. I hope I didn't scare you." Without waiting for any reply, Harry turned and walked away.

---

Like hypnotized, Vanessa climbed the stairs. When she reached Fleur, the Veela woman looked up, a questioning smile on her face.

"I'm - I just spoke with Harry. He told me a story, how you helped him ..."

Fleur's eyes lighted up. "Did he? That's remarkable."

"He - he doped me a bit first."

Fleur made her sit down and put an arm around her shoulder. "That tells me a lot. It's about Michael, right?"

Vanessa nodded.

"The prettiest have the most trouble, although here ..." Fleur took Vanessa's face and moved it around toward herself. "You are the problem, aren't you?"

"How do you know?"

"He loves you; everybody can see that. And he's not afraid, not shy - I saw how he took my joke at welcoming you."

Vanessa could smile. "No, he isn't. No longer."

"Yes, suddenly they find the words. And you - you find the words, and nothing else?"

"I don't love him."

"No?"

"I like him very much. It's great to be with him, but ... It's not love, and I dont want to hurt him."

Fleur sighed. "Sometimes I really wonder why the British aren't yet extinct ..."

Vanessa giggled.

"How do you know it's not love? There wasn't a flash from the sky? You weren't shaken to your innermost core?"

"Maybe that's the reason, but I know ... I don't have the feeling I can't be without him."

"You wouldn't mind if I seduced him?"

Vanessa looked at the woman, perplexed. Next moment, her eyes started to burn.

After a moment, hands took her, pulled her toward a bosom, and stroked her. Fleur's voice said, "Your hair is really wonderful."

Vanessa tensed.

The woman let go, only to take her face again. "Vanessa - have you been raped?"

"No."

"But you had sex?"

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Feeling the nausea again, Vanessa clenched her teeth, unable to speak. She shook her head.

Had been a mistake. She felt a dizziness rush through her. After a moment, the dizziness faded, and she felt better than before.

"You've been date-raped, my dear - first he was tender, then he was stroking you, but when you said no he didn't stop ... And now you met Michael, the best that happened to you in a long time, and you're scared as hell to hurt him ... to disappoint him ... to lose him."

Was she?

"But you're scared only because you know you're in trouble the moment he touches you. Your little sex problem - "

"It's not little!"

"Do you stroke yourself?"

"Sometimes." Vanessa felt bafflement hearing herself.

"Successfully so?"

"Yes - but not always."

"Let me guess - if it's a woman you fantasize about, it works. Then you try imagining a man, and wham - the lights go out. But the woman you fantasize about is strong, narrow hips ..."

Even in her state, Vanessa felt the blood filling her face.

An arm hugged her. "Which only proves, your sexuality is all right, and that's why I said it's a little problem."

---

"But ... I'm not ..."

"Lesbian? Me either. Even so, I'd reach an orgasm pretty quickly if you stroked me. Does this thought sound distasteful to you?"

"No. You're incredibly beautiful."

A soft laugh. "See - I could seduce you, because I'm a woman who doesn't hurt you. Besides, hardly anyone is only heterosexual. But we both prefer men."

"What can I do, Fleur?"

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"That's a lot. Enough to sleep in the same bed with him, just holding each other?"

"I know he could do that, I'm sure, but either it would torture him, or I'd lay there, stiff of terror, and he'd realize." Vanessa started to cry again.

Fleur waited, stroking her hair, until Vanessa calmed down. Then she said, "There's still another possibility, if you believe your love's still too weak."

Her love? Why didn't she protest?

"Vanessa, do you trust 'arry?"

"Yes - but sometimes he scares me a bit."

"But he was the one who sent you to me, right? Don't worry, he can scare everyone - "

"Except Rage."

"And his daughter and my daughter and my son, right. He could help you - "

"No!"

"Wait, wait - I'm not talking about sex with him; you're too young for his taste anyway."

"Really?"

Fleur smiled. "Is this a first sign of ordinary female challenge? Whatever - if you can imagine a cure during which he wouldn't touch you once - well, maybe except for calming you down - then I'll tell you how."

Vanessa thought it over. Suddenly, she felt like waking from a trance, and twitched.

Fleur said, "You've been doped with a bit of Veela power during the last minutes, but I just stopped it because I want you to answer clear-minded."

"That's ... I wanted to know how it is. Thank you."

"It wasn't much - after we agreed we won't seduce each other."

Vanessa thought again. "I want to get rid of my problem more than anything else - since I ..."

"Met him - the one you don't love."

No she didn't, did she? "Yes, I'm ready."

"It works like that, 'arry will tell you a story. You go to him and say, I spoke with Fleur, and she thinks you should tell me the story of the boat cruise."

"And then?"

"Then he'll tell you."

"How do you know? And what makes you think it'll help?"

"It's a story about a similar case, only worse, and how it was cured. And 'arry knows already that he might be asked for this; he knew the moment he sent you up."

"He's the one who did the cure, right?"

"It's 'arry's story. He will tell. And he'll tell everything."

"I know - the man who wasn't told how to be scared."

"No, my dear, he knows. From others and from himself."

Vanessa thought again, then swallowed. "I ... I think I want to do that, only - I wish Michael and I, we could hear the story together."

"But of course!" Fleur beamed. "Vanessa, that's so much better! You're as clever as Rage said!"

"Would - would Harry do that?"

"You bet."

"Yes." Vanessa nodded. "He said he owes me - it's nonsense, but the more I think about it, the more it feels as if ..." She stiffened. "But then I have to tell Michael."

Fleur nodded. "You have to tell him that you're scared to hurt him, to lose him, that you can't show your feelings, and that he has to come with you to hear a story of sex and crime. We know both - he'll run as fast as he can, screaming in panic."

Vanessa smiled, to weak to giggle.